checked for the first time in hours, perhaps days. A low surrounding wall of concrete shielded the padlocked trapdoor to the hidden steps.
Steyn said, ‘Then, around here, it would have seemed like Stalingrad. Now it is merely a sunken stairway in a pretty garden. What was done here and in the villages on the Cornfield Road was heroic.’
Just want you to know that what you did was disgraceful, pathetic and criminal. You stole those papers, and what was in the safe, like a common thief. Whatever happens to you, it’ll be too good for you – and Fee thinks that. We’ve scrubbed you out, right out, and you’re a bastard we’re well rid of.
He’d pointed to the Irish pub, made a weak sort of crack about the Liffey’s water being cleaner than the Danube’s, and passed the hospital. Steyn said, ‘The wounded from the fighting were brought here. It must have been Dante’s Inferno. Too dangerous to bury the dead, so they were wrapped in soiled sheets and dumped outside the entrance to the bomb-shelter basements the staff and patients had retreated into. There was a fantastic woman who ran the place through unimaginable times, and it was her good fortune that she was too high-profile to be butchered. The wounded men and a few staff were taken out of a back door while peace envoys were at the front, and they were massacred. That is the war crime, the atrocity of Vukovar, and it leads to the accusation of betrayal. The name of this town, today, is the same as that of treason. Nothing is forgotten and nothing is forgiven. They see you, Mr Gillot, as part of the treason and part of the betrayal.’
To confirm, Harvey, that the shipment is on course and everything in the world is good. Warmest greetings from Burgas.
The road had opened out and they were clear of the buildings. A concrete bridge crossed a river and they were close to the quays where lines of barges were moored. There was quiet and peace. Steyn said, ‘The bridge was a key point in the defence of Vukovar. It’s open ground, except for the docks and the grain silos, until you reach the shoe factory, then Borovo. It was a weak point to defend and was exploited. The enemy came across the river and cut the defences into two. Then resistance was impossible. The men who were here had the best chance in the break-out, those in the centre the least. Why am I telling you this? Mr Gillot, there was phenomenal bravery here but those imposters – treason and betrayal – gnaw at the pride of the survivors. They wallow in hatred. You are a target for the hatred.’
This is Aleksandre, in the ministry – from Tbilisi – and I confirm that cargo is delivered to us tomorrow and we are satisfied with all arrangements you have made. A pleasure to do business with you, as always. All good wishes.
Steyn changed gear. The lights were red in front of him, a bus alongside, a petrol tanker behind, and the first kids were out on the streets with footballs. Women were hoisting washing lines and old men sat by their front doors, smoking. Many of these homes were pocked with bullet marks and the pavement was dented. Steyn said, ‘We’re nearly there, Mr Gillot, nearly at the start of the Cornfield Road. That is what you want?’
Charles here, sunshine. What we talked about over lunch and on the phone, Harvey, yes, can do that, and at a better price than I quoted you. It’ll have come back from the Province but should still be serviceable. I suppose you’re on holiday – fine for the leisured classes while the rest of us are labouring for the public good and to keep the old country afloat. Call me when you’re back.
Steyn said, ‘Not for me to intrude, Mr Gillot, but my advice is well-meant. These folk won’t be impressed by a grand gesture. There was real suffering here and on a level that people from the so-called civilised corners would find hard to appreciate. Worth considering – they have the same nerve ends, same ability to suffer as you or me. I don’t gild it. You want to go further. We’re nearly there, near the beginning.’
Monty here, my friend. The BPV arrived? I just wanted to bounce at you that I can do a hundred and there would be a 40 per cent discount on what you’re paying for one. I can assure you, Harvey, that the makers give very solid guarantees on their product. Let me know if you want a century, but don’t hang about. Bestest.
There was another bridge and Steyn eased on to the side of the road a little short of the span. Behind, there were ribbon-development bungalows and detached houses, with flowers in the gardens. Steyn said, ‘This is pretty much where the Cornfield Road started. Don’t harbour an impression of busy traffic going up and down it every night – it didn’t. Very little ammunition could be brought in because of the artillery and mortar fire. A bit along the track, the trees were close to it and Serb snipers in them. Wounded couldn’t be evacuated along it. Of course, a few weren’t cut out for hero status – they’d money put aside and paid heavily for guides to bring them through, but that’s not much talked of. Mr Gillot, this was a place of extraordinary courage, which is why the survivors have little tolerance for betrayal and treason.’
Calling from Marbella, my precious old mucker. We’re making progress and I don’t doubt it’ll all turn up rosy. Where are you? Rang home and had the phone slammed down on me. Trouble with the secretarial staff? Get a grip – sun’s shining here and I’m about to pop the day’s first cork. Wherever you are, enjoy it.
Steyn climbed out of his car – damn near clapped-out, but the supporting charity could run to nothing better. There would be no tears shed when it failed and he finally took the train out. Not his tears and not theirs.
Damn you – we’re missing you. The dog is, Fee is and I am… and we’re frightened for you. Too much said and done, probably, for it to be easy to put a plaster on it. Don’t get the top of your head shot off – don’t. We bloody miss you, whatever damn fool idea’s in your head and wherever you are. Make it through, and we’ll try something. The dog can’t and Fee can’t and I can’t live without the wretched old rogue who is owner and father and husband. Don’t touch anyone there because you’ll destroy them if you do. Look after yourself. Do, please
… I’m not interested in this house or the knick-knacks, but I want you, and Fee does, and the damn dog does. Don’t break anyone else like you’re breaking us. God, why did I marry you? Would have been for your bloody smile. Love you…
The phone was switched off. Steyn saw a man who had learned where his life stood, had listened to others, and was now prepared to walk on and away. Steyn thought he knew where it would end, and how, and that a wife’s mayday call would help him not at all. What to do? Nothing to do… There was a vineyard beside where the car was parked and a man, stripped to the waist, drove a tractor along the lines of almost ripe grapes. Peaceful – a damn fraud. Gillot came out of his seat, arced his back, and a most captivating smile split his face. To himself Steyn admitted that he would have bought anything off this guy, might even have bid for the Eiffel Tower, if the guy had offered it, cut price and discounted. The plastic bag was in his hand, there was a murmur of gratitude, and Gillot was gone.
He could still see, as the distance grew and a firm stride took him further, the holes in the shirt where the bullets had punctured it. Steyn crossed himself – he didn’t make a habit of it. The plastic bag, not much in it, seemed to bounce against Gillot’s thigh. The heat of the day came on and the road had started to shimmer and distort.
‘Is there anything we should be doing?’ Phoebe Bermingham asked.
‘Don’t think so, Ma’am,’ from Steve, Covert Surveillance, SCD10.
‘Maybe not “out of mind” but certainly “out of sight” from where I’m looking at it,’ from Harry, Intelligence, SCD11.
‘Mark Roscoe’s a big boy, and I’d bank on him being sensible enough to look after himself – do what he’s paid to do and not stand too adjacent,’ from Donny, Firearms, CO19.
The inspector from SCD7, Roscoe’s boss, reported the early-morning call, the state of play, the assessment and reprise on the expected course of the morning. And repeated something about ‘a fucking club of vultures’ that had gathered in the town and now headed for the cornfields. Dermot, ill at ease when exposed and isolated among the police, reported that his Penny Laing had found no evidence of criminality that would stand up in a court of law from the alleged events of nineteen years earlier, and had told them she was booked on a flight out in the early afternoon.
Phoebe did the summary. ‘I cannot see that we could have achieved more. We were faced with an obstructive and obstinate Tango who refused the advice of experienced personnel and safe accommodation. I don’t go so far as to say that Gillot made his bed and therefore can lie on it, but I believe we’ve acted honourably and adequately in this matter – and the fact that he has transferred the threat to himself to a foreign location is, quite simply, to be regarded as a blessing. In view of the extraordinary refusal of the Croatian authorities to grant liaison facilities, I would suggest that Sergeant Roscoe returns to the UK on the first available… I think our hands are clean. Comments?’
None.
Time, then, for Phoebe Bermingham, with a smile on thin lips, to let the detective inspector, Roscoe’s man, and the one from Revenue and Customs, Penny Laing’s, collect their papers, finish their coffee, make their farewells
