The Old Vengeful

I'm getting careless, like Novikov ... or maybe not like Novikov ...'

'Yes, Paul.' Excitement was only a thin skin on top of fear, she realised: 'the field' was no more than an abbreviation of

'the battlefield', where men died.

'What evidence.' He was a silhouette against a skyline faintly lightened by the illumination of the old city. 'It was always on the cards that they'd stage a diversion of some kind. What I don't know is whether you were planned to be that diversion, or whether they're bright enough—and quick enough—to take advantage of you when you turned up out of the blue . . . I just don't know . . .'

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He was speaking as much to himself as to her, and she didn't dare disturb his line of thought. Because this was something she'd never seen before—never heard, never even remotely imagined: this was a man struggling with a problem which involved not only his comfort, or his business—his job, his livelihood, his income . . . even the security of his country, which he was paid to safeguard—but his life—

And her life too?

'If there was a Russian Audley running the operation I'd guess this is pure opportunism—that they didn't know about you, but you fitted the bill so perfectly that they dropped everything else in preference for you—in preference for the old Vengeful.'

It was strange, but she wasn't cold any more. The thought of Father, and what he had done, had chilled her; but now she was aware of the warm darkness all around her, and of the slightest prickle of sweat at her throat.

The silhouette changed, and she was aware that he had turned back inwards, to face her. 'Guessing isn't evidence—if that's what you are about to say—I'm aware of that. But I'm not guessing when I say they have Audley-watchers over there, on the other side. I could even give you a name—the name of one of them whom we know about, if it would mean anything to you. And he's a scholar, like Audley ... an archaeologist, not an historian, but a Russian Audley, all the same.' He nodded at her. 'He'd know very well how obsessed David is with the past. And if he knows Audley's in charge on dummy3

this side . . . and that's a reasonable assumption by now . . .

then the evidence starts to pile up.'

She wanted to say What evidence? again, but instinct ruled against it.

'Contemporaneity, Elizabeth—that's the first piece: unconnected things which happen at the same time, and then influence each other. Your father died . . . and Lippy died

—and they were both old men, so that wasn't out of the ordinary . . . And Ray Tuck was in trouble, and Danny Kahn was greedy—that's nothing special, either. But all those were their contemporaneous events, not ours, do you see?'

Instinct still silenced her.

'Your Vengeful, let's say . . . But there was also our Vengeful

—or what David Audley made of our 'Vengeful'—really their

'Project Vengeful', which I'm inclined to think now has nothing to do with yours, Elizabeth. Nothing whatsoever.'

Instinct snapped. 'But, Paul, if—'

'He made a mistake—' he overrode her '—or, not quite a mistake ... He wanted this job for himself so badly ... or he didn't want someone else to get it ... that he used your Vengeful to get it.' The silhouette nodded at her again. 'And maybe it was that someone else who put out the word that the great David Audley was at work—' shrug'—or maybe I'm doing him an injustice . . . maybe the Russians spotted me sniffing about—that's probably more like it. Because if I've added up two and two correctly I'm the one who hasn't been dummy3

so clever. And that's what worries me, Elizabeth dear—if this is going wrong, then I'm to blame too. And I've got enough on my conscience already . . . like, sometimes I feel too much like the Angel of Death flying over the battlefield—'

' Paul!' His voice had become too elaborately casual for conviction when she could sense the mixture of fear and guilt emanating from him. 'If what you say is true—what about that Russian who was watching me?'

'Novikov?' The voice cracked. 'Elizabeth—Novikov is the best bit of evidence of all! Novikov is a pro—a top- flight pro!'

'Yes? So what, Paul? You spotted him—'

'I spotted him? Damn it, Elizabeth—even you spotted him!

Doesn't that tell you anything? Christ! Do you remember when that little bugger Aske said 'No one follows me when I don't want him to', or something like? Do you think anyone spots Aske on his tail when he doesn't want him to?' Paul momentarily lost his cool. 'Christ, Elizabeth! Novikov's ten times the man Aske will ever be—if he didn't want to be seen, neither of us would have seen him, don't you understand?'

This time it was the mixture of his anger and his self-contempt which silenced her.

'He followed me, Elizabeth—and I didn't see him, because he's better than me. But then he let me see him—and from that moment the old Vengeful was afloat again, with a vengeance—can you at least understand that? David Audley may have baited the hook himself, but it was Novikov who dummy3

made the sinker bob up and down—and we all swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. And now it's stuck in my throat, and I can't bloody well dislodge it—that's what I'm saying!'

She could see most of it at last; part of it darkly, or indistinctly, because it was out of her experience; but she could see the loom of it through the half-light and the mist, like some great three-decker bearing down on her with