thing they could do about it.
Hungary was so important to them that they more or less decided just to make loud noises about anything we did in the Middle East, but nothing more than that. In short, Nasser could take his chances, but if we moved one tank towards Hungary the balloon would go up ... Oh, and a fellow called Andropov was usually chairman.'
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'Yuri Andropov?'
'Just Andropov. They didn't run to Christian names. Who's he?'
'He was their Hungarian ambassador. Top brass KGB.'
'Sounds like the chap. Anyway, that's about the sum of what I was able to read, if it's any help to you . . . Which I assume it isn't, because the Frogs must have passed a good deal of it on to your people by way of encouragement. And it's all ancient history now, as I say—' he stopped suddenly.
'Except . . . there's always the identity of their Moscow man, of course.'
'The satellite specialist?'
'That was my guess. It could be one of several people, but it wouldn't be too difficult to track him down—just a matter of textual analysis and elimination . . . Is he what you're after?
Or the encyphered stuff?' Audley eyed him speculatively.
'But you'd need the full text, either way, and that's obviously what you want, judging by that sick look.'
'Does d'Auberon know you looked at what he gave you?'
'I shouldn't wonder. He merely put me on my honour not to get it photocopied, that's all ... the transcripts and the encyphered stuff—you want 'em both, so one probably complements the other ...' Audley was thinking aloud.
'You didn't get it photocopied, by any chance?'
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Are you trying to be offensive? I told you—I owe the man my skin.' All the same, Audley spoke mildly, as though he was only giving Roche half his attention while the other half was engaged in more important matters. 'So what's your position now?'
Roche persisted. 'My position?'
'Would you be willing to help me try and get it?' Audley stared at him vaguely. 'That's what I'm thinking about at this precise moment.'
'You mean . . . you would?'
'Oh yes. Now that I've given it back, and fulfilled my bargain, I don't owe the blighter anything. And I'd still like to be an organ-grinder, you know ...' He focussed on Roche. 'How long have you known I had the d'Auberon stuff?'
'Why d'you want to know?'
'Not long?' Audley crushed the counter-question aside.
'Only a few days?'
'I'd guess . . . not very long,' admitted Roche. 'If you mean how long has Clinton known . . . But why d'you want to know?'
'Timing . . . it's the timing. You popped the question to me at the first opportunity—now, even before breakfast. So Clinton must be pushing you like hell, to go ahead. Am I right?'
Roche nodded. It was almost time to tell Audley about Meriel Stephanides, and the question mark beside Bradford's name.
But he might as well see how far Audley could get unaided.
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'Timing?' he prodded Audley gently.
'That's right: you were damn quick
Roche forbore to let slip that in his opinion it was d'Auberon's placing of the documents in Audley's care in the first place which was surprising, not his hasty recovery of them at the first sign of danger. And yet it seemed that the Frenchman had judged his Englishman just about right in the end.
'Or are you holding out on me?' Audley gave him a sharp look.
'Holding out?'
'Who else knows about d'Auberon—and me? My God—if the British know, and d'Auberon's got the wind up, then half the world probably knows!' Mr Hyde was back again.
'What's the matter?' The Hyde-look alarmed Roche.
'Steffy,' snapped Audley.
Roche manned his defences. 'I don't know.'
'Don't know if it was an accident? Who was she working for?
The Israelis?'
'Yes. And Bradford is with the CIA, we think.'
'Are you suggesting that Mike had her run off the road last dummy5