‘But I bet there was another reason,’ said Anna. ‘Our spooks in Whitehall felt it necessary to take a hand, not just to protect those so-called vital national interests that are tied up with ABCO, but because there are too many bigwigs still loose round Whitehall, not to mention the bloody Lords, who had a hand in the whole conspiracy from the beginning! And of course, the British Establishment can’t afford to start having all its dirty linen — as well as its starched shirt fronts — washed in front of the whole world.’
‘Bravo!’ Shanklin had sat up and was patting his hands together. ‘In a nutshell, my dear! Couldn’t have put it better myself — though I don’t think I could have matched all your social venom.’
Hawn said: ‘It still doesn’t explain why the East Germans went so far as to put up their leading scientist as target practice for Pol and his friends. Particularly when you say that they didn’t trust the man.’
‘I said they underrated him. Like ABCO, they wanted the ends tied up. Rice had spoken his piece a long time ago, and they’d already retrieved their box of documents from the lake. Of course, there’s no danger of the East Germans using them now — although they might come in useful, if ABCO ever wanted to become difficult. And no doubt future Communist historians will find them an entertaining source.’
‘But why the hell were we two billed so big in all of this — right until the end of the last reel, when Pol decided to change the script?’
‘You were the bait, my dear fellow. Both of you. As I have explained, it was either a question of disposing of you — with all the untidy consequences — or of leaving you to follow the spur right to the dead end. The dead secret, if you like. Somebody had to do it, sooner or later. You were the chosen pair — or rather, you chose yourselves, and received our reluctant blessing.’
‘And supposing I write it up as a story?’
‘Based on whose evidence? Mine? Pol’s? Colonel Kardich’s, perhaps? Even young Hanak’s?’
‘There’s that old dictum of the Duke of Wellington — “Publish and be damned”.’
‘You even try to publish, and you’ll be damned. I mean that, Hawn. And you should believe me. Do me at least that courtesy. I’m the one who’s acted as your advocate — spoke up for you both, pressed for the soft line — and, fortunately for you, won. I may not go on winning. So don’t let me down. I don’t give a bugger about you or this girl here — but I do care about what happens to ABCO and this country. You cross me and you make an enemy for life.’
There was a long pause. Hawn finished his Scotch. ‘So where do we go from here?’
‘Home. And don’t try to be a hero. If there’s anyone I dislike more than a fool, it’s a failed hero. What would you hope to achieve? What newspaper do you think would even print your story? Mönch is dead, French is dead, Salak is dead, Pol is hors de combat, and I shall deny everything.’ He stood up.
‘So, if you’re ready, my man will drive you back to London. You should be in time to have a good dinner at Odins. I’ll ring and have them keep their best table for you — they know me pretty well. And don’t worry about the bill.’
‘Thank you,’ said Hawn. ‘We’d prefer somewhere a little quieter.’
Anna propped up the steel stepladder, climbed to the top and reached for the file Na to Ne. She went back to her desk and turned the pages to ‘National Enterprise Board’: ‘British Leyland — subsidiaries — Export Figures, June-October’. She took notes in her neat, sloping hand until a couple of minutes to five, when she returned the file and fetched her coat.
A quarter of a mile away, in the British Museum Reading Room, Hawn finished reading a lengthy thesis entitled ‘The Religious and Socio-Economic Realities of the Renaissance Dynasty. Part I: Influence of the Medicis’.
He had parked his car on a yellow line in Coptic Street, and experienced a moment’s exhilaration when he found that he had not collected a ticket.
He picked up Anna on a corner of Aldwych. Neither of them saw a very ordinary Ford keeping its distance behind them down the Strand. And when they reached the quiet of Pembridge Villas they took no notice of the car that parked a hundred yards ahead of them, under the trees.
***
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ALSO BY ALAN WILLIAMS
THE CHARLES POL SERIES
Barbouze
The Tale of the Lazy Dog
Gentleman Traitor
Shah-Mak
Holy of Holies
OTHER NOVELS
Long Run South
The Widow’s War
Snake Water
The Beria Papers
The Brotherhood
Published by Sapere Books.
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Copyright © Alan Williams, 1980.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
