‘What would you have expected?’ asked Pol.
‘If we are dealing with the Ruler — which I assume we are — I’d say it was very odd that he didn’t use a team, working twenty-four hours. And at least two cars.’
‘How are you certain there was only one man?’ Pol asked.
‘I’m not.’
‘So there could have been others?’
Packer thought for a moment. ‘There could have been. But if Chamaz had been working in a team, he’d have probably faded out after getting into France — certainly after Sammy came on the scene. As it was, he was left out on a limb. He’d have done as well to have walked right into the hotel and shown us his two passports by way of introduction.’
‘You do not think, perhaps, that he was acting as a decoy?’ said Pol. ‘That he actually intended you to catch him?’
‘With the films on him? That wouldn’t make sense — under normal circumstances, that is.’
‘You are suggesting that this was not normal?’
‘I don’t know how normally competent the Ruler is. But after I first talked to you, I did some homework back in London, and I learned, among other things, that his Secret Police, NAZAK, was wet-nursed by the French, and more recently tutored by British advisors. You know more about French techniques than I do, but I can assure you, even the British — and our authorities are as mean as they come — only allow a man to operate on his own if it’s a short-term surveillance. Which means that the Ruler — or whoever gave Chamaz his orders — was either being damned clumsy or damned forgetful.’
‘In other words,’ Pol said slowly, ‘you are saying that Chamaz was inviting capture?’
‘I wouldn’t say definitely. He may just have been incompetent. Like you get incompetent plumbers and brain surgeons and Prime Ministers.’
Pol gave a strained chuckle. ‘You are being perhaps a little presumptuous, are you not, mon cher? The Ruler — if it was the Ruler — was not necessarily to know that you did have expert training in this game.’
‘Maybe not. But you were asking for my opinion, based on experience. And in my experience, in Malaya and Cyprus and the Trucial States, this sort of job would have been given what we called a “grand slam”. I mean, if NAZAK is anything like as good as they say it is, and they’d got a smell of an assassination attempt against their Ruler, they’d have called in the big battalions. When I used to work this kind of job, even on a small scale — trailing a suspect group of terrorists — we always used at least two men to cover every one, doubling up if they decided to move around. And we worked on a shoestring. But it’s my guess that NAZAK take themselves pretty seriously, and on a job like this they should have used at least a dozen men, and a relay of cars.’
‘Twelve men?’ Pol was sweating, and very pale.
‘Maybe twenty.’
Pol slapped his thigh. ‘Thank you, mon cher. If it interests you your opinion is not different from my own.’ He inspected his empty brandy glass and placed it delicately on the arm of the sofa. ‘Now let us discuss the arrangements for tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes. His Imperial Majesty will be riding up on the Gotschnabahn tomorrow at 3.40 as usual. He should arrive at the top at 3.50. That means —’ he raised his eyebrows — ‘that he will reach the T-bar at almost exactly four o’clock, I think? The weather report for tomorrow says that it will be fair.’
‘Wait a minute. You say he’s going up tomorrow. At 3.40? Arriving at the Gotschnagrat at four o’clock?’
Pol nodded. Packer was looking at him carefully. ‘How do you know?’
‘Me?’ Pol grinned and reached for a chocolate, but did not eat it. ‘Mon cher Packer, the Ruler’s movements are known to half the population of Klosters! Half the locals talk about nothing else.’
Packer went on watching him, waiting until he had masticated his chocolate and wiped his lips clean. ‘Sammy said something else this afternoon, Charles. He said he thought that maybe you had your nose stuck into the Ruler’s camp.’
Pol gave a look of false surprise. ‘And what could he have meant by that?’
‘Just what he said. He thinks you and the Ruler are pretty close.’
Poll attempted a mischievous grin, but it failed him. ‘I told you not to concern yourself with Sammy’s fantasies.’
‘I’d have said he was perhaps being more shrewd than fantastic,’ said Packer. ‘The Ruler keeps himself to a pretty tight schedule out here, and he also keeps it pretty secret. He may always use the same ski run, at the same time — but not necessarily every day. When he does decide to go skiing, he gives just an hour’s notice. Yet you happen to know — twenty hours ahead of schedule — that he’s going up tomorrow.’
Pol’s shoulders slumped wearily. ‘Please, mon cher, you have an important job before you. And part of that job is not to ask questions. It is a bad military principle. Now, you have the map?’
Packer took it out of the pocket of his anorak and walked over with it, unfolding it across Pol’s thighs. The Frenchman ate a couple more chocolates while he examined the green markings. Packer explained the two firing positions, the various trajectories, distances and attendant problems.
Pol seemed to be only half listening; and towards the end of Packer’s speech his manner even grew impatient. His fat finger jabbed at the green cross which marked Packer’s position on the run; and Packer noticed with some dismay, that his fingernail — usually as shiny as mother-of-pearl — was this evening not quite clean.
‘You are here — yes?’ Pol
