Выбрать главу

'Thank you. While I'm in Geneva I'll also start checking my personal contacts. Then go on to Paris. Check with someone who knows everything that happens in the quiet streets…' A reference to the quiet streets which house Soviet embassies. 'Then,' he continued, 'I may go on to my contact in Brussels.'

'Why those cities?' Howard asked.

'According to Lysenko this Zarov was stationed in them at various times.' He reached inside his brief-case he'd dropped beside his desk, extracted the photocopy of Igor Zarov, put it on the desk facing Howard. 'That's who I'm supposed to track down. If he's still alive. ..'

'You sound doubtful,' Howard observed as Monica returned with a tray and began pouring coffee.

'I am very doubtful – despite the PM's views. I'm also wary.'

'Wary?' Monica queried. She looked at the picture. 'That's him?'

'Wary and suspicious. Lysenko could be up to something. The only thing is he seemed genuinely worried – even frightened.' He pushed the picture towards Monica. 'Get the Engine Room boys in the basement to run off two dozen copies. It will be tricky – making copies from a copy. Then send one to Chief Inspector Benoit of the Brussels police, Rene Lasalle in Paris, Otto Kuhlmann in Wiesbaden and Arthur Beck of the Swiss Federal Police in Berne. I'll draft a letter to them later to go with the photocopies.'

'Why so many policemen?' asked Monica. 'Instead of all the Intelligence chiefs?'

Tweed showed wry amusement, watching Howard. 'Oh, didn't I tell you? The PM has given me a temporary appointment as a Commander of the Anti-Terrorist Squad. And, Monica, check all the files on Soviet embassy personnel over here for the past three years…'

'Ye Gods!'

'Yes, it will take awhile. But Zarov was in London, 1985. The point is this – Lysenko told me his postings, but not the names he worked under. Undoubtedly not Zarov. He'll have been a commercial attache officially, something like that.'

Howard sat with a stunned look. 'You did say you've been given a special attachment to Scotland Yard? Your old stamping ground?'

'Youngest Superintendent, Homicide Squad,' Monica said with relish. 'After he left Military Intelligence, before he came here.'

'I was just lucky,' Tweed commented.

'I still don't understand it,' Howard protested. 'That's never been done before. A split allegiance – to the Service and to Scotland Yard.'

'Nonsense!' Tweed waved a hand. 'I didn't ask for it. The PM's idea. It will give me more clout with the police on the continent.'

'I don't like it,' Howard said stiffly. 'She should have consulted me.' He stood up to leave.

'Send her a memo,' Tweed suggested.

Howard glared, shot his cuffs, and walked out of the room. He closed the door very quietly behind him. Monica giggled, refilled Tweed's cup. 'He's hopping mad again. He'll be impossible for days.. .'

'I won't be here for days. There's something else. That bomb at Paula's house in Blakeney. A Captain Nicholls and his team defused it. Nicholls said it was a new type – he'd been shown a sample obtained by Commander Bellenger of Naval Intelligence. Call Admiralty after I've gone home – try and get Bellenger to come and meet me here before I have to catch the flight for Geneva.'

'Will do.' Monica frowned. 'Funny isn't it? A Soviet bomb is planted in Norfolk – then the Kremlin asks for assistance finding this mysterious Zarov character. And you were told by Lysenko a huge cargo of sea-mines and bombs had gone missing from their Sevastopol depot. Doesn't make sense.'

'Maybe it will after I've talked with Bellenger. Any word from Newman out in Breckland?'

'Not a dicky bird. You know Bob – he'll go his own way, only report in when he's got something.'

True.' Tweed had put on his Burberry, was about to go home when he made the casual remark. 'Where is Paula now?'

'Where do you think? Working in Howard's office. He invented some French documents he wanted translated. She's pretty cool about the whole idea…'

'Not to worry. Just get two air tickets to Geneva. One for me, one for Paula.'

'And what's your excuse?' Monica asked frostily. 'Sorry,' she added hastily, 'that must have sounded bitchy…'

'You said that, I didn't.'

'Why do you need her? Sheer curiosity on my part. I suppose I get ticked off again?'

'Not at all. Paula speaks French and German. And Yuri Sabarin, who must speak French to be posted to Geneva, may be susceptible to women.'

Paula came back to the office half an hour later, her expression blank, followed by Howard, who strolled in, staring around. Monica spoke first.

'If you're looking for Tweed he's gone. For the night. Paula,' she went on rapidly, 'you're travelling to Geneva with Tweed tomorrow. Thought I'd warn you – so you could pack a bag.'

'I keep one packed for an emergency departure – just like Tweed. But thanks for the warning. Which flight?'

'Best be ready by eleven tomorrow morning.'

Monica was watching Howard who had slumped into an easy chair, one leg lolling over an arm, hands clasped behind the back of his neck. He watched Paula, who busied herself at her desk, sifting through files.

'Tweed still doubtful about the whole business?' he enquired.

'You heard what he said,' Monica replied cautiously.

'The PM is probably right, you know. It ought to be checked. All these rumours about some new outfit hijacking a ship. It might turn out to be one of ours… '

You bastard! Monica was thinking. You're covering yourself in case any of Tweed's comments get back to No. 10. She eyed him, playing with a pencil before she reacted.

'I wouldn't have thought something like that was our concern.'

'The PM thinks it might be, that's enough for me.' He smiled with an air of self-satisfaction. Monica saw through him instantly. He'd expressed support for the official view and had two witnesses to back him up – if push came to shove. 'And,' he went on, 'there's that business about the peculiar character who may – or may not – exist. Has to be checked.' He glanced again at Paula, her raven-black hair bent over the files. At least, Monica thought, he'd had the sense not to mention Zarov by name in front of the new recruit.

Howard stretched out his long legs, checked his watch, stood up and stretched. He thrust both hands in his trouser pockets and stared at Paula.

'What about a spot of dinner? You've worked well today. You need fodder to keep you going. I know a place where the fodder is rather good.'

'Thank you. Sir,' she added as an afterthought. She was sitting still crouched over the files, looking up at him. 'But it's an early night for me. I must be fresh for the flight tomorrow.'

'There's always another night. Have fun in Geneva. I hear the fodder is pretty good there. Tell me all about it when you get back. All right?'

'Good night. Sir,' replied Paula. She waited until they were alone. 'I'm looking forward to my first mission abroad,' she told Monica.

Things happen when Tweed arrives somewhere. Baptism of fire.'

Commander Alec Bellenger arrived at Park Crescent late in the afternoon of the following day, which caused Tweed to put off his flight to Geneva until twenty-four hours later. A phone call from Admiralty had warned he was delayed returning from abroad.

Mid-thirties, Tweed estimated, Bellenger was a tall heavily-built man with thick brown hair. Ruddy-cheeked, a strong jaw, ice-cold blue eyes, he carried himself with the easy assurance of a man accustomed to command.

He listened in silence as Tweed related the bomb incident at Blakeney, his eyes never leaving Tweed's. He's weighing me up, Tweed thought. Fair enough. He finished speaking and Bellenger crossed his large hands in his lap, then reacted.

'Nicholls, that Bomb Disposal officer, came to me afterwards. Brought the shell and innards of the infernal device. It's a Cossack, all right…'

'Cossack?'

'Code-name for the sea-mine we smuggled out of Russia. Can't tell you how. Came out by submarine. Period.'