The Avenue of the Dead (18 page)

Kidson lit a cigarette. ‘Why did you let her burn to death?'

‘I couldn't have saved her,' Fleming protested. ‘I'd have been killed myself.'

‘That's not what you told Davina Graham last night,' Kidson said.

Fleming sprang up. ‘I don't know what I said last night!' he shouted. ‘That hard-faced cow standing over me, asking the same thing over and over again – I couldn't have got to Raffaella if I'd wanted to!'

‘And you didn't want to, did you?' Kidson reminded him. ‘You knew she'd been following you. You knew she'd found out what you were doing and you tried to kill her by fixing the brakes on her car. Isn't that how it happened?'

‘No!' Fleming blazed at him. ‘I never touched the car – I tell you she was paranoid! There was nothing the matter with the brakes, she just rammed into a truck because she was a lousy driver who always jumped the lights! She made it all up – she invented the whole fucking thing. Oh Jesus God, what's the use?'

‘No use at all,' Kidson said, ‘unless you tell me the truth. Where's your wife, Fleming? She found out about you too. What have you done to shut her up?'

‘I haven't touched her,' Fleming shouted. ‘The last people to see her alive were Davina bloody Graham and the Scot she's living with! Why don't you ask them?'

‘Because you're the most likely suspect,' Kidson answered. ‘She had the diary, and she was holding it over you, wasn't she? Blackmail isn't a bad motive. The story can't be kept hidden much longer. That coloured maid of yours will start to talk if she hasn't already. Unless you bought her off. Did you, Fleming – did you pay her to keep quiet and say your wife never came home that night?'

‘Why don't you go and ask her?' Fleming snapped back. ‘Why don't you stop this lousy charade and call the police?'

‘Not the police, I'm afraid,' Kidson said. ‘We have no choice except to show the diary to the CIA and let them take it from there. You'll find them much less sympathetic than me. Or Miss Graham.'

Fleming looked at him. ‘That's your threat, isn't it? If I don't say what you want me to say you'll turn me over and let them kill the scandal. And kill is the operative word.'

Kidson stared back at him, but didn't answer. He opened his cigarette case and took out a filter-tip. The case was Charlie's wedding present. It was of gold and old-fashioned in the age of modern packaging, but he couldn't bear to disappoint her by not using it. He offered one to Fleming.

‘We're not going to tell them unless we've no alternative,' he remarked. ‘We don't want the scandal either. Just stop being a bloody fool, and tell me the truth, so we can work out how to do it. We have a small advantage. We're the only ones who've seen that diary. That gives us a little time. Unless your wife is found dead. Then the whole business will blow up in our faces and we won't be able to do anything but leave you to the tender mercies of the Director and his friends at Langley. They won't like you, Fleming, when they find out you've betrayed their country and the trust of the President. I think you know that.'

‘You want me to say I'm a KGB agent,' Fleming said slowly. ‘Then you can tie up your own end of it, pick over the information for London, and make a deal with Langley to shove it all under the carpet. Dumping me when you're ready. I'm sorry. I can't oblige you.' He threw the half-smoked cigarette into the grate. ‘I'm going to my office,' he said. ‘I have an appointment with the President at three o'clock.'

‘If I gave you a guarantee that we would get you out before we call in the CIA, would that make a difference?' Kidson asked him. ‘I have the authority to do that.'

Fleming hesitated. ‘What kind of guarantee – what sort of a deal can you make with me when I'm not a bloody Russian agent?'

Kidson didn't answer. There was a moment's silence and at last Fleming moved. He came and sat on the edge of an armchair. There was a strange look of resignation and despair in his eyes.

‘You won't believe me,' he said slowly. ‘Even if I tell you the truth. Nobody will believe what really happened.'

Kidson was adept at hiding his feelings. His satisfaction didn't appear on his face. ‘I'm quite prepared to try,' he said. ‘Would you believe me if I told you that I don't sit in judgement on you, whatever you've done? People make mistakes. Some of them are more excusable than others. All I want is to safeguard Britain's interests. And the President's; he's a fine man.'

‘Yes,' Fleming said, ‘he is. I'll call through to my office and say I'll be in before lunch. I can't just abdicate and not turn up. That'll cause comment.'

‘Exactly,' Kidson said. ‘You're keeping your head, I'm glad to see. Let's say we start with – oh, an hour and a half? Then you go to your office and carry on as normal. See the President; say and do nothing out of the ordinary. I'll think over what we've talked about and call you. We can continue this evening.'

‘All right,' Fleming agreed. ‘Before we start I'd like a drink. Vodka on the rocks.'

‘Of course.' Kidson got up and rang a bell. ‘You won't mind if I only drink coffee – it's a little early for me.' He watched the other man intently. Fleming was either an accomplished actor or he was genuinely giving way. Kidson didn't expect the first version to be the truth. He walked over to Fleming and laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘I meant what I said,' he said. ‘I'm not here to pass judgement. Ah, there's your drink. Shall we sit down and you tell me the story in your own way? I'd like to help if I can.'

‘She's a remarkable woman,' Sir James White beamed at Humphrey Grant. He had just finished his telephone call to Davina. ‘What a blessing I talked her into coming back to work! I think we've broken this open just in time.'

‘It's going to present problems,' Grant said. He was in a gloomy mood through lack of sleep. ‘How do we prevent a leak? Washington is the worst city in the world for rumours. That dreadful Fleming woman has disappeared – murdered by the KGB to stop her compromising her husband. That can't be kept quiet for much longer –'

‘Of course it can.' James White was irritated by his colleague's pessimism. He felt particularly buoyant after his conversation with Davina. ‘If she is a KGB victim, she won't surface again. They never do. Fleming can say his wife has left him and gone to England. When they know the facts, the CIA will back up the story. I don't see what you're worrying about, Humphrey.'

‘I'm worrying about what we do with Fleming,' Grant said. He was irritated in turn by the chief's airy optimism.

‘We'll leave that to the CIA,' James White said.

Grant looked up sharply. ‘Kidson has given a guarantee of safety,' he said.

‘Oh, my dear chap,' the chief shook his head, ‘my dear chap, what John agrees inside the embassy is one thing; what happens to Edward Fleming outside that embassy is quite another matter. I'm not interested in the safety of a man like that. Just in his silence. I'm quite sure Langley will take the responsibility away from us. Since we have an ex-colleague high up in their ranks, it won't be too difficult to arrange.'

‘The odious Mr Barr, as he now calls himself.' Humphrey Grant grimaced. ‘He wears button-down shirts and tries to cultivate an American accent. I wouldn't trust him an inch.'

‘I'd trust him to get rid of an embarrassment like Edward Fleming, though,' James White remarked. ‘Wouldn't you?'

There was nothing Grant could do but agree with that.

‘He wants us to go down to Mexico,' Davina said. ‘To Cuernevaca, to check on the fire and Raffaella's death.'

‘I've never been to Mexico,' Lomax said. He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘Aside from playing detectives, it might be nice for us, too. You could do with a break, my love.' He twined her fingers through his. ‘You are my love, you know. I don't expect you to say anything. I just wanted to tell you.'

They held hands in silence for a moment. ‘I'm glad,' she said at last. There was nothing more she could say, without dishonesty. ‘It won't be much of a break, going through police records and newspaper reports. How's your Spanish?'

‘Nonexistent,' he answered. ‘What about yours?'

‘It's adequate. Enough to find out the facts. If it gets complicated there's a contact in Mexico City who'll come out and interpret. I don't think we'll need them. The chief was brimming over with congratulations, lots of praise for you too. He said we weren't to worry about expenses.'

‘That's good,' Lomax grinned. ‘What's the best hotel in Cuernevaca?'

‘He also said I could stay on here afterwards for a time. I didn't expect that. He must have some ulterior motive for all this human kindness.'

‘You don't trust him an inch, do you?'

‘No,' she answered quietly. ‘I learned the hard way not to rely on his promises. Or his feelings, because he hasn't got any. It's funny, Colin. Here I am working against a man in Moscow, and the one I really hate is my chief in London.'

‘I don't understand that. The man in Moscow killed Sasanov. How could you hate anybody more than him?'

‘It was his job to kill my husband. It was the chief's job to protect him. I hate Borisov, Colin, but it's one professional hating another. I'll work for the chief because I'm working against Borisov. But I'll never ever forgive him. You know that saying in the Bible, “Naked to mine enemies”. That's how he left Ivan. And me, incidentally. One day, somehow, I'll pay him back.'

‘I don't see how,' he remarked quietly.

‘I don't either. But there'll be an opportunity. I'll wait. Anyway, don't let's talk about it. We'll have a little time to ourselves in Mexico. He said not to worry about expenses and we'll damn well take him at his word. Do you like sightseeing?'

‘Not much, but I can try. When do we leave?'

‘As soon as possible.' She frowned. ‘We need to book into a hotel and get on a flight in the morning. I really want to find out how Kidson's getting on. And I want to go over to the house and talk to that housekeeper Ellen. I had the feeling she was holding something back.'

‘All right,' Lomax said. ‘Why don't I fix the hotel and the flight while you do that? One thing I've learned about you is not to go against that damned sixth sense of yours.'

‘If you'd called it intuition,' she smiled at him, ‘I'd have been furious.'

‘Same thing,' he retorted. ‘I've an idea – why don't we take the morning off? Take a walk through the city, I'll give you a special lunch. At the Unicorn. How about that?'

‘Shoe leather steaks?' she teased him. ‘Just leave your right eyeball for the tip – no, Colin love, not the Unicorn. Let's find somewhere simple and nice near the river. It's a lovely day and we can pretend we're plain tourists like everyone else.' She got up and stood beside him, slipped her arm round him and bent down and kissed him. ‘I know one thing,' she said. ‘I'm very, very lucky to have you.'

Jeremy Spencer-Barr stared at each of the men in front of him. He had cold eyes that never warmed, even when he was being friendly. He was feared by his subordinates.

‘Are you telling me,' he said, ‘that you've lost her?'

The senior CIA operative nodded. ‘Yes, sir,' he said flatly. ‘That's what I'm telling you.'

‘Tell me again,' Spencer-Barr snapped at him. ‘Tell me how the fucking hell you lose a woman we've been tailing night and day for months, and had right here in this office only two nights ago? Tell it to me again, Frank.'

Frank had a line of red creeping up under his collar; he felt it spread up his neck at the back. His assistant kept shifting his feet, from the left foot to the right, and back from the right to the left. They were both going to lose their jobs and go down the line for having mislaid Elizabeth Fleming.

‘We took her home that night,' Frank repeated. ‘Joe drove the yellow cab and we followed. We set her down by the house, Joe drove off and we waited till she went in. Then we drove up the street, turned round and took up our positions for the night surveillance. Nobody came or went out of the house till the English dame and her sidekick drove up. They stayed around an hour. There was nobody else in the car with them when they left.'

‘Where did they park?' Jeremy snapped at them.

‘Right in front of the house,' the second man muttered. ‘Frank and I never took our eyes off. Just the two came out. She couldn't have gotten out without us seeing.'

‘My guess is,' the Englishman said, ‘she not only could but did. She slipped out some time while the others were inside. You weren't watching that automobile, not till the front door opened and they came out. You wouldn't have been expecting anyone to open a door and get in the back and just lie down out of sight. There's no other way Mrs Fleming could have disappeared, without those two British helping her. Right under your goddamned noses. I want a full report by midday.'

After they had gone, he sat motionless at his desk, scowling at the telephones and the recording aparatus, and the mini-computer that could supply data at the touch of a button. Elizabeth Fleming had disappeared. How? He answered his own question with a string of four-letter words. Because British intelligence had taken the initiative and got the woman out of his reach. He believed he had laid the ground for a separation between her and Edward Fleming which could be tactfully managed without too much fuss. Instead there was a British-assisted flight out of the country. His director would not be pleased.

Jeremy sat on for some time; he refused to take calls until he had made his decision. He had to see Edward Fleming and find out exactly what had happened. It would help if he could assure the director that a natural explanation for the disappearance would come from the politician himself. If he were really clever, and banished the two witnesses of his failure far enough from the centre at Langley, he might even turn his disaster into a triumph. He snapped on his intercom and said to his secretary, ‘Get me Edward Fleming at the White House.' When the light showed on his personal telephone link with the White House switchboard, he picked it up and said, ‘Mr Fleming? My name is Jeremy Barr. I'm an associate of General Hutchins. It's important I meet with you right away. What time can you give me today? Around four-thirty. Fine. I'll be there.'