by on the arthritic conveyor belt. Miriam hadn’t surrendered hers since bundling it up in the mortuary, either.
The charter was an hour late. Saul Freeman flurried officiously into the shed, immediately set off balance by Charlie’s presence beside a second coffin.
At once the FBI chief said, “There’s no agreement about this! We’ve got enough-”
“Saul!” stopped the woman. “Shut the fuck up. We’re getting out together. No discussion. Okay?”
Freeman looked hesitantly between Miriam and Charlie. “You’vegot to understand-” he tried, but again she cut him off.
“Saul! You’re not listening! Let’s get the coffins on the plane and the plane off the ground, while we’re still able. I’m sure you’ve got a great speech prepared and I can’t wait to hear it later. But
There were some luggage handlers, none Asian-featured superstitious Yakuts, hovering and Charlie waved more $10 notes like flags at a parade. At once the coffins were loaded onto trolleys. Automatically Miriam and Charlie walked beside that for which they were responsible, each with a protective hand resting on the lid. There was only a very small passenger area beyond the hold, but neither Charlie nor Miriam looked for it until after the coffins were not just roped securely into their carrying space but the loading bay ramp was raised. Both finally sagged with the click of its lock.
“I want to know what went on-
“It’s a very long story that can wait,” said Miriam. “Charlie and I have a lot to talk about ourselves first, before we can make any sense of anything. So please, let’s wait until we can get our heads straight.”
“We’ve got people flying in from Washington, for Christ’s sake!” said Freeman, awed.
“Good,” said Miriam. “You brought anything to drink?”
“A little Jack Daniel’s,” admitted the Bureau chief, blinking.
Miriam held out her hand, unspeaking. From the briefcase beside his seat Freeman produced a bottle three- quarters full and when she remained with her hand outstretched followed with polystyrene cups.
Miriam drank deeply and, looking out of the window at the moment of takeoff, said, “It’s like being in one of those great escape movies.” She lifted her cup in a toast. “We made it!”
“I wasn’t sure we would,” admitted Charlie.
“For God’s sake, will someone tell me what’s going on?” implored Freeman.
“We got set up,” conceded Miriam, simply. “But out of ten I’d score our recovery at six.”
“That’s about right,” agreed Charlie.
“And we got our Unknown Soldier back. Both of them.” Miriamstretched out, pushing herself as far back in the stiff canvas as she could. “Now I’m pretty exhausted.”
“You’re happy for this to be your thing, is that right?” demanded Freeman, hopefully.
“I guess that’s it,” sighed Miriam.
“Your choice,” said the man. “It’s your ass.”
“I just made it,” said Miriam. “And the ass is intact.”
They all settled as best they could, trying to sleep, but Charlie was always subconsciously aware of being aboard a droning aircraft and gave up after about an hour. As he thrust himself up in his seat he became aware of Miriam sitting up, too. Freeman snored on.
They didn’t speak for a long time, their refilled cups in their laps. Finally Miriam said, “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think if some gal had something you needed badly enough to know and if to screw her was the way to get it, you’d screw her.”
Charlie said, “There a point to this conversation?”
“Don’t want you sitting in judgment on me, like you’ve got the moral high ground, Okay?”
“Okay,” said Charlie. There was a lot he liked about Miriam Bell.
“I thought he did something dull … something to do with trade!” said Irena. “Now I learn he’s …” she waved her hands across the dinner table, seeking a metaphor. Remembering a Russian-dubbed English series that had just ended on Moscow television, she finished, “A Sherlock Holmes!”
Probably not for much longer, thought Cartright, glad he was on the absolute edge of the hurricane that was sweeping through the embassy. He was still recovering from the revelation that Charlie was living with Irena’s sister. “It’s kind of an unusual job.”
“How’d he get an apartment like they have? It’s in what used to be a palace. Incredible!”
“So I understand.”
“Does everyone at the embassy live like that?”
“He’s not properly attached to the embassy,” said Cartright, knowing from the military attache that deniability was already being considered. “I guess you’d say he was freelance.”
“Obviously a very successful one!” Cartright was much better looking than the American and she hoped he would be better in bed, too. He obviously wasn’t so mean. The restaurant was just off the Arbat, called the Here and Now, and was the social spot of the moment at which to be seen, which she considered promising. So was the imported champagne he’d automatically ordered. She was glad she’d worn the Donna Karan she’d bought in New York. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her cleavage.
“Hasn’t Natalia told you all about him?” questioned Cartright, trying to get the conversation on track.
“We’re not particularly close,” dismissed Irena. She was sure the five-man group at the bar were mafia. One smiled at her. She smiled back.
“See a friend?”
“I thought I had. It wasn’t.”
“Natalia probably considers herself very lucky, able to live in an apartment like that. Accommodation isn’t easy in Moscow, is it?”
“She had a pretty impressive place before.” Irena didn’t return the mafia man’s smile this time.
“If it’s as grand as you say, they probably do a lot of entertaining?”
“I wouldn’t know. Like I said, we’re not close.” The quail was wonderful and from the attention she was attracting Irena was sure the dark-haired girl who’d just come in was the star of the gangster series getting the top TV ratings. Irena was enjoying herself. The tuxedoed band began playing Glen Miller’s “In the Mood.” “A girl could get jealous at someone being more interested in her sister than in her,” Irena protested, pushing her plate and her chair away at the same time. “Come on! Let’s dance. And stop talking about Natalia and Charlie.”
Enough, decided Cartright. There was absolutely no hurry, she had the most spectacular tits and there was Saul Freeman’s recommendation.
During the evening the man she was sure was mafia intercepted Irena on her way to the washroom and asked her if she needed rescuing. She said no but added that she appreciated the gallantry and when he said anytime she gave him her telephone number.
Cartright started to get out of his car when they got to her apartment, in the Moscow suburbs on the way conveniently to Sheremet’yevo airport, but she stopped him, lying that she had to be up very early the following morning for a flight.
“Perhaps next time,” she said. Maybe she’d found herself someone with money, like Natalia. Discovering what he was like in bed could wait.
14
They had remained in conference practically the entire day, broken only by Sir Rupert Dean’s summons to Downing Street. Patrick Pacey, the department’s political officer, went with him. The director-general had also several times spoken to the Moscow embassy by telephone-to the ambassador as well as to the head of chancellery-and when he’d finally managed a connection to the Ontario Hotel in Yakutsk it had been eight P.M. local time there and he’d been told that Charlie had checked out.
