Kings of Many Castles

that don’t fit?”

“Most if it,” said Anne, despairingly.

“No!” refused Charlie. “Let’s go through it again, to find what doesn’t fit. Unarguable facts. It’s brilliantly … No!” Charlie stopped himself. “It’s a professionally conceived operation, the sort of assassination that would have needed the expertise of an organization trained and equipped to carry out authorized killings …”

“The FSB and before them the KGB,” interrupted Anne.

“And before them all the rest,” agreed Charlie. “We know from the different calibration of the two different rifles that there were two different marksmen, each capable of firing a total of five shots in under eight seconds. Professional marksmanship but not professional planning. If it had been truly professional, the rifles would have at least been of the same caliber …”

“An inconsistency,” recognized Noskov.

“Let’s mark it,” Charlie agreed. “Now let’s look at all the others. George Bendall, a dysfunctional, mentally unstable-but mentally malleable-man who was long ago trained as a marksman. A third rifle but only two bullets, because they know he can’t hit the intended targets and if he hits anyone else-which he fortunately didn’t-it doesn’t matter. Purpose? The dupe who is intended to take the blame. His cowed, frightened mother who doesn’t appear to know anything, yet is murdered in a jail for which the organization with the capability to commit assassination is responsible. And his apparent-his only-best friend, also possibly murdered in what was made to look like an accident on a level crossing. Anything I’ve missed out?”

“Bendall’s mystery pentathol injection,” reminded Anne.

“OK, let’s add that,” accepted Charlie. “Anything else?”

“Orkulov and the KGB,” said Noskov, simply. “Where’s that slot in?”

“It doesn’t, if its successor service is involved; whatever the changes, they rarely shaft their own …” Charlie hesitated again, remembering the number of times he’d been strung out to dry. “Not often, anyway.”

“Okulov appointed a presidential commission into the FSB,” argued Anne.

“After the shooting and with the finger pointing at them and him,” said Charlie. “Politically he didn’t have any alternative.” Into his mind’s eye came the two taunting photographs of Vasili Gregorovich Isakov: what the fuck was it he couldn’t see! With everything else so fragmented this discussion wouldn’t be taken forward by his getting the prints from his office and inviting the lawyers’ examination. “Is that it?”

Both lawyers nodded their heads.

“So what’s there that shouldn’t be?”

“Like I said, most of it,” remarked Anne.

“That’s not helping,” threw back Charlie, balancing her earlier criticism.

“You know the impression I’m increasingly getting?” invited Anne.

Both men looked at her, waiting.

“I don’t find it difficult to imagine that there’s someone on the inside of this investigation manipulating the whole bloody lot of us, just as they manipulated George Bendall.”

There was a long silence.

“One of the conspirators?” said Noskov, finally.

“Maybe even more than one,” suggested Anne. “Think about it. Nothing adds up. Every move we’ve made- every move anyone else has made, as far as we’re aware-always runs into a brick wall.”

“Are you suggesting someone at our level?” pressed Charlie, feeling the beginning of a chill at his recognition of how much sense Anne’s remark made.

“I’m just pointing out that we’ve been made to dance around in circles and for that to happen so consistently it would be useful for the bad guys to have someone very close to the investigation.”

“You think Okulov is masterminding it to get the presidency? That’s the only level with a link to the FSB-or rather the KGB before it-that makes sense.”

“I’m not sure what I think,” said Anne, uncharacteristically careless.

Okulov-through Trishin being on the commission-wasn’t the only one who fitted, thought Charlie. He ran the rest-their faces even-through his mind, desperate for a more likely suspect. And failed. Which didn’t prove anything. Nothing was provable. The whole thing-the entire speculation-was based upon a casual, throwaway aside that just, only just, might have sinister implications. But from her chairmanships of both the Russian coordinating groups and the presidential commission Natalia perfectly fitted the incriminating profile. Which was absurd. What reason-what possible purpose-could there be for Natalia even to be remotelyconnected-the ultimate of unacceptable absurdities-with the killing and maiming of people. And yet …?

It had been a working dinner and the recalled James Scamell had, only minutes before, quit the Regents Park official residence of the United States ambassador to England, leaving Anandale and Wendall North alone together.

Anandale said, “You sure the plug will hold?”

“They’re short eleven documents, three the minutes of the meetings at which the decision was made to contribute the soft $750,000 to your campaign and in which you were specifically named,” assured the chief of staff. “I’ve got the chief exec’s personnel guarantee they’re shredded. What’s left is a general discussion, about election funding. As far as the paper trail goes, it was a discussion upon which no action was taken, no names mentioned.”

“How many of the board know?”

“Five.”

“What if they’re subpoenaed?”

“They’d fall too. Diverting company funds without stockholders-and the full board’s-approval is fraud, a criminal offense.”

“They could plea bargain. Cop an amnesty for turning State’s evidence.”

“They’re firm. There’s insufficient to pressure any of them.” Anandale swirled the brandy in his snifter. “How long before the Grand Jury’s concluded?”

“Two weeks. And from now on it’s the dregs, no one who can hurt us,” guaranteed North. “You’re still high on the sympathy wave and the media are taking the duty-before-personal-safety line of your going back for the funeral.”

“Three specialists have so far decided there’s nothing that can be done for Ruth. Only two to go.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Mr. President.”

“Find more doctors, Wendall. Better qualified. We can’t let her stay like she is. She’s too proud.”

The chief of staff looked unnecessarily at his watch. “Donnington will still be up at the hotel. I’ll call him right away.”

“Let’s go outside the country-Europe’s fine-if he gets the name of the right man.”

“I’ll make sure Donnington understands.”

“You really think I should do what Scamell wants in Moscow after all the speculation?”

“Kayley doesn’t buy it. And we’ve been through the protection arrangements with a finetoothed comb. Aston says it’s safe. It’s been rehearsed so many times everyone can do it in their sleep.” Wendall North had ensured that this time there wasn’t a single security provision or objection in which he was a named participant.

“I want everyone with their eyes wide open,” said Anandale.

Charlie stayed late into the evening, alone in his own embassy office, going through everything-even the CNN film-knowing it was ridiculous but having to acknowledge that Anne Abbott’s suggestion deserved consideration and that when it was considered, Natalia was the best placed of any possible suspects to be an inside source. He couldn’t-wouldn’t-contemplate her being involved-aware in advance-in the actual murders. That was totally unthinkable. But examined closely-and Charlie’s examination was microscopic-that wasn’t what the lawyer had theorized. Anne Abbott had been referring to the almost orchestrated confusion afterwards. Which still didn’t make sense. Wasn’t it as unthinkable that she’d become inveigled afterwards? Knowing complicity after the crime would be as bad-as criminally culpable-as knowing of it before. He asked himself if she could have acted unknowingly and decided that was impossible: Natalia was far too astute to allow herself