'You'll come?'
'I don't know, it's not…'
'Got to come.'
'It's not easy getting someone to babysit.'
'Find someone, go on, make the effort.'
'Well…'
'Just a few friends, let our hair down a bit, nice people.'
' I ' m not sure thai Frederick…'
'Drag him along, don't take any excuses.'
'He's not very… '
'He'll be all right. We have great parties, Sara. May not be able to do much else, hut we do throw a great party.'
Sara smiled. ' O. K. We'll be there.'
'That's the girl.'
For a very brief moment, Pink's hand brushed against Sara's hip. Debbie was in the kitchen, heating the coffee. The girls were in the dining room, setting up their equipment.
'Got to earn the old crust.'
'I'll see you this evening, then, and thank you… '
Erlich toyed with The Times and stared around him. The great expanse of the hall and the gallery and the gathering of clubland for its lunch. It looked to Erlich like a cross between a Hollywood set, with any number of David Niven look-alikes, young and old, mostly old, and the Rome Stock Exchange. He was surprised by the noise. He thought London clubs were for sleeping, even dying, in.
Major Tuck cut a good figure. He wasn't the shambling old man who had refused them entry at his front door. He looked good, well turned out too, and he sat straight in a high-backed leather chair, ignoring the throng round about him.
He had a handful of what looked to Erlich like military journals on a table beside him and he devoured them one by one. He had never once looked up. He was letting them come to him.
And, by God, Rutherford was taking his time, but if they were keeping him waiting then Colt's father didn't seem to give a damn.
Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!
But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.
I shot him dead because
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was:
That's clear enough; although…
Erlich shifted in his chair, to settle the dull pain in his crotch.
Contemplation of the melancholy figure opposite, who in a different world, thought Erlich, would have been a man he would have liked to know, wet a nipperkin with, whatever that was, gave way to thoughts of Penny Rutherford looking him over in the bath.
'Are you Erlich?'
Erlich looked up. A small man, thinning with age, a stoop in his shoulders. His suit seemed a size too big. He had a grey, gaunt face and his sparse hair was brushed down in tracks over his scalp.
' I ' m Bill Erlich, yes.'
'That's rather a nasty bang you've had. Rutherford said I'd recognise you.'
He said his name was Barker, Dickie Barker, actually. Only when he could see into Barker's eyes did Erlich find any strength in the man. The eyes were good, the rest of him looked worn out.
Erlich was up from his chair. 'Are you with Rutherford?'
'Rutherford is sometimes with me… ' A glacial smile. 'Out of town today, his section head tells me. It's his section head that answers to me… Come on then, Mr Erlich.'
'Aren't we going to talk it through first?'
'Just ask, young man, whatever questions you have to ask.'
' D i d you speak to Mr Ruane?'
Barker didn't wait. He strode across the hall. Erlich hurried to catch him. He was at Barker's shoulder, a pace behind him, when they reached Colt's father.
Barker spoke.
'Major Tuck, good day to you, I hope we haven't kept you. I am most grateful to you for coming up today. I heard about your wife's not being well, and I am very sorry for that… '
Erlich watched as Colt's father laid his magazine aside, took his time, and stood up. No handshake.
' I ' m Barker, I run D Branch, Major. We've met before, but you won't remember the occasion. Nearly 40 years ago, a course on survival in hostile territory. You gave us the benefit of your very considerable experience obtained in wartime France. This is Mr Erlich, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I believe you've met.'
Erlich saw that Colt's father looked straight through him.
' W e offer what help we can to our friends across the water, whenever we are in a position to be of assistance. What would you like, Major, a little gin, a vermouth and something, whatever suits you?'
Barker ordered a gin and Italian, Colt's father said he'd have Campari and soda, Erlich asked for a Perrier. Before they went through to the dining room, Barker led the conversation. He talked about the train service from the west of England, and about the frightful business of maintaining old and valuable houses without local authority grants. Erlich said nothing. It was one hell of a place, Erlich thought, to be entertaining the father of Harry Lawrence's murderer. Barker discussed the menu with Colt's father, and he advised Erlich that the fish was his best bet.
Barker and Colt's father assessed the political front, the economy, the prospects of the winter touring party, and never addressed a word to Erlich.
After the meal was finished, Barker led them up the staircase into the gallery, and with a show of courtesy He pointed out the libraries to Erlich. They helped themselves to coffee from urns and found an empty corner.
Barker said, 'Right, Erlich, get to work, earn your lunch.'
'I work for the F. B. I, out of Rome, Major Tuck. I was sent to Athens two weeks ago because an American government servant had been shot dead there, in the street, murdered in cold blood. Your son took that man's life, Major.'
No reaction. No flicker of the eyelids, no looking away, no twist of the tongue across the lips.
'Last week he came to London and killed again. He shot an Iraqi in London. Those are facts, Major, and the evidence that supports those facts is now at the F. B. l. ' s headquarters in Washington. I should add that in Athens he also killed an Iraqi dissident, a brave writer, an outspoken opponent of a brutal regime. Your son, it seems probable, is a hired gun for the government of Iraq… '
He sensed Barker's awkward glance about him to see that they were not overheard. Tuck looked back at him, mildly interested, no more, as if it didn't involve him.
'It's the F. B. l. ' s job, Major, to track down this killer, bring him to justice for the murder of an American official. I'll put it to you very simply: are you sheltering your son?'
'You've tried barging into my house already, Mr Erlich.'
'Shall we stop fucking about, Major? Just give it to me straight, yes or no, are you harbouring this psychopath you are proud to claim as your son?'
Barker said abruptly, 'I won't have that kind of talk in this club, Erlich.'
'Not cricket, eh, Mr Barker? Well, I've had all the cricket I've got the stomach for for one lunchtime. And I will, by Christ, have an answer to my questions, and you, sir, will sit quiet until I have them.' Erlich turned his back
