October Men

'Go on, Boselli, go on! I'm listening.'

He saved Boselli too, by reminding him of the priority.

dummy2

Convincing the General was the important thing, and he could see now that there was one advantage he had which was even greater than his own eloquence: quite simply, the General wanted to be convinced.

It had nothing to do with the Englishman, who was no more than a means to an end. And the end must be the settling of some unfinished score with Ruelle.

'You said that the man Ruelle was dangerous once?'

'Very dangerous.'

'And could still be?'

'Men like that don't change.'

Boselli nodded. 'And I say that this Englishman is dangerous too. Not as Ruelle would have been—he is not an assassin or a thug. But he goes where there is trouble, and where he goes there is more trouble, one way or another.'

He had no need of explanation, because the General would not have passed him on unread files. Yet he needed to silence Villari finally.

'You only have to read his dossier to see it—it's spotted with accidental deaths. There was some shopkeeper in '69—just about the time the KGB boss, Panin, was in England. Then there were those two Egyptian officials who were drowned in the Solent—their bodies were never found. And even while he was at the University of— of—' he floundered momentarily, knowing that it was useless to open the file, which was in total disorder now.

dummy2

'Cumbria,' said the General, his eyes bright.

'Cumbria,' Boselli nodded, the sweet tightness of success in his brain. 'Two more accidents: the professor and the student

—that was only a few months ago.'

'A trail of accidents,' the General murmured. 'He does seem to make people . . . accident-prone.'

With a great effort Boselli held his tongue and assumed his mask of intelligent humility, knowing how his master's mind worked and his own role in its working. He had seen too many overstated cases fail before this, as much because the General disliked having his mind made up for him as for any internal weakness of their own. His only worry now was that he had used his ingenuity in a decidedly doubtful cause. But he could always plead caution, which was more a virtue than a failing in this work, and to see Villari's holiday spoilt by an unprofitable assignment in Rome would be worth a few harsh words from the General.

And already the Clotheshorse appeared to be most gratifyingly chastened, sitting in silence staring at his elegant handmade shoes while the General decided his fate.

Boselli had to work doubly hard to maintain his expression as his thoughts diverged from it. It was quite beautiful really: Villari would have to read the Audley files—the gorgeously disarranged Audley files—and then the Ruelle dossier. And after that he would probably have to follow Audley, and Audley's wife and Audley's baby and Audley's au pair, dummy2

through the stifling streets of Rome—or maybe tail Ruelle in some unspeakable suburban housing estate—all to no useful purpose.

It was so beautiful that he felt like singing—Cavaradossi's aria 'Vittoria' rose like a hymn of triumph within him.

'Very good!' The General looked from one to the other of them. 'Boselli has read the files, Armando, and you haven't had the chance yet—if you had I think you might very well have agreed with him.' He leant forward towards them with his elbows on the table, the knuckles of his clenched fists coming together with an audible crack. 'When two potentially troublesome men like Audley and Ruelle come together then we cannot afford to ignore them. I'm inclined to believe that either the British or the Russians are up to something. With the progress of the Common Market negotiation they are both taking a hard line towards each other at the moment. The Russians don't want the British to sign the Treaty of Rome, and the British know it. And as we know, they're both prepared to play dirty to get what they want.'

Boselli's jaw dropped in surprise. It wasn't like the General to justify his decisions, least of all with aspects of high policy—

and with mention of the Treaty of Rome he was lifting this non-starter into the realms of very high policy indeed.

'In any case,' the General went on harshly, 'I do not intend them to create a scandal in Italy.'

'You mean—we send Audley packing?' There was a sudden dummy2

hopeful note in Villari's voice. 'And there are plenty of ways of shutting up Ruelle—'

'That is exactly what I do not mean. You should know better than that, boy! We would simply be swapping men we know for others we might not.' The General gave Villari a pitying look and turned towards Boselli. 'First I need to know why Audley is here, and why Ruelle is interested in him. And for that —' he paused, and in that moment's pause Boselli saw an awful unthinkable possibility bearing down on him, 'I'm putting you both to work.'

Villari and Boselli stared at him speechlessly.

'Together,' said the General.

III

IT DIDN'T NEED a ruddy genius to guess that someone had dropped their drawers, or wetted 'em—or even lost the little darlings; not when they'd pulled him out of Dublin at ten minutes' notice and bundled him on the first available flight, and all after they'd just turned down his transfer application flat.

It could be that the rumoured offensive against the Russian industrial espionage apparat was on at last; all they needed was an excuse, and the way the Moujiks had