When he called Caitlin Daly, he got an instant response. "Where are you?" he asked.
"At my office. Paperwork for the charity, and I've got a forum to attend with Monsignor Murphy."
"Don't you find it difficult to fit everything in?"
"Of course, but it's important, the work we do, and he's used to leaning on me in many ways. He's an important figure in the Catholic Church in London. Even the rich respond to him, and their money is important to us."
"When I read all the files on your people, it fascinated me that the whole Hope of Mary thing came out of Murphy doing a visit to Derry for a few months during the worst of the Troubles and being impressed by the work the Little Sisters of Pity were doing. I never got any idea he was in favor of a violent solution to the Troubles."
"He isn't. To believe in Sinn Fein and a United Ireland was always as natural as breathing for him, and I'm not saying he wouldn't confess an IRA man when the Church said he shouldn't-but not an ounce more than that. He's a great and good man."
"And a bit of a holy fool. I wonder what he'd say about your involvement in the Glorious Cause? You're sure he hasn't got an inkling?"
"Absolutely not. He'd be horrified. Stop this, Daniel, I don't want to hear any more on the subject."
"Have you had any final news from Barry and Flynn?"
"Not yet, but it's only noon over there. Flynn and Bulganin were supposed to go down to this Quogue place."
"You're right. Tomorrow will be soon enough. You'll be having a meeting in the chapel at the refuge, I suppose?"
"You're not going to suggest joining us?"
"There's no need. Everything's worked out. You've done very well. I'm going out to a show, so I'll turn off my mobile. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
He got dressed, thinking about it. She obviously wanted to be in charge, a psychological hang-up, that, because of being leader of the cell for so many years. And that was fine, though he didn't know how she'd react to his insistence that Monica Starling be taken out of the equation. He realized that it'd be better if he told her about it face-to-face, but he would leave that until tomorrow night.
His phone sounded just before he was leaving. It was Chekhov. "Daniel, you've got to understand the pressures I'm under. Ivanov is a madman. I knew he was too good to be true the first time I met him."
"How is the bastard?"
"Never mind that. He shot you in the chest. How did you survive that?"
"I was wearing a bulletproof vest under my shirt. You really should consider it for yourself, Max."
"My God, I'm going to get one straightaway, but about Ivanov. I patched him up on the boat, and drove him back to the Embassy, as you suggested. They had some top surgeon in to stitch him up, but he's going to look very strange."
"What were you doing there in the first place?"
"He was very insistent that I should take him down there and show it to him. He said that perhaps it could be useful sometime."
"In what way?"
"He didn't say. I thought he might want it for weekends. You know, boyfriends and so on."
"I didn't realize his inclinations ran that way. Mind you, that's his business. To each his own. I'm going out, so you needn't try again. If you want to cover your back, phone Lermov and tell him what happened."
"Actually, I already have."
"You're a laugh a minute, Max." Holley switched off and left.
Bob le flambeur was sensationally good and lifted his spirits in spite of the downbeat ending. "Marvelous," he told Selim as they sat in the booth at Al Busten. "They don't make them like that anymore. I didn't get a chance to tell you, by the way: Chekhov called me."
"What happened?"
Holley told him. "A pity the sod didn't die in the back of the Mercedes."
"You have a point. With such a man, one wonders what he could try next. Your big day, whatever it is, is Friday. I presume that after that your problems will be over?"
"It would be a clean break, let's put it that way."
"So what of tomorrow?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. I have one important phone call to make in the morning. The rest is just time filling."
"Then may I suggest an excellent way to spend the whole day. Twenty miles out of town is a spa and country club of which I happen to be a member. An excellent gymnasium, two swimming pools, more health treatments than you would know what to do with. There is even a golf course."
"I don't play golf."
"You can drive round in a cart with some clubs and try?"
"You know something, you're absolutely right," Holley told him, and emptied the champagne bottle into their glasses and toasted him. "And if it's anything like it's been, it'll be a nice day out in the rain."
13
Which it certainly was, but the day was saved by Selim planning ahead and speaking in the intimate way one would to an old friend, to someone called Martha who was, it seemed, director of activities. The result was that when they arrived at ten-thirty and ran from the Mini Cooper through pouring rain to the front entrance, they were met by an attractive fortyish blonde in white slacks and a blue blazer who had a full program organized for them.
Club tracksuits were supplied. Selim went off for a massage, Holley elected to try the gym, where a muscular young man named Harry put him through a series of weight-training classes and, noting his age from the form he'd filled in, observed that he was in remarkable condition and obviously worked out.
Holley didn't tell him he had until recently been a regular user of the gym facility at the Lubyanka Prison. In any case, when he stripped off his vest, revealing the terrible bruise Ivanov's bullet had made, his explanation-that he'd slipped against the end of a steel bar at a London gym-was received with horror at the lack of professionalism that had allowed such a thing to happen.
He worked his way through a series of weight-lifting exercises and cycles and finally ended up in a sauna for half an hour, then another half hour swimming, and decided he'd had enough. He asked for a fresh tracksuit, went to the lounge bar, ordered a large scotch, and went and lay on a recliner, from which he could look out at the golf course stretching away into an infinity of rain and mist.
He had his Codex in a pocket of the tracksuit, and, when it sounded, he got it out quickly. It was Caitlin Daly. "Where are you?"
"Somewhere in Kent. What have you got for me?"
"The word from Barry is excellent. He tells me that Potanin and the other man, Bulganin, are first-rate. Bulganin and Flynn went to Quogue and sniffed round. There aren't too many people there this time of year, and with the weather, and they located the boat."
"And the Miller hit?"
"Barry said Potanin's provided him with a silenced pistol with hollow-point cartridges. He said Potanin instructed him to wait, identify his target, then shoot him up close, preferably in a crowd situation, and just keep on walking. Nobody sees a thing. Wasn't that the way Mick Collins and his boys operated in Dublin in the old days?"
For the first time, it occurred to Holley that she might be a raving lunatic. "Well, I suppose there is a certain truth to that, but let's hope for Barry's sake something else turns up. You're seeing the cell again tonight?"
"Yes, everyone's ready for action, it's all systems go."
"There's just one change," Holley said, and when Selim appeared in a robe, a towel around his neck, he put a finger to his lips and motioned him to sit.
"What would that be?"
"The woman, Monica Starling. I've decided against it. You can tell Murray his target is aborted."
Her response was immediate. "You can't do that. It was agreed."
"I've changed my mind. I'm not going to be responsible for the killing of a woman, and, if you've a brain in you at all, you'll know why. That's an end of it. My decision."
"You can't do that. I'm cell leader."