For the Good of the State

The deafening explosion outside the room which cut him off seemed, in its own fraction of time, more than the gun-shot it was: it was almost a physical concussion of shocked surprise inside Tom, wrong-footing him mentally even as the second shot followed it almost instantaneously.

Ever afterwards he saw the next seconds in slow motion, fragmented frame by frame: the man Szymiac is staring at Panin, with his mouth open: the mouth is framing a word, but the ringing echoes from the hall, together with a splintering-crashing-thumping all-in-one sound blot out the word; Panin himself is throwing his shoulder against Audley, away from the door on the very edge of his vision: the man Szymiac is also moving, so fast even in slow motion as to be a blur, clawing as he moves inside his buttoned-up jacket; and the sound and jerk of his own Smith and Wesson are overtaken by another and much louder explosion in the Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State doorway behind him; and, finally and somehow always strangely in the slow motion progression, the man Szymiac stops in his sideways movement and is thrown backwards, slammed against the wall by his own and Sadowski’s bullets.

But the slow motion itself ceased then, as he whirled towards the doorway, flinging aside Audley’s raincoat to face Sadowski and then freezing as the Major slowly lowered his revolver, two-handed, until it pointed at the floor —at, in fact, a single coat-button with a long thread attached to it which lay midway between them on the threadbare carpet.

Tom sniffed, and smelt burnt cloth; which perplexed him for only a moment, as his eye caught the edge of the tangled wreckage of Audley’s coat, through which he had fired; which made him think, with a touch of hysteria, Mrs Audley won’t like that—poor old David’ll never be able to explain all those burnholes as a carelessly thrown away cigar butt, because none of us smokes— the best thing he can do is say he lost the whole coat somewhere—

‘You… bloody… bastard,’ breathed Audley. ‘You… bastard!’

Panin looked away, to where the man Szymiac lay tumbled awkwardly against the wall, in an inhumanly uncomfortable position and quite without dignity, reminding Tom of Beirut scenes he had been working to forget. Then Panin was looking at Sadowski, who returned the look without the least sign of emotion, let alone apology, before he turned away back into the hall.

‘You bastard.’ On his third repetition Audley sounded almost conversational. ‘You never intended to talk to them—did you?’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Panin faced him again. ‘A most unfortunate accident, Dr Audley.

Major Sadowski was obviously forced to protect himself. And—’

He flicked a glance at Tom ‘—and Sir Thomas reacted in the same manner, of course. With the most commendable speed too, if I may say so.’ No trace of irony: the Russian’s tone was as bland as his face was expressionless. ‘But that, of course, was an inevitable sequel to what had gone before.’

‘Yes—of course.’ Audley blew his nose on his bedraggled handkerchief. ‘Do put that damned thing away, Tom.’

Tom slid the Smith and Wesson back into Its holster.

Audley blew his nose again. ‘Or, if not a sequel to a most unfortunate accident, the second part of a most fortunate and deliberate double murder?’

Panin actually produced a frown. ‘A… double murder, Dr Audley?’

‘That’s right: a double murder to which—as you always intended—

I have just been a witness. Or practically an accomplice… although not even you could have expected such luck in advance. So just a witness.’ Audley glanced again at Szymiac’s body, and then moved so that he faced away from it. ‘But now, presumably, I am cast as the undertaker, with no questions asked? And the First Gravedigger too, maybe? With Sir Thomas as my assistant? Is that my next role? Do let me know, Professor.’

Panin started to shrug, but then stopped. ‘I cannot accept your alternative suggestion, Dr Audley. But… as to what you should do now, I would not presume to advise you what to do, in your own country.’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State

‘Ah… my own country!’ Audley accepted the scoring point without any good loser’s grace. ‘You’re giving it back to me now, are you?’

‘You misunderstand me—’

‘No I bloody don’t! But do go on—?’

Panin coughed. ‘I was going to say… my Government would certainly not appreciate publicity in this unfortunate matter—’

‘I’ll bet they wouldn’t!’ With Audley, an invitation to ‘go on’

evidently had only a five seconds’ life. ‘And maybe you wouldn’t either? Or was this massacre cleared from the start?’ An edge of bitterness entered the old man’s voice. ‘Without Basil Cole I find it a little difficult to put two- and-two together—as I’m sure you foresaw I might… But I shall pick up all the pieces in the end, never fear!’ He grinned falsely. ‘So what are you offering in exchange for amnesty and oblivion, then?’

Panin seemed taken aback. ‘What am I offering? My good David, if I am in some slight difficulty perhaps… then you are in some much more considerable difficulty undoubtedly, I would have thought!’ He cocked his head slightly at Audley. ‘A shared secret

—’

‘—Won’t do!’ Audley shook his head quickly. ‘You are mistaking the nature of our positions again: my difficulty may—or may not—

be more considerable than yours. But I don’t give a bugger about that: before they can sack me I’ll quit, and warm my feet on my investments, and to hell with them! But your difficulty… what makes you think I’m going to sweep this under the carpet? Do you Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State think you can just walk away from this?’