Two-inch-wide runs of tape, fixing him in place.
`This time for real, Rebus.’
To his men: `Hold him till I get close. Pull away when I say.’
Rebus thinking: there'd be a split-second after they let go… A moment in which to break free. The tape wasn't the strongest he'd seen, but there was plenty of it. Maybe too much. He flexed his chest against it, felt no sign that it would break.
`Here we go,' Tarawicz said. `First the face… then the genitals. You mill tell me, we both know it. How much bravado you want to show is up to you, but don't think it means anything.’
Rebus said something behind the gag.
`No point talking,' Tarawicz said. `The only thing I want from you is a nod, understood?’
Rebus nodded.
`Was that a nod?’
Forcing a smile, Rebus shook his head.
Tarawicz didn't look impressed. His mind was on business. That was all Rebus was to him. He aimed the wire at Rebus's cheek.
`Let go!' The pressure on Rebus fell away. He pushed against his bonds, couldn't budge them. Electricity flashed through his nervous system, and he went rigid. His heart felt like it had doubled in size, his eyeballs bulged, tongue pushing against the gag. Tarawicz lifted the cable away.
`Hold him.’
Arms fell on Rebus again, finding less resistance than before.
`Doesn't even leave a mark,' Tarawicz said. `And the real beauty is, you end up paying for it from your own electric bill.’
His men laughed. They were beginning to enjoy themselves.
Tarawicz crouched down, face to face. His eyes sought Rebus's.
`For your information, that was a five-second jolt. Things only start to get interesting at the half-minute mark. How's your heart? For your sake, I hope it's in good condition.’
Rebus felt like he'd just mainlined adrenaline. Five seconds: it had seemed much longer. He was changing strategies, trying to think up some new lies Mr Pink might believe, anything to get him out of the flat…
`Undo his trousers,' Tarawicz was saying. `Let's see what a jolt down there will do.’
Behind the gag, Rebus started screaming. His tormentor was looking around the room again.
`Definitely lacks the feminine touch.’
Hands were loosening his trouser-belt. They stopped when a buzzer sounded. There was someone at the main door.
`Just wait,' Tarawicz said quietly. `They'll go away.’
The buzzer sounded again. Rebus wrestled with his bonds. Silence. Then the buzzer again, more insistent now. One of the men went for the window.
`Don't!' Tarawicz snapped.
Buzzer again. Rebus hoped it would go on forever. Couldn't think who it might be: Rhona? Patience? A sudden thought… what if they persisted, and Tarawicz decided to allow them inside? Rhona or Patience…
Time stretched. No more buzzing. They'd gone away. Tarawicz was beginning to relax, focusing his mind on his work once more.
Then there was a knock at the flat door. The person had got into the tenement. Now they were on the landing outside. Knocking again. Lifting the flap of the letterbox.
`Rebus!' A male voice. Tarawicz looked to his men, nodded another signal. Curtains were opened; Rebus's bonds cut; the tape ripped from his face. Tarawicz rolled down his sleeves, put his jacket back on. Left the flex lying on the floor. One last word to Rebus: `We'll speak again.’
Then he marched his men to the door, opened it.
`Excuse us.’
Rebus was left sitting on the chair. He couldn't move, felt too shaky to stand up.
`Hang on a minute, chief!' Rebus placed the voice: Abernethy. It didn't sound as if Tarawicz was heeding the Special Branch man.
`What's the score?’
Now Abernethy was in the living-room, looking around.
`Business meeting,' Rebus croaked.
Abernethy came forward. `Funny old business where you have to unzip your flies.’
Rebus looked down, started to make repairs.
`Who was that?’
Abernethy persisted.
`A Chechen from Newcastle.’
`Likes to travel mob-handed, does he?’
Abernethy walked around the room, found the bare flex and tut-tutted, unplugged it at the socket. `Fun and games,' he said.
`Don't worry,' Rebus told him, `it's under control.’
Abernethy laughed.
`What do you want anyway?’
`Brought someone to see you.’
He nodded towards the doorway. A distinguished-looking man was standing there, dressed in three quarter-length black woollen coat and white silk scarf. He was completely bald, with a huge dome of a head and cheeks reddened from cold. He had a sniffle, and was wiping his nose with a handkerchief.
`Thought we might pop out somewhere,' the man said, locution impeccable, his eyes everywhere but on Rebus. `Get a spot to eat, if you're hungry.’
`I'm not,' Rebus said.
`Something to drink then.’
`There's whisky in the kitchen.’
The man looked reluctant.
`Look, pal,' Rebus told him, `I'm staying right here. You can join me or you can bugger off.’
`I see,' the man said. He put the handkerchief away and stepped forward, stretched out a hand. `Name's Harris, by the way.’
Rebus took the hand, expecting sparks to leap from his fingertips.
`Mr Harris, let's sit at the dining-table.’
Rebus got to his feet. He was shaky, but his knees held till he'd crossed the floor. Abernethy appeared from the kitchen with the bottle and three glasses. Left again, and returned with a milk-jug of water.
Ever the host, Rebus poured, sizing up the trembling in his right arm. He felt disoriented. Adrenaline and electricity coursing through him.
`Slainte,' he said, lifting the glass. But he paused with it at his nostrils. Pact with the Big Man: no drinking, and Sammy back. His throat hurt when he swallowed, but he put the glass down untouched. Harris was pouring too much water into his own glass. Even Abernethy looked disapproving.
`So, Mr Harris,' Rebus said, rubbing his throat, `just who the hell are you?’
Harris affected a smile. He was playing with his glass.
‘I’m a member of the intelligence community, Inspector. I know what that probably conjures up in your mind, but I'm afraid the reality is far more prosaic. Intelligence-gathering means just that: lots of paperwork and filing.’
`And you're here because of Joseph Lintz?’
`I'm here because DI Abernethy says you're determined to link the murder of Joseph Lintz with the various accusations which have been made against him.’
`And?’
`And that, of course, is your prerogative. But there are matters not necessarily germane which might prove… embarrassing, if brought into the open.’
`Such as that Lintz really was Linzstek, and was brought to this country by the Rat Line, probably with help from the Vatican?’
`As to whether Lintz and Linzstek were the same man… I can't tell you. A lot of the documentation was destroyed just after the war.’
`But "Joseph Lintz" was brought to this country by the Allies?’
`Yes.’
`And why did we do that?’
'Lintz was useful to this country, Inspector.’
Rebus poured a fresh whisky for Abernethy. Harris hadn't touched his. `How useful?’
`He was a reputable academic. As such he was invited to attend conferences and give guest lectures all round the world. During this time, he did some work for us. Translation, intelligence-gathering, recruitment…’
`He recruited people in other countries?’
Rebus stared at Harris. `He was a spy?’
`He did some dangerous and… influential work for this country.’
`And got his reward: the house in Heriot Row?’
`He earned every penny in the early days.’
Harris's tone told Rebus something. `What happened?’
`He became… unreliable.’
Harris lifted the glass to his nose, sniffed it, but put it down again untouched.
`Drink it before it evaporates,' Abernethy chided. Harris looked at him, and the Londoner mumbled an apology.
`Define "unreliable",' Rebus said, pushing aside his own glass.