watertight.'
'What do you want here?'
Ruane's giant stockinged feet were on the desk. His chair was tilted back as far as it would go. From the cupboard beside the screwed down floor safe, he had taken a mess tin in which he kept his shoe-shining kit. He rubbed polish in little circles onto the shoes that Erlich thought were impressively polished. A West Point cadet would have been proud of those shoes already. It usually took Erlich little more than 30 seconds to get his shoes presentable, but Ruane was burnishing now with a golden duster.
''I want the bastard named, then I want to be part of a team that goes hunting him.'
'Sounds about right.'
''And this should be the town where I get him named.'
''Did you get much help in Athens?''
''Excuse me, they they pissed on me.,''
The polish and the dusters were folded neatly back into the mess tin. The mess tin went hack into the cupboard. He couldn't see Ruane's face because il was bent below the rim of the desk, as he put his shoes back on. The voice was a growl.
' Y o u like that, Bill, being pissed on?'
'Didn't bother me.'
'Won't lose you sleep?'
'Not a lot does.'
Ruane took a key from his pocket that was fastened to his waist belt by a fine chain. He unlocked a drawer. He took out a small black leather address book.
' D o you know what the form is in this country, Bill?'
'Never worked here.'
'Right, okay, digest… '
The shoes were back on the desk top. Erlich could only see the soles. At least the soles weren't polished.
'… In London I work through three agencies – you note that I say that I work through – I don't know what you guys get in Rome, but here it is through… that's most of the time…'
There was a dry smile. '… The three agencies are, first, Secret Intelligence Service who are involved solely in overseas intelligence gathering, same as the Agency. Second, the Security Service who are internal, have responsibility for counter-espionage and are deep into counter-terrorism. Third, Special Branch of the Metropolitan Police who have about the same job as Security but are more up-front, more visible. What sticks in their throats, any of those outfits, is if we start running around like it's our territory.'
'Meaning?'
'It means that I am in a liaison role here. It means that I have to work through these guys. It means that I don't play round here like a Wyoming steer in a glass shop… unless I have to… Enjoy your day yesterday?'
' N o. '
'Pity, it may have been your last day off for I don't know how long,'
The feet swung clear of the desk top. As his weight came off it, the chair heaved upright. Ruane had his address book in his hand when he went to the office door. Erlich heard his instructions to the lady who had brought him up to the third floor. Three names, three numbers, appointments required that day. No excuses, no nonsense about previous engagements, three appointments that day.
Ruane turned back from the door.
'i was your age once. I reckoned to get ahead. Back then, I'd have given my right arm to have had the opportunity you've collared. Do well and you'll be going places, cross me and you won't. You with me? Nothing personal, Bill, but just remember that i work in this town, and for me to work here then I need doors opening up for me. You foul my pitch and you'll be on the next plane back to Athens, whether Harry Lawrence was a friend of yours or not, whether that damns your record
… Got me?'
'Got you, Dan.'
The whistle on the kettle and the front door bell went off together.
Major Roland Tuck swore peaceably under his breath. Nurse Jones was a busy woman and he valued the minutes he had with her over a cup of tea when she came down from the bedroom.
He left her propped against the Aga. The kitchen was the warmest room in the house, apart from the sickroom. He went through the hall with the dog at his heels. The dog invariably followed him to the door, as if she expected, with each visitor, that her master would be back.
He opened the door.
There was a young man standing in the porch and looking around him. Not much to look at, because the front lawn and the drive to the Manor were a shambles. The leaves hadn't been swept up, and the gravel was alive With weeds. Behind the young fellow was a small van belonging to a household cleaning firm.
'Major T u c k? '
' Yes. '
'Could I come in, please?'
'What for?'
The man looked around him again, as if he expected that they were being watched. Tuck didn't think they were, not that day.
'I have a letter for you… '
'Good heavens, my dear fellow… come in.'
Each time it was a different courier, a different cover. The young man followed him into the hall, carefully wiping his feet on the mat. The dog had lost interest and was heading back towards the kitchen. There had been two letters that year. He wanted the letters, of course, yet each time they had the effect of shattering the quiet routine of the Manor. The boy was their son, God dammit, no escaping that. The courier took an envelope from his inside pocket and passed it to Tuck, and also offered him paper and a pen, so that the receipt could be acknowledged.
Tuck held the envelope in his hand, and his fist was tight, screwing at the paper.
'I've never asked this before.'
'Asked what, Major T u c k? '
'Could I send a reply back with you?'
'Don't see why not. I'll give it them, can't promise more than that.'
He told the young man to wait in the hall. He went to the kitchen and asked if the nurse would be so kind as to wait, just a few moments, and he was out of the room before she could tell him how tight her schedule was. He left the young man to admire the ibex head that was mounted above the hall clock. He went into his study and shut the door behind him. He opened the envelope. He gutted the four sheets of his son's writing. He sat at the desk, a French antique, and took a sheet of notepaper. He wrote a single sheet. The boy was a wicked little bastard, but he-had the right to know about his mother's illness. He didn't know whether Louise would last until Christmas. He folded the paper and addressed the envelope with the one word COLT.
He went back to the hall, The young man seemed mesmerised by the gentle gaze of the beast on the wall.
'Please ask those who sent you to do their utmost to see that my son gets this letter as quickly as is humanly possible.'
He let the young man out through the front door. For a moment he stood with his hand on the courier's shoulder, as though that were a link, however tenuous, with his son. He closed the door. He heard the engine start up outside. He did not think that the house was watched that day. The dog usually knew if the house was watched. When she had the hackles high on her shoulders, when she whined and scratched at the back door, then the house was watched. He went back into the kitchen. Thank the good Lord for that Aga, for its comfort.
Nurse Jones, bless her, had made the pot of tea. She poured her own mug, stirred in two sugars, and then she poured for him.
He had known Nurse Jones for thirty years, she was an institution in the village.
'Just time for a quick one, Major.'
