‘Would you like anything else, sir?’ Franz asked as he reluctantly removed the plate from the table.
‘Coffee and cognac,’ Karen said quickly.
‘For two?’ Franz asked.
Whitlock nodded.
She waited until they were alone then rested her elbows on the table, her clenched hands under her chin.
‘I know how you must feel but I had to be sure you weren’t another journalist out for a story.’
‘I hope you’re satisfied.’
‘I’m satisfied you’re not a journalist. I don’t know who you’re really working for but it must be a pretty influential organization to have the editor of the New York Times over a barrel.’
After the coffee and cognac were served she delved into her handbag and withdrew a folded sheet of paper which she held out to him.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, taking it from her.
‘Look.’
He unfolded the paper. It was a scale drawing of a miniature microphone, perfectly reproduced, which was in reality no larger than a sugar cube.
‘A bug. What’s it got to do with me?’
‘That bug’s stuck under my desk. I came across it by chance a couple of months ago. That’s why I slipped you the note this morning. I had to speak to you in private.’ She rubbed her face and when she dropped her hands her eyes had welled up with tears. ‘You’re my last hope, C.W.’
He handed her his breast pocket handkerchief and studied her carefully as she dabbed her eyes. Gone was the confident, self-assured woman and in its place an uncertain, frightened child. She was either on the level or a damn good actress. He decided to leave his options open.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, gripping the handkerchief in both hands. ‘I just feel so helpless.’
‘You want to talk about it?’
She held her coffee cup between her palms and met his eyes. ‘Have you ever heard of the term, “diversion”?’
He sat forward attentively. ‘MUF?’
‘There’s a difference. Diversion’s a general euphemism for theft. “Materials unaccounted for” is the specific term used for any kind of discrepancy between the book inventory and the actual inventory.’
‘What exactly are you trying to say?’
‘That there’s nuclear material being siphoned off without it affecting the inventory system.’
‘Have you reported it?’
She sat back in her chair. ‘I can’t report suspicions and that’s all I have at the moment.’
‘Why are you telling me this? What makes you think you can trust me?’
‘I need outside help. You’re my only chance. I can’t confide in anyone at the plant. I couldn’t be certain they weren’t involved somehow in the diversion. Anyway, an attempt’s already been made on my life.’
‘They know you suspect?’
The waiter returned with a fresh pot of percolated coffee and refilled their cups.
Karen added some milk to her coffee and stirred it. ‘I kept a diary in my desk recording all my thoughts and suspicions. One night it was stolen. Two days later someone tampered with the brakes of my car.’
‘Did you report it?’
‘Naturally, but the plant manager was convinced it was only something to do with the Friends of the Earth. I’ve never gone along with that theory. Our views may be poles apart but they’re not saboteurs. No, it was an inside job.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘They’ve also managed to get into my house while I was at work. Nothing’s ever been taken; all they did was rearrange the lounge furniture. I suppose it’s their way of saying they can get at me whenever they want. I’m frightened C.W., I’m really frightened.’
He was perturbed by her capricious behaviour. He felt like a boxer who had been pummelled mercilessly against the ropes, on the verge of defeat, only to see his opponent’s corner throw in the towel. It never happened in boxing. He thought back to his options. Was she acting?
Was she, in fact, part of the team responsible for the plutonium thefts? Was she the bait to lure him into a trap? Or, on the other hand, was she on the level? Was she genuinely reaching out to him as a last source of help? Was she really in fear of her life? They were all questions which both puzzled and disturbed him, yet at the same time he knew she was the key to helping him expose the diversion at the plant. He had to stick with her, irrespective of where her true loyalties lay.
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘You’re putting words into my mouth,’ he replied defensively.
‘And you’re evading the question.’
He dabbed his mouth with the napkin. ‘I don’t disbelieve you.’
‘The classic reply. You come to the reprocessing plant posing as a journalist but really you’re on some undercover assignment for a powerful organization, maybe for a government. I hardly think you went to all this trouble just to check the plumbing. We both know why you’re here. I thought I’d be helping you by telling you what I did. I want to help you, C.W., can’t you see that?’ She leaned forward and gripped his wrists. ‘If the plutonium were to fall into the wrong hands the results could be catastrophic. It would also give the anti-nuclear group some propaganda to use against us.’ She smiled apologetically and released his hands. ‘I believe passionately in the future of this industry but what chance have we got when an avaricious few are using it for their own crazy purposes?’
‘Can you give me a list of the employees you think are involved in the diversion?’
‘I’ll have it for you first thing in the morning.’
‘I intend writing the story I came here to find.’
‘Of course, you need to keep your cover intact.’
‘As I said to you earlier, I’m a freelance writer. The article should appear in the Times a couple of days after I get back to New York. Perhaps your friend could send you a copy.’ He called for the bill.
When Franz arrived with it Karen deftly plucked it from the sideplate and held up a hand to silence Whitlock’s protest. ‘It’s the least I can do. Anyway, the company’s paying.’
She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm once they emerged into the foyer and they walked in silence to the lift to go down to the basement car park.
The change in temperature was immediately noticeable when the lift doors parted and she tugged her shawl closer around her shoulders as the cold night air swirled around them.
‘Where are you parked?’
‘In the corner, it’s all I could find,’ she replied. ‘It’s pretty busy tonight. Probably a conference.’
They took no notice of the black Mercedes as it slipped noiselessly out of the parking space behind them, the driver’s foot hovering over the accelerator. It crept forward, slowly building up speed, and when it was twenty yards behind them the driver pressed the accelerator to the floor. Whitlock shoved Karen out of the way and had to fling himself on to the bonnet of a BMW as the Mercedes flashed past, missing him by inches. The driver spun the wheel as the Mercedes reached the end of the row of parked cars and it skidded sideways, the left corner of the rear bumper crumpling in a flash of sparks as it glanced off the wall. The driver changed down gears and sped up the ramp, smashing through the boomgate, and disappeared out into the street.
Whitlock hurried over to where Karen was huddled against a pillar, her head buried in her arms. He crouched down beside her and put his hand lightly on her shoulder. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his chest. He became aware of someone behind him and was reaching for his Browning when he saw the uniform. He let his hand drop.
‘Are you all right?’ the boomgate operator asked anxiously.
‘We’re okay, thanks.’
The man moved off to summon his superiors who, in turn, would summon the police.