The Memory Trap (17 page)

‘The Mafia is irrelevant, Charlie.’ Actually, the Mafia had been very useful, in frightening Peter into hiding, quite coincidentally. ‘There’s just Lukianov and his clients, for the other two sides.’

‘So why did Kulik have to die?’ Mary Franklin hit the Berlin problem on the nail. ‘Are you suggesting that he was double-crossed? That he was just bait for you, D—Dr Audley?’

She’d almost said “David”! ‘I don’t know, Miss Franklin—Mary?’ He wasn’t ashamed with himself for being pleased at attempting her Christian name. ‘But Zimin didn’t deny that Peter Richardson had been betrayed, before he had those two Arabs killed.’ He blanked out the memory of Zimin’s cold-hearted order before it could frighten him too much, with its implication of his own escape, which had been too narrow for easy recollection. ‘Only he wasn’t expecting two of them: he was expecting just one, like in Berlin, not two. And that was why he lost one of his men, when things went wrong.’ All the same, that might have saved the “celebrated” Dr Audley. ‘At least, that’s the way it looked—the way the Italians thought it was.’ He shook his head honestly. ‘And … he said “Arab”, in the singular—I know that.’ This time he shook his head, just as honestly. ‘I’m still guessing—or, as Len would put it more diplomatically, “interpreting” … But I think Peter Richardson agreed to see me because things were getting too hot for him, with the Italian authorities and the Mafia both on his tail. And, if the Italians had brought me into the business, he maybe thought he could make a deal with them, through me.’ He shrugged. ‘It could even be that Lukianov’s Arab friends had also come looking for him. But he might well have mistaken them for Mafia-types, on contract—I don’t know … Only, whatever he thought, the rendezvous was blown, both to the Arabs and—fortunately for me—to the Russians, too. It’s even possible the Mafia helped out with that, with one or other of them.’

‘The Mafia has links with Abu Nidal,’ Mary Franklin nodded. ‘The KGB isn’t so keen on either of them these days, though.’

‘But this was top-priority—‘ Charlie Renshaw stopped himself. ‘Go on, David.’

‘The rest is factual. Zimin wanted Peter alive, to squeeze him. Lukianov’s Arabs wanted him dead, to make sure he couldn’t be squeezed. And Zimin wasn’t going to risk that happening. My arrival put him off his stroke, but as soon as he knew I was by myself he went ahead, and gave the order. But, of course, it wasn’t neatly done, because of the second Arab, as I’ve said.’ He gave Renshaw a rueful nod. ‘I am guessing. But the undeniable fact is, Charlie, that everything went wrong for everyone—both in Berlin and Capri. And, in my experience, that’s what usually happens when there are too many cooks mixing the broth.’

‘Mmm … ‘ That was Charlie Renshaw’s experience too, obviously. ‘I take it that Zimin has also disappeared from the scene now, like Major Richardson, Henry?’

Jaggard nodded. ‘The Italians are almost certain that Richardson was the pseudo-American—“Dalingridge”, Charles. So that puts him in France.’

‘En route here.’ Renshaw stroked his chin. ‘But otherwise we’re none the wiser as to what Lukianov is offering the Arabs. Except, if Len is right about General Voyshinski’s unexpected arrival, here is also where Lukianov intends to transact his business.’

Jaggard sat back. ‘Neutral ground, maybe? Apart from which, if David has interpreted Zimin’s words and actions correctly, the Russians themselves don’t know what’s on offer. So they are in the dark also. But if David is right about Richardson coming home, then we may have the edge on them yet. Because, even if he doesn’t contact us … or, as the case may be, David himself … we should be able to rely on Commander Pitt picking him up in due course. And then we’ll know what it is that David has forgotten.’

That was neat. Put like that, all they had to do was to wait, and if things went wrong either he or Billy Pitt could take the responsibility, for guessing wrong or incompetence respectively.

‘No.’ Butler grunted explosively.

‘Jack—?’ Renshaw looked at Butler expectantly.

‘”Due course” won’t do.’ Butler nodded to Billy Pitt. ‘No disrespect to you or your men—or your organization—Commander. But Major Richardson is a trained man.’ And that was all Commander Pitt was getting. ‘The Russians are treating this as an urgent matter—‘

‘The Russians—‘ began Jaggard.

‘But it is not the Russians who particularly concern me first, Mr Renshaw.’ Butler ignored Henry Jaggard. ‘It is the man Lukianov and the Arabs. Because, if they frighten the Russians so much, then by God they also frighten me. And I have no reason to believe that I’m not the only one they are frightening.’

‘What—?’ Renshaw frowned at Jaggard. ‘Henry—?’

‘Colonel Jacob Shapiro is in London.’ Butler got in first. ‘Right, Mr Jaggard?’

The wily old bugger! thought Audley admiringly. ‘Jake Shapiro—?’

‘Who is—‘ Renshaw was torn between the three of them ‘—Colonel … Jake Shapiro?’ He settled on Audley. ‘David?’

‘Ex-Mossad.’ Audley wondered how much Butler had guessed. But meanwhile he allowed himself a grin for Charlie Renshaw. ‘An old mate of mine, from prehistoric times, Charlie. But … back in London?’ He looked innocently to Jaggard. ‘He was always a good friend of ours, Henry. When we gave him the chance to be, anyway.’

‘Yes.’ Jaggard had to swallow that. ‘He is supposed to be on holiday, Charles. We know about him.’

‘Holiday my foot!’ Audley shook his head. ‘He’s someone we can do business with, Charlie. And, when it comes to Arab terrorism, the Israelis have forgotten more than we’re ever likely to know. So … if Jack’s right, they could be waving old Jake like an olive branch, hoping that we’ll accept him.’

‘I see.’ Renshaw shifted to Butler. ‘Would you be prepared to release David for a few more days, to open negotiations with his “old mate”, Sir Jack? Assisting Henry of course—‘ He acknowledged Jaggard a little belatedly ‘—Henry?’

‘If Dr Audley is agreeable.’ Again Butler got in first. When he wanted to be first, he usually was. ‘I think we should regard the matter as urgent.’

‘Hold on, there!’ In this transformed situation Audley had to think quickly.

‘You don’t want to—?’ Renshaw frowned ‘—what, David?’

‘I’d like fine to meet Jake again, in—ah—in due course. But I’m not an expert on terrorism, Charlie.’

‘What are you driving at?’ Renshaw was surprised. In fact, they were all surprised. And, additionally, Henry Jaggard was also consumed with suspicion.

‘I think Peter Richardson is still my priority.’ He could make contact with Jake any time. But he didn’t want Jaggard breathing down his neck when he did. ‘I want to have a look at the old files first. And then later today I think I’ll saunter through some of Peter’s old haunts in the country, just in case.’ He gave Charlie his most serious face. ‘It would be much better if Henry here and Commander Pitt asked for a meeting with Jake, at top level. To get whatever he’s got on Comrades Lukianov and Prusakov, and their Arab associates. And on Russian intentions in general too. And, meanwhile, if I can come up with anything, I’ll let them know, of course.’

‘That sounds eminently sensible.’ Len Aston spoke out of nowhere, having effaced himself since his own surprising conribution to the conference. ‘I would agree with Sir Jack that the matter is urgent. And also … I am not convinced that we are “neutral ground”.’ He stared at Charlie Renshaw. ‘And, finally, I would prefer someone of Mr Jaggard’s seniority to negotiate with the Israelis. Because our present relations with them are … shall we say … cool, if not unfriendly?’

Nobody trusted him, when the Israelis were involved, thought Audley—even after all these years. But for once that was to his advantage. Because Henry Jaggard was now even more suspicious. But there wasn’t one damn thing he could do about it.

‘Right.’ Renshaw sat up very straight. ‘Then I will inform my masters to that effect.’ But once more he settled on Audley. ‘What we want is
no trouble
, David. That may prove impossible in the case of Lukianov and his Arabs, I grant you. But Henry and Commander Pitt will handle that. So, what I mean is, no trouble with the Russians, in view of the meeting scheduled between the PM and Gorbachev next month. Do you understand, David?’

‘Yes, Charlie.’ But it wasn’t easy to keep a straight face, all the same, now that Jack was off the hook, and Henry Jaggard was in the barrel. And he himself was … a lot more free than he’d expected anyway. ‘That suits me.’

AS THE CAR
dropped down into the great motorway cutting through the Chilterns escarpment, and the panorama of the Oxfordshire plain below opened up in front of him, Audley debated with himself whether or not he ought to be frightened, and finally voted against it.

‘Goodbye, Charlie.’ Where the others only rated nods, Charlie had deserved more, for his help. ‘Thanks for the support.’

‘Oh yes? And you’ll wear it always?’ Renshaw had given him an old-fashioned look (as, also, had the flawless Mary Franklin from the doorway). ‘Don’t forget what I said, eh? No trouble, David?’

‘No trouble, Charlie.’ He had lingered beside Mrs Harlin’s desk. ‘Did you get through to my wife, Mrs Harlin?’ He had seen Butler hovering outside his own door, watching him almost as suspiciously as Jaggard had done.

‘Yes, Dr Audley. She said for me to thank you. And she will phone Sir Matthew herself now.’

‘That’s fine.’ Now for the Headmaster’s study, Audley. ‘Coming, Jack.’ He’d have to get his act together now, too! ‘Well … that’s one worry off my mind … yes, Jack?’

‘You knew Shapiro was here, didn’t you?’ Butler opened a file on his desk and extracted a print-out from it. ‘And you’ve already talked to him.’

No matter how hard he tried not to underrate Jack Butler, he always failed. ‘I didn’t know he was here. But I have talked to him—yes, Jack.’ But even this truth failed to set him free. ‘When it comes to Arabs, they always know more than we do. And … after losing Richardson I wanted to have something in the bag, just in case. And … well, they’ve never been unfriendly to me, have they? Because of the old times.’ He still wasn’t helping himself much. ‘How did you know?’

Butler looked up from the print-out. ‘What did he tell you?’

It must have been because he’d passed up the chance of meeting Jake with official blessing. ‘He thinks Prusakov is dead, like Kulik. Something seems to have happened in Rome. Either the Russians spotted him, and he bit on his happy pill. Or maybe his Arab minder made sure he wasn’t taken prisoner—Jake wasn’t too sure.’

‘How did the Russians get on to Richardson? Did he know that?’

‘He didn’t know about Richardson. I don’t know, Jack. The Russians may not know what it is that Lukianov is offering the Arabs, but they must know more than we do, for God’s sake. Because we know fuck-all, it seems to me.’

“Fuck-all” closed Butler’s face up again in momentary distaste, but then he came to terms with the truth of it. ‘What else?’

‘Nothing else, much. We were just sounding each other out, really. He’ll give Jaggard enough to keep him busy. And then I’ll see him again, pretty soon.’ He wanted to get Butler off his back too, he realized. ‘But we’d better get our skates on, Jack. Because the Israelis are scared.’

‘Even though they don’t know what Lukianov is up to?’

‘They’re scared because the Russians are scared—like us. And for the same reason, too: knowing …
not
knowing anything isn’t to their taste, much.’ His best bet was to frighten Jack a bit too. ‘If what Lukianov is offering is worth enough for Abu Nidal or whoever to lend him manpower—
two
hit-squads, Jack—to slow us up … I don’t know … but it could be that he’s afraid his former masters may even be preparing to make a deal with us, to pool what they may know with whatever it is Richardson and I know, between us. And then we’d be able to preempt his game, maybe. So he had to try to take us out, and he was ready to sacrifice Kulik and Prusakov to do it … It’s possible that he didn’t take them into his confidence about that, is the way it rather looks … But, I really don’t know, Jack. So that’s why “Mr Dalingridge” is my priority, anyway.’ And, of course, he had one card Butler couldn’t trump. ‘And those are my orders now, in any case.’

Butler looked at the clock on the wall over the door. ‘Mitchell will be back this afternoon. You can have him.’

What Butler was doing was assessing the risk now. ‘I’ll be leaving after lunch, Jack. He can catch me up—I’ll phone in, don’t worry!’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Oh … I think I’ll take a drive in the Cotswolds—‘

The vote was against danger, by an easy majority. Because, after Berlin and Capri (and with Colonel Zimin loose and on his track), Lukianov and his Arabs wouldn’t know where he was. And by now they must have other more important fish to fry, anyway.

And he knew Peter Richardson better than they did. And better even than what was on file and record: the bald facts of that damnable computer memory on which they all depended, and which Henry Jaggard shared at the touch of a few beastly little keys. Henry had access to everything that was known to the computer as of right, with a Master Word probably possessed only by himself and God (or maybe not God), on which lesser breeds could only draw by arrangement and agreement, with every withdrawal recorded for posterity; so that now (for all the good it would do her!) the enchanting Mary Franklin was probably studying the same useless stuff he himself had dutifully skimmed through an hour ago—what a waste!

Where is he?

With the Chiltern Hills behind him and the featureless Oxfordshire plain sliding past all round he was able to think of Peter Richardson again, and the old times of fifteen years back, flexing his memory to double-check his reasoning—

Really, Peter wasn’t the
old
times—the good old, bad old times of the Clinton heyday of the late fifties and swinging sixties, when the trick had been to try and hold things together when everything was coming apart at the seams, and the truth of Fred’s two-hundred-year Rise and Fall of the British Empire thesis had been evident. No … Peter had been very much towards the end of that period, anyway … when Fred had been beginning to lose his grip and flying more and more by the seat of his pants. In fact, in retrospect and with hindsight, Peter himself had been a sure sign of the Decline and Fall of Fred’s own empire: a clever young barbarian
foederatus
who had grown up in those locust years and worshipped different gods from those of Fred, who had recruited him in a vain attempt to keep up with the times—was that it?