For the Good of the State

’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State (‘“ Your Uncle Stalky is a Great Man” .’ He heard Audley’s voice inside his head. ‘ And Dunsterville was, of course: eight languages, including Chinese and German and Persian, never mind all the Indian dialects. Crammed into the Indian Army from the United Services College—dreadful place… But crammed by Cormell Price, who was a great headmaster. And not an imperialist, even though USC only existed to supply the Empire with dedicated servants— he was “Prooshian Bates, the downy bird” in “Stalky”, Cormell Price… Friend of Swinburne, and William Morris, and Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and Burne-Jones… Kipling should never have been in that school—he wasn’t going into the army. But Cormell Price was the perfect headmaster for him, nevertheless…

But the hell with that, Tom! See how that son-of-a-bitch has ambushed me again! I’ll bet he bloody-well knows I’m wasting time telling you about Cormell Price! ’

‘All right, all right! I get the drift, man. Panin claims Zarubin is half an Englishman, by blood if by nothing else. And Audley knows that this could be true—and we haven’t got anything to say that it isn’t…’ Jaggard trailed off for a moment. ‘But Panin can’t know for sure what we don’t know about Zarubin, or what we do know. So maybe it is true, damn it! So where does that leave us?’

‘It’s why Zarubin’s coming here.’ Tom shook himself free from Kipling and Cormell Price. ‘He’s always wanted to see his father’s birthplace. He’s never made any secret of it, apparently. And this is the first time he’s had the chance.’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State

‘Hmm…’ The silence at the other end suggested that Jaggard was running through Zarubin’s curriculum vitae again. ‘There’s nothing in his record to suggest filial piety. Or any other kind of piety, come to that—he’s a bloodthirsty Dzerzhinsky Centre-trained honours graduate, with a lot of scalps hanging outside his tent. Including your Father Jerzy’s, Arkenshaw, among all the others. In fact… he’s the sort Gorbachev shouldn’t be promoting now… if anything, that’s rather surprising. Except he’s the right age, I suppose.’ Pause. ‘What does Audley say?’

‘Maybe it’s just curiosity—on Zarubin’s part.’

‘Well, it’s damn dangerous curiosity, if there’s a hit-squad waiting for him down there,’ growled Jaggard. ‘It’s full of holes. It stinks, Arkenshaw, it stinks.’

‘Yes, sir—I agree. And that’s why I think we should abort.’ Tom’s heart lightened. ‘If you can intercept Zarubin… then I can warn Panin off. After all, he is playing games on our ground.’

Another growl. ‘Oh yes? And then someone puts a bullet into Zarubin outside the Dorchester one night? Is that it?’

‘We can send Zarubin back home. And Panin with him. Let them solve their own homegrown terrorism and leave us in peace.’ But Tom felt his argument weakening even as he made it: sending Zarubin home would be an unfriendly act, never mind an admission that the UK couldn’t protect a fully-accredited diplomat in her own backyard, even though that was sadly true.

Again the silence lengthened, as Jaggard made the same connections. ‘What does Audley say? Is that what he wants?’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State The son-of-a-bitch has ambushed us, thought Tom bitterly, knowing what he must say, and then exactly how Jaggard would come back to him. ‘He says that either Panin’s up to something nasty, or Zarubin is. But he wants to find out what it is.’ He glanced towards the car, but the old man looked as though he’d given up and gone to sleep. So probably he was dreaming of Kipling and Dunsterville arguing about the pre-Raphaelites with Cormell Price on the windy beaches of Westward Ho! in the 1880s, before fame and Empire and the Caspian Sea overtook them. ‘But what about that shot someone took at Audley yesterday? And what about Basil Cole?’ This time, as he spoke, he decided to get stroppy, with desperation cancelling Jaggard’s huge seniority. ‘Someone has to have come up with something there, for Christ’s sake! Or am I on my own down here, and no one gives a damn what I’m doing—?’

No answer. And the old man in the Cortina across the road was settling himself more comfortably, no longer worried either about time or Panin—or even that he was parked on a blind corner; which only served first to increase Tom’s sense of desperation and isolation as he thought either he’s stupid or he trusts me; but he isn’t stupid, so he trusts me: but if he trusts me, then he is stupid—

‘Apart from which Dr Audley is waiting for me,’ he continued harshly. ‘And that’s what he thinks I’m finding out. So I have to have something to tell him… sir.’

‘Yes.’ After no answer the answer came smoothly now. ‘Don’t worry about that business at Audley’s house. We have that in hand, and it has nothing to do with what you’re engaged in, Tom.’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State So it was Tom again now. ‘What d’you mean—?’ A hideous thought struck Tom between the shoulder-blades, coming appropriately from behind and stopping him in mid-protest. ‘I mean… what about Basil Cole, then? I’ve got to tell him something, damn it!’

‘That’s not so straightforward. Because… the accident seems fair enough, on the face of it. Because, with all the trampling around there, there wasn’t much evidence left. But he wasn’t really very drunk at the time, it seems. Or not morning-drunk, from the stomach contents.’ Pause. ‘And it appears someone got the wife out of the house on a wild-goose chase, at the material time. Which would have given someone else a free run there, when she was away.’ Pause. ‘So that does look like murder, we think.’ Pause.

‘Though whether it was your “Sons of the Eagle” or the Other Side, we don’t know yet.’ Pause. ‘So you just give him that, and embroider it a bit… Cole’s wife helps out at a hospital there, running relatives to visit their next-of-kin when it comes to the last rites. And she was given an urgent address by someone—someone they can’t trace, at the wrong address. That’s the strength of it, and we’re working on it. But… for the rest—’ Jaggard’s ingratiating tone dropped away from his voice, like a drop-tank from an old-fashioned fighter-plane as it zoomed into combat ‘— if that’s what Audley wants, then he’s in charge, Arkenshaw. And your job is simply to keep him in one piece. How may times do I have to spell it out for you?’

How many times, indeed! But then, even beyond the recurrent memory of his promises to Audley’s wife and daughter, Jaggard’s Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State crude image conjured up the man himself squelching through Farmer Bodgeir’s yard not half-an-hour previously—Audley sobered by his own responsibility for Tom Arkenshaw as he thought of blown-up legs and arms and heads joining together on the latter day. ‘You’re going to have to spell it out every time you talk to me. Because I didn’t like the odds yesterday, and I like them even less today. I think we’re going to be in trouble before we’ve finished down here. And I want to put that on record.’

Silence.

Tom took a deep breath. ‘Someone tried to kill Audley yesterday.