The Memory Trap

But we got the better of them, eventually . . . with some help from the Russians, as well as the Germans.' This time —grin!

'We always end up on the winning side, Colonel.'

'I see.' The disadvantage of such crude time-buying was that it bought them both time. 'And is it history which brings you here now, Dr Audley? Or are you on holiday — ? Is Mrs Audley down there, in the town? And Miss Audley with her, perhaps?'

Audley watched the Russian take in the view again, from the ruins directly below them to far-off Capri-town, and even more distant Anacapri on its mountain beyond, before he finally came back to the ruins and Audley himself.

'No.' There was one bonus to all this, among all these hideous new uncertainties: Peter Richardson would not be joining this meeting, as it was at present constituted in full view of wherever he was down there below. With Zimin here — and, even more, with the chunky man in attendance — that was certain. So, with Peter out of mind, he could afford to strengthen his position by dismissing all the small talk. 'I'm working. And . . . although it's a pleasure to meet you again ...

I must admit that I'm also surprised to see you here, Colonel.'

Zimin studied him for a moment. Then he drew a deep breath. But, before he could speak, Chunky snapped dummy1

something in Russian, far too quickly and urgently for Audley to understand.

Zimin grunted, and then reached forward, first to touch Audley's arm, and then to hold it, pulling him gently away from the white railings — at least, pulling him gently, because he surrendered to the pressure. 'Dr Audley — if you please?'

Audley let himself be led, away round the squat chapel and into the shadow of what was very obviously not the statue of the Emperor Tiberius, Ruler of the World, but of the Virgin Mary, Queen of Heaven.

'Thank you.' Zimin glanced past him for a second, and then at him. 'I am also surprised, Dr Audley — that you are here.'

They were now infinitely past small talk. 'You're surprised that I'm alive — is that it?'

Zimin drew a breath. 'I am ... relieved that you are alive.'

The rules hadn't changed. It was simply that there were new rules, apparently. 'Then . . . that makes us both relieved, Colonel Zimin. As well as surprised.'

Zimin took another look past him, presumably to make sure that Chunky was still doing his job. 'You are here to meet with the man Peter Richardson, I take it?' Then he nodded, and it wasn't a question. 'He is a former colleague, of course

— yes?'

Berlin still could have been the Russians, in theory. And, by the same theory, Capri could still be Audley as well as dummy1

Richardson, just as Berlin ought to have been Audley and Kulik. Only that wasn't the way Capri felt, somehow.

'He is.' No use denying what they knew. But that was no reason for admitting more too readily yet, even though Zimin knew more than he did. 'And supposing I am here to meet him?'

'Then we have a common interest.'

Audley considered the cards he had in his hand unhappily, and almost with despair. His only trump was his belief that Richardson would be lying low, if not gone already. But that was the one card he couldn't safely play while Zimin had all the others.

'A common interest?' Suddenly he had another certainty, which lifted the huge weight of fear off his back almost magically as it also clarified Berlin. If the Russians had simply been concerned to kill Richardson — with or without the aid of another surrogate Arab assassin — then a man of Zimin's seniority would never be in attendance, even as an observer. Not even in the bad old days, let alone now (when appearances mattered), would that have been KGB/GRU

style so to compromise men for whom diplomatic status was routinely required across the world.

So he was safe!

'A common interest?' He realized that Zimin had been waiting for something better than that. And . . . and now that he was safe, he could see more clearly that there was only one dummy1

reason why Colonel Zimin should have come to Capri, dropping all his other important duties . . . just as 'the celebrated Dr Audley' had been forced to do. 'You'd like a word with him too, Colonel?'

The happy thought expanded. Because, if the Russians knew better what was happening than he did (and they could hardly know worse), it was now at least possible that they didn't know everything, if they had sent Zimin to bring in Richardson.

'We would not like any harm to come to him.' Zimin ducked the question smoothly. 'Our first concern, naturally, is for his safety. As I am sure yours is, Dr Audley. So you have also taken other precautions, of course — as we have?'

God — that put him on the line! Because that meant Zimin and Chunky weren't the only KGB tourists admiring the ruins of the Villa Jovis right now: Chunky was simply Colonel Zimin's private minder, with other 'tourists' down below, among the passages and stairways and in the trees. And that was the other reason why Zimin had tightened up on seeing him: he had only been an unexpected ghost for that half-second which the Colonel had needed to remember that he didn't believe in ghosts. But, after that, he had been consumed by the fear that there must be British tourists down there too, sniffing his own men suspiciously.

There was no help for it. With the Russians as twitchy as this, the possibility of appalling accidents multiplied, involving innocent people. And, for Jack Butler's sake, he couldn't take dummy1

that risk —