A Prospect of Vengeance

'

She wasn't beginning to frighten him. She was frightening him. 'Doing what?'

She shrugged. 'Doing whatever it was told to do. Doing what comes naturally — I don't know ... I tell you, I'm not sure dummy2

yet . . . Trouble-shooting? Or maybe trouble-making.' She blew a strand of hair which had fallen across her face.

'Because ... as well as being very secret, I do rather get the impression that it may not be too popular in certain circles, whatever it is — whatever it does, exactly — ' She seized the fallen strand and tried to push it back on top, releasing a whole cascade in the process ' — damn!'

Ian accepted the diversion gratefully. That last revelation at least told him something about her source. Indeed, it fitted into the original dialogue she'd eavesdropped on to make a familiar pattern. In any investigation, the enemies of the subject of the investigation — or even, if the subject was an organization of some sort, any disaffected members within it

— were prime sources of information. And . . . although this source sounded more like an outsider than an insider ... it was hardly surprising that the 'Clinton-Butler' organization had its enemies, even on its 'own' side, never mind among its proper and official opponents.

'Well?' Jenny abandoned the wreckage of her bird's-nest.

'What do you say to all that then, Ian?'

Its opponents! he thought, staring suddenly at the window with a stab of disquiet. He had somehow taken it for granted that those watchers (if they were there — ?) would be Special Branch, if not MI5. But they could be — who?

'Yes.' She grinned happily. 'It does account for our sudden popularity, doesn't it, darling?'

'That's not the word I was thinking of.' At least he hadn't dummy2

betrayed his fear. 'Is this what you told Woodward? Or Parsons?'

The grin twisted. 'Oh, come on, darling! As our Reg might say, 'Would I do that, Mr Robinson?' Of course not.'

'So what did you tell them?'

She sighed. 'What did I say to them? Well, I said to Dick:

'Richard, darling ... do you recall that nice Civil Servant named Philip Masson, who was tragically lost at sea, when he fell off his yacht in the Channel nine or ten years ago?' And he said: 'Jenny darling, that wouldn't be the same fellow whose body has just turned up in a wood somewhere, without his lifebelt?'' She smiled. 'I was very circumspect, you see.'

'Get on with it, Jen.'

'All right, all right! So I said: 'Yes, darling — the one all your chaps are running around in circles trying to find out about, to no avail . . . How would you like the serial rights for our book on what really happened, darling? Or shall I go to Rupert Murdoch instead — ?' And that was when he patted his cheque-book. Plus, of course, darling Clive will put his cash up front, as usual.' The innocent face vanished. 'So what do you say to that, then?'

She was too damn sure of herself. 'I'd say he's wasting his money. And so are we — and our time, too.'

She frowned. 'What d'you mean?'

The trouble was, he wasn't at all sure of himself. 'If what you dummy2

say is true ... if there is a Clinton-Butler operation of some sort, on the level you suggest . . . and if the man Audley was somehow involved with Masson's death ... for heaven's sake, Jen! It's going to be buried deeper than we're likely to be able to dig — that for a start — '

'The hell with that!' She snapped at him. 'Who said we can't?

Who's better than us — you and me?' The Fielding bosom inflated angrily, and pointed at him. 'Besides which, as you well know . . . once you know there's a secret, there's always a way of uncovering it — ' She caught her anger as she observed his face. 'We've done it before, Ian. We did it in Beirut — didn't we?'

'Yes.' And it was a commentary on her that she still didn't understand what a damned close-run thing that had been —

and how much the memory of it still scared him. And how much the same memory ought to frighten her. 'But this is different.'

'How — different?'

'For a start . . . because they won't let us publish. Even if Dick Woodward is willing to stick his neck out. Which he won't be.'

'Oh — come on!' The fire kindled again. 'Just because of Peter Wright, and all that ... We haven't signed the Official Secrets Act — we aren't going to publish secret documents — at least, not unless we can get hold of any, that is — ' She smiled grimly at him through the flames. The Peter Wright thing doesn't stop us: he's made it Open Season, more like — don't dummy2

you see, Ian?'

'No. I don't see. There's still the law, Jen — '

'The law?' She stopped for an instant. 'Well, I don't know . . .

But I've talked to Simon Lovell about that. And he says that practicalities are going to come into that now — or im practicalities, where they're dealing with people like us: he says that 'acquisition'