He saw the shoulder-holster immediately, tucked under the left armpit, as the body slid back and down under his touch, as inanimate as a sack, the head lolling heavily forward to reveal a bald patch like a tonsure at the back. He started to think well, a real tonsure wouldn’t be inappropriate, but then he thrust the thought away from him and concentrated on extracting the pistol delicately from its cradle. It was small and light and short-barrelled, not unlike a Makarov, but with a distinctly different grip which reminded him of a Walther.
Then he became aware that both the dreadful old men were Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State watching him in silence, so he held it up for their inspection.
‘Well, that’s something,’ murmured Audley. ‘Not much, but better than nothing, I suppose.’ He took a step towards Tom and reached for the weapon. ‘Evidence, Tom.’ He showed it to Panin for a second, and then dropped it into his pocket.
‘P-64.’ The Russian nodded. ‘Polish Army issue.’
‘Is that a fact, now?’ Audley seemed only mildly interested. ‘Well, I suppose it would be, wouldn’t it! But… you were saying—?
General Zarubin wants to give me something—to give to Jack Butler, was it? Or what—?’
Tom let the coat fall back on the blood-stained shirt, watching them both intently as they stared at each other — two really dreadful old men!
‘You were saying?’ Audley opened the bidding formally.
‘He will be grateful.’
‘Uh-huh?’ Audley nodded, then looked down at the rifle, which Tom had leant against a chair, and then nodded again at Panin. ‘I can well imagine that. But as we’ve already done his— your— dirty work, that would seem a somewhat devalued currency now. I’ve never been able to pay any bills with gratitude: the next word after
“Thank you” is usually “Goodbye”.’
‘But he still has business to transact here. Which, of course, is his main business, you understand?’
Another nod. ‘Yes—of course.’ Audley gestured towards the rifle, and then patted his pocket. ‘This is your business. For which you too are grateful—of course. But if you are insufficiently grateful, Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State and I make waves… then that will interfere with his business—I do apologize for being so slow on the uptake, Nikolai? What you mean… is that General Zarubin’s gratitude is only just beginning, eh?’ Innocent understanding did not sit well on the old man’s face; somehow it only made his expression more brutal. ‘All I can do to you is get you on the next plane home, as persona non grata. And then you have to take your chance. But General Zarubin doesn’t want to go home either—he’s got a lot to lose too, has he?’
The Russian’s mouth tightened. ‘You have much to lose, also—’
‘That won’t wash.’ Audley cut him off. ‘We’ve been there before, too.’
‘And Colonel Butler?’
‘Jack will take his chance, like you.’ Another shake.
‘And your country?’
Audley sniffed, not with his head-cold, but derisively.
‘Just make me your offer, and stop buggering about.’ He made a hideous face at Panin. ‘You always knew it would come to this—at least, that it would if your dumb-mute did his work properly.’
Panin stared at him for a long moment. ‘I can’t give you an offer, David. I am not empowered to do so. But General Zarubin will trade you a name, face to face. And that will… will perhaps clear you from this—’ He pointed past Audley, towards Szymiac ‘—
with your superiors.’
‘Tom!’ Audley was no longer looking at Panin, and made no attempt to follow his finger. ‘Better make your call now, just in case, so someone can clear up after us.’ He fixed Tom Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State unblinkingly. ‘And we’ll go and see what Henry Plantagenet has to offer, in exchange for not doing penance for Thomas Becket.
Right?’
10
The road outside was reassuringly empty except for a young woman exercising her children and her dogs, regardless of the weather. But then suddenly it wasn’t reassuringly empty at all, Tom realized.
Chiefly it was the children and the dogs which disguised Wilhemina Groot initially, because children were not her favourite human beings and dogs were her least favourite animals. But she was also more conventionally disguised in clothes which, to his certain knowledge, had never before featured in her wardrobe: the Willy he knew and now knew that he loved had hitherto either been a smart city girl, dressed by Bruce Oldfield and Yves St Laurent, or a motte-and-bailey girl, dressed in jeans and his own cast-off sports gear for lack of anything better, never a Young Farmer/Young Conservative/Sloane-Ranger-far-from-home, uniformed in Barbour jacket and green Wellington boots, with her blonde hair concealed under a tweed deerstalker.
Tom cursed under his breath, recalling his precise phone instructions, which were the last element of her disguise. It had been her helper he had asked for, as an ally at a pinch, not this complication of Willy herself. But this was unarguably Willy Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State herself now being fraternized by one of a pair of damp and over-exuberant Dalmatian dogs inadequately controlled by a pair of damp children, and he had to make the best of it.
Still, there was a plus as well as a minus in the scene, he told himself desperately: if he hadn’t immediately identified her, then maybe Panin and Sadowski hadn’t either, ahead of him—ahead of him ostensibly to superintend the Zarubin rendezvous, but more likely to get clear of their victims as quickly as possible; to which action Audley had all-too-readily agreed—a worryingly preoccupied Audley (as well he bloody-might be!), but an Audley who was even now four strides ahead of him, on the way back to the parked car; and, at the very least, there was no sign of any of Panin’s own watchers at the moment.
But now he was close to her, and although she had pretended to enjoy the Dalmatian’s affection for Audley’s benefit as he passed her she was looking at him now, and with a much greater desperation than his.
‘There’s a lovely boy, then!’ She observed the Dalmatian’s juvenile owner’s momentary glance at Tom, and hit the dog hard on the jaw with her fist. ‘Hi, Tom!’
The dog emitted an astonished yelp of pain on discovering (as Tom himself had already done) that despite her lack of inches Willy packed a mean punch, and sprawled sideways away from her into the gutter.
The dog’s owner was further diverted by the yelp, but then her spotty little brother, who had been trying to ride the other animal, Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State fell from its back, and added his own anguished cries to the confusion as both Dalmatians set off in different directions.
“They’ve just gone—‘ Willy skipped to avoid her dog as it tried to pull the little girl away from them, in the same direction as its comrade ’—your friends have gone, Tom… They just pulled out, like a bat out of hell… in a grey Austin Montego with dirty number plates—thataway.‘ She pointed past Tom. ’I only just got here. I’m sorry.‘
‘Did they recognize you—’ Tom stopped as he saw her face.
‘Recognize me?’ Her fuse ignited. ‘For God’s sake, honey! You called for help, and you didn’t give us much time—I told you last night, this isn’t my league! So how the heck should I know? I didn’t see them last night—if they can recognize an embassy secretary being raped by a goddamn bit-part player from a Walt Disney production—raped in the rain before lunch in the middle of nowhere—?’ But then, in her turn, she also stopped. ‘What’s wrong, Tom?’