Kings of Many Castles

were proved we were responsible for the second gunman leak but that they’d been embarrassed as it is by the accusation. What’s happened since diminishes the leak problem, I suppose, although that was public and this isn’t.”

“Yet,” qualified Charlie, in another caution. “But what’s happened now helps us. I wasn’t responsible for the leak. So a denial would have been the truth. After today’s developments-the FBI director’s cable in particularly-the leak looks far more likely to have come from America.”

“If Parnell wants to be told what to do, tell him to deny it in the strongest terms,” said Dean, almost impatiently. “Which America will do about this injection business, of course. What’s the chances of the Russians suspending their part in the supposed cooperation?”

Charlie accepted he’d be able to answer that better after he’d spoken to Natalia, which it was now essential he do, despite yesterday’s insistence that he shouldn’t. After a lifetime of professional truth paring, convenient deception and ingenuous, open-faced lying, Charlie didn’t have the slightest doubt he could smother any guiltcertainly over a three thousand mile telephone link-but at that moment he was surprised, disappointed even, that there was no self-recrimination about the previous night’s unfaithfulness. There hadn’t been any awakening with Anne beside him that morning, either, and certainly she’d exemplified her own unique philosophy, doing nothing, saying nothing, to make their being together anything but totally unremarkable. Morrison’s telephone call had been theonly conversation at breakfast. To his parting arrangement to meet at the bar that evening she’d smilingly queried whether it was intended only to be a friendly drink and he’d asked what else it could be and seriously she’d said, “Nothing, remember?” There hadn’t been any embarrassing pretence of kissed farewells or lingering hand touching, either. So why didn’t he feel any shame or guilt, if he loved Natalia as much as he was always telling her-and himselfthat he did? Because it wasn’t any more than Anne’s special philosophy. He wasn’t going to pretend to fall in love with Anne and she wasn’t going to pretend to fall in love with him. Each knew where they stood or-perhaps more appositely-exactly where things lay. No confusion. No problems. A perfect unencumbering, unendangering ultimate friendship.

Finally addressing the question, Charlie said, “I don’t know about positive suspension. They might, although by cutting themselves off they’d be cutting themselves out ….” The speculation thrust into his mind but he chose not to introduce it until he’d thought more fully about it. “I guess things will remain in limbo until the results of the tests for any non-prescribed drug.”

“So I ask again,” said Hamilton. “Where does that leave us?”

“In a reasonably good position, as Charlie’s already pointed out,” suggested Pacey, the political manipulator. “It’s not our argument; it’s for the Russians and the Americans to fight out. Hopefully we could work between both camps, if there is a positive split.”

“That’s how I see it,” agreed Charlie.

“When did you plan to go back?” asked Pacey.

“Tomorrow, hopefully. As soon as I’ve seen the psychiatrist.”

“Wouldn’t there be an advantage in keeping out of it for a little while longer?”

Charlie very positively shook his head. “We’ve got a murder conspiracy to uncover … understand. This is yet another side-track I don’t want to go down.”

“I think you’re right,” said Dean.

Simpson said, “Quite apart from whether or not Bendall was drugged, where can we go if his collapse is irrecoverable?”

“That’s what’s worrying me most of all,” conceded Charlie. “Probably nowhere.” Which was, he decided, the side-track downwhich he did want to go. And a journey upon which he had already been far too long-and far too effectively-prevented from taking. But he thought, at last, that he could see some signposts.

Leonid Zenin collected the coincidences like unwelcomed souvenirs. The car taking him to the Kremlin swept past the White House on Krasnopresnenskaya naberezhnaya at precisely the time of the shooting eight days earlier and entered the ancient citadel by the most traditional “pine grove” Borovitskiye Gate through which the security detachments had so vainly argued would have brought both presidents to an arrival ceremony in a totally safe inner courtyard. Zenin didn’t hurry crossing the square, gazing around at the easily patrolled castellated ramparts and gated internal labyrinth, acknowledging how utterly protected everyone would have been. Hindsight instead of foresight. Some had it, some didn’t. What, he wondered, would be shown today?

Those summoned had been personally selected by Aleksandr Okulov, primarily to exclude not just General Dimitri Spassky but to keep any awareness of the gathering from the suspected FSB. Yuri Trishin, who’d adeptly adjusted to being chief of staff to the emergency president, was automatically included. The Foreign Minister, Boris Petrin, was an essential figure hurriedly added because of the overnight developments and Federal Prosecutor Pavl Yakovlevich Filitov was there for the same reason. Zenin and Natalia guaranteed both the complete, liaising knowledge as well as the necessary continuity of the investigation.

Okulov was the last to enter the suite which came close to overwhelming the small number assembled, despite being only an anteroom to the much larger main chamber, and Natalia’s immediate impression was how much more physically confident Okulov appeared to have become in such a short time, no longer the shadowy eminence grise but the positively striding-imperious almost-man very definitely to be seen, determined to be judged, in black and white leadership terms. He even seemed to dominate the baroque, echoing surroundings. Confirming that perception the short, hard-bodied man said, “Things have come to light in the last twenty-four hours that need to be discussed to decide the future of the shootinginvestigation …” He looked to Zenin. “ … General?”

Zenin had been given no indication of how many would be attending and had copied twice as many transcripts of the FBI director’s message as were necessary. It took him slightly longer to distribute them around the table than to disclose the discovery of the possible but unauthorized injection mark on Bendall’s arm.

Filitov, a white-haired, pedantic lawyer, came up from his e-mail print-out and said, “This is outrageous- verging on the hysterical-but the puncture mark is only a possibility, according to what I’ve understood you to say. We need to be absolutely sure.”

Zenin made a deferring head movement towards Okulov. “If there’s a positive pharmacology result from the tests during this meeting, I shall be informed.”

Okulov, still smarting from what he considered the personal insult of Walter Anandale leaving-virtually fleeing-the country without any contact, said, “Whatever the outcome of the medical tests, where does this leave any future cooperation?”

“That’s a political decision, far beyond my responsibility,” said Zenin. “What I would ask this meeting to confirm is my immediate decision that under no circumstances can Bendall be seen without our people being present, in the same room. He’s our prisoner, under our arrest. The British have the right of diplomatic access but there’s no legal requirement for the Americans to see him again.”

Physically an even more charismatic figure than the emerging Okulov and also someone extremely sure of himself, judged Natalia. With everything predicated by personal as much as professional considerations, she said, “It was an American who died.”

“And the man who killed him will be tried by full and open judicial process, not according to the cowboy justice obvious in this Washington message,” seized an unexpectedly outspoken Filitov.

“Which is exactly what this message is!” agreed Okulov. “An invitation to cowboy justice: lynch law. Or whatever the FBI contingent here-an FBI in this country at our invitation and permission-arrogantly considers they can do.”

Natalia at once saw beyond the remark. Charlie was in Moscow because of the FBI presence. If the Americans were expelled, his remaining was thrown into doubt. Which took the decision abouttheir continuing future … Natalia stopped the thought, finishing it differently from how it began. It didn’t take any decision about her and Charlie out of her hands. Rather it thrust it forward, for her to decide. Her choice-her avoided, refused, head-in-the-sand choice-would be whether to go with him if he were ordered to leave. Or stay. It was important for her to remain objective, to concentrate upon the immediate positive rather than the negative of an uncertain future. “How tight is the security that Bendall’s been under since the moment of his arrest, the moment of his hospitalization, in fact?”

All attention switched to her, Zenin’s most curious of them all. The closely bearded police chief said, “Total. I