Sea Leopard

him?'

'And his judgement.'

'Mm. Knew you did.' Cunningham spread his hands, wafting them in the air. 'I just don't know —'

The telephone rang. Cunningham got up heavily and crossed to it. He listened, then gestured with the receiver towards Aubrey. His face was impassive.

'Yes?' It was Hyde. Aubrey listened to the voice at the other end of the line, his eyes watching Cunningham, deep in thought in his chair.

'… they obviously didn't want the hassle of killing me — just Vassiliev out of the way. They must have known I would try to take him in if I got suspicious…'

'You're all right?' Cunningham looked up at the note of concern in Aubrey's voice.

'Unhurt, I said. What now?'

'You'll see Mrs Quin tomorrow, and take a trip to the girl's college. Someone must be able at least to guess where she might be.'

'If you say so—'

'Tomorrow, you will go armed. Good night to you, Hyde.'

As Aubrey put down the receiver, Cunningham stared at him. 'What is it?'

'Hyde. His contact at the Soviet embassy has just been expertly dispatched in a dark alley. Before he was eliminated, Hyde had discovered that the news of Quin's removal had been deliberately leaked, and yesterday's events in Sutton Coldfield were being hidden behind a smokescreen. The KGB were on to the poor blighter, tried to turn him, realised they'd failed, and shot him.'

'Our man is all right?' Aubrey nodded. 'They don't have Quin, then. I think we can be certain of it now. There is still no connection between these events and the submarine.'

'I agree. Could we not argue a suspension of operations employing “Leopard” until the Quin matter is settled?'

'We might. The first thing, I suppose, is to get you inside this “Chessboard” matter. Once there, it will be up to you. You will have to find the means to persuade the minister to ask Cabinet to postpone this little adventure. I suggest you go in there for a briefing on this “Leopard” business, sniff around, and weigh the worth of what's being done. If you can convince me, then we'll go to the minister together, and he can take it from there, if he agrees with us. Satisfied?'

Aubrey pursed his lips, studied his glass, and then nodded. 'Yes, Richard. That will do nicely. I'll make an appointment for tomorrow — perhaps with Giles Pyott.' His face darkened. 'I'm too old for hunches and intuitions. But Clark is a clear-sighted, intelligent individual with a genuine talent for our work. I'm sorry to say it, but I think there is cause for concern, and I'm sure we should recall Proteus until we find Quin.'

'Make certain, Kenneth. There are a great many sensitive corns in MoD. Tread softly.'

* * *

'Mrs Quin, you must have some idea where we can find him! I just don't believe you can't help me.'

'Have you ever been divorced, or separated?'

'No.'

'Your parents?'

'No.'

'What happened to some of the girls you' ve known? Where are they now — just one of them? Tell me what she did yesterday.'

'It isn't the same.'

'It is, Mr Hyde, believe me, it is. Tricia's coming here was one of her impulses. She spent her childhood making believe that my husband and I were happy when we weren't, and the last three years trying to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again.' Mrs Quin sighed, and her brow knitted into deep, thread-like lines. 'I'm sorry for her — sorry for myself, too.'

Hyde sat back in the chair she had shown him to when she allowed him into the lounge. Occasional traffic outside, her day off from the antique shop, the Panda car conspicuous across the street. Trees still leafless, bending and moving with the wind. The gin-hour for lonely or bored suburban housewives. She had given him tea, and seemed not to resent his behaviour of two days before.

'Jesus, Mrs Quin, it's a bloody mess,' he sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair. 'Your daughter is in real danger— all right, you already know that, I'm sorry to remind you. Nevertheless, she is. So's your husband. She's with him, or still on her way back to him. The — the other people interested in your husband know that. They know we're interested —'

'Why did he have to involve her?' the woman suddenly cried, her voice and expression full of blame, even contempt. 'No, that's not fair, I suppose. She involved herself. I know Tricia.'

'I don't. Tell me about her.'

'You mean you don't already know?' There was an arch, mocking sharp little smile, a glimpse of white teeth. Today, the hair was firmly lacquered in place, the clothes well chosen, the whole being groomed. 'About the pop groups, the drugs —'

'Drugs? Soft or hard?'

The sort you can smoke, I believe.'

'Soft. Occasionally?' Mrs Quin nodded. 'OK — rock bands?'

'Not in your files?' The easy contempt. She had forgotten her alliance with the uniformed inspector, her concern for young Sugden. Neighbours had talked, asked questions, and the police were an embarrassment, a minor disgrace.

'Yes — some references. Some time ago, though?'

'She — the phrase is slept around, I believe. With them.'

'A groupie?'

'I believe so. Am I entirely stupid to blame her college, and the kind of people they allow into them, and to teach in them, these days?' She evidently had little interest in his opinion.

'Probably,' he said. 'It's your privilege.'

'It ended, anyway. But she never seemed to settle afterwards.'

'Who — which group?'

'I don't know any of their names. I believe they were famous.'

'Did she travel with them?' A nod. 'When?'

Two summers ago — all over the country, even to the Continent. And an open air festival.'

'But you don't know their names?'

'Had I ever known them, I would have forced myself to forget.'

'I see. Would her friends in college know anything about all this?'

'I'm sure they would have been regaled with the sordid details.'

'Perhaps I should talk to them?'

'It's past now — can't you leave it?' A naked plea, the face smoothed young by concern, softened.

Hyde stood up. 'If there's anything, anything at all, ring this number. A man called Aubrey. You'd like him.' Hyde grinned humourlessly.

'Why didn't he come himself?' The tone knife-like.

'He's too important. Thank you, Mrs Quin.' As they reached the door, he turned to her and added, 'I'll get to her first, if I can. You just pray a little, mm?'

* * *

'Stop engines!'

The Soviet submarine was back. It had crossed their bows an hour earlier, fifty fathoms above them, moving away to starboard. Lloyd had ordered silent running, the engines moving them very slowly ahead, because the computer identification had been of a 'Victor-II'-class attack submarine, nuclear-powered and a hunter-killer. A shark had met another shark. Then the 'Victor-II' had altered course again, possibly picking up faint traces of heat emission or prop noise. And she had begun looking, knowing that there was something to find.

The Proteus hummed with tension in the new, complete silence. Electronics murmured, those aft sonars required to keep track of the Soviet submarine, someone cleared his throat softly; Lloyd