forth, smashing the gradually weakening man into the buttress. Even when Zenin hung in apparent unconsciousness, blood smearing the wall and floor, Charlie did not stop, needing two hands against the barrel now and stopping, exhausted, only when the Russian became such a dead weight that he could not move him any more.
For several moments Charlie slumped where he was, actually bent over the rifle from which Zenin now lolled backwards, mouth open, snorting his unconsciousness. Charlie gulped at the air from the open window, vaguely aware of the scream of approaching police sirens, gradually aware of the panicked scene far away, too far away properly to distinguish. And then he saw the magnified sight, only inches from his face.
Experimentally Charlie pulled at it, isolating the restraining screw. He undid it, slid the sight from its housing and pulled himself up against the tripod, still needing its support. He used the sight like the spyglass it was, needing to adjust it only slightly.
He was perfectly able to see the blown-apart, blood-splattered body of James Bell being lifted on to a stretcher, American security men needlessly ringed around the dead Secretary of State, handguns drawn. They appeared to be standing over another body, too, and as Charlie watched medics lifted it on to a stretcher. Before they fully covered it with a blanket he saw it was Roger Giles, but only part of the man because the left side of his body wasn’t there any more. There was a third body from which everyone seemed to be standing back and Charlie adjusted the magnifier, better to see it, not sure until it was also lifted on to a stretcher. There was a huge, gaping hole in the side of Sulafeh Nabulsi’s body, to the left again like it was with the American security chief, but not quite so extensive because the hit had not been so direct.
Charlie swept the area, back and forth, trying to see if there were any more dead or injured, stopping abruptly when he identified David Levy. The Israeli delegation had already been hustled away to safety and the intelligence chief was looking calmly about him, standing apart from all the other scurrying security officials. And then, suddenly, Levy turned and looked directly up at the window from which Charlie was watching, as if it would be possible for one to see the other.
The final answers to the final questions flooded in upon Charlie, who pulled himself up unsteadily from his half-kneeling position. He lowered the spyglass but remained staring at the scene he could no longer properly see, realizing fully just how wrong he had been.
‘Oh you bastard,’ he said, quietly at first. Then, more loudly, ‘You bastard!’
Charlie became aware of running feet and shouting and moved away from the still unconscious body, not wanting wrongly to become a target by association for some trigger-happy policeman.
But it was Blom who came into the apartment first, pistol drawn. The white-haired, pink-featured man stared around, halting at the sight of Zenin still strapped to the rifle.
‘Satisfied now?’ asked Charlie.
Barbara Giles had taken up her husband’s suggestion to watch the opening ceremonies of the conference live on television and Martha Bell watched, too, because she always did when James was doing something publicly, so they both saw their men gunned down at the very moment it happened.
Aloud, Barbara said: ‘No, please no! I want to love you.’
Aloud, Martha said: ‘What’s going to happen to me!’
Both women, of course, were in shock.
On the Rue Dancet, where Charlie had hours before abandoned Alexander Cummings’s office car, the parking warden attached the second penalty ticket and made a note in his book to summon the tow-away service if it wasn’t moved in the next hour. Arrogant foreigners with their damned diplomatic plates believed they could do what they wanted and get away with it but the law said he could penalize them and so he would.
Chapter Thirty-seven
‘Bastard!’ yelled Charlie, again.
‘Why so upset?’ demanded Levy, mildly.
‘You knew, you fucking well knew!’ accused Charlie. He was tight with anger, fury shaking through him, relieved only that he was at least able to confront the Israeli security man. Charlie had been frightened he would be too late. Blom had delayed him, seeking a full briefing so that he in turn could provide a complete explanation to the Swiss security committee and the federal cabinet, so by the time Charlie got to the Bristol hotel the Israeli leaders, like all the other delegation heads, had already flown away from Geneva and the cancelled conference, each unwilling fully to accept the Swiss assurances that there was no risk from an ongoing assassination conspiracy.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Levy, still mildly. They were alone, just the two of them, in Levy’s hotel room. There was no indication that the man was packing to leave.
‘Bollocks!’ said Charlie. ‘You led me by the nose all the time. And I fell for it! When I talked of a possible attempt that first day you weren’t surprised. You argued against any public warning, despite it being the obvious thing to do! You actually questioned me, after letting me have the files, to make sure I hadn’t discovered anything! And then tried to encourage me to quit …!’ Charlie came breathlessly to a halt. ‘You even distracted me, when we got to where the photographs were going to be taken … Until I saw you look up it didn’t register that it was inconceivable you would not have known Sulafeh Nabulsi for what she was!’
‘Dangerous woman,’ agreed Levy. ‘Very dangerous.’ He poured brandy, Remy Martin, into two glasses and offered one. ‘Have a drink, Charlie,’ said Levy. ‘Calm down.’
Charlie accepted the glass but didn’t drink at once. ‘The dossier on her was complete bullshit, wasn’t it!’ he demanded. ‘Phoney, from start to finish.’
‘Everyone can make mistakes, even the Israeli service,’ said Levy.
Charlie shook his head, refusing the evasion. ‘You knew all about her and what she might do,’ he insisted. ‘Learning from me – from the British – of some Soviet involvement confirmed it all for you!’
‘We were grateful for the warning,’ said Levy.
‘You made me look a fool,’ said Charlie. ‘A fucking idiot!’
‘No, I didn’t, Charlie,’ argued the Israeli. ‘You worked it all out, so that doesn’t make you a fool. And it might not become public knowledge, because of the need to protect your identity, but within the trade you’re a hero. Even to the CIA, who tried to kill you themselves once …’
He’d realized how the Israelis had checked him out, too! remembered Charlie, further annoyed. He said: ‘People got killed!’
‘Unfortunate,’ said Levy. ‘Now look what you’ve got. You’re the man who made it possible for the Swiss to seize a provable Soviet agent and publicly show to the world the link between Moscow and Arab terrorism. It’s a coup, Charlie. Enjoy your reputation.’
‘Christ, it was clever,’ said Charlie. ‘Pressured by America to take part in a conference including Palestinians with whom you’re committed never to become involved you allowed a fanatic to be part of their delegation knowing there’d be some outrage to wreck everything: wreck it for years.’
‘The positive Russian intrusion was a bonus,’ allowed Levy. ‘If you had not got him it would have been put down to a lone Palestinian assassin. And when the rifle was eventually found the suspicion would have been of American, not Soviet involvement.’
‘Why did Russia become involved!’
‘Moscow doesn’t want peace in the Middle East,’ said Levy. ‘Certainly not peace orchestrated by Washington and an American President. Syria would have ceased being a client state, for a start.’
‘Doesn’t Israel want peace?’
Levy smiled, adding to both their glasses. ‘It’s an odd fact, but Israel exists better as a cohesive society with a … what is it your British call it? A Dunkirk spirit?’
‘There’s got to be more in it than that.’
‘The American administration were backing away from us,’ disclosed Levy. ‘There were private assurances that the aid would continue, as well as the arms supply, but we had our doubts. This way everybody wins. Anderson
