The Memory Trap (26 page)

The traffic had clogged up completely, so that she was able to face him again at last.

‘A complete do-it-yourself arsenal, Miss Franklin. All neatly packed and ready to use—worth a fortune to any terrorist group.’ He could see from her lack of colour that every word had entered that pretty ear. ‘Arabs—why the PFLP, or Abu Nidal, you’re going to ask? Or maybe it would suit the Arabs to make a deal with the IRA, on the side. Or they’ve got an export-cover of some sort—who knows? And they want to queer Yasser Arafat’s pitch, if he gets too close to making a deal with Israel.’

She drew a breath. ‘How do you know this?’

‘I don’t know it—any of it. But Lukianov was Spetsnaz. And no Spetsnaz arms dumps have ever been found. Only a couple of communications outfits, in North Wales and Yorkshire. And then only by pure accident.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m simply trying to string all that together, with what we’ve got, to make some sort of sense of it—‘ He frowned ahead. ‘What the hell’s happening here, in the meantime—?’

‘I think the traffic-lights have broken down.’ She shook her head helplessly at him. ‘But … the spade, David—?’

‘Ah! That was the start of it, yes.’ He could see Mitchell nodding at Richardson through the rear-window of the Porsche. ‘What I think is, one of Lukianov’s pals—or his men, rather—ran out of road one day, purely by accident. Because some of those little back-roads are tricky, believe me … But he’d maybe been making a delivery. And he was hurt, but he didn’t want to hang around.’ He turned back to her. ‘He shouldn’t have had his spade with him, that’s for sure. But he did have it. And he was sufficiently knocked-about to forget it. And then he remembered too late. Because the police were there. And Peter Richardson.’

The car jerked forward this time, reminding Audley of Mitchell at Naples. But then it stopped again. ‘Wasn’t that a remarkable coincidence, Dr Audley?’

‘If you like to call it that.’ She had been taught to mistrust coincidences. ‘I’d prefer to call it carelessness, plus accident, plus bad luck. Richardson was visiting one of his girlfriends, at Pen-y-ffin, just up the valley, on the way back from one of his trips to Hereford. Coincidence or not, that’s what happened.’ But that, of course, had been the whole point: they had been taught the same thing—the Russians too. ‘When they sent someone back, the police were there. And so was Richardson. And once they’d picked up his name—or maybe even someone identified him, for all I know … Because they’d sure as hell be on the look-out for anyone who wasn’t local, sniffing around the Maerdy area: you can be damn sure of that, anyway … But, when they picked up his name or his face they’d have checked up, one way or another … then they’d ask exactly the same questions, Miss Franklin: “who’s this Major Richardson?”. And then they’d start to wonder about coincidences, too. Just like you.’

They were up to the far side of the bridge at last, and the cause of the confusion was instantly apparent.

‘How’s that for coincidence?’ He craned his neck to emphasize what she could hardly miss. The traffic-lights had failed, and there were two angry drivers blaming each other for their recent collision, while a rain-soaked policeman attempted to sort out the doubled traffic jam. ‘You were right about the lights. So what does that make this? It looks more like carelessness, plus bad luck and accident to me.’

‘Yes … ‘ But for a moment she was more concerned to remain behind the Porsche ‘ … maybe.’

‘No “maybe” about it after that. They’d have had Peter Richardson on file. And me with him—because, we were at the sharp end in Italy the year before, Mary. And they certainly knew all about me. So when Lukianov decided to use his special knowledge, we were part of all the information which had to be erased from the record, just in case. Along with everything else from this other little episode.’

‘Erased—?’ Mitchell was accelerating. But there looked like another related traffic jam ahead. ‘But … if they thought Richardson was on to them—‘ She slammed her brakes on, slithering to within an inch of Mitchell’s pride-and-joy ‘—sorry! But … his accident, what about that?’ She shook her head at him. ‘Why didn’t they kill him?’

‘Maybe they bodged it. Or “Murphy” did … Or maybe they were smart.’

‘Smart?’

‘They weren’t sure about him. He’d resigned from R and D … And they’d got their little spade back. And killing him wouldn’t have seemed so “accidental”, they might have reckoned—not if he was still working for us … It all depends how much they’d got in their dump, too: if they’d only just started they might have been able to re-locate. And then all they really needed was a little time—just to slow him up, and take his mind off his work.’ He nodded, as much to himself as to her. ‘Because that’s what they damn-well did, anyway: they took his mind off everything, Mary, is the way it looks.’ The second traffic jam was moving again. ‘The proof of the pudding is always in the eating, don’t you think?’

‘Until now.’ She put her foot down. ‘But I still don’t see why Lukianov was so worried about you and Richardson—after he’d removed you from the record.’

‘Yes. But now we’re talking about Lukianov. And the other two … And that’s quite different.’ They were almost free now, on the approach to a big new roundabout. ‘I don’t know … It’s possible that Lukianov wanted to get rid of his partners, as well as Peter and me. And that would have been a neat way of doing it. Or he may have been afraid that there was still someone alive who could fill in enough of the blanks in the record to point the Russians back to the Richardson episode, if not to the location of his arms dump. In which case they might even try to make a deal of some sort with us—the sort of deal I’ve suggested to Henry Jaggard.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Isn’t that par for the course now?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘What do I mean?’ What he really meant was the old Audley days were very different from the new Renshaw-Jaggard-Gorbachev ones. But he could never explain that. ‘I suppose … they don’t want trouble here, any more than we do. So … I was rather hoping they might just come clean and apologize. And then pool resources, for the good of glasnost and perestroika.’ He studied her beautiful pink ear again. “They must have some sort of idea what Lukianov is up to by now. And … Henry Jaggard would love that sort of deal—wouldn’t he?’

But she wasn’t listening to him: she was swinging the wheel furiously—

‘What the hell—?’ The car swerved violently, and the driver behind hooted at them.

‘What—?’ He had been momentarily distracted by the extension of his own innermost thought, which had filled him with sudden bitterness: that these were the days of Henry Jaggard most of all, and that the days of Audley, when everything had been so black and white, were passing—if not already past? ‘What?’

‘He’s not going to Hereford—Mitchell.’ She hung on to the Porsche’s tail grimly. ‘He’s going back into the town.’

Audley looked around. They had been on a new dual-carriageway before the roundabout, neither of which had been there in the old days, any more than this maelstrom of modern traffic.

‘No. It’s all right, Mary.’ Memory came to his aid. ‘That must be the new route to Hereford. He’s just taking the old one.’

His own reassuring words relaxed her. But they turned him inwards on himself again, with their unintentional double-meaning.

The old roads he had travelled, in the days of Audley—of Audley and Sir Frederick Clinton—had been tortuous, and very dangerous sometimes too, at their black spots. But at least they had been mostly clear and well-signposted, and he had always known where he was going. Whereas on Henry Jaggard’s congested multi-lane political motorways—

‘No he’s not,’ snapped Mary sharply.

No, he wasn’t! They had twisted and turned. And now they were undeniably on a side-road … going where—?

Then he saw the little river beside him, and the question was instantly answered. And another one, as yet unasked, with it!

‘This is the beginning of the Monow valley, Mary. We cross the river over a little bridge just ahead, to the left.’ Such a little river, to have so many castles: that was what he remembered. ‘Skenfrith and Grosmont are up ahead, then. With Maerdy and White to the west.’ And no prizes for guessing which, now. ‘But Maerdy’s the nearest. And that’s where they’re going—Richardson’s going to show Paul where he found the spade.’

Mary slapped the driving-wheel angrily. ‘That’s ridiculous!’ She reached forward to flash the car-lights just as the Porsche disappeared round a corner ahead. ‘Damn them!’

‘Yes.’ She wanted Richardson safely-confined. She wanted them all safely-confined.

‘I said we’d be at Hereford by ten.’ This time she caught the Porsche. But Mitchell too turned his blind eye to the angry flash in his “mirror, just as Audley had expected him to do. ‘Damn! How far is this village—Maerdy?’

‘Not very far … at this speed.’ With Richardson beside him, Mitchell was demonstrating his car’s performance, it looked like. ‘It’s not a village. It’s just a ruined castle, Mary. With … I think there’s a farm nearby, if I remember correctly … All private, not National Trust. Or it was—‘ How many years ago? God! Too many! ‘—or it was when I was last there, anyway.’ He could almost sympathize with her. But he had to remember also that she was Henry Jaggard’s woman, not his. ‘We shouldn’t be too late. Because it’s only a few miles on to the Abergavenny-Hereford main road, near Ewyas Harold. And that’s an interesting place, too: a pre-Conquest castle site, Mary. Before 1066 and All That. Very rare indeed. In fact—‘

‘Spare me the castles, Dr Audley.’

‘Very well.’ He had never subscribed to the theory that angry women became more beautiful until now. But he saw also that she was not just angry. ‘What I should have said is … from Ewyas Harold to Hereford can’t be more than ten or twelve miles, Miss Franklin. It’s just … some people measure distance from one public house to the next. But my knowledge of the Welsh borders happens to be historical. So I measure from castle to castle, I’m afraid—‘

‘You should be afraid of more than that, Dr Audley—‘

She was too busy matching Mitchell’s fierce decelerations and accelerations to look at him, but her voice was as tightly-controlled as her driving ‘—you should be afraid because we don’t know where General Lukianov is right now—damn them!’

‘Lukianov?’ As Audley peered ahead the brake-lights of the Porsche glared at him suddenly, and he caught a glimpse of the vehicle beyond which had forced Mitchell to slow down. ‘Yes … well I don’t think you should worry too much there. Not any more.’

‘Why not?’ They were suddenly on all of two hundred yards of straight road, down into a dip and then uphill towards a crest. So she could actually frown at him.

He mustn’t smile. ‘Because he’s finally caught up with that military convoy we tangled with near Monmouth.’ He pointed ahead. ‘See that truck just disappearing over the top—and the motor-cyclist? He overtook us a few miles back.’

‘Yes—‘ She had switched back quickly to the road ahead ‘but—?’

‘Nobody’s going to try anything with the British Army leading the way—Lukianov or any of his clients. General Lukianov will be lying very low right now if he’s anywhere on this road. Having the army ahead is providential, don’t you think?’ He paused deliberately. ‘Or maybe it isn’t.’

The army disappeared over the brow of the hill as he spoke, its place being taken an instant later by the Porsche. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean—‘ he hated the next bit ‘—maybe your Mr Jaggard hasn’t been so slow off the mark after all. If he had any sort of informal contact with their new man in the embassy, and they have any sort of idea what Lukianov might be up to … They might have suggested that a military presence in this general area would be prudent, even if they don’t know the exact map reference. Just vehicles and men swanning around would be enough … Not that it matters, either way—whether it’s just our good luck or Henry being smart. It amounts to the same thing, because Lukianov won’t know which. But he’ll have to assume the worst—at least for the time being.’

They breasted the hilltop in turn, and for a moment the countryside was spread out below them: a rich landscape fading into the rain-mist, as deceptively peaceful now as it would have seemed in those other treacherous times when the quadrilateral castles had been garrisoned to protect it from the Welsh—when Moscow had been no more than a muddy provincial town and the Middle East “the Holy Land” of exotic crusading legend.

Then the rearmost of the army vehicles disappeared from sight among the trees and hedgerows, and the countryside closed in again on them as they descended on to the valley floor.

‘Anyway, as long as we’re behind them—‘ An idea struck him, out of nowhere, as he broke the silence to reassure her, cutting him short.

The idea blossomed, as he tested it—

(They were slowing down now, because Mitchell had been again forced to slow down himself, at the tail-end of the convoy, which had itself telescoped into what must have been its original compactness before the traffic jams around Monmouth had opened it out. And, sooner or later on this twisty road, long before they reached the main road near Ewyas Harold, it would surely have to stop altogether. And that would be the moment—)

‘Mary … whatever they’re doing here—the military … ‘ He completed the test as he spoke: whether he was right or wrong—or half-right, half-wrong, or whatever … and even if these really were the last days of Audley, if he was wrong, it didn’t matter. Just as it didn’t matter whether this military presence was due to Henry Jaggard or pure fluke. ‘Most likely, if Jaggard hasn’t had them ordered in, then they’ll be on their way to an exercise in the Black Mountains.’ He stared at her. ‘So … why don’t we pull rank and cancel their exercise?’

‘What—?’

‘Cancel their exercise. Put ‘em into Maerdy Castle, as their headquarters. Patrols out—ten-mile radius.’ He nodded enthusiastically. ‘If Lukianov is still loose, there has to be some sort of emergency still in force. And if I’m right about Richardson and his spade, and a Spetsnaz arms dump … Charlie Renshaw said we weren’t to cause any trouble. So this way we’ll be preventing trouble—Lukianov trouble and Russian trouble, Mary.’