The Tightrope Men / The Enemy (14 page)

Carey sat in the Café Hildén on Aleksanterinkatu and sank a beer while waiting for Harding. After twelve hours’ sleep he felt refreshed and no longer as depressed as he had been. He knew his depression had been caused by tiredness. All the same, rested and clear-headed though he was, the coming decision was not going to be easy to make.

He saw Harding come around the corner so he held up his hand. When Harding came over, he asked, ‘You’ve seen Denison?’ On Harding’s nod, he said, ‘Have a beer.’

Harding sat down. ‘That’ll be welcome. I didn’t think it got as hot as this in the frozen north.’

Carey went to the counter and returned with two more beers. ‘What’s the verdict?’

Harding had his head on one side, apparently watching the foam rise in his glass. ‘Oddly enough, he’s improved since I last saw him. He’s better integrated. What are his drinking habits like now?’

Carey tapped the side of his glass. ‘He just has the odd beer.’

‘In an odd sort of way this experience might have been therapeutic for him.’ Harding smiled wryly. ‘Although I wouldn’t recommend it as a well-judged treatment. Now that we know more of his past history I’m better equipped
to assess his present state.’ He took a notebook from his pocket. ‘Denison was something of a car enthusiast and ran a Lotus Elan. Three years ago he was driving with his wife, there was an accident for which he was partly—and only partly—to blame, and his wife was killed. They had been married eighteen months. She was pregnant at the time.’

‘That’s bad,’ said Carey.

‘He took
all
the blame on himself,’ said Harding. ‘And one thing led to another. He began to drink heavily and was on the verge of alcoholism when he lost his job for incompetence.’

‘That baffles me,’ said Carey. ‘Because he’s bloody competent at what he’s doing now.’ He grinned. ‘I’m thinking of offering him a permanent job.’

Harding sampled his beer. ‘He can’t remember his wife in any meaningful way because of what’s been done to him. He remembers her and he remembers her death but it’s as though it happened to someone else. Of course, that’s just as it should be after three years. In a normal person the sharpness of grief is blunted by the passage of time and, in that respect, Denison is now normal.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Carey.

Harding gave him a sharp look. He mistrusted Carey’s reasons for being glad. He said, ‘Consequently he has lost his irrational guilt feelings and has no need to anaesthetize himself with booze. Hence the return to competency. I rather think that, with a little expert treatment, he can be made into a much better man than he was immediately prior to his kidnapping.’

‘How long would that take?’

‘Three to six months—that’s just a guess.’

Carey shook his head. ‘Too long; I want him now. Is he fit to carry on?’

Harding pondered for a moment. ‘You know, I think he’s actually enjoying himself right now. He likes the cut and
thrust of this business—the opportunity to exercise his wits seems to be good for him.’

‘So he’s fit,’ said Carey in satisfaction.

‘I didn’t say that,’ said Harding testily. ‘I’m not thinking of your damned operation—I’m thinking of Denison.’ He thought for a while. ‘The present pressures don’t seem to worry him. I’d say the only danger is if his past is revealed to him in a traumatic manner.’

‘That won’t happen,’ said Carey definitely. ‘Not where I’m sending him.’

‘All right,’ said Harding. ‘Then he’s as fit as a man in his position can be—which isn’t saying a hell of a lot.’

‘Which brings me to another problem,’ said Carey. ‘Meyrick is dead.’ He inspected that statement, found it wanting, and amended it. ‘Probably dead. We have a body but once bitten, twice shy.’

‘I see your difficulty,’ said Harding with a half smile.

‘I can’t tell the girl her father’s dead—not with Denison around. She’d blow up like a volcano and bang goes his cover as Meyrick—and I need him as Meyrick. The point is—do I tell Denison?’

‘I wouldn’t,’ said Harding. ‘Handling Lyn Meyrick is tricky enough for him as it is. If he knows her father is dead it might put him into a moral dilemma, assuming he’s a moral man which I think he is.’ He sighed. ‘God knows we’re not.’

‘We represent the higher morality,’ said Carey sardonically. ‘The greatest good for the greatest number. I’ve always been a Benthamite at heart; it’s the only way to keep my job bearable.’ He drained his glass. ‘That’s it, then. Where is Denison now.’

‘Sightseeing,’ said Harding. ‘He took his daughter to see the Sibelius Memorial.’

‘It looks like an organ,’ said Lyn judiciously. ‘If it had a keyboard you could play it. A bit funny, that, come to think of it. Sibelius was an orchestra man, wasn’t he?’

‘I think so,’ said Denison. He consulted his guide book. ‘It weighs twenty-eight tons and was made by a woman. I suppose you could call it an early example of Women’s Lib—the hand that rocks the cradle can also wield the welding torch. Let’s sit and watch the passing parade.’

They sat on a bench and watched a tour group debark from a bus; transatlantic accents twanged the air. Denison saw Armstrong stroll along the path below the monument, then he lifted his eyes to look at the sea. The white sails of yachts dotted the deep blue which echoed the lighter blue of the cloudless sky. He wondered when Carey was going to make his move.

Lyn sighed comfortably. ‘Isn’t this beautiful? I didn’t think Finland would be like this—it’s more like the Mediterranean, like Ibiza. Remember when we went there?’

‘Mmm,’ said Denison neutrally.

Lyn laughed. ‘That funny little hotel where there was no hot water and you couldn’t have a hot bath. I’ve never heard you complain so angrily. What was the name of the owner—that little fat man?’

‘I don’t remember,’ said Denison. That was safe enough; a man was not expected to remember every casual encounter. ‘And then the seafood was bad and they took you off to hospital and pumped out your stomach.’

‘I always had a delicate stomach,’ said Denison. He pointed out to sea. ‘I think they’re racing out there.’ He wanted to divert her mind to the present.

‘Yes, they are,’ she said. ‘That reminds me—I suppose
Hesperia
is still laid up if you’ve not been sailing her this summer. The reason I ask is that if you’re not going to sail her I’d like to. I sort of half promised Janice and Kitty—friends of mine—that we’d sail together.’

Denison was silent, not knowing what to say.

Lyn said, ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. Billy Brooks will put her in the water and I can rig her myself.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘But don’t get into trouble. English waters aren’t as calm as the Baltic. When are you intending going back?’

‘I haven’t made up my mind yet. I have to write to the girls and make plans, then I’ll drop a line to Billy at the yard. You were going to get a new suit of sails two years ago—did you?’

‘Yes.’ He stood up quickly. ‘Let’s press on—it’s quite late and I have to see someone at the hotel’

‘All very mysterious,’ she said. ‘What’s the sudden appointment?’ She grinned at him. ‘It sounds rather like Wilde’s excuse—“I must decline your invitation owing to a subsequent engagement.”’

Had he been as transparent as that? He forced a smile and said, ‘It’s just that I promised to have a drink before dinner with the Kidders, that’s all.’

‘Oh,’ she said lightly. ‘Then let’s go. We mustn’t keep the Kidders waiting.’

As they walked away Denison saw Armstrong rise from his bench and follow them.
What’s the use of a bodyguard?
he
thought.
The enemy is by my side and stabs with a sharp tongue.
More and more he was conscious of the injustice of the fraud he was perpetrating on Lyn Meyrick and he determined to see Carey and ask him to find a way of separation.

They got back to the hotel, and Lyn said, ‘Do you mind if I come to your room?’ She looked about the hotel lobby. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about.’

‘What?’

She pointed to the hotel entrance. ‘Him, for one thing.’ Denison looked around and saw Armstrong just coming in. ‘He’s been following us for the last two days.’

‘He’s supposed to,’ said Denison. ‘You might call him a bodyguard. If I go into the sauna again—which God forbid—he’ll be in there with me.’

She said quietly, ‘I think you’d better tell me what it’s all about. There’s a lot you’re keeping from me. In your room?’

‘All right,’ he said resignedly. They went up in the lift with three other people and Denison used the time to sort out what he was going to tell her—no lies but withholding most of the truth. He decided that a lot could be hidden behind the Official Secrets Act.

He unlocked the door and followed her in. ‘What do you want to know, Lyn?’

‘There’s a big secret, isn’t there?’ She sat on the bed.

‘Which I can’t tell,’ he answered. ‘It’s part of my work. Somebody had a go at me the other day so the Embassy sent that young fellow—he’s called Armstrong, incidentally—to look after me. That’s all.’

‘No more?’

‘Nothing you’re entitled to know, Lyn. I’m sorry.’ He spread his hands. ‘I’m bound by the Official Secrets Act.’

Her face was drawn. ‘I’m sorry, too, because it isn’t enough.’

‘My God, I
can’t
tell you anything more. If I tattle about what I’m doing they’ll assume I’m a bad security risk.’ He
laughed shortly. ‘I’d never be allowed into my own factories—and that’s the best that could happen. At the worst I could go to prison.’ He sat on the bed next to her. ‘It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Lyn; it’s that if you knew what I know you’d be vulnerable. I don’t want to put you in danger.’

She was silent for a while. Her face was troubled and her fingers plucked at the coverlet. She moistened her lips. ‘I’ve been worried.’

‘I know you have, but there’s nothing to worry about. It’s over, and Armstrong will see that it doesn’t happen again.’

‘It’s not that I’ve been worrying about.’

‘What, then?’

‘Me,’ she said. ‘And you—principally you. There’s something wrong somewhere.’

Denison felt his stomach churn. He said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s your imagination.’

It was as though she had not heard him. ‘Nothing big—the big things were all right. It’s the little things. Thread-Bear, for instance; how could you have forgotten Thread-Bear? And then there are the Kidders.’

‘What about the Kidders?’

‘Two years ago you’d have cut a man like that down to size in five words.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘You’ve changed. You’ve changed too much.’

‘For the better, I hope,’ said Denison, fighting a valiant rearguard action.

‘I’d say so.’ There was a slight waver in her voice. ‘You’re not nearly as hard to get on with.’

‘I’m sorry if I gave you a bad time in the past,’ said Denison soberly. ‘As I said before: perhaps as I grow older I grow wiser.’

‘It confused me,’ she said. ‘And I’m no different from anyone else; I don’t like being confused. And I had a crazy idea—it was so crazy I thought I must be losing my mind.’

Denison opened his mouth but she covered it with her hand. ‘No, don’t speak. Let me sort it out myself. I don’t want to be confused again.’

She took her hand away, and Denison said quietly, ‘Go on, Lyn.’

‘I found myself having strange thoughts about you.’ She swallowed. The kind of thoughts a girl shouldn’t have about her own father, and I felt ashamed. You were so
different,
you see; not like my father at all—and the change was too much. I tried to see how you’d changed and the only conclusion I could come to was that suddenly you’d become human.’

‘Thanks,’ said Denison.

‘There’s a bit of my old daddy come back,’ she said vehemently. ‘Oh, you could use irony and sarcasm like knife blades.’

‘No irony intended,’ said Denison sincerely.

‘Then I saw the other things like Thread-Bear and the Kidders and the fact that you’ve stopped smoking. Look at your hands now—no nicotine at all. Then I got this wild idea.’

Denison stood up. ‘Lyn, I think we’d better stop this now,’ he said coldly. ‘You’re becoming hysterical.’

‘No, we won’t stop,’ she shouted, and stood to face him. ‘You knew all the works of Sibelius backwards and sideways, and why wouldn’t you? You’re a Finn! But this morning you only
thought
his work was for the orchestra. And I don’t know about you—we’ve been parted for many years—but I’ve never been to Ibiza in my life and, to the best of my knowledge, you’ve never been to hospital with food poisoning.’

Denison was appalled. ‘Lyn!’

She was merciless. ‘There is no yacht called
Hesperia.
You always said that sailing is the most inefficient means of locomotion known to man, and everyone knows that efficiency
is your god. And Billy Brooks doesn’t exist—I invented him. And you said you’d bought a suit of sails for a non-existent yacht.’

Her face was white and her eyes brimmed with tears and Denison knew she was deathly frightened. ‘You
can’t
be my father,’ she whispered. ‘You’re
not
my father.
Who are you?’

‘Where the hell is Denison?’ said Carey irritably.

McCready was soothing. ‘He’ll be along. He’s not very late.’

Carey was on edge. ‘He could have been jumped again.’

‘It’s you that’s jumpy. Armstrong’s looking after him.’

Carey said nothing. He bent his head to re-read the lengthy cable. Presently he said, ‘Well, that’s cleared up. It was a hell of a problem while it lasted.’

‘What was?’ asked Harding interestedly.

‘When Denison was lifted from the sauna he came out with a string of mathematical stuff to confuse the opposition. He didn’t know what it meant himself but it was the jargon Meyrick might have used.’ He tossed the cable on to the table. ‘We couldn’t see how Denison could possibly have known it.’

Harding said, ‘It must have come out of his past somewhere.’

‘Precisely,’ said Carey. ‘But he didn’t have that kind of past.’

‘Of course not.’ Harding wrinkled his brow. ‘He was a film director.’

‘Of a special kind,’ said McCready. ‘He made documentaries. We found he’d done a series of educational films on mathematics for the public relations department of one of
the big computer firms. I suppose a film director must have a working knowledge of his subject although, judging by some of the movies I’ve seen, you wouldn’t think so. Anyway, somebody talked to the computer people and we find that not only did he have a ready grasp but a keen interest. The films were largely in cartoon style and the subject was probability theory. He knew the jargon, all right.’

‘But it gave me a shudder at the time,’ said Carey. ‘Mrs Hansen, ring the hotel and find what’s keeping Denison.’

Diana Hansen got up and crossed the room. She was about to pick up the telephone when it rang shrilly. She put it to her ear, then beckoned to Carey. ‘For you—it’s Armstrong.’

Carey took the telephone. ‘Ian, what’s the hold-up?’

‘I was in my room,’ said Armstrong. ‘I had my door open so I could see the door of Denison’s room. About twenty minutes ago Miss Meyrick busted out of there fast so I went into the corridor to find what was happening. She grabbed me and said Denison had had some kind of attack. I went into the room and found him on the floor, out cold. He came round about five minutes ago.’

‘Is he all right now?’

‘He says he is.’

‘Then you’d better bring him along here,’ said Carey. ‘I’ll have Harding have a look at him.’

There was a pause. ‘Miss Meyrick says she’s coming, too.’

‘Nothing doing,’ said Carey. ‘Ditch her.’

‘I don’t think you understand,’ said Armstrong. ‘When she spoke to me in the corridor she said
Denison
had had an attack—not Meyrick.’

Carey’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. ‘She
knows
?’

‘Apparently so.’

‘Bring her along and don’t take your eyes off the pair of them. And be discreet.’ He put down the telephone. ‘The girl has caught on—and your patient is coming home to roost, Harding. He’s had another of his thingummy attacks.’

‘A fugue,’ said Harding. ‘It must have been the Meyrick girl.’

‘She called him Denison,’ said Carey flatly.

They waited for twenty minutes in silence. Carey produced his pipe and filled it, and then smoked jerkily. Harding stretched out his long legs and contemplated the tips of his shoes with an all-consuming interest. His forehead was creased into a frown. Diana Hansen smoked cigarettes one after the other, stubbing each out half-way down its length. McCready paced back and forward, wearing a groove in the carpet.

There was a tap at the door and everyone jerked to attention. McCready opened it, letting in Lyn and Denison, with Armstrong close behind. Carey stared at Denison. ‘Harding would like a word with you in the other room. Do you mind?’

‘No,’ said Denison quietly, and followed Harding.

When the door closed behind them Carey stood up and said to Lyn, ‘Miss Meyrick, my name is Carey and I’m from the British Embassy here. This is Mr McCready. Mrs Hansen you already know, and you’ve already met Mr Armstrong.’

Lyn Meyrick’s face was pale but two pink spots deepened in her cheeks when she saw Diana Hansen. Then she flung out her arm at the door through which Denison had gone. ‘Who is that man? And where is my father?’

‘Please sit down,’ said Carey, and nodded to McCready who brought up a chair.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Lyn. ‘He said his name was Denison and he told me an unbelievable story…’

‘…which happens to be true,’ said Carey. ‘I wish it wasn’t so.’

Lyn’s voice rose. ‘Then what’s happened to my father?’

Carey wagged his eyebrows at Diana Hansen who stood up and went close to Lyn. He said, ‘Miss Meyrick, I’m sorry to tell you this…’

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

Carey nodded. ‘We believe it to be an accident. His body was recovered from the Baltic three days ago. There had been a collision between an oil tanker and another ship.’

‘Then what this man, Denison, said is correct?’

‘What did he tell you?’

They listened as Lyn spoke and finally Carey nodded. ‘He seems to have given you all that’s relevant.’ He noted that Denison had not told her of the contents of Merikken’s papers; he had just said they were important. ‘I’m sorry about your father.’

‘Yes,’ she said coldly. ‘I suppose you are.’

Carey thought that she found no difficulty in holding back her grief but that might be understandable in the circumstances. He said deliberately, ‘Miss Meyrick; after Denison had told you his story did you try to probe into his past?’

‘Why, yes; I wanted to know who he was—who he is.’

‘You must never do that again,’ said Carey solemnly. ‘It could be most dangerous for him.’

She flared up. ‘If only a quarter of what he told me is true, what you’re doing to that man is despicable. He ought to have psychiatric treatment.’

‘He’s getting that now,’ said Carey. ‘Dr Harding is a psychiatrist. How did Denison give himself away?’ She told him and he nodded. ‘We couldn’t hope to get away with it for ever,’ he said philosophically. ‘But I did hope for another day. I was going to separate you tomorrow.’

‘My God!’ she said. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? We’re not chess pieces.’

‘Denison is a volunteer,’ said Carey. ‘It’s his own choice.’

‘Some choice!’ she said cuttingly.

The door behind Carey opened. He swung around in his chair and saw Harding alone. ‘Ian, go and sit with Denison.’

‘It won’t be necessary,’ said Harding. ‘He’ll be out in a minute. I’ve just given him something to think about.’

‘How is he?’

‘He’ll be all right.’

‘Does he remember spilling the beans to Miss Meyrick?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Harding. ‘It’s just that he can’t remember what Miss Meyrick was asking him just before he passed out.’ He looked at Lyn with interest. ‘What was it?’

‘I wanted to know who he was,’ Lyn said.

He shook his head. ‘Don’t try that again. I think I’ll have to have a talk with you, young lady.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Carey grimly. ‘She’s going back to England.’

Lyn inspected Harding with a cold eye. ‘Are you a doctor?’

Harding paused as he lit a cigarette. ‘Among other things.’

‘I think you must have been confused when you took the oath,’ she said. ‘You took the hypocritic oath instead of the Hippocratic oath.’ Harding coloured but before he could answer she had rounded on Carey. ‘As for going to England, I most certainly am. A lot of people will be very interested in what I have to tell them.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t try that,’ said Carey quietly.

‘Try to stop me,’ she challenged.

Carey leaned back in his chair and glanced at McCready. ‘It looks as though we’ll have to keep her here, George. Arrange the necessary—booking her out of the hotel and so on.’

‘And then what?’ she asked. ‘You can’t keep me here for ever. I’ll be back in England some time and I’ll make sure the story gets around about what’s been happening to this man. It will make interesting reading.’

McCready smiled. ‘The papers won’t print it. There’s a thing called a “D” notice.’

She looked at him contemptuously. ‘Do you think twenty universities full of students will take any account of your stupid “D” notices?’ she asked in scorn.

‘My God!’ said McCready.‘She’s right. You know what students are like.’

‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked interestedly. ‘Kill me?’

‘They’re going to do nothing,’ said Denison from behind Carey. He closed the door behind him. ‘Or they’ll have to get themselves another boy.’

Carey did not turn round. He merely said, ‘Draw up a chair, Denison. We have a problem to solve.’

Denison sat next to Carey. ‘Coercion won’t solve it.’

‘So I’m finding out,’ said Carey caustically. ‘So maybe we’ll try persuasion. What exactly is it you want, Miss Meyrick?’

She was suddenly nervous. ‘I want you to stop whatever it is you’re doing to…to him.’ Her hand trembled as she pointed at Denison.

‘We’re not doing anything to him. He’s a volunteer—and he’ll confirm it.’

She flared. ‘How can he be a volunteer when he doesn’t know who he is? Any court of law would toss out that argument.’

‘Careful,’ said Harding suddenly, watching Denison.

‘He needs help,’ she pleaded.

‘He’s getting it,’ said Carey, and indicated Harding.

‘You already know what I think of that.’

‘Tell me something,’ said Carey. ‘Why are you so agitated about Denison? He is, after all, a stranger.’

She looked down at the table. ‘Not any more,’ she said in a low voice. She raised her head and regarded Carey with clear eyes. ‘And aren’t we supposed to care for strangers? Have you never heard of the parable of the Good Samaritan, Mr Carey?’

Carey sighed, and said dispiritedly, ‘See what you can do, Giles.’

Denison opened his mouth and then closed it again. It was the first time Carey had addressed him by his Christian name, as he normally did with Armstrong and McCready.
Was he now accepted as a member of the team, or was it just that the cunning old devil had decided to use psychology?

He looked across the table at the girl. ‘I know what I’m doing, Lyn—and this operation is very important.’

‘How can you know what you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘You’re not competent to judge.’

‘That’s just what he is,’ interjected Carey. ‘Sorry, Giles; carry on.’

‘That’s not the point,’ said Denison. ‘It wasn’t of my own free will that I was pitched into the middle of all this, but now that I’m in it I agree with Carey. If the operation is to be a success then I must continue to be Meyrick—to be your father. And that I’m going to do, regardless of what you think. I appreciate your concern, but this is too important for considerations like that.’

She was silent, biting her lip. She said, ‘All right, Har…Giles. But on one condition.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That I come with you—as Lyn Meyrick with her father.’ There was a dead silence around the table. ‘Well, isn’t that what you wanted—for the masquerade to go on? You’ve used me unknowingly—now you can use me knowingly.’

Carey said softly, ‘It might be dangerous.’

‘So is having a father like Harry Meyrick,’ she said bitterly. ‘But that’s my condition—take it or leave it.’

‘Taken,’ said Carey promptly.

‘No!’ said Denison simultaneously.

They stopped and looked at each other. ‘She’s stubborn,’ said Carey. ‘And she’s got us by the short hairs. It’s the answer.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Denison. He might have been replying to Carey but he looked at Lyn.

‘I’m sure,’ she said.

‘Well, that’s it,’ said Carey briskly. ‘Now we can get on with the planning. Thank you, Dr Harding; I don’t think we’ll need you on this. I’ll keep in touch with you.’

Harding stood up and nodded. He was walking to the door when Lyn said, ‘No!’ Her voice was sharp.

Harding stopped. ‘No
what
?’ said Carey exasperatedly.

‘Dr Harding stays with Giles,’ she said. ‘The three of us stay together.’

‘For Christ’s sake!’ said Carey, and a suppressed snort came from McCready.

Harding had a white smile, ‘My dear Miss Meyrick; I’m hardly…I’m no…no…’

‘No guman, like the rest of them probably are? Well, let me tell you something. You won’t be worth a damn as a psychiatrist unless you stay with your patient.’

Harding flushed again. Carey said, ‘Impossible!’

‘What’s so impossible about it?’ Lyn looked at Harding speculatively. ‘But I’m willing to leave it to the doctor—and his conscience, if he has one. What about it, Dr Harding?’

Harding rubbed his lean jaw. ‘Insofar as it will help Denison I’m willing to stay. But I warn you—I’m no man of action.’

‘That’s it, then,’ said Lyn, parodying Carey.

Carey looked at her helplessly, and McCready said, ‘It might not be a bad idea if the doctor is willing, as he seems to be.’

Carey gave up. ‘Sit down, Harding,’ he said ungraciously.

As he picked up his briefcase Denison murmured, ‘You did say by the short hairs, didn’t you?’

Carey ignored him and opened the briefcase. ‘I have reason to believe that quite a lot of people are interested in the movements of Dr Meyrick. We’re going to give them some movements to watch.’

He spread out a large map of Finland. ‘George will fly to Ivalo in Northern Lapland—’ his finger stabbed down—‘here. That’s as far north as you can fly in Finland. There’ll be a car waiting and he’ll drive still farther north to this place up by the Norwegian border—
Kevon Tutkimusasema -
that’s a
station for the exploration of the Kevo Nature Preserve, the jumping off place, as you might call it.’

He looked up at McCready. ‘Your job is to cover the party from the outside. You’ll inspect Kevo Camp, make sure it’s clean—and I don’t mean in the hygienic sense—and you’ll keep an eye on the party all the time it’s up there. But you won’t acknowledge it—you’ll be a stranger. Understand?’

‘Got it,’ said McCready.

‘Denison and Mrs Hansen—and now, of course, Miss Meyrick and Dr Harding—will travel by car from Helsinki. You will leave early tomorrow and it will take you two days to get to the camp at Kevo. George will already be there but you
don’t
recognize him. He’s your trump card should you get into trouble.’ Carey’s finger moved slightly south. ‘You will then explore the Kevo Nature Park. It’s rough country and you’ll need packs and tents.’ He wagged a finger at McCready. ‘We’ll need extra gear; see to it, George.’