January pumped the reporter’s hand hard. ‘Sorry, I don’t speak much French. If you’d like to put the question in writing I’ll be happy to answer.’
‘Mr January-Cassie Burnett, NBC News.’ January gave her the nod. She was a tall redhead in a fur coat and boots. There was no window to look out but, judging from the clothes the reporters wore, it was cold outside. January had changed into a dark suit.
‘Ms Burnett.’
‘How would you describe your policy for the Pacific region-in a few words?’
January grinned at her but kept his voice serious. ‘My job to is give my views and those of a lot of people who think as I do to your Senate committee. I’ll try to make it clear what those views are but it’s not my job to sum them up in a few words. I’m afraid, Ms Burnett, that that’s your job. Let me know when you’ve got them.’
I could feel Trudi squirming beside me; the charm was a touch too thick but it worked for Cassie. ‘I will, sir,’ she said huskily.
I buckled my seat belt and looked at January. ‘Can you keep this pace up?’
‘I don’t know. What do you think, Martin?’ Martin shrugged. ‘You seem to be making the rules, Minister.’
Creighton Kirby met us at National Airport although he seemed rather resentful about having to do it. He was a tall, sandy-haired and freckled man with a Melbourne Club air about him. He wore a light poplin top coat so it was evidently warmer in Washington than New York. But that was all right because January had changed again-into a mid-weight suit and he carried a coat very similar to Kirby’s over his arm. Those of us who’d travelled 22 hours in the same clothes weren’t in the sartorial hunt.
‘Creighton,’ January said, while the minions bustled about with the bags, ‘why are you looking so cross?’
‘I’ll be frank.’ Kirby spoke with a crisp, Establishment accent that would get on my nerves inside half an hour. ‘You’ve created a stir at a time when I had some very delicate negotiations underway. I…’
January made as if to turn on his heel. ‘Well, if you’re on the brink of achieving total disarmament, I’ll just piss off.’
Kirby’s thin mouth twisted in distaste. ‘Please, just consult me before you make public statements that could be twisted.’
Trudi, Gary and the advisers had got into a huddle with some people who had arrived with Kirby. That left me with the Ambassador and the Minister, crumpled suit and all. Kirby was evidently used to bodyguards being within earshot because he ignored me completely.
‘If there was disarmament, Creighton, you’d be out of a job, wouldn’t you?’
Kirby’s long, bony features twitched as if to say there was no danger of that. The dislike flowing between the two men generated a tension that almost had a smell to it. I had to stop staring at them and do my job. I shielded my eyes from the glare coming through the big windows and looked around the polished floors and the steel and glass pillars and gleaming plastic surfaces for wrong movements, Wrong faces and anything that shouldn’t be there.
It was early afternoon and the place was busy. There were more security men around than you’d see in Australia but not as many as I’d been led to suspect. That’s unless the cleaners were carrying. 45s and the clerks had grenade launchers under the desks. Kirby acknowledged a signal from one of his team and spoke to a point a few inches above January’s head. ‘We’ve got a couple of cars for you. I have another appointment so I’ll…’ The sentence ended in a mumble but January had already turned away.
‘I’ll travel with you, Minister,’ I said, ‘and Trudi and the others can go in together. Gary, you come with us. Is there some kind of contact man around I can talk to?’
‘Here he is,’ Gary said. ‘This is…sorry, mate, I forget your name. This is Cliff Hardy.’
I shook hands with a chunky, useful-looking man who herded us along towards the doors. ‘Mike Borg,’ he said. ‘I’ve gotta nursemaid F…ah, the Ambassador at some do or other but I’ll see you to the cars. How’re you splittin’ em?’
I told him and he nodded agreement. ‘What were you going to call Kirby?’ I asked.
‘Freckles,’ he said. ‘Cost me m’ job if he heard it. Here we go.’
We stood by a sweeping driveway under a grey sky that was starting to spit rain. Two black limousines were waiting with a black driver in each.
Borg looked in at each man and said something brief and polite. I took Trudi to the second car and opened the door. She got in the back with Bolton. Martin sat next to the driver. Gary supervised the loading of the baggage into the trunks of the cars; he and January settled into the padding and I got in the front. The driver was a lean, whippy-looking man with a thin moustache and a tuft of hair on his chin. He started the motor, which made no sound at all, and pulled smoothly out onto the roadway which was turning dark as the rain started to fall heavily.
‘Lincoln,’ he said.
‘Right. How long?’
‘Well, it so happens we’ve got to go a little out of our way today. There’s some roadworks on the usual route. Depends on the traffic’ His voice was slow but with a neutral, eastern accent. ‘It’s a quiet day, won’t take long.’
The car was moving fast in the middle lane of a five lane road. The traffic slowed and bunched up as we reached the roadworks. We followed a detour sign right and picked up a secondary road that ran at an angle from the highway. I looked out of the tinted window through the screen of rain at a low-lying light industrial and residential area. It looked to be in need of trees and paint.
‘Is there anything to see on the way in?’
The driver glanced across at me and grinned. He had good strong teeth but nothing out of the ordinary, no gold. I was feeling a bit disappointed in him. ‘Are you from the city?’
‘Sydney,’ I said. ‘Australia.’
‘Then I’d say you’ve seen a whole lot better than this. I’m from Boston myself and I know I have.’
Gary and January were murmuring in the back seat. The car seemed to glide and I could feel sleep sneaking up on me. The driver’s big pink palm was in front of me with a small package between the fingers.
‘You look tired,’ he said. ‘Not far now. Want some gum?’
‘Thanks.’ I took a piece of the gum, unwrapped it and put the paper in the pull-out ashtray; it would’ve held the yellow pages. ‘Who do you work for exactly?’
‘Hang…on!’ The big car swayed to the right like a tacking yacht and then came back, slewing and rocking across the buttons in the road that marked the lanes. I heard January yell and Gary swear and then I was pressed back against the seat as the driver accelerated.
‘Behind and right!’ He yelled. ‘You see ‘em?’
I swivelled to look out the back window which was clear and clouded as the wiper slashed across it. I saw a big grey car gaining fast and rocking as gusts of wind hit it. I tugged the. 38 free for no good reason I could think of, maybe to encourage him to drive faster.
‘Grey car, foreign-looking?’
‘That’s him. He tried to push me through the wall back there. He’ll be coming again?’
‘Where’s our other car?’
‘Way back. I had to hit the juice to make him miss. They’re back in the bunch. Hold it! He’s coming! Your side!’
The grey car loomed up alongside and crowded us. The driver yielded one lane; we clicked over the buttons and then he held firm. We must have been travelling at over 90 miles an hour but the car could have been cruising. I was dimly aware of posts and overhead lights flashing past as we rocketed along side by side towards a few cars moving sedately ahead of us.
‘What can you do?’ My teeth were clenched and the words came out thin and tight.
‘Hold the road.’
The grey car hung back while we flashed past a couple of cars steering a frantic wavering line. I wound down the window and felt the wind and water whip at me as the grey car drew up again.
‘You seem to know what you’re doing,’ I said. ‘You think I should take a shot at him?’