Quiller's Run

'You do know it crashed, I suppose?'

'Yes.'

It had been on the radio an hour ago. No survivors.

'My God, it's a miracle. I mean' – she brushed the air helplessly – 'I was sitting there in my office today for about half an hour – for exactly half an hour, because I remember looking at the clock, sitting there knowing you were dead.'

I didn't know if the timing was accurate, because I didn't know when she'd heard the news of the crash. But I wanted to.

'When did you hear about it?'

'About an hour ago. They said you'd phoned -'

'No. When did you hear it had crashed?'

She looked confused. 'About – I'm not sure – soon after noon, I think.'

'And when did you hear I was still alive?'

'I told you – an hour ago. Why?'

'And how did you know that?'

She was watching me with her eyes narrowing. 'They phoned me. The people here.'

One of the staff came down the stairs, a Thai girl, loaded with files, dropping a pencil. I picked it up.

'Thank you. Are you being helped?'

'Yes,' Katie said. Tip from the British High Commission.'

When the girl had gone she said, 'There's a little office here where we can talk.'

'No, let's go up there,' I told her. There was a gallery on the floor above, overlooking the entrance and the staircase. Rooms, even small rooms, in embassies – even the embassies on friendly territory – are notorious for being bugged. We went up the stairs together.

Her timing was probably accurate, then, because as soon as I'd heard the news of the crash I'd phoned the Thai Embassy, because Lafarge was dead and my access was cut off, but there was a chance I could rescue just a thread.

'Why did the people here phone you?' I asked her.

She looked surprised. 'Because you were on the passenger list.'

There were windows along the gallery, facing the buildings on the other side of the street. The strong afternoon light streamed in, throwing thick shadows across the carpeting, glowing on some crimson leather-bound books. I sat clear of the window.

'How did you know I was on the passenger list?'

She pulled her soft briefcase closer to her on her lap, hesitating before she spoke, but not because she didn't know what to say, I sensed, but half-deciding not to answer at all. 'Whenever there's a transport accident,' she said deliberately, 'we always check on the passengers, in case there's a British national involved, so that we can help relatives. I think we do quite a good job, at the High Commission, looking after our people.'

It was very quiet here, and motes of dust floated in the sunshine; there were the distant sounds of a telephone in someone's office; Thai voices, muted; quick footsteps across marble. I supposed most people were at lunch at this hour.

'Why did this embassy call the High Commission to say I wasn't on Flight 306?'

She said carefully, 'They're friendly to us. Thailand is an ally of the West.' Her eyes were still narrowed, and I didn't think it was anything to do with the contact lenses.

'How did they know I hadn't gone on board?'

I knew, but I wanted to know if she did.

'They said you'd phoned them, to -'

'When?'

'A few minutes after the news came on the radio.'

'Did they tell you why I phoned them?'

'They said you were going to be here.'

'Who spoke to you on the phone?'

'I don't know. Or I'd tell you. It's odd,' she said, looking away, 'it's the first time someone hasn't trusted me. It makes me feel rather ,.. sordid.'

I realised I was aware of totally irrelevant things: the soft arch of her neck as she sat with her head down, the sharp outline of her nipples under the tan cotton shirt, her stillness.

'How long,' I asked her, 'have you known Chen?'

She looked up. 'Who?'

'Johnny Chen.'

'Oh. I don't know. I think about three years. Three or four years. Why? Didn't you find him helpful?'

'Not terribly. He suggested I should take Flight 306.'

There'd been footsteps and they were coming closer along the gallery. It was one of the staff, all white blouse and navy blue skirt and heavy glasses. 'Mr Jordan? Excuse me for disturbing you. It's Thai International Airlines on the telephone.'

Tell them I'll ring them back.'

'They said it was urgent, Mr Jordan.'

I'd been expecting a call. I said to Katie, 'D'you mind?'

'You want me to wait for you?'

'If you've the time.'

'All right.'

In the girl's office I told the man on the phone that I'd nothing to add; I'd done all I could to warn the captain, and all I knew about the voice on the paging-phone was that it had been a young Asian woman's, possibly Japanese.

'Did she mention what kind of accident might happen, Mr Jordan?'

'Would happen. Would. As I told the captain and your airport officers.'

'You must understand, Mr Jordan, that we have to do everything possible to trace that caller. We need to establish responsibility. This is a major disaster for us.'

So forth, and understandable. But it brought back the scalding onrush of guilt I'd felt when I'd listened to the radio in Al's bar, knowing then that I should have forced them to hold that plane and search it.

I told the man, yes, he could send someone round here to talk to me, but I might be leaving soon. No, I didn't know if I'd be available as a witness at the enquiry.

Katie was sitting just where I'd left her, but hunched on the cushioned window-seat, her long legs drawn up and her arms round her knees.

'Thank you for waiting.'

She didn't answer, glancing across my eyes, that was all.

'They don't know anything new,' I said, and took one of the Louis chairs.

'Johnny Chen,' she said in a moment, 'is a drug transporter. Not a drug-runner. There's a difference. But even so, I can imagine how you're feeling. It's the second time you've escaped death in a matter of days, so you can't trust anyone. I can vouch for Chen, but what's the good of my word, if you don't trust me?'

'It's nothing personal.'

She swung her head and looked at me. 'Isn't it? Martin, you can't be DI6, or we'd have been asked to help you. But what – ?' and she stopped right there, looking away again.

'Did Chen tell you I might take that flight?'

'No. Why should he?' She came unhunched and put her feet on the floor and sat hugging her briefcase, her shoulders forward, protecting herself. 'Martin, do you think they were trying to kill you again?'

'No. They wouldn't need to blow up a plane-load of people just to get at me. They'll come for me on the street.'

She leaned nearer me, prepared to meet my eyes again after the anger. 'I wish you weren't so bloody matter-of-fact about it. I also wish -' but she had the habit of leaving things unsaid.

Footsteps again, and I looked across at the staircase. This time it was Rattakul, the Thai security officer I'd been here to see.

'Mr. Jordan.' He stopped short, and I went over to him. 'Your request has been approved.'

'When can I leave?'

'Immediately.'

'Give me two minutes.'

'I'll be down there in the hall.'

I went back to Katie, and found her with the briefcase open. 'This came for you, Martin. From Cheltenham.'

Long manila envelope, thick; diplomatic bag frankings. The only thing I could imagine Pepperidge sending me was a breakdown on the Thai Security personnel, which was why he'd sent it to the High Commission instead of here.

He trusted her that much?

I took it from her. 'I'm not sure,' I said, 'when I'll be back.'

'Where are you -' She left it, looking down, zipping her briefcase shut.

I went down and found Rattakul waiting for me.

9 Ash

It was difficult to see clearly, with the gas mask on. Who would warn me? Voiced were muted: there were no echoes here.