Boselli had been remembering little else in his spare moments ever since that first call to Moscow, and he was no nearer resolving the contradictions in the General's behaviour. For two things were clear to him beyond all else: the General wanted George Ruelle dead—and the General was proposing to let George Ruelle slip through his fingers.
Admittedly, any attempt to take Ruelle from his hilltop would almost certainly result in the death of the Englishwoman, which would be regrettable. But the English had only themselves to blame for the situation, and the deaths of Armando Villari and the policeman, never mind dummy2
that old score from 1943, demanded final settlement. The General was an honourable man, of course, and would keep his word—Boselli had no quarrel with that. What he could not reconcile was that the General had agreed to give his word in the first place.
'General—' Boselli searched for a way of saying what was in his mind, or at least some of it, and came to the conclusion that it was probably written on his face anyway.
'We must let Dr. Audley save his good lady first,' said the General. 'After that—we shall see how things develop. But now I would like to hear that tape of yours, eh?'
Biselli unzipped the black leather case and drew the recorder out.
'From the beginning, General?'
'I think so. I know you said over the phone that it was not exactly informative.'
'Except where the Russian—Panin—said that he had given orders that the Party would find out where Ruelle was hiding, General. Otherwise he denied everything.'
'No leakage of secrets? No traitor?'
Boselli shook his head. 'He insisted that the German's death was due to natural causes—that the record was correct.'
'And did Dr. Audley seem surprised—or disappointed?'
'No, General—not at all.'
'Of course he didn't, Pietro. He never expected the Russians dummy2
to admit anything. Like all savages they are very sensitive about such things.'
The General's mouth twisted sardonically. 'And frankly, if I was in their place I wouldn't have admitted anything either.'
'And yet he trusted them to get him the information he wanted.'
'And was not disappointed, Pietro—for here we are—' the General nodded towards the hill, '—and there the Bastard is.'
Boselli frowned. The General's high good humour was positively unsettling, but this was no time to suggest by further questions that he, Boselli, was out of sympathy with it because he was too stupid to understand what was going on.
He had never thought of himself as stupid before, but it was clear that he had missed the significance of whatever it was that pleased the General.
He reached forward to the tape recorder.
'But of course he didn't trust them,' said the General. 'It is as well for you to understand that, because you may have to deal with this man Audley again and you must learn how his mind works.'
The General paused thoughtfully. 'He has a good mind, this Englishman—a Renaissance mind. He knows how to threaten without making threats.'
'He threatened them—the Russians?'
'Oh yes. But not in so many words. What he did was to give dummy2
them the blueprint of the threat—the materials . . . a—what do you call it? —a do-it-yourself kit. That is what he gave them—a do-it-yourself kit!'
He grinned boyishly at Boselli, as though his knowledge of such a plebeian thing as do-it-yourself was surprising.
'Don't worry, Pietro—your instinct was right. No one in his right mind trusts a Communist to trade honestly, they are worse than Neapolitans. But you must remember what Audley said to the man Panin that first time at Positano.'
'He was—very frank.'
'Indeed he was. He offered to trade one piece of information for another, and to show his good faith he offered his own information in advance. But what else did he give?'
Boselli thought back. At the time he had thought the Englishman had been unnecessarily talkative, both as regards events in England and in Italy.
'He made sure the Russian knew that he was personally involved —that his wife's life was at stake. He said there had been a shooting in England—' the General's manicured left forefinger marked off each item on the fingers of his right hand, '—and a worse one in Italy. He emphasised that he knew the KGB was not to blame—that the agent Korbel and the Bastard were no better than terrorists—and that the authorities in both countries were prepared to offer terms not only to save the woman but also to avoid unnecessary scandal. He said if the newspapers here got hold of it, with dummy2
the elections approaching, they would make a feast of it, and nobody wanted that—it would only benefit the neo-Fascists and the trouble-makers. He—' The General stopped as he saw the light of understanding in Boselli's eyes, '—you see, Pietro?'
Boselli saw—and saw that he had been absurdly slow in catching on.
