The Memory Trap (11 page)

‘Very beautiful.’ The man turned to him.

The movement was fluidly casual. Zimin had been a soldier, and a good one—a trainer as well as an honours graduate of
Spetsnaz
. But he would also have made a damn good rugby player in the three-quarter line of the club lucky enough to recruit him: that was what Audley had thought, that one and only other time.

‘We were admiring the view last time we met, I seem to remember, Colonel.’ For the life of him, he couldn’t smile this time. But then Zimin wasn’t smiling now, either. ‘New Zealand House—the sixteenth floor?’ Zimin definitely wasn’t smiling: he looked tired and drawn under his tan, as he had not done that evening, when they’d watched the lights of London go on together. ‘What was it? The Wool Secretariat reception—?’ Indeed, it was perhaps time to react innocently to such lack of friendliness. ‘It
is
Colonel Zimin, isn
’
t it?
’

‘Yes, Dr Audley.’ The man was almost frowning at him. ‘It is Dr Audley, isn’t it? The … celebrated Dr Audley?’

That voice was also memorable, with its curiously Germanic inflection. And, of course, he had discovered the reason for that in his subsequent check: Zimin was on record as having the gift of tongues, but German was his second language, just as Germany had been his
Spetsnaz
speciality. And he had learned his English as a German-speaker for that reason, no doubt. And probably his Italian and all the rest, too. That was how
Spetsnaz
worked.

‘Not very celebrated at the moment.’ He felt a trickle of sweat run down his face near his ear, which could have been caused by the un-English October sun, but which was more likely the muck-sweat of fear. “The over-heated Dr Audley, Colonel.’ He managed to produce some sort of smile at last, even in the knowledge that Zimin’s chunky minder was now almost out of view behind him. ‘I have very poor temperature control. Typical Anglo-Saxon—or North-West European, maybe … Although, of course, my other Norman ancestors did rather well in these parts, actually. So maybe it’s just me.’

‘Is that so?’ On the surface, Zimin was humiliatingly cool-and-calm, just as the rest of him still seemed to hang loose. But Audley sensed that inside he was dancing on his toes and wound up clockwork-tight: the whole joke—
no joke!
—
might be that he must be assuming “the celebrated Dr Audley” would be even-better-protected here, so far from home.

‘Oh yes!’ After that chance meeting at the New Zealand House reception Zimin would have done his homework too, if he hadn’t done it before (and, indeed, if it had been such a chance meeting on his part, also). And that was what he himself must hold on to now—if only to stop this embarrassing sweat-of-fear which was running off him: that the Russian must be putting two-and-two together logically, when the real mathematics of the situation were such a hopeless mess. ‘All these parts—from here to Sicily—were once Norman territory, long ago. And they made a better job of running them than anyone has since.’
Smile, Audley
!
‘
And long after that, in Nelson
’
s time or thereabouts
…
there was a British garrison here. Only, then the French threw us off. But we got the better of them, eventually
…
with some help from the Russians, as well as the Germans.
’
This time
—
grin
!
‘
We always end up on the winning side, Colonel.
’

‘I see.’ The disadvantage of such crude time-buying was that it bought them both time. ‘And is it history which brings you here now, Dr Audley? Or are you on holiday—? Is Mrs Audley down there, in the town? And Miss Audley with her, perhaps?’

Audley watched the Russian take in the view again, from the ruins directly below them to far-off Capri-town, and even more distant Anacapri on its mountain beyond, before he finally came back to the ruins and Audley himself.

‘No.’ There was one bonus to all this, among all these hideous new uncertainties: Peter Richardson would not be joining this meeting, as it was at present constituted in full view of wherever he was down there below. With Zimin here—and, even more, with the chunky man in attendance—that was certain. So, with Peter out of mind, he could afford to strengthen his position by dismissing all the small talk. ‘I’m working. And … although it’s a pleasure to meet you again … I must admit that I’m also surprised to see you here, Colonel.’

Zimin studied him for a moment. Then he drew a deep breath. But, before he could speak, Chunky snapped something in Russian, far too quickly and urgently for Audley to understand.

Zimin grunted, and then reached forward, first to touch Audley’s arm, and then to hold it, pulling him gently away from the white railings—at least, pulling him gently, because he surrendered to the pressure. ‘Dr Audley—if you please?’

Audley let himself be led, away round the squat chapel and into the shadow of what was very obviously not the statue of the Emperor Tiberius, Ruler of the World, but of the Virgin Mary, Queen of Heaven.

‘Thank you.’ Zimin glanced past him for a second, and then at him. ‘I am also surprised, Dr Audley—that you are here.’

They were now infinitely past small talk. ‘You’re surprised that I’m alive—is that it?’

Zimin drew a breath. ‘I am … relieved that you are alive.’

The rules hadn’t changed. It was simply that there were new rules, apparently. ‘Then … that makes us both relieved, Colonel Zimin. As well as surprised.’

Zimin took another look past him, presumably to make sure that Chunky was still doing his job. ‘You are here to meet with the man Peter Richardson, I take it?’ Then he nodded, and it wasn’t a question. ‘He is a former colleague, of course—yes?’

Berlin still could have been the Russians, in theory. And, by the same theory, Capri could still be Audley as well as Richardson, just as Berlin ought to have been Audley and Kulik. Only that wasn’t the way Capri felt, somehow.

‘He is.’ No use denying what they knew. But that was no reason for admitting more too readily yet, even though Zimin knew more than he did. ‘And supposing I am here to meet him?’

‘Then we have a common interest.’

Audley considered the cards he had in his hand unhappily, and almost with despair. His only trump was his belief that Richardson would be lying low, if not gone already. But that was the one card he couldn’t safely play while Zimin had all the others.

‘A common interest?’ Suddenly he had another certainty, which lifted the huge weight of fear off his back almost magically as it also clarified Berlin. If the Russians had simply been concerned to kill Richardson—with or without the aid of another surrogate Arab assassin—then a man of Zimin’s seniority would never be in attendance, even as an observer. Not even in the bad old days, let alone now (when appearances mattered), would that have been KGB/GRU style so to compromise men for whom diplomatic status was routinely required across the world.

So he was safe!

‘A common interest?’ He realized that Zimin had been waiting for something better than that. And … and now that he was safe, he could see more clearly that there was only one reason why Colonel Zimin should have come to Capri, dropping all his other important duties … just as “the celebrated Dr Audley” had been forced to do. ‘You’d like a word with him too, Colonel?’

The happy thought expanded. Because, if the Russians knew better what was happening than he did (and they could hardly know worse), it was now at least possible that they didn’t know
everything
, if they had sent Zimin to bring in Richardson.

‘We would not like any harm to come to him.’ Zimin ducked the question smoothly. ‘Our first concern, naturally, is for his safety. As I am sure yours is, Dr Audley. So you have also taken other precautions, of course—as we have?’

God—that put him on the line! Because that meant Zimin and Chunky weren’t the only KGB tourists admiring the ruins of the Villa Jovis right now: Chunky was simply Colonel Zimin’s private minder, with other “tourists” down below, among the passages and stairways and in the trees. And that was the other reason why Zimin had tightened up on seeing him: he had only been an unexpected ghost for that half-second which the Colonel had needed to remember that he didn’t believe in ghosts. But, after that, he had been consumed by the fear that there must be British tourists down there too, sniffing his own men suspiciously.

There was no help for it. With the Russians as twitchy as this, the possibility of appalling accidents multiplied, involving innocent people. And, for Jack Butler’s sake, he couldn’t take that risk—

‘I am here alone, Colonel Zimin. I have help … further down.’

That actually raised the Russian’s eyebrows slightly. Then he snapped an order at Chunky, in fast Russian vernacular.

Chunky vanished behind Our Lady’s statue, and Audley was left with his familiar problem with modern languages, in which the difference between the written and the spoken word was always a source of humiliation.

Or maybe it was because he couldn
’
t believe his ears
—
?

‘What was that, Colonel—?’ It was the verb which eluded him, among the rest. But, after having guessed at it, he still couldn’t believe it.

‘You are either very brave, Dr Audley. Or you are very stupid.’ Zimin considered him dispassionately for an instant. ‘After what happened in Berlin.’ Then he seemed to decide to give Audley the benefit of the doubt, as from one genuine soldier to one temporary one (but one from a real war before the Colonel’s time nevertheless, which therefore demanded recognition).

‘Oh—yes?’ In less pressing circumstances Zimin’s wrong choice from those alternatives would have been as interesting as it was wounding to his already damaged self-esteem. But meanwhile the sense of that command, if he understood it correctly, had to be resolved. ‘That order of yours, Colonel Zimin—to your man … I’d be obliged if you would explain it to me, nevertheless.’

‘Obliged?’ The word seemed to throw the Russian.

‘Yes.’ Audley realized that the word wasn’t to blame: Zimin was waiting now for his instruction to be carried out, and until it had been then even the celebrated Dr Audley could not hold his attention absolutely. ‘Obliged, Colonel.’

Zimin’s lips tightened. ‘It was not for your former colleague, Dr Audley.’

‘I know that.’ The man’s waiting was infectious. ‘Or … I gathered that.’

‘Then you also know that he is in great danger.’

If the Russian had been concentrating on him fully he would be amending “brave” to “stupid” now. But he was boxed in by his own doubt, just as Audley himself was by his own stupidity. ‘Indeed? But not from you?’

Almost as though against his will, Zimin forced himself to attend to Audley. ‘We do not want him dead, Dr Audley. As others do.’

Audley held his face steady.
Tell them to kill the Arab
was undoubtedly what Zimin had said, although “kill” hadn’t been the word he’d used: what he had just said made that certain, never mind the untidy events in Berlin.

‘And we do not want you dead, either, Dr Audley. We do not want any … unnecessary violence in this matter. All we want is Major Richardson.’

So Berlin had been as much a disaster for the Russians as for the British, albeit a different sort of disaster: in so far as that made sense, it made much better sense. Only he mustn’t let his relief show, any more than his ignorance: anger was what he must show now. ‘The correct word is “kidnap”, I believe, Colonel.’

‘He will not be harmed. Nor will he be held very long.’

‘But he will have been kidnapped. And my Government—‘

The scream took them by surprise equally, with its throaty mixture of mortal agony and terror: he saw Zimin’s eyes widen as the sound rose from below to their left, among the trees, only to be cut off instantly, as though by a switch, leaving them staring at each other.

Then Zimin’s mouth opened in a silent swear-word, that something which should have been accomplished equally silently had been bungled so noisily.

For a moment there was no sound at all: the very lack of sound mocked them both. Then it was shattered by another scream—but a very different one: a high-pitched cry punctuated by breath, ululating unstoppably.

That was a woman
’
s scream
! The certainty raced through Audley’s brain as he thought also of Elizabeth disobeying him. But then the scream hiccoughed into hysterics; and …
Elizabeth wouldn
’
t scream
—
wouldn
’
t have hysterics
…
and, anyway, it wouldn
’
t be Elizabeth who disobeyed him
—

Zimin was staring at him, ready-tensed as though the sound had tightened up his spring.

Audley relaxed himself slowly and deliberately. Once upon a time, maybe, he might have chanced a forward’s weight against a three-quarter’s speed at this distance. But that time was long gone, and the Russian had far too many years’ youthful advantage. So all he had now, to steady his fear, was the echo of the man’s words—
no unnecessary violence?
—
and his own wits.

The scream ran out of breath at last, degenerating into sobs. But now a man was shouting, somewhere down among the ruins.

He drew a deep breath. ‘I rather think—‘ Embarrassingly, he had to clear his throat ‘—I rather think your men have queered both our pitches now, Colonel … I’m afraid.’ He spread his hands as eloquently as he could, and shook his head.

Zimin frowned, but didn’t unwind.

‘Richardson won’t come now.’ He shook his head again. ‘God only knows what he’ll be thinking!’ That certainly was true. ‘But he’ll know he’s been betrayed, anyway.’ That was also true. So why not more truth? ‘He’s not stupid.’ But now the important half-truth. ‘So I’m afraid we’ve both lost him. And he won’t be so easy to find next time—‘ He could hear the sound of footsteps on the stone steps at the back ‘—if we ever find him now, that is, Colonel.’ He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise. But he gave the Russian his ugliest scowl, and nodded towards the railing beside which they’d met, in full view of the whole of Capri. ‘And what
rather
pisses me off, Colonel Zimin, is that … if, by any chance, he saw us exchanging pleasantries just now, before your idiots dealt with that Arab so incompetently … then he may very well think we’re in this together. And that sort of
glasnost
won’t be to his taste, seeing as how the Mafia and the Italian police also want to nail his hide to the nearest tree as it is.’