calmly going about the Queen’s business, standing on the prow of a luxury yacht wearing a battered Panama hat.
‘Why does everyone insist on calling it “Beijing” nowadays?’ he asked. ‘You don’t say “Roma”, do you? You don’t talk about “Milano” or “Munchen”?’
‘It’s just the fashion,’ Mark replied.
‘Ah yes, the fashion.’ Keen sighed and let his eyes drift towards the ceiling. He enjoyed playing the fuddy- duddy with Mark, assumed that it was a part of his paternal role. ‘I sometimes think that everything these days is about fashion, about not doing or saying the wrong thing. Common sense has gone right out of the window.’
‘I guess.’
A smooth-skinned waiter, working in tandem with a pretty Chinese girl wearing a sky-blue silk dress, ferried plates of dim sum and steamed rice to their table. They were on to their third bottle of wine — a characterless Ribera del Duero — by the time Keen got round to Taploe’s business.
‘Oh, by the way,’ he said. ‘I had a call from Thomas Macklin while you were away.’
‘Oh yeah? Tom? What did he want?’
‘Just a couple of routine questions. Divisar business. Tell me about him. How do you two get on?’
Mark was swallowing a mouthful of prawn satay and for some time was able only to nod and raise his eyebrows in response.
‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked eventually, wiping a napkin over his bottom lip.
‘He intrigued me. As you can imagine, we get a lot of lawyers coming into the firm. He’s still relatively young, highly competent, somebody whom I imagine would be an asset to Libra.’
‘Tom’s all right. A bit flash, bit lippy. Good lawyer, though.’
‘Does your work dove tail?’
Mark could not hear the question over the noise of the restaurant and he cocked his head to one side to encourage his father to repeat it. Keen leaned in.
‘I said, does your work dove tail? How much of him do you see, apart from when you’re both abroad together?’
‘I was out with him last night, matter of fact. Tom’s a big drinker, likes to whip out the company credit card. If there’s a new secretary in the office he’s always the one who asks her out. Champagne and oysters, loves all that shit. Never has any luckwith the birds, mind, but you’ll have a good time if you tag along.’
Whenever Mark discussed Libra business his voice unconsciously dropped into a mannered sub-Cockney that cloaked its true origins in private education. His workaccent, his music industry drawl, deliberately shaved off consonants and slackened vowels. It was an affectation that irritated Keen, though he had never mentioned it.
‘And what happens when you go on these trips?’ he asked, pouring himself a glass of water. The woman with whom he had briefly flirted rose from her table and managed a final seductive glance. Keen ignored her. ‘You must get sick of the sight of one another.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Mark was using a pair of chopsticks to pickup a pork dumpling. He held it in the air for some time, like a jeweller examining a gem for flaws. ‘I like the company, to be honest.’ He popped the food into his mouth and began chewing it vigorously, smiling as he ate.
All of this was of interest to Keen. Is Viktor Kukushkin’s syndicate providing Libra with protection in Russia, or is there a larger conspiracy evolving here in London? Taploe had almost whispered his requests, eyes glued to Keen’s lapel. Mark could prove vital in giving us a clear picture of Roth’s and Macklin’s activities. We’d like to know everything you can find out. But Mark did not appear unsettled by the line of questioning: on the contrary, he seemed comfortable and relaxed, just chatting and enjoying his lunch.
‘Good, these, aren’t they?’ he said, and picked up another dumpling.
‘Yes,’ Keen nodded. ‘I must say I was impressed by all of your people. Sebastian, of course, though we met only briefly. The two marketing girls as well. And that Frenchman you brought in last time, Philippe d’Erlanger.’
‘Philippe, yeah. He’s Belgian, actually.’
Keen acknowledged the mistake.
‘But Macklin stood out. Very bright, very capable. During our initial meetings he impressed me a great deal. I acted only as a conduit, as you know, so I have no idea how he’s behaved latterly. But he was very well informed, seemed to know his stuff. A bit pushy, clearly, not necessarily someone one would want to buy a used car from. Do you trust him?’
‘No,’ Mark replied, swallowing. ‘But I wouldn’t have thought he trusts me either.’
‘Now why do you say that?’
‘Best policy, isn’t it? Rule of thumb. Never trust the people at the top. Don’t put yourself in a position where you have to rely on anyone. That way you won’t be too disappointed when they fuck you over.’
Keen’s eyes narrowed. He wondered if the sentiment had its origins in Mark’s childhood.
‘Do you think he’s capable of that?’
But he had pushed too hard.
‘Why are you so interested in Tom?’ Mark asked. ‘Have Divisar had trouble with him? Has he not been paying our bills?’
‘No, no. I’m just fascinated by the way your partnership works. He obviously has the ear of Roth, so where does that leave you?’
‘Well, I’m not a lawyer, am I? That’s not my area of expertise. So the relationship he has with Seb is different from the one he has with me. More personal, if you like. Those two share a lot of secrets which nobody else is privy to.’
Perhaps there was something here for Taploe.
‘What kind of secrets?’ Keen asked.
‘Well, they wouldn’t be secrets if I knew, would they? Financial stuff, I guess; plans for the future. That sort of thing.’
‘I see.’ Mark looked vaguely bored, but Keen was anxious to probe further. ‘Just while we’re on the subject,’ he said, ‘were there any developments on your trip that I should know about? The position on the roof, for example?’
‘No. Tom’s handling it. He deals with those boys.’
‘So you’ve had no contact with the gangs?’
‘I wouldn’t say no contact.’ The waitress picked up two plates from the table, smiled at Mark and walked off. ‘They’re everywhere out there. Hotel foyers, restaurants, sitting in their shiny four-by-fours on Novy Arbat. You can hardly move without bumping into some wanker in a cheap leather jacket who thinks he’s Chechnya’s answer to Al Pacino. Mack’s all for it, of course, loves hanging out with them. Acts like he’s landed a walk-on part in The Sopranos. But they’re not for me. Far as I’m concerned, the mafia makes a living out of other people’s misery and that’s not a good reason to go drinking with them.’
Keen registered this last remark: at SIS he had been trained to be wary of the man who declares his innocence unprompted. It was usually the case that those who made a frequent expression of their moral outrage were most often the ones who turned out to be unscrupulous.
‘Surely Macklin’s just doing his job, just trying to get the best deal for Libra?’ he suggested. ‘I would have thought it was important to keep them onside.’
Mark smirked.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘He keeps them onside, all right.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Whenever we’re in Moscow, Tom makes sure to get a hooker up to his suite. Her twin sister as well, if he’s feeling perky. He’d like to call that “keeping them onside”. That way he could run it through expenses.’
Keen frowned.
‘He’s got sucked into that, has he?’
‘Well, let’s face it, no one else is going to sleep with him.’
Keen duly grinned but the conversation appeared to have exhausted itself. As he had both hoped and expected, there had been nothing of any content to unsettle him, nothing he would feel obliged to reveal to Taploe. He felt an odd, protective urge to tell Mark that his flat was most probably wired, that the grass skirts had eyes and ears in the homes of every one of the senior employees at Libra. Yet he was bound by an older loyalty, barred even
