“What about the other business?”
“There is no other business except that which we’ve just discussed, that and that alone. Nothing more,” said Monsford
Straughan hesitated. “Jacobson might need clarification of that.”
“Isn’t it your remit to clarify operational details?” demanded Monsford.
“Over the last few days I’ve not felt that I’ve got your full support,” said Monsford, as the door closed behind Straughan.
The recorder was still on, Rebecca thought. “I can’t imagine what’s given you that impression.”
“Your opinion’s too often contrary to mine.”
“Constructively and objectively expressed, surely?” His risk was greater than hers, Rebecca decided: he wasn’t going to fuck her any other way than he was already and he was finding even that difficult to manage.
“You sided with Straughan against me.”
How could he be so stupid, with the apparatus running! “Only objectively, discussing whether or not to kill Charlie Muffin to create a distraction for Radtsic’s defection, which just a moment ago you decided against. Which puts us all in agreement, doesn’t it?”
Monsford smiled at her. “Nothing’s being recorded: I didn’t turn it on.”
The motherfucker was setting her up if things went wrong, just as he’d set up Straughan and before that the Ambersom woman to save his own repulsively fat ass! “I don’t understand the connection between that remark and what we’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?”
“No,” she insisted, her mind already ahead of her recovery.
“I want your loyalty.”
“You’ve got that, as well as my objectivity. Which is what I have always tried to contribute. And what I want to continue contributing. On the subject of which I think it would have been wise to disclose Radtsic’s extraction at today’s meeting.”
“Today’s meeting was about MI5’s mess. Bland and Palmer would have panicked and aborted the Radtsic objective if I’d announced it and we’d have lost him. As it is, we’ll have Radtsic and a huge coup and those across the river will have to clear up the shit Charlie Muffin’s left behind. Whose side would you rather be on?”
“The winning side,” answered Rebecca, honestly. But not, she decided, that which included Gerald Monsford.
He smiled again. “That’s what I wanted to hear and go on hearing. Shall we go home?”
“Not tonight,” refused Rebecca. “My period’s started early and I’m not at all comfortable.”
“We could still eat together.”
“Tomorrow. Let’s have dinner tomorrow.” She had more-important things to occupy her mind than boring crap about Helen of Troy and gods in loincloths fighting bulls in underground caves.
* * *
It was dark by the time Charlie got to the botanical gardens, which he approached as cautiously as always, stretching his outside checks on those entering or leaving for at least twenty minutes before finally going through the gate, lingering even further on separate benches to satisfy himself it was safe and even then feigning interest in shrubbery and trees while making his way casually to the specific telephone. The time switch had activated the interior light and before he reached it Charlie saw the hoped-for marker and had to stop himself hurrying.
Charlie had his own
“I know it’s you, Charlie: I can see you,” said the voice he wanted to hear.
Rebecca Street said: “I’m glad I’ve caught you.”
“I was just leaving,” said Straughan.
“It won’t take long,” promised the woman.
19
Charlie didn’t move, halting the instinctive swing to look into the gardens. “The open pod by the first hothouse?” It was obvious: too obvious! He should have checked every approach, not just that from the main entrance.
“I hoped you’d come: prayed you’d come. I kept checking, hoping you’d remember.”
“I told you I was coming.”
“You didn’t call Pecatniko!” she demanded, the alarm flaring.
“Of course I didn’t call your apartment!” Fortunately, he thought, discerning her fear.
“How did you expect me to know then?”
This was verging upon the surreal, decided Charlie. “I called the numbers from which you phoned.”
“Street kiosks?”
“Each of those you used: we traced them.”
“I don’t understand,” she protested.
“I don’t understand either. Are there people with you?”
There was a pause. “I’m alone. I really don’t understand.”
There was none of the tension that there’d been in her voice on the Vauxhall answering machine. “You can move around?”
Another pause. “So far.”
Her voice was calmer, Charlie judged. “What about surveillance?”
“You taught me how to clear my trail, remember?”
Charlie felt a stir of unease: it had been little more than early relationship game playing, not proper dedicated training, although she’d undergone that at KGB academies. “Where’s Sasha?”
“Summer school.”
He’d forgotten the school semester dates and the additional privileges to which Sasha was entitled as the daughter of a senior state intelligence officer. “I’m at the Mira hotel.”
There was something like a laugh but it was muffled. “You did remember it all, didn’t you?”
“We need to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Leave first, now. Walk past me and through the main gate. Wait on the first bench outside, about twenty meters down on the left side of the road in the direction of the hotel. And I mean wait. I won’t approach you until I’m absolutely sure you’re clear.”
“I told you I’ve guaranteed that.”
“Wait.”
“You’ve seen something: someone!” flared the demand again.
“I need to be absolutely sure. Go now.”
“What if I’m not clear!”
The fear was definitely there. “I’m in room forty-six. Call it tomorrow morning: ten thirty from another street kiosk.”
“I should have agreed to come before, shouldn’t I? Not been so stupid, until it was too late.” There was the slightest catch in Natalia’s voice.
“Move now! We’ve been talking too long.” Charlie kept the dead phone to his ear, seemingly still talking, turning at last to see Natalia go by. She did so without looking toward his kiosk, walking steadily but not hurrying. She was wearing a headscarf, which she rarely did, prompting Charlie’s recollection of their discussing the use of a
