For the Good of the State

They were moving. And there was a surge of 2-litre power under his foot now, and a clear road ahead and behind, for the time being.

Audley muttered again. And then sneezed again, and blew his nose again, to demonstrate that his cold was much worse this morning, as well as his temper.

Tom put his foot down, listening to the sound of the engine above the other assorted rattles from all sorts of places around him, inside and outside and underneath ‘the good runner’.

‘If there’s one thing I hate—’ Audley managed to speak at last, and with cold concentration ‘—or two things… or maybe even three things—’ A paroxysm of sneezes engulfed all the things he hated.

Still nothing behind. Which was reassuring, even if it also shamed Tom a little for all the proper precautions he had wished on the poor old bugger this morning, before and after their hasty breakfast.

‘What do you hate, David?’ Still nothing. And what made him feel worse was that he felt better himself: better after last night (which had been better than better); and better because there still wasn’t anything behind, as they climbed up on to the high shoulder of Cherwell Down, into open moorland, where anything behind would be nakedly following; and best of all (although that was Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State treacherous to Willy, to think it best), because he had always wanted to see Mountsorrel—(to hell with them all—Jaggard and Audley, Panin and his po-faced Minder… even, almost, with Willy herself!)— he had always wanted to see Mountsorrel! ‘What do you hate, David?’

Audley emitted a growling sound, half hate and half common head-cold. ‘I hate Ford Cortinas—and particularly two-tone brown Cortinas!’

Now that, thought Tom happily, was irrational, in the circumstances. ‘Two-tone Cortinas, David?’ There was nothing behind, for a mile or more.

‘My wife bought one once, fourth-hand—’ Audley caught himself suddenly, as though he realized at last what a fool he was making of himself. ‘Damn it, Tom! What the hell are we supposed to be doing at the moment?’

That was fair enough. ‘We’re just taking precautions, David.

That’s all.’ But he mustn’t sympathize with Audley too much.

‘What other things do you hate?’

‘Huh!’ Audley was getting back his cool, in spite of his cold. ‘I’m too old to enjoy your precautions—if that’s what you mean by all this bloody cloak-and-dagger business.’

Should he count ‘cloak-and-dagger’ as Things Two and Three?

‘But I’m your Minder—remember, David?’

‘Remember?’ The old man slumped down resignedly. ‘How could I forget?’ He sniffed against the cold. ‘Although it’s a bloody long time since I’ve been professionally-minded… But no—I Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State remember…’ Then he gestured towards the battered dashboard, with its gaping hole where the radio had been. ‘This is a precaution, is it?’

They came to the cross-roads on the top. ‘This is a different car.

The one we had yesterday was in the hotel car park all night. So I couldn’t watch it absolutely.’ So I was busy last night—okay? ‘So now we’ve got a clean car.’

Grunt. ‘Metaphorically speaking.’ Grunt— sneeze—

Poor old bugger! ‘It was the first place that offered cars for hire, David.’

End of sneeze. ‘So you’re into not trusting anyone, then? Even here?’ Audley considered his handkerchief with distaste, much as he had surveyed the Cortina. ‘Or do you know something I don’t know?’

He mustn’t think ‘ Poor old bugger’ again. ‘We’re meeting Panin this morning—“in the open”, like he wants… And someone took a shot at you yesterday, David—and you didn’t think that was his doing, I know. But that doesn’t matter, because if it wasn’t him then it was someone else… In fact, I’d rather it bloody-well was him—at least we’d know it then, wouldn’t we!’ He put his foot down again, and began to think better of the garage man in spite of the body-rattles. ‘But, in any case, there’s also poor Basil Cole to bear in mind: somebody knows too damn much—you said so yourself. So a bit of cloak-and-dagger is fair enough. Okay?’

Audley said nothing for a few seconds. Then he harumphed chestily, and fumbled again for his handkerchief, and finally blew Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State his nose again. ‘You’re saying someone— somebody— may have bugged that big black monster of yours last night? To keep tabs on us today? Someone— somebody— who managed to follow us all the way to the Green Man last night?’ He paused, to let the memory of the M4/M5 drive speak for him. ‘Like Superman, perhaps?’

It was time to poach Audley to rights. But it might be as well to do it circumspectly. ‘It could have been bugged when I left it outside Basil Cole’s house last evening, David—they could have been watching and waiting for us… So I was careless there: we should have changed horses somewhere down the line yesterday, instead of here… just in case.’ And now was the time to frighten him.

‘Or… alternatively…’

He didn’t have to drive far before Audley cracked. ‘Alternatively

—?’

They were already coming off the high moor, down into one of those ancient valleys where prehistoric men had grubbed a living of sorts: and, in the case of this particular valley, where Gilbert of Mountsorrel had briefly been king of his castle in King Stephen’s short days.

‘Come clean, Tom, damn you!’ snapped Audley.

Tom frowned at the long downhill road ahead. They had come back too quickly to Audley’s ‘ Do you know something I don’t know?’ when he had thought he’d headed the old man off the question. ‘Come clean—?’