Ross watched for Cutter’s reply but Cutter didn’t make one; Ross stepped into it then because it occurred to him that Chartermain had to be given every chance to understand what they were dealing with. Ross said, “If he’d meant to make an exposure by publication he’d have written the whole book and mailed it out without telling us about it in advance. Kendig’s playing a game, that’s what we’re involved in. Every game I know of is defined in terms of rules and the rules are always arbitrary. Kendig wants to prove his gamesmanship’s better than ours. He defined the rules himself and he’s playing strictly within them-they may be artificial and irrational as you say, but so are the rules of any game. Kendig wants to prove he can win without cheating. It’s the only way to prove he’s the best player. Does that make any sense?”
Chartermain nodded slowly, understanding what Ross had said but baffled nonetheless. But Cutter was looking at Ross with surprise and unconcealed admiration.
They ran a debriefing on the police sergeant and Chartermain’s butler early in the morning and then Chartermain and Cutter called a joint evaluation meeting at nine o’clock; the fugitive was still at large. Ross had grabbed two hours of sleep which made him feel even groggier than before but at least he’d had a chance to shave and get into clean clothes. Riding up to Chartermain’s floor in the lift he had Glenn Follett for company; he hadn’t realized before how big Follett was but in the confined cage their eyes were on a level and Follett out-weighed him by sixty pounds, his bulk emphasized by his camel’s hair coat with its dark fur lapels. Follett’s brown eyes looked excessively stupid in his sagging freckled face.
There were several maps on the walls of the conference room and each had its tray of colored pins-situation maps of the British Isles, London, Belfast, some of the other cities. There was no point trying to plot Kendig on a map like that, Ross thought; the man moved much too fast.
The room held a dozen people and a few more drifted in behind Ross and Follett-subordinates of Chartermain’s and Follett’s, a CID official representing the Scotland Yard Superintendent, two or three who were introduced to Ross by name only, no rank. One of them was American and had the rumpled look of a man who’d just stepped off a plane; it became clear in the milling confusion that the man was from some shadowy office in the White House.
There was a flurry of finding seats around the table. Follett sat down beside Ross and yawned in his face; Follett’s breath made him turn away.
Cutter had been padding around the room like an intense hungry panther; he took the seat at Chartermain’s right hand. Then someone’s hard heels echoed on the floor outside and it was Myerson; he came in unsmiling, nodded to Cutter and Follett and Ross, shook hands with Chartermain, acknowledged the man from the White House, was introduced to the Britishers and took the chair that Cutter relinquished to him. Myerson looked dyspeptic as if he’d had too much cottage cheese and salad. He leaned over to say something to Cutter but Cutter didn’t answer; he was chasing a line of thought. Myerson tapped Cutter’s arm and repeated the question and Ross heard the mutter of the reply but not its content.
Chartermain took the floor and brought things to order. “I think we all know the outlines of the situation. The fugitive is American of course but he’s on British soil. It’s equally imperative to both nations that this man be brought to earth in the shortest possible time. I’ve spoken with the Prime Minister and I must assure all of you quite bluntly that neither Downing Street nor the White House will tolerate the slightest foot-dragging or chauvinism in this matter. It demands a full and frank pooling of resources and I personally shall accept nothing less. No information is to be withheld by anyone for any reason. I trust I’ve made that quite clear. Now I’d like to call upon Chief Inspector Merritt to bring us up to date on Kendig’s last known movements.”
Merritt was bald and had a thick brutal chin but his voice was pleasantly modulated and he didn’t crutch himself on officialese. “Our man was last seen at approximately twenty past eleven last night, escaping west along Kensington Road in a car which was found this morning abandoned in a passage leading out of the Old Brompton Road. The car was dusted for fingerprints and then returned to its owner. The only prints we found were the owner’s and a number of smudges. We’ve concentrated the foot-patrol search in the Chelsea area where the car was abandoned, but we’re spreading the net wider as we go. And of course the composite photograph supplied by the Americans has been issued to every officer on duty in London and environs. Every man’s been told it’s a grave matter and I can assure you gentlemen there’s not a policeman in London who isn’t comparing every passing face with the drawing in his hand.” Merritt’s teeth clicked and he sat down as abruptly as he’d stood.
Chartermain reclaimed their attention. “I should remind all of you that the Soviets have a keen interest in finding our man. He possesses information they’d find quite useful. In concert with the Americans we’ve agreed to obstruct the Russians’ efforts wherever possible. If any of them proves to be in your men’s way, he should be arrested on the spot. We shall worry about the specific charges later as time permits; for the moment the purpose is to harass them and deny them whatever we can. The Soviet operation is being run personally by Mikhail Yaskov, who is a high senior member of KGB staff. The order to arrest Russian agents does not exclude Comrade Yaskov if he should happen to turn up. But let me emphasize that no effort is to be deleted from the hunt for Kendig for the purpose of throwing spanners in the Russian works. No one’s to go out of his way in search of Communist spies.” He said the last with dry sarcasm, poked a stubby finger at Cutter and sat down.
Cutter didn’t stand but he had enough magnetism to command undistracted attention from every pair of eyes in the room. “He won’t make it easy for us. It’ll be a fluke if he falls into our hands very fast. The purpose of this maximum effort is to wear him down, deny him escape routes, push him as inexorably as we can into a box. Every airport has to be under massive surveillance until further notice. The same for boat marinas, private airfields, shipping docks, boat-trains, ferry landings, helicopter pads. Our first objective is to be certain we’ve got him bottled up on this island. It’s a huge effort and a complicated one.” Cutter smiled coolly. “In any case our departments are obliged to spend their budget allocations before the end of the fiscal year because otherwise our budgets might be reduced next year. So never mind the expense. Pour everything into it. Don’t let your people get discouraged when every gambit seems to lead into a cul-de-sac, And for God’s sake make sure everybody tells us exactly what he knows, not what he thinks we want to hear.
“Now then,” Cutter continued, “we’ll want special emphasis on the surveillance of rental lockers. We know Kendig didn’t have his manuscript when he was arrested last night. It wasn’t in his hotel room. It’s hidden somewhere, and in due course he’s going to have to collect it.”
Glenn Follett stirred. Ross thought he’d been dozing but Follett said mildly, without his usual ebullience of gestures, “You mind if I toss out a little suggestion there?”
Cutter’s teeth formed an accidental smile; the interruption-and Follett-annoyed him. In a visible effort to be patient and reasonable he said, “Fire away, Glenn.”
“Well I may be on the wrong track.” Follett rocked his hand, fingers splayed. “But it kind of seems to me his whole modus operandi involves harassing us. He’s thumbing his nose, toying with us, right? He sends notes and postcards to people, he makes funny phone calls. And he slaps us in the face every now and then with another one of those Xeroxed chapters. I’m trying to pin down a pattern, Joe. Tell me if I’ve gone wrong so far.”
“You haven’t. But I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
But Ross saw it, just a split second before Follett spoke; and he was beginning to grin before the words were out of Follett’s mouth.