She stared at him. ‘Both of us? But when? How?’
‘My child, you have a car parked here in Madrid near your hotel. The authorities are allowing you twenty-four hours to drive to the French border at Irun-Hendaye. When you arrive there, you will check with the Civil Guard. If you fail to comply, the consequences could be serious for you — as well as embarrassing for me. I should add that it was after some persuasion from myself that the authorities agreed to take the more lenient line and allow you to drive back, instead of putting you on the next plane and making you pay your own fares. As well as impounding your car, of course.’
‘I’m sure we’re both very grateful to you, Monsieur Pol!’
The Frenchman spread his hands across his belly. ‘You forget that I have my own interests in this affair. Six thousand American dollars’ worth, for a start.’
Anna said, ‘There is something you forget. Or perhaps you don’t know? Monsieur Hawn agreed with Mönch to pay him another four thousand dollars, in exchange for a second set of documents.’
‘Eh bien?’ Pol stroked his little beard. ‘To what address? The same?’
Anna nodded. ‘With us gone, you won’t be able to get it. And Mönch won’t give you anything without the money.’
‘Do not concern yourself, ma chère. There are ways — there are always ways. As long as I know that he will contact Monsieur Hawn at the American Express.’
Anna, with slight misgiving, then described the misunderstanding over the indexing of Hawn’s name. Pol merely nodded; he seemed content.
‘Who denounced us?’ she added.
‘Ah! You ask me to speculate. The America-Britannic Consortium have a 90 per cent franchise here in Spain. One telephone call from one of their executives, objecting to the presence of a couple of foreign nationals on Spanish soil — need I go on?’ He looked again at his watch. ‘Mademoiselle, I hesitate to ask a favour — but would you consent to lunch alone with me? I am starving!’
CHAPTER 15
They returned to London, to a damp flat and the usual pile of bills, circulars, final reminders. But nothing from the Police or the Courts, summoning Hawn to appear at the inquest on Norman French. He knew that in a murder case these things took time: but he was surprised to hear nothing from Muncaster — no news, no explanation for the break-in at the flat, or for the incident involving Hamilton Motors.
By now Hawn was dramatizing his precautions: he had rigged up a thread across the door of the flat; left a smear of Anna’s lipstick on the inside of the Citroën driver’s door; and never walked or drove anywhere without checking, every few seconds, who was behind him. His efforts yielded nothing but the very vaguest suspicions, which he could not substantiate.
On the first day back he dropped Muncaster a note to the Yard, marked ‘Confidential’, but containing nothing more potent than the news that he was back. The Chief Superintendent replied two days later with a bland note saying that he would be in touch if anything cropped up. The only thing that cropped up was the inquest on Norman French. Verdict: Murder by Person or Persons Unknown. Apart from Muncaster, the first two policemen on the scene, and the forensic team, the landlady was the only lay witness. Hawn considered it odd, even irregular, that he had not been called. It was not like Muncaster to bend the rules, particularly in a murder case, unless someone was bending them from above — and from very high above.
For Hawn’s part, he decided to lie low and await Pol’s further instructions — which he knew must come. There was also the small matter of Mönch’s second instalment, which would presumably have reached the Amex in Madrid by now, enclosing the old man’s hideaway so that the balance of four thousand dollars could be forwarded to him.
It had occurred to Hawn, with varying conviction, that Pol himself had arranged their deportation simply in order to get his hands on this second document — and above all, on Mönch’s whereabouts.
But the difficulty of ascertaining Pol’s actions was that it was almost impossible to deduce his true motives. It was not that Hawn had found him implausible, even a liar — these would have been simple defects on which to judge him; it was that the Frenchman was so thoroughly improbable. He was also tied up — on his own confession, and in some obscure way — with ABCO. But then, that might mean anything. The late Norman French had worked for ABCO. So had Shanklin and Doctor Alan Rice, and a certain Rupert de Vere Frisby, of the FO.
While they awaited Pol’s call, Hawn and Anna sank back into the hack work of research. But it was now with a difference. What had begun as the vaguest theory had congealed, over the last three weeks, into a clear but complex conspiracy buried by more than thirty years, and covering half the globe: and which must, at all costs, be brought to light.
On his first return to the Public Record Office, Hawn struck lucky. He was going through the confidential files of the Political Operations Executive (POE) in Cairo which had controlled, among many activities, operations in Turkey.
Imin Salak was mentioned briefly and with enthusiasm — or as much enthusiasm as the dead prose of a secret memo is capable. Salak had been a dependable man who enjoyed the confidence of the Istanbul underworld, as well as having been virtually immune to the attentions of the police. The only drawback to his character had been greed. Salak required to be paid highly for his services, and was not satisfied with the local currency.
There
