Wilberforce stared back expressionlessly at the other Director. He hadn’t expected an outright refusal.
Smith stood up, feeling he had to emphasise his reasons.
‘Not only is it dangerous,’ he said, ‘it’s stupid. Because it’s unnecessary.’
‘I don’t really see that there’s a great deal you can do to stop it,’ pointed out Wilberforce objectively. It was unfortunate he had to be quite so direct, he thought. In many ways, Smith’s growing condescension reminded him of his wife. At least, he decided, he’d be able to make Smith express his regret, later on.
For several moments, the two Directors stared at each other and Wilberforce imagined the American was going to argue further. Then Onslow Smith jerked his head towards Ruttgers.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
As the men walked to the door of the huge office, Wilberforce called out: ‘I do hope that you’re not severing our co-operation on this matter.’
Smith halted, looking back.
‘It was not I who ended the co-operation,’ he said.
Neither American spoke until they had settled in the back of the waiting limousine and were heading towards Grosvenor Square.
‘We going ahead by ourselves?’ asked Ruttgers, expectantly.
‘We bring men in,’ agreed Smith. ‘A lot more than were with you in Zürich.’
‘Why?’
Smith didn’t answer immediately.
‘Wilberforce is a sneaky son of a bitch,’ he said, after several minutes’ thought. ‘I’m not going to get our asses in any snare he’s laying for us.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Even when you can control the civil police, as Wilberforce can within limitations on a thing like this, a killing is still a killing. I’m not making a move against Charlie Muffin until I’m convinced that Wilberforce isn’t setting us up.’
‘More delays,’ moaned Ruttgers bitterly. ‘We’re giving the bastard a chance.’
‘But we’re not making any mistakes,’ said Smith. He’d already made too many, imagining there was safety in letting Wilberforce take the lead. It was time, thought Smith, that he started looking after himself. And that was what he was going to do.
Back in the Whitehall office, Cuthbertson stared at the Director’s desk he had once occupied.
‘They forgot to take the money with them,’ he said.
‘They’ll be back,’ said Wilberforce confidently.
Contacting Rupert Willoughby by telephone, instead of going personally either to his flat or City office, was probably a useless precaution, decided Charlie. But it might just reduce the danger to the younger man. So it was worth while. It was right he should feel guilt at compromising Sir Archibald’s son, he knew.
‘Warn me?’ queried the underwriter.
‘The robbery must mean they’ve found me,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s very easy for the department to gain access to bank account details. If they’re aware of the meetings between us, they’ll know the £50,000 inheritance has been moved from deposit. And probably guessed the other money came from me, as well.’
‘Couldn’t the robbery just be a coincidence?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a guaranteed way to get me back here … where they can do what they like, when they like and in circumstances over which they’ll have most control.’
‘Christ,’ said Willoughby softly.
Very soon, thought Charlie, the man would appreciate it really wasn’t a game.
‘I’ve already had to involve you,’ apologised Charlie. ‘I’ve had to make a statement to the police and I gave you as a business reference.’
‘They’ve already contacted me,’ confirmed Willoughby. ‘I think I satisfied them.’
Law was very thorough, Charlie decided.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘I had little choice, did I?’ said Willoughby.
The attitude was changing, recognised Charlie.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked the underwriter.
‘I don’t understand enough to do anything yet,’ said Charlie. He stopped, halted by a thought If Wilberforce were the planner, he’d get perverse enjoyment moving against the son of the man he considered had impeded his promotion in the department.
‘Has anything happened to you in the last few weeks that you regard as strange?’ Charlie continued. ‘Any unusual business activity?’
There was a delay at the other end of the line, while the man searched his memory.
‘No,’ said Willoughby finally.
‘Sure?’
‘Positive. Whatever could happen?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re not very encouraging,’ protested Willoughby.
‘I’m not trying to be. I’m trying to be objective.’
‘What should I do?’ asked the underwriter.
‘Just be careful,’ said Charlie. ‘They’re bastards.’
‘Shouldn’t you be the one taking care?’
Charlie grimaced at the question. Wilberforce was using him like a laboratory animal, he thought suddenly, goading and prodding to achieve an anticipated reaction. When laboratory tests were over, the animal was usually killed. When, he wondered, would Wilberforce’s experiment end?
‘I am,’ promised Charlie, emptily.
‘When are we going to meet?’
‘We’re not,’ said Charlie definitely.
‘Let’s keep in touch daily, at least.’
The concern was discernible in the man’s voice.
‘If I can.’
‘My father always said there was one thing particularly unusual about you, Charlie. He said you were an incredible survivor,’ recalled Willoughby.
But usually he’d known from which way the attack was coming, thought Charlie. Willoughby had meant the remark as encouragement, he recognised. To which of them? he wondered.
‘I still am,’ he said.
‘I hope so,’ said the underwriter.
‘So do I,’ said Charlie. ‘So do I.’
FIFTEEN
Because the northern extension of the Tate Gallery had once been the Queen Alexandra Hospital, occupied by hundreds of people, the sewer complex immediately beneath it was much larger than the other outlets that served the area. They had gone in through a manhole in Islip Street, Snare leading. He was still ahead, guiding the safebreaker, the miner’s lamp he wore perfectly illuminating the huge cylindrical passageways.
‘What a bloody smell!’ protested Johnny. He moved clumsily, feet either side of the central channel, trying to avoid going into the water.
‘In Paris, visiting the sewers is considered a tourist attraction,’ said Snare. The man was right; it did stink.
‘So’s eating frogs,’ sneered Johnny. Like Snare, he was wearing a hiker’s rucksack, bulging with material it had again taken over a week to purchase. In addition, he hauled a collapsible sledge upon which was strapped the drilling motor and heavier equipment. The light from Snare’s lamp was sufficient for them both, so Johnny hadn’t bothered to turn his on. There was a sudden sound of scurried scratching, and Johnny grabbed out for Snare.
‘Rats,’ the larger man identified the noise, shrugging the hand away.
Johnny snapped on his light and in his anxiety went in up to his ankle in the water. Snare smiled at the outraged gasp.
‘Can’t stand rats,’ said the safebreaker. He shivered. ‘Let’s hurry up and get out of here.’
Snare ignored the other man, trying to play his light on to the Department of the Environment plan he’d taken from the sidepocket of his bulging pack. The gallery extension had meant there had been a lot of plans available, he thought gratefully. The sewer route had been marked on the chart in red, with notes on the alarm system and precautions installed overhead.