'Cancel their exercise. Put 'em into Maerdy Castle, as their headquarters. Patrols out — ten-mile radius.' He nodded enthusiastically. 'If Lukianov is still loose, there has to be some sort of emergency still in force. And if I'm right about Richardson and his spade, and a Spetsnaz arms dump . . .
Charlie Renshaw said we weren't to cause any trouble. So this way we'll be preventing trouble —Lukianov trouble and Russian trouble, Mary.'
She thought for a moment, 'If you are right. . . But, if you aren't?'
'Then I shall have egg on my face.' It would be Henry Jaggard who would have to accept the egg officially, that was what she was thinking. And while that only made the idea more attractive to him it would hardly further her career. 'You can blame me.'
'I'm not thinking about blame.'
He kicked himself. 'No — of course. You're thinking about dummy1
Lukianov — quite rightly.' He nodded. 'Just as I am thinking also of Berlin. And Capri, too.' That was a better line. 'And Peter Richardson, Miss Franklin.'
She stared at the car in front, without answering.
They slowed down to a snail's-pace now, crawling past a derelict little cottage, boarded up and forlorn, but still with the last flowers of autumn colouring its overgrown garden.
'No.' Mary Franklin came to a decision. 'If the Russians aren't in any hurry ... we can arrange matters better from Hereford, Dr Audley.'
They stopped altogether.
Audley also came to a decision. 'Well, on my head be it, then.'
It was just like with Elizabeth: when you were out of a car you were free. But he had to move quickly once again, before the convoy started up again. Even as it was, he could only see the two rearmost trucks, stationary on the bend ahead of the Porsche.
Mitchell lowered his window. 'What the hell are you doing, David?'
The bend was a stroke of luck: there was no way Mitchell could overtake the army here. 'You stay put, Paul.'
He could feel the rain on his face as he approached the caped and goggled motor-cyclist at the side of the truck.
'Where's your officer?'
The motor-cyclist pointed at the truck.
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Audley walked round the truck. If there was an officer in it, he wouldn't be driving. Along the road now he could see several more vehicles, including a Jeep-like one with his hood up against the rain. It seemed more likely that the officer would be there, but he decided to start with the motor-cyclist's silent directions.
He banged the rain-smeared window. 'Open up!'
The window came down slowly, revealing a young fresh-faced soldier in a combat jacket and a beret with the Mercury-figure badge of the Royal Signals. 'Yes, sir?'
No indication of rank. But the voice was educated. 'Are you an officer?'
'No, sir. Corporal, sir.' The good old army smells of oiled metal and wet clothes accompanied this information. 'Can I help you?'
'What unit are you?'
'Royal Signals — TA.' As though to support the corporal, a radio in the cabin began to crackle. 'Can I help you, sir?'
Territorial Army — therefore not Henry Jaggard. But that accounted for both the educated voice and the politeness: the young man was probably a British Telecom engineer when he wasn't playing soldiers. And since privatization they had all become gratifyingly polite. 'Yes, you can, corporal.' He pointed to the radio equipment. 'Can you call up your officer on that.'
The young man nodded. 'I can, sir. But what is the trouble?'
dummy1
Audley could feel the rain running down his face. 'Call him up. Tell him that there is an emergency.' He felt trapped by this useless helpfulness as the corporal continued to look inquiringly at him.
Then he heard the sound of footsteps on the road. Another TA man was striding towards him purposefully, heedless of the succession of muddy puddles beside the overgrown road-verge. And although he appeared less than overjoyed at Audley's intrusion, his scowl bore the stamp of authority.
But then the scowl vanished. 'Can I help you, sir?'
