For the Good of the State

washers, anyway. Just go and find out whether there’s anything up ahead between us and the cocktail bar in the Adlon Hotel in Berlin, there’s a good fellow! And if there isn’t, then order six bottles of their best Champagne on my account —understood?” ’ The old man’s pleasure in his old soldier’s memory was like a hot bottle in a cold bed in mid-winter. ‘Understood, Tom?’

‘Understood, David.’ Only he needed to take his speculator’s profit on a favourable market. ‘But I still need to make my phone-call —I want to know what the cooks and the bottle-washers have been doing—okay?’

Audley shrugged, and started to move again. ‘No harm in that, I suppose… just so you don’t tell ’em anything. No point in worrying ‘em—old Jack particularly. He worries about me a lot when I’m out of his reach, you know—’ The rest was lost, half-mumbled at an increasing distance, leaving Tom momentarily rooted to his spot by an onrush of sympathy for Colonel Butler, who must surely be as long-suffering as he was remarkable in other respects.

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Then he remembered Dunsterforce, which he would need very soon to explain to Jaggard. The trouble was… getting any sort of straight answer out of the old man in his present elliptical mood (or probably in any mood, come to that) didn’t lend itself to speed; and the last thing he wanted was a lecture on post-World War One Anglo- American policy in the Near and Middle East—he’d had enough of the 1985 results of that old impossible tangle, for Christ’s sake!

Besides which—

‘Wait for me, David!’ But Audley took not a blind bit of notice.

Besides which what was he going to tell Jaggard? (Audley was already halfway to the car, his raincoat flapping around him like a pair of pale wings; and that reminded him of his original job, and also that he was getting careless: because that almost-white raincoat stood out too much for safety against the faded green of the landscape; and because Henry Jaggard hadn’t told him the half of it—because Henry Jaggard was up to something, and Henry Jaggard couldn’t be trusted!)

He had no time to tell Jaggard about Willy. And could he tell Jaggard what Audley was doing, when Audley himself still didn’t really know what Panin was up to?

Bloody Dunsterforce! First things first. (Audley, large and white, had reached the car—and the sooner he was safe inside it, the better. That ought to have been ahead of first: that was more carelessness!)

He broke into a run, forgetting everything for a moment—

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Audley gave up trying to wrench the car door open and stood waiting for him, getting larger and whiter by the second.

He reached the car himself finally, breathless and careless, and happily ridiculous. ‘Sorry, David. I locked it.’ The gun under his arm felt huge.

‘I know you locked it. But do you really think anyone would steal a heap like this—from a muddy farmyard?’ The-old man regarded him pityingly.

‘Just habit.’ Beirut habit, thought Tom, and it was a disturbing thought. But it was a thought he had unthought too easily until now. ‘Go and stand over there, by the end of the barn.’

‘Just unlock the door, there’s a good fellow.’

Tom sighed. ‘Just go and stand by the barn—round the corner of it.’

‘What the devil—?’ The old man’s shoulders slumped suddenly.

‘For God’s sake… you don’t really think…?’ Then he straightened up again. ‘Or are you trying to frighten me? Because you’re succeeding, you know.’

‘Good.’ Tom pointed towards the barn. ‘Don’t be difficult, David.

I won’t take long.’

‘I should hope not! I have wet feet and a cold. And I’m past my prime.’ Audley held up his hand and started backing away. ‘All right, all right—just don’t do yourself an injury. Your dear Mother would never forgive me…’

Tom waited until the old man was out of sight. ‘Actually, this isn’t going to be very difficult—can you hear me?’

‘Yes—’ Sneeze ‘—no?’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State

‘We parked on nice mud… just hoofprints and our footprints, I think—nice distinctive prints, too!’

‘Of course,’ agreed Audley. ‘Like Shakespeare said.’

Tom opened the passenger’s door gingerly. Then he leaned across to the driver’s. ‘What d’you mean— Shakespeare?’ He unlocked the bonnet. ‘Shakespeare?’

‘Henry V, dear boy. The night before Agincourt.’

Nothing anywhere there. Look in the boot. Look under the seats.

‘The night—’ Nothing anywhere: false alarm? ‘— ’before Agincourt?‘

‘Uh-huh. Like young Harry said: “Every subject’s duty is the king’s; but every subject’s soul is his own.”’ Sneeze. ‘Joke, Tom: sole, not soul… Not very good, but the best I can manage in the circumstances: you said “footprints”, and I said “sole”—okay?’

‘Very good.’ Check everything again, was the rule.

‘Not really. Not in these circumstances, actually, it occurs belatedly to me— bad joke, in fact. Is there a bomb in our car?’

‘You can come out now.’ Tom drew a deep breath. ‘False alarm, David.’

Audley squelched across the yard. ‘But with good intent.’

‘Yes.’ Tom knew he was smiling like an idiot. ‘It was a good joke.’