The Memory Trap

you, Billy?'

Pitt grimaced. 'Yes — well, Dr Audley . . . we're doing our best. And, because we happen to have a SURE- exercise in place, our best isn't too bad.' But then one honesty collided with another. 'Only, if he used to work for Sir Frederick Clinton, then he'll know the ropes. So our best may still not be quite good enough, if he keeps his head.'

'But that doesn't matter.' Charlie Renshaw stirred again.

'Because once he's here he'll be a darn-sight safer. And we stand a darn-sight better chance of picking him up too, I should hope — once he's here, Commander?' Having delivered a Cabinet Office-eye-view of What Ought to Happen, Charlie dropped the unfortunate Commander in favour of Audley. 'You'll be advising how we should go about dummy1

that, I take it, David?'

'Uh-huh.' Audley temporized. 'I think my best advice is to let him come to us — whether he's here or not, Charlie.'

Charlie brightened. 'You think he will?'

'After Capri, I think he must — sooner or later.' It was always a pleasure to do business with the Honourable Charles Renshaw. 'If I'm even halfways right about what happened on Capri, then he'll be in even more of a — ah —a quandary than we are, I shouldn't wonder — '

'Scared shitless, you mean?' Charlie swung quickly towards Miss Franklin. 'I do beg your pardon, Miss Franklin — scared witless, I meant to say.'

'Please don't worry, Mr Renshaw. 'Scared shitless' would seem to be an accurate description of everyone's condition at this moment — even Mr Aston's friends in the Russian Embassy, apparently — ' She drew the FCO man into the conversation ' — you were just saying, Leonard — ?'

Leonard Aston gave a dry little cough, and then touched his lips with a very white handkerchief. 'There is a certain nervousness, it seems. And there have been comings and goings.'

'More comings than goings.' Charlie Renshaw nodded towards Audley. 'They're exchanging old Brunovski for a hard-faced character named Voyshinski — Boris Voyshinski.

Do you know of him, David? Wasn't he on that list of yours?'

'Uh-huh.' No intelligence report ever passed Charlie unread.

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'One of the new promotions. Upped from colonel to general in the KGB in the spring.'

'With a St Mikhail label on his underpants?' Renshaw glanced at Jaggard. 'Told you so, Henry. That makes us the operational centre, eh?'

'And it also confirms what Dr Audley has just said about Major Richardson,' Miss Franklin added her nod to Renshaw's, but then turned to Audley. 'And . . . since you are the expert on the New Order, Dr Audley . . . isn't your old friend Colonel Zimin an associate of General Voyshinski? Or an old army comrade, anyway?'

'Yes, Miss Franklin.' She knew her stuff, quite evidently. But, more immediately, the appearance of Boris Voyshinski in London raised the stakes of whatever game the Russians were playing enormously — almost outrageously. 'Will someone kindly tell me what is happening?'

'We were rather hoping you were going to enlighten us there, David.' Henry Jaggard leaned forward slightly to emphasize the order beneath this superficially polite request. 'We have learnt the bare details of what appears to have occurred on Capri. But we have not yet had an account of your — ah —

your conversation with Colonel Zimin.'

Audley met Charlie Renshaw's eyes. 'Are you going to tell me, Charlie?'

'No.' But then Renshaw grinned. 'You tell him, Billy.'

That put the unfortunate Commander Pitt midway between dummy1

the Cabinet Office and its Intelligence Service, and in something of a quandary as to which of those two awkward masters to obey.

'Oh, for Christ's sake!' Renshaw produced one of his controlled explosions of irritation. 'It's exactly as Jack Butler's just been telling us: we drag David back from Washington when we don't know what's happening — and now, but for the grace of God, we might have been bringing him back from Berlin in a coffin, too . . . and then we throw him in the deep end in Italy, on the assumption that he'll pull our chestnuts out of the fire —eh?' he looked around the table.

Charlie had always been a great one for mixed metaphors, thought Audley. And they usually came in threes.

'But for once he hasn't — okay?' Renshaw fixed his eye on Jaggard. 'And now he objects to playing pig-in-the- middle, with himself always cast as the pig. And I don't blame him.'

He dropped Jaggard for Commander Pitt. 'Tell him, Billy.

And then we'll see what he can make of it. Which I bloody well hope is more than I can. Okay?'

'Of course — ' Jaggard moved smoothly into the fractional instant of silence before Commander Pitt caved in ' — you're quite right, Charles. And I had taken Sir Jack's point — ' The smoothness oozed over Butler and Audley as well' — when he defended your actions in Italy . . . not to say your courage, in going in like that by yourself, after what happened in Berlin.

You were, after all, only obeying orders —I do agree!'

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Nobody was better at putting the boot in than Jaggard. And now he had very skilfully left everyone with the impression that either Butler had given a defective order, which had then been incompetently obeyed, or (which they were more likely to be thinking) he had unwisely left the decision to Audley himself, who had then cocked things up. And there was just enough truth in each of those alternatives to render any explanations self- defeating.