“The number of people that I had to deal with has given me a problem there,” admitted Boyce. “I’m just going to let them thrash around until they themselves have to admit defeat. Might be necessary to initiate an internal inquiry, to apportion responsibility for failure. It’s the sort of thing that would be expected.”
They stopped talking while the drinks were served.
As the butler left, Peters said, “That mean you’re not entirely sure your archives are clean?”
Boyce smiled. “It means I don’t like losing control. And that everything is going to appear to have been done properly and fully.”
Now the American laughed. “Losing control is a sin we neither of us will ever be accused of.” He sipped the new drink and said, “You spoken to your man?”
“Day before I flew here.”
“And?”
“He’s fine. Quite remarkable, for his age.”
“No risk of his giving way?”
“Why should he? That’s the last thing he’d allow.”
“Of course,” accepted the American. “Media have been more of a nuisance than I expected. Still are, in fact. You thought what to do about that?”
“Not really,” conceded the other man. “Future role of Dean’s department is a bit uncertain, so they’re convenient if public scapegoats are necessary. Muffin’s the obvious choice. He was on television from Yakutsk, remember: he’s identifible. Useful, really, that we didn’t go ahead with the other idea.”
“Always good to get the maximum benefit,” agreed the American.
“When’s your Arlington ceremony?”
“Next Friday. It’ll stoke the media pressure, I guess, but it can’t be helped.”
“You won’t be there, of course?”
“Of course not!” said Peters, actually surprised at being asked if he’d ever appear at any public, media-recorded event.
“You know,” said Boyce. “While all this has been going on, I’ve thought several times how much I’d like to have met Clarence Mitchell, the man who set the whole thing up on our side.”
“Peabody did it from here,” supplied Peters. “Samuel H. Peabody. Hell of a brain, both of them, for devising it.”
“And keeping it going for so long,” said Boyce. “That was the true brilliance.”
“Genius,” agreed Peters.
“And it can’t be said we’ve failed them,” said Boyce, self-congratulatory. “It could have gone very badly wrong if we hadn’t acted as quickly and so effectively as we did.”
“True,” agreed Peters. “Very true indeed. I wouldn’t want it any other way, but sometimes I wish people knew what we did to keep them safe in their beds.”
Boyce gestured expansively, encompassing the house and grounds. “It has its rewards.”
“My own money, not a penny from the taxpayer,” reminded Peters. “We’re eating pheasant tonight. Shot them myself. Been hanging just long enough.”
“Wonderful,” said Boyce.
“Why?” demanded the presidential aide, as he already had several times. “There’s no logic; no rationale.”
He was pacing the room, sometimes driving his fist into the palm of his other hand. It was the first time Natalia had witnessed Nikulin display any sort of emotion and she wondered if she’d get any clue why the man had ended the inquiry. “It was obviously something she knew Vadim Leonidovich would report back. To which we would have to react.”
“Too clumsy,” argued Nikulin.
“I believe there’s a personal relationship.”
Nikulin stopped pacing. “Why did he-” he began, outraged.
“For benefits beyond sex, I’d guess,” said Natalia. It was something that had to be taken into their consideration, which was why she’d met Nikulin alone.
“Might not she be doing it for the same reason?”
“That’s why I mentioned it.” It wasn’t the primary reason. She wanted time, the opportunity to talk it through with Charlie before the release of the art recovery, staged though it was intended to be.
“I’m glad you did. It’s very confusing, though.”
“As it is my not knowing the reason for our decision,” said Natalia, openly.
“It was one of the greatest-and most secret-of coups,” confided Nikulin. “And it must always remain secret, even from someone like you.”
Natalia nodded, resigned. It wasn’t something she’d tell Charlie, she decided. “The American would have known he’d have to act upon it,” Natalia repeated.
“So it’s intentional, to confuse us?”
“Shouldn’t we consider delaying the announcement about what was recovered from Belous?”
“It has no significance,” dismissed the presidential aide.
“Can we be sure of that, not knowing what this is about?”
“Where is Belous?”
“In custody. I’ve ordered he stay there, until we decide otherwise.”
Nikulin finally sat down. “Whatever the Americans are up to has no affect whatsoever upon our decision. Which stands. We go ahead with the release.”
Gerald Williams realized how totally he was committing himself and he was nervous about doing so. He wished he belonged to the sortof club to which Jocelyn Hamilton had taken him, which seemed the proper venue for such discussions, instead of a public restaurant, even one close enough to Westminster to be the favorite of MPs and cabinet minsters. Williams had spotted three and a minister within minutes of his arrival. He filled the time waiting for the deputy director-general’s arrival studying the menu, horrified at the prices. Hamilton was greeted as a regular by the restaurant manager who had initially regarded Williams as an unwelcomed intruder, and on his way to the table Hamilton stopped to talk to the cabinet minister and after that to an MP frequently quoted in newspapers as an espionage expert.
Hamilton finally arrived with flurried apologies for being late and as he was seated told the manager to ensure there’d be that day’s special available. From his study of the menu Williams knew that was lamb chops and ordered the same. He chose Margaux, too, remembering it was what Hamilton had selected entertaining him at the Reform Club.
“What’s all the mystery about?” demanded the department deputy, the moment they were alone.
“Not mystery,” said Williams. “Concern.”
Although Williams had spent a long time sanitizing his account, Hamilton said the moment he’d finished, “You’ve been talking like this to the people across the river!”
“I spoke to my counterpart, Horlick, once: to assure him the expenditure was coming off our budget, not his. Which I consider it should because we’re heading the investigation. With his agreement I talked direct to Cartright in Moscow: didn’t want anyone imagining unlimited expenses. And have done a few times since, to make sure costs remain under control. What I’ve told you has come up in general conversation.”
“It doesn’t sound like general conversation to me,” refused Hamilton. “To me it sounds pretty specific-improper, in fact.”
“I’m prepared to make allowance for that,” said Williams. “I’m far more worried at the greater danger which we’ve talked about too many times to need repeating. This man is openly talking in Moscow of treating us like fools. You saw for yourself what it was like, just days ago. Something’s got to be done!”
“Why are you telling me, like this? Why not officially, to Sir Rupert?”
“Because it is only gossip. And, all right, improper gossip at that. Any case against Muffin has got to be backed by a proper inquiry, supported by fact. Witnesses.”
“So?” persisted the other man.
“I’ve become involved in this by accident. I’m the financial director. I’ve done my bit auditing accounts that virtually prove the money dealing, which amounts to a criminal act. You’re operational. I’m suggesting for the sake of the department-for us all-you ask Cartright’s people to authorize his providing an official account. Factually checking what the hell Muffin’s up to.”
Hamilton sat with the lamb halfway to his mouth, regarding Williams across the table in disbelief. “Are you serious?”