Quiller Barracuda

The girl went away with the order. 'I had to tape it because there's a meeting tomorrow evening with the Senator's campaign manager and I'm invited.'

The presence of her bodyguard two tables away would not, of course, do me any good if anything started; nor would the presence of the two Bureau people. The whole town had become a red sector two days after the mission had begun running and that put me at great risk but there hasn't been a single operation in the Bureau records that didn't go through the end-phase with the executive working on the very edge of extinction: it's the nature of the trade; and there was the obvious possibility that if I could find Proctor at some time during the last hours of this night I could turn him in for interrogation and give them a chance to shut down the board for Barracuda if they could get him to break.

'That little scene,' I said, 'in New Hampshire. Was it true?'

She looked down. 'In this business, truth is what you make it. That's the only way to play. Who else was there, that night?'

'With Proctor?'

'Yes.'

'A friend, just leaving.'

'A woman.' It wasn't a question.

'Yes. I think they'd been having a row.' As a gesture.

'And she doesn't know where he's gone?'

'I haven't asked her. I don't know where she lives.'

The bodyguard stood up suddenly, turning two women away. In speech at a distance the vowels stand out better than the consonants, and when we'd come in here I'd heard ameidge from several tables, and now there was au-oh-ah from one of the women, with small moans of disappointment.

The guard sat down again.

'Sugar?'

'No.'

'I want,' she said without looking at me, 'to find George Proctor, very much.'

'So do I. Perhaps we can help each other. If you want to tell me the places where he used to go, I can have them checked out.' It wasn't necessarily a thin chance. Proctor was a top-echelon executive and he knew how to go to ground without leaving a trace, but he could be operating as part of a cell or part of a whole network and he'd have to keep in contact and that would be where I could find him: by catching a stray signal, tripping on a wire, crossing a courier line and working inwards from there.

I knew one thing: it could be fatal to underestimate Proctor. Monck, briefing me in Nassau three days ago: What it does concern is the upcoming American election, in which of course Senator Mathieson Judd is actively engaged. It also concerns the balance of power between East and West as it exists at the present time, which is precariously. Let me put it this way. If the extent of things proves as far-reaching as we've begun to believe, I shall find it difficult to sleep soundly in my bed.

Proctor had been turned and gone over to the Soviets and for all we knew he could be at the very centre of the opposition network, the centre of an organisation that had moved in on me the instant they felt I was a danger – the instant when I'd telephoned Proctor to say I wanted to see him. They'd searched my room and tagged me through the streets and put me in the cross hairs and infiltrated my brain within hours of my arrival in Miami. Whoever Proctor was operating for now, they were important, perhaps international, even multi-national, and he would have a major role to play.

'I can tell you,' Erica Cambridge said, 'the places where he used to go, yes, but I doubt if you'll find him there.'

'We could find traces. That's all we need.'

'I think I should tell you -' a moment of hesitation, but she decided to go on – 'I think I should, tell you that my need to find that man isn't… personal.'

She was looking down again; she did it a lot. I said, 'Are you sure?'

'Oh yes. Yes, in spite of my asking you -' she left it.

Asking me about the woman.

'If it's not personal,' I said, 'it's political?'

'In the United States of America within ten days of the presidential election, the way a dog scratches a flea is political. But with George Proctor -' hesitation again – 'it's something even more than political. There's something going on that -' this time she broke off and her eyes became wary. 'Mr Keyes – did I get your name right? – I don't have the slightest idea who you are or what you were doing in the Newsbreak studios.'

'I'm looking for George Proctor.'

'Sure, but a minute ago you said that "we" could perhaps find traces of him.'

'My organisation.'

'There's no deal, Mr Keyes.' Her eyes were hard now. 'Unless you're prepared to name names.'

'I may do that later,' I said. 'Not now.'

Her head turned to look at the bodyguard, then back to me. 'I have to go soon, Mr Keyes. I come here sometimes to – you know – unwind, be by myself.'

I didn't get up. 'You won't find him,' I said, 'by yourself.'

'Will you?'

'Not immediately. Not for a day or two. But we'll find him.'

'Then why did you come to me?'

'Because you might have helped us to find him sooner. If we pooled our information we'd shorten the time. We'd rather not wait two days, but it won't be more than that. You'll need longer, and you may be too late.'

Looking down, running a fingertip round and round the rim of the little espresso cup, her breath quickening, the lift and fall of her breasts under the white silk catching the light from overhead, a vibration in her that I half-caught through the senses, half-felt across the space between us at the small round table, an emanation from her etheric body, from her nerves.

Then she looked up, and I caught a touch of fear. 'Only two days?'

'No more than that.'

'When you find him, what will you do?'

'We'll get him out of the country, very fast.'

Watching me steadily, the fright still there. 'It's – important for me to see him first.'

'We couldn't allow that.'

Looking away now, trapped. I waited.

'Hi, Erica!'

A woman waving, the bodyguard on his feet and turning for instructions, Cambridge giving a quick little shake of her head.

It was going to be all right but I put three dollar bills onto the check as a gesture.

'It would be very helpful to you,' Cambridge said, leaning closer, 'if you let me see him before he leaves. I have a great deal of information on him.'

'Then give it to me now and you'll see him before he leaves. That's guaranteed. I'm sorry, it's the best I can do.' Stood up, buttoned my jacket.

'Mr Keyes, is your "organisation" the British government?'

'I would have thought it was rather clear. Proctor's a British national. But look, get in touch with me some time tomorrow, if you want to – though I'm not easy to reach. We -'

'May I see some kind of ID?'

I chose the card with the Foreign Office crest and dropped it onto the table and she looked at it carefully.

'May I keep this?'

'By all means.'

Took a purse out of her snakeskin bag, put the card away. 'It's difficult to talk to you if you're standing up.'

'We've talked enough, I think, and you were working late. It was a pleasure -'

'Mr Keyes.' The fright in her voice now. She was looking down again, her small hands flat on the marble top of the table with the fingers spread, the voilet nail varnish glinting under the light. 'I'd be glad if you'd sit down for a moment – is that too much to ask?'

I was surprised because I hadn't expected her to break so completely, but this was simply because I didn't know the Proctor background and her connection with it. It looked critical, because as I sat down again I could see that she was having to make an effort to keep control, and her voice was shaky now.

'Look, you've caught me at a crucial time. I – I need help, if that doesn't sound too melodramatic.'

She waited for me to say something.

Said nothing.

'There's no one I can trust, you see. I mean I've got friends, sure, associates,' pressing the table hard, 'and they're all good people but – but I don't know how strong they'd be if things got really rough. And none of them know about George Proctor – okay, we were close, yes, but they don't know about – this thing that's happening.' Driving her hands against the marble, her eyes wide now, then changing, narrowing as she caught an inward glimpse of herself and looked up at last and around her in case anyone were watching, her eyes coming back to me, her voice soft, suddenly, fierce – 'Are you listening to me, for God's sake?'