‘Chop-chop,’ said Peele. ‘Or “wheels turning”, as Lady Rosamund would say. Carl, get out on the road and give Lockie the all-clear, will you?’
They all went downstairs. Carl did as he had been asked. Peele surprised Kite by enveloping him in a bear hug on the porch, saying: ‘Well done, keep going, well done.’ As Kite walked off, he said: ‘Don’t forget now. Talk to Ali. Call Bijan. Use the Walkman,’ and waved him onto the road.
‘Cheers,’ said Carl as Kite passed him at the gate. ‘Houston, you are cleared for take-off.’
Within ten minutes, Kite was back at the house. Martha was talking to Rosamund in the kitchen. Luc came down the stairs with slicked-back hair and an attitude of isolated indifference. He smelled of eau de cologne. All the way home Kite had felt that he was carrying Peele’s suspicions about Xavier’s father like a set of rocks on his back. There and then he decided to do nothing about changing the Gameboy batteries. To revive the microphone in the study was to drive another nail into whatever coffin BOX 88 were preparing for him. Kite had agreed to operate as an agent targeted against Ali Eskandarian, not against Luc Bonnard. He would never have agreed to betray Xavier’s father, no matter how much he disliked and distrusted him. He took a shower, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, ate breakfast downstairs and asked Luc if he could take the Vespa into Mougins.
‘Of course,’ Luc replied. ‘What do you need?’
‘Just a few postcards to send home.’ He caught Martha’s eye. She smiled as she bit into a croissant. ‘Need anything for the house?’
Rosamund immediately thanked Kite for his kind offer and asked if he could pick up some toothpaste from the supermarket.
‘Can I come with you?’ Martha asked.
‘Sure,’ Kite replied, acting surprised. ‘You need postcards too?’
‘Promised my mum I’d send one,’ she said. ‘Shall we go in the next five minutes?’
44
Kite took Martha into Mougins on the Vespa. The young woman behind the counter informed her that she had to wait to speak to the pharmacist. Martha told Kite that she would prefer to be on her own, so he offered to pick her up half an hour later.
It was the perfect window of time. He walked outside, climbed back onto the Vespa and rode up to the supermarket. He bought a card for the public telephone and dialled Bijan’s number. It rang out for almost a minute before a man picked up and said ‘Oui?’
‘Hello,’ said Kite. He was speaking in French. ‘Is that Bijan?’
‘Bijan isn’t here,’ the man replied. From his accent it sounded as though he was also Iranian.
‘Do you speak English?’
‘Yes.’
‘When will Bijan be back?’
‘I am not certain.’
‘Can you give him a message?’ Kite asked.
‘OK.’
‘Tell him La … tell him Adam called.’ He had almost blown the call, forgetting until the very last moment that he had given Bijan a cover name. ‘I met him yesterday in Cannes. He will know who I am.’
‘Adam?’
‘Yes. The British guy.’
‘British guy,’ the man repeated. Kite couldn’t tell if he was distracted by something or conscientiously writing things down. ‘You have a number?’
‘No. I’m calling from a phone box in Mougins. I’ll try again tomorrow.’
‘Wait, please.’
Kite had been about to hang up. Two very tanned, very blonde young girls with pigtails raced past the phone booth and disappeared into the supermarket. A woman was running to catch up with them, shouting something in what Kite presumed was a Scandinavian language. She was frantically pushing a shopping cart with a baby strapped across the handlebars. She looked exhausted. Kite wondered if the Turings had picked up the call. Presumably somebody at the safe house had seen him going into Mougins and was listening on the line.
‘Hello? Adam?’
It was Bijan.
‘Bijan, hi. I didn’t think you were there.’
‘I was sleeping.’
‘I’m sorry to have woken you.’
‘Not at all. It’s good to hear your voice. I’m glad that you’ve telephoned. How are you?’
‘I’m well, thank you.’
‘You are in Mougins?’
‘Yes,’ Kite replied. Had it been a mistake to reveal his location?
‘That’s where you’re staying?’
He avoided answering the question.
‘I’m just at the supermarket. There may not be much credit left on my card.’
‘I understand.’
‘It was just that I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation.’ Make him feel like you’re on his side, that you can’t stop thinking about what he told you. ‘To be honest, I was really shocked by some of the things you said.’
‘Yes. It’s a very difficult situation, Adam.’
‘And I’m sorry that it’s so dangerous for you.’
‘It’s considerate of you to say that. I knew as soon as we started talking that you were a good person, Adam.’
Kite waited, took a breath.
‘I’d like to help if I can. You said you wanted to meet Ali. Mr Eskandarian. What would you like me to do? How can I be helpful?’
‘Don’t worry about it. I think this might be dangerous for you. We have other tactics, other ideas we can explore.’
Kite was confused. He had assumed that Bijan would leap at the chance of a meeting.
‘I see. OK. What’s changed?’
There was a delay. It sounded as though Bijan had covered the handset and was speaking in Farsi to someone in the room. After about five seconds he returned to the call.
‘The situation is complicated. You say you are in Mougins? It is very beautiful up there. Not spoiled, like so much of the coast.’
‘Yes, very beautiful.’ Kite had the dismaying sense that he had played the wrong hand. The Scandinavian woman emerged from the supermarket, looking around the busy car park for her daughters. She was evidently distressed.
‘Thank you for ringing, Adam. I enjoyed our talk the other day.’
‘Me too,’ Kite replied, only to hear the line go dead. He stepped out of the booth and shouted at the woman: ‘I saw them go inside. Your daughters are inside
