“Muffin certainly hasn’t tried very hard to be a team player,” conceded the diplomat.
“And from what I gather, he caused Jackson some embarrassment in Berlin. Me, too, for that matter,” joined in Gallaway. “I had the ministry on, demanding to know why I wasn’t aware of his going there. Looked a bit of a bloody fool having to admit he hadn’t told me, after I’d already assured them we were working well together.”
“Which is another joke, this time on us,” insisted Cartright. “He came to see me this morning. Said he thought there might be something in this Russian statement and, when I asked him what, said he couldn’t tell me until he’d looked into it properly.”
“You think we should tell London?” asked Gallaway, at once.
“I’m certainly going to cover myself,” said Cartright. “Nothing specific because I can’t be. Just an advisory, that there might be something. That’s what he said he was doing.”
“Probably a good idea for us all to do the same,” said McDowell. He paused. “I suppose it’s true to say he’s treated us all a bit shabbily. But I’m still not sure it justifies an official inquiry.”
“Not by itself, perhaps,” Cartright admitted. “But I think there are things going on in London we don’t know about, which, let’s face it, has been our problem all along, not properly knowing what’s going on. I think what I’ve been asked is part of a far deeper inquiryinto how the investigation has been conducted from the start. As far as we know it’s got nowhere. I, for one, don’t intend having any responsibility for failure off-loaded on me.”
The other two men shifted uncomfortably. Gallaway said, “I understand your point of view.”
McDowell said, “Yes, quite.”
Pleased with the way it was going, Cartright said, “All I’m asking is to be able to say you were with me when he said what he did. And to know you’ll support me if you get asked about it from London direct.”
“It would be the truth, would it?” accepted McDowell. “He did say what he did, in front of all three of us. Virtually made a joke of it, in fact. Think maybe I should tell the ambassador, though. Not exactly conducive to the smooth running of the embassy.”
“Probably wise to make our position clear,” said Gallaway.
“Thank you. I’m glad we’re agreed,” said Cartright. He hoped it would go on being this easy. He hoped Irena wasn’t on a long-haul flight. It would be better-more convincing-if he had a Russian with him. He shouldn’t forget Miriam, either.
“I thought we’d stopped all this shit!” protested the American. The reaction from the high-class hookers-imagining unequal competition-to her entry at the Savoy hotel bar was only just subsiding. They had, Charlie remembered, agreed on his role as Miriam’s pimp. It would be a job with career prospects.
“If it goes wrong, you don’t want to know about it,” said Charlie. “My plane arrives back at ten, local time. I’ll call you by eleven. If there’s time, I might check in during the day.”
“If it goes right, you’ll know it all by tomorrow night?”
“Enough,” assured Charlie. Once he’d always needed to know it all, he remembered. Another adjustable rule.
“If anyone asks, you’re following up something about this art recovery but haven’t told me what it is?” Miriam clarified.
“That’s all.”
“It’s an odd coincidence.”
“What is?” asked Charlie.
“Richard Cartright’s called. Invited me to dinner.”
“You going?”
“I stalled. Waited to see what you wanted first.”
“What are you going to do?”
Miriam shrugged. “A gal’s got to eat. You never did give me a name, incidently.”
“Orgnev,” supplied Charlie, glad of the reminder. “Arkadi Orgnev. Operates from a pitch near the Buratino Cafe, in the Arbat.”
Charlie spent longer than necessary assuring Sasha that the giraffe’s neck hadn’t been stretched by someone pulling its head, hoping Natalia’s concern-driven anger would have lessened by the time he went back into the living room. It hadn’t.
“You’re trying to convince yourself as much as me,” she accused.
“Don’t you think I have to go?”
“I think it’s madness. You don’t know anyone’s going to try to make you a scapegoat and even if they do you stand more chance of surviving than risking everything, which is what you’re doing. Risking us!”
“I don’t think so.”
“I love you, Charlie. I love you and Sasha loves you and I really do want us to spend the rest of our lives together. But I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this.”
“That’s why I have to go. To get the whole damned thing over. Make us safe.”
“I don’t think we’re ever going to be safe. That’s why it might be better to make a decision about us now. Stop putting it off.”
“No!” refused Charlie. “I’ll get it right and we’ll survive!”
That night they lay stiffly side by side, untouching, and Charlie knew every time he woke up, which he did often, that Natalia was awake, too. She remained stiff even when he tried to kiss her goodbye, only just responding. It meant he spent more time thinking about himself and Natalia on the flight to London than about what he had to do when he got there, but there was time during the drive.
Sir Peter Mason personally opened the door. The man said, “You didn’t ring for an appointment.”
Charlie said, “You might have refused to see me.”
“I still could.”
“But you won’t, will you?”
36
Despite the totally unexpected intrusion, Sir Peter Mason was as immaculate as he had been at Charlie’s first visit, even to the fresh rose buttonhole, although today’s pinstripe was blue, not gray. The hair was as neatly barbered and in place, too, which made the last detail for which Charlie was looking easy to find, although he would have missed it, as he’d missed it before, if he hadn’t specifically looked. And today’s walk to the library had provided all the confirmation he’d really needed. The man sat easily on the far side of the desk big enough, Charlie reckoned, for a real delta wing, not a paper reproduction, and in the chair in which he’d been placed opposite Charlie tried to appear as relaxed. The man said, “Well, now, how is it you think I can help you further?” There was just the faintest unctuousness.
Charlie curbed the tingling euphoria, knowing the confirmation was only significant to him and that to get the admission he wanted, the conversation to follow-with a man whose entire life had been listening and talking in nuances and doublespeak-had to be the cleverest he himself had ever conducted in a lifetime of nuance and double-speak. “You could give me your own version of what happened at Yakutsk, to compare with the one I have.”
The laugh was of disbelief, the one word stretched in astonishment. “What?”
“I know,” declared Charlie, hopefully.
The other man’s face was stiff now. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. You’re clearly suffering some mental aberration and I think it best that you leave, before I call the police.” The tone was controlled, unemotional, just mildly irritated.
Could he risk it? wondered Charlie. “That might be an idea. They could take your statement officially.” He decided against completing the threat.
“I’ve asked you to leave.”
The moment to hit hard, judged Charlie. “It was your battle-dress button, wasn’t it? And the casing from your service revolver?”
“This is madness.”
He hadn’t reached for the telephone. Or threatened to call Sir Rupert Dean, to whom he’d referred intimidatingly several times at the previous meeting. “No, Sir Peter. It’s fact. Forensically proven, evidential fact.”