Braley considered the question with his customary discomfort.
‘That there’s something we don’t know about … despite all the checks and investigations, there’s obviously something we overlooked … something that makes Charlie confident enough to act as he’s doing.’
Braley blinked at his superiors, worried at the open criticism.
‘I’ve always warned of that possibility,’ Wilberforce tried to recover. ‘That was the point of the bank entry in the first place, don’t forget.’
Smith looked at the other Director in open contempt.
‘It could just be a bluff,’ said Snare.
‘It could be anything,’ said Smith. ‘That’s the whole damned trouble. We just don’t know.’
‘The Russians are upset,’ said Cuthbertson, mildly. The first time anything had gone wrong and Wilberforce was unsettled, he saw. Practically gouging the pipe in half. He smiled, uncaring that the other man detected the expression. Always had thought he could do the job better than anybody else.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Smith.
Wilberforce looked sourly at his one-time chief before replying.
‘Formal note of protest to our ambassador in Moscow,’ he reported. ‘The Russian ambassador here calling at his own request upon the Foreign Secretary and two questions tabled in the House of Commons by some publicity- conscious M.P.s.’
‘Hardly more than you expected,’ retorted Smith. No one seemed to realise how serious it was, he thought.
‘We decided upon a course of action,’ said Wilberforce, pushing the calmness into his voice. ‘So far every single thing has proceeded exactly as it was planned. Certainly what the man did today was surprising. But that’s all it is, a surprise. We mustn’t risk everything by attempting ill-considered improvisations.’
‘You know, of course,’ said Smith, ‘that after that lunch he booked into the Savoy?’
‘Yes,’ said Wilberforce, the irritation returning.
‘Another assumed name?’ asked Cuthbertson.
Damn the man, thought Wilberforce. The former Director knew the answer as well as any of them.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘He seemed to take great care to register as Charles Muffin.’
EIGHTEEN
Charlie knew he had registered at the hotel at exactly 3.45 in the afternoon. That concluding act of a flamboyant performance, using his real name, would have confused them sufficiently for at least a two-hour discussion, he estimated. Early evening then. And it would have taken more than twenty-four hours from the moment of decision, even if it had been made in the daytime when people were available, for the necessary warrants and authorisations and then the installation of engineers to put any listening device on the telephone in his hotel room.
Even so, he still went immediately after breakfast to the Savoy foyer to book the call to his Zurich apartment from the small exchange by the lounge stairs, then insisted on taking it in one of the booths from which he could watch the operator.
The first conversation with Edith was abrupt, lasting little more than a minute. Charlie allowed her half an hour to reach the Zurich telephone exchange. She was waiting by one of the incoming booths when he made the second call.
‘So you think the apartment here will be monitored?’ she said immediately.
‘Probably.’
‘The robbery wasn’t a coincidence, then?’
He smiled to himself at her insistence on an admission. She never liked losing arguments.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Of course not. I was trying to stop you becoming too frightened.’
‘You really thought that possible?’
He could detect how strident her voice was. He didn’t answer, refusing to argue.
‘What else happened?’ she demanded.
Briefly, Charlie outlined the details of the Russian robbery and the effect any settlement would have upon Willoughby’s firm.
‘They know everything about you, Charlie. Everything. You’re going to get killed.’
The assertion blurted from her and he heard her voice catch at the other end.
‘Edith,’ he said patiently, ‘I know a way out.’
‘There isn’t a way out, Charlie,’ she said. ‘Stop being such a bloody fool.’
He sighed, fighting against the irritation in his voice.
‘Did you call to say goodbye, just like you said goodbye to Sir Archibald before you left for Vienna to begin this fucking mess?’ she said desperately.
She’d been too long alone, Charlie realised. Now all the fears and doubts were firmly embedded in her mind and refusing to leave. And Edith shouldn’t swear, he thought. She paraded the words artificially, like a child trying to shock a new schoolteacher.
‘I called to say I loved you,’ said Charlie.
The tirade stopped, with the abruptness of a slammed door.
‘Oh, Christ, Charlie,’ she moaned.
He winced at the pain in her voice. She would be crying, he knew.
‘I mean it,’ he said.
‘I know you do.’
‘I love you and I’m going to get us out of all this. We’ll find another place …’
‘… to hide?’ she accused him.
‘Has it been that bad?’
‘It’s been terrible, Charlie. And you know it. And you’d never be able to make it any different, even if you got away from it now.’
He had no argument to put against that, Charlie realised.
‘You should have told me how you felt … before now,’ he said.
‘What good would it have done?’
None, he accepted. She was right. As she had been about the drinking and the damned cemetery and everything else.
‘I’m sorry, Edith,’ he said.
‘So am I, Charlie,’ she said, unhelpfully.
‘I need your help,’ said Charlie. At least, he thought, she’d have something more than fear to occupy her mind.
‘Of course,’ she said. Depression flattened her voice.
‘We’ll need the other passports,’ he said. ‘Now that they know our identity the ones we’ve got aren’t any good, not any more.’
He heard her laugh, an empty sound.
‘For when you’ve beaten them all, Charlie?’ she asked sadly.
‘We’re going to try, for God’s sake,’ he said. The shout would carry beyond the box, but he knew he had to break through the lassitude of defeat.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, trying to force a briskness into her voice. ‘At least we must try.’
The effort failed; she was convinced of failure, he realised.
‘Do you have a pen and paper?’
‘Of course.’
‘I want you to draw the passports from your bank and then travel, by ferry, to England.’
He paused.
‘Yes?’ she prompted. The dullness was still evident.
‘Hire a car,’ he continued. ‘Then set out at your own pace, touring around the countryside.’
‘Charlie …?’ she began, but he stopped her.
