‘No doubts?’
‘None.’
‘Without wishing to convey any offence, I’d like Mossad access,’ said the Israeli.
The man couldn’t give a fuck about causing offence, Charlie knew: it was an ideal opportunity to get hold of a Soviet defector, which was always a prize. He said: ‘I anticipated that you would.’
‘And I’d like someone from our embassy in London to see him, too,’ said Giles hurriedly, as if he were afraid of missing out.
‘I think he should be made available to my service, as well,’ completed Blom, wishing he’d been first instead of last.
The queue was going to stretch practically to the Sussex border, thought Charlie. He said: ‘I’ll pass on the requests.’
‘I’d also like the photograph and the full physical description, to run our own check,’ said Giles, ahead of the Israeli this time.
‘Of course,’ assured Charlie. ‘I’d like to believe your records will come up with something where ours didn’t, because we need the break. But I don’t think they will.’
‘Why not?’ said Blom.
‘He’ll be a first timer,’ guessed Charlie. ‘Squeaky clean.’
‘That would be the obvious way to operate,’ agreed Levy.
Conscious from the State Department briefings – two from the Secretary of State himself – of the personal importance that President Anderson was attaching to the conference, the CIA man said to Blom: ‘I think it’s wise to keep this under wraps. We’re still guessing, after all.’
There speaks another vested interest, thought Charlie. He said: ‘I’m surprised we’re not including any Arab intelligence official in this discussion.’
‘The Arab delegations are not arriving for two or three days,’ Blom tried to avoid.
‘They are going to be briefed then?’ pressed Charlie.
‘The view of my government is that at this stage the matter should be restricted to just us,’ admitted Blom, reluctantly.
‘I think you’re taking a hell of a chance,’ said Charlie.
‘You’ve already expressed your views,’ reminded Blom. The Englishman was insufferable. He said: ‘The decision does not directly affect you.’
‘Low profile in everything at this stage,’ urged Giles.
‘I agree,’ said Levy, at once.
Too many gaps were being left, thought Charlie. To Blom he said: ‘We decided upon full co-operation?’
‘Yes,’ agreed the man, cautiously.
‘So what’s happening here, apart from records searches?’
‘I’ve been instructed, obviously, to carry out the most rigid counter-intelligence investigation,’ said Blom. ‘Which is what I am doing. The Palais des Nations – indeed every part of the international complex – is being thoroughly swept, both visually and electronically against explosives already having been planted. Sniffer dogs are being used, as well, of course. All local staff engaged there in the last three months are being questioned and their references and backgrounds re-examined. We can explain that as normal security, considering the importance of the forthcoming conference. Every hotel and auberge is being visited by officers checking registrations after the thirteenth against the photograph. Every car rental firm is being made to run through its computer the names on the manifest of flight 837: from that we can get a registration number to make road checks …’ Blom paused, nodding in Charlie’s direction. ‘Here we’re maintaining the cover explanation that the British used in gathering the airline staff together: that we’re pursuing a major drug enquiry.’
‘Seems comprehensive enough,’ said Levy.
On superficial examination it did, agreed Charlie. But there remained more holes in that sort of investigation than in a piece of Swiss cheese. It was logical, even without the alarm, for the conference area to be swept because it was standard security practice to do so, which Blom had just admitted. Ridiculous, then, to imagine the Russians would have planted explosives at this stage, for obvious discovery. Likewise it was pointless interrogating staff engaged in the last three months when they knew bloody well the man they were hunting had only arrived in the last week. And Charlie considered the car hire search a waste of time: he was prepared to bet the overdraft he didn’t have and didn’t expect to get that the bastard he wanted had flown into Geneva on a name quite different from that in the British passport on which he’d left London airport and that any other documentation – a driving licence, for instance – would be in a different name, too. The only thing with which he did agree was covering hotels and boarding houses: he wished to Christ Johnson’s picture had been better. Still, he thought, in optimistic balance, at least two people had found it good enough: he supposed they had to hope that the man would have attracted attention to himself by rudeness again.
‘I could bring more men in from America, to help your people,’ offered Giles.
‘No!’ rejected Blom, at once, seeing professional criticism in everything. Appearing to realize the brusqueness, he said more quietly: ‘No thank you. This must at all times remain a Swiss enquiry.’
‘I was offering assistance,’ emphasized Giles. ‘I wasn’t in any way suggesting that my Agency should take over.’
Charlie sighed, feeling very much the onlooker. He’d never known a committee operation yet that hadn’t been like this, everyone staking claims and guarding their sovereignty, like virgins with their hands over the rude bits. Which was why he always insisted, whenever he could, on working absolutely alone and independently. At least that way the mistakes and oversights were his own, not somebody else’s cock-up to be landed with.
More diplomatically, Levy said: ‘Is there anything at all that my service can do to help?’
‘Just run the picture and description through your records,’ said Blom. ‘That way we get the benefit of three separate services. An unprecedented check, surely?’
‘I would have thought so,’ said Levy.
‘It would be far better – and more effective – simply to publish the picture,’ said Charlie, obstinately.
‘It would endanger the conference,’ said Giles, almost as quickly as Blom had earlier rejected the offer of CIA assistance.
The second time the American had come out against going public, Charlie recognized. It was a query worth channelling back to Washington. He said: ‘Someone being killed would also be a hell of a way to ruin the conference. Wouldn’t do the victim a lot of good, either: probably make his eyes water.’
‘Shouldn’t we let your enquiry run its course in England, while we carry out our record searches?’ suggested Levy.
‘Publishing the picture wouldn’t affect that,’ argued Charlie. ‘Of course everything should continue. And will continue.’
‘I think we should defer to the wishes of our host country,’ came in Giles, supportively.
‘So do I,’ agreed Levy.
‘I appreciate your understanding,’ said Blom.
They were like the original models for the three wise monkeys, thought Charlie: hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil because it might be something nasty we don’t want to hear, see or talk about. It didn’t make him angry: Charlie’s feeling was uneasiness. And not for some poor sod who at the moment risked being despatched to the great big stripe-trousered bureaucracy in the sky. Determinedly he said: ‘OK, so what happens if the records of the Mossad and the CIA come up with nothing, which I think they will? And the Swiss investigation doesn’t take us any further forward, either?’
‘I think we should wait until we encounter that bridge before we attempt to cross it,’ said Blom, satisfied with the way the conference had gone and intentionally invoking the English cliche to put the scruffy little man in his place.
‘Know what bridges are for?’ demanded Charlie.
‘What!’ said Blom, more in surprise than in response to the question.
Charlie took it the way he wanted. He said: ‘They’re to stop people falling into the water and getting out of their depth.’
‘Motherfuckers!’ erupted the President.
James Bell’s grimace was almost imperceptible. He wondered how future historians would interpret the gross
