Ultimate Issue (33 page)

CAPT. WILKINS: No.

DEFENSE COUNSEL: Thank you, gentlemen. I have no further questions at this point.

LAW OFFICER: All right, Captain Verago. You’ve asked what you wanted and you’ve had the answers. Do you now wish to challenge any member of this court?

DEFENSE COUNSEL: Not … yet.

LAW OFFICER: Not yet? What do you mean?

DEFENSE COUNSEL: At this point, I request that these proceedings be recessed. Because we have a lot of digging to do.

PRESIDENT: What do you mean, recessed? We haven’t even started yet.

LAW OFFICER: Just a moment, Colonel. What digging?

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DEFENSE COUNSEL: Checking up.

LAW OFFICER: You had adequate time to prepare your case, Captain Verago.

DEFENSE COUNSEL: I hadn’t had these replies.

PRESIDENT: Do I understand that counsel intends to investigate the private lives of the members of this court? I don’t know how you do things in the army, but by God, in the air force we don’t

LAW OFFICER: Please, Colonel.

DEFENSE COUNSEL: I ask for a fourteen-day recess. LAW OFFICER: Counsel, we want to get on.

TRIAL COUNSEL: This is a phony stunt, sir. How can Captain Verago probe the morals of seven officers who in the last twenty years have served all over the world? Assuming there’s anything to probe? What are you going to do? Travel around, checking a million hotel registers? It’s it’s insulting.

DEFENSE COUNSEL: That’s what you did to Captain Tower. But I repeat, sir, if you refuse to allow us the time we need, it’s clear grounds for appeal. Again, I almost wish you would.

TRIAL COUNSEL: You’re not trying to blackmail the court, are you, Tony?

DEFENSE COUNSEL: Who? Me?

LAW OFFICER: All right. I’ll give you one week. Seven days. And listen, Captain Verago, I hope you know what you’re doing.

DEFENSE COUNSEL: So do I.

Laconbury

She honked twice. Her car was standing by the gate

house, at the entrance of the base, and she was sitting behind the wheel, waiting for him. Verago walked across to her. She had lowered the win

dow on her side, watching him. The almondshaped eya were hidden behind dark glasses. “Going somewhere?” asked Laurie. “I’m waiting for a cab. Going to London.” “Jump in. I’ll take you.”

An AP came over “Your cab’s here, sir,” he said, pointing at a battered old Austin that had pulled up by the perimeter fence. “Pay it off,” said Laurie. “I’m going your way.” He found the dark glasses disconcerting. They con

cealed too much.

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“Well?” she challenged.

“Okay,” he said.

The cab driver wasn’t pleased. “That’ll be a quid. Minimum charge.” His hopes of a lucrative trip had been dashed. “You lost me a good job.”

Verago gave him his pound, then got in beside Laurie. The Volkswagen had a Third Air Force decal on the windscreen, admitting it to all U.S. military installations.

“I want to get off at the pub,” said Verago. “Pack a few things.”

“Taking a trip?”

“Yeah.”

When they reached the little Norman church, by the village green, she took the right turning without him having to direct her. She seemed to know the exact way to the George and Dragon.

“You know you’re in the shit,” Laurie remarked suddenly. “Right up to here. Kincaid’s reporting you to the army. He’s going to ask Colonel Ochs to discipline you. For abusing your position.”

Verago looked out of the window. “What were you doing in court?”

“The boss wanted to come. So I tagged along. Until you kicked us out.”

“You could have told me you’d be there.”

Her lips tightened. “I don’t have to tell you everything, Tony.,’

He inclined his head, as if agreein&

“What in particular makes them so mad?” he asked mildly.

She smiled coldly. “What do you think? You’re embarrassing them. Playing games. They don’t like it.”

He wished she didn’t have those dark glasses shielding her. “I’m not playing games, Laurie. And I don’t think they are either.”

She pulled up outside the inn and turned off the engine “So. What happens now?”

“My client has to sweat it out some more.”

“I didn’t see the girl,” said Laurie.

“I guess they’re keeping her on ice. But they’ll have her there when the trial resumes.”

He opened the door and started to get out of the car.

“I’ll wait for you,” she said.

“No,” said Verago, “come on in.”

231

Laconbury

SerenaHoward sat in a waiting room near the chaplain’s office, mostly staring at the wall. They had given her some magazines to read, but she hadn’t been interested in them. Twice a white-capped AP brought her cups of coffee and a doughnut.

She smoked a lot, and when Duval came in, the ashtray was piled with cigarette butts.

“They won’t need you today,” he announced. “I’ll take you back to London.”

The color came back in her face. “You mean, it’s all over?”

“Trial’s been recessed for a week.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why the delay?”

“Defence needs more time. Ready?”

“I want to see him,” she said. “I want to see Captain Tower.”

He waited until the noise of a jet on the flight line abated. Then he said, “You’re here for the prosecution, lady. You’re our witness. You follow?”

“It’s personal,” she pleaded.

“Sorry,” said Duval. “Why don’t you wait until it’s all over?”

“No,” she insisted. “Now.”

“Anyway,” said Duval, “Captain Tower doesn’t want to see you.”

“I don’t believe that,” she snapped. “I don’t think anybody’s even asked him.”

“I’m sorry,” Duval said again.

In the staff car, on the way back to London, she asked, “I’ll still have to testify?”

“You bet.” He gave her a quick glance. “But it’ll be over quick, you’ll see.”

She asked one more question, later:

“Did did he know I was on the base?”

“He wasn’t even interested,” said Duval, and kept his eyes on the road straight ahead.

After that, Serena said nothing more.

Huntingdon

Laurie looked up at the stained ceiling.

“Not the Ritz, is it?”

The bed still hadn’t been made, and a pair of socks

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was lying on the worn carpet where Verago had dropped them.

“Take off those glasses,” he said.

She faced him and then, slowly, deliberately, she removed them. The violet eyes regarded him quizzically.

“Well?”

He kissed her long and hard. After a moment she yielded, her body becoming soft, pressing herself against him. Her mouth was open and met his, and he felt a surge of desire and excitement and urgency.

Then they were on the bed. He unzipped the back of her dress, and started to remove her bra with eager, greedy hands when she stopped him.

“No,” she said. “The door.”

He got off the bed, walked to the door, and turned the key from the inside.

And when he turned back, she was Iying on the bed, naked and welcoming.

“You always make love in Class A uniform?” she taunted.

Then he realized that in his eagerness for her, he had not even started to undress. Hurriedly he stripped, while she stretched out in front of him languidly, increasing his passion as she displayed her body.

And yet, even as everything gave way to his desire for her, a curious voice at the back of his mind reminded him how, even at this moment, she was so in control that she remembered a detail like locking the door.

But then he descended on her, and as they embraced and their bodies intertwined, he would, at that moment, have betrayed the universe to possess her.

It was joyful, sensual, pagan lovemaking. They relished in the strength of their bodies and the energy lust gave them. Yet despite the intensity of their desire, they took their time for as long as they could, to draw the utmost pleasure and delight out of their naked intimacy.

Later, they lay, her head on his chest, and she almost purred:

“You’re good, very good.”

It jarred slightly, like the time in her apartment when he’d found the razor and the shaving cream. Good, by whose standards? Who had provided the criterion by which she judged him?

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” he murmured.

She turned her head to look up at him. “And you?”

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“Very nice. I enjoyed it.” He thought he was a bastard to put it like that, as if he was commenting on a gourmet meal in a four-star restaurant.

She lay sprawled, relaxed. “You were very tense,” she commented. “Like you had something on your mind.”

“Was I?”

“Is it the case?”

“Maybe.”

“Or …”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. “Your trouble is, Miss Czeslaw, you ask too many questions.”

She asked for a cigarette and he gave her one and lit it for her.

“Wasn’t there anybody else?” she persisted. “Before we met.”

“1 thought we had an agreement,” he said. “No questions.”

“Of course. I was just curious.”

“You mean, my wife? What went wrong?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it,” she began, and he interrupted her:

“I don’t. Okay?”

“Sure,” said Laurie. She stubbed out the cigarette in the ghastly “Souvenir from Lowestoft” ashtray beside the bed. “So let’s not talk.”

And this time she set the pace of the lovemaking, directing him where she wanted to be pleasured, guiding him around her body, and then, when he was aroused again, yielding to him as he took her.

Half an hour later there was a knock on the door.

They sat up, staring at each other.

“What is it?” Verago called out.

The voice of the garlic maid came through the door. ‘] want to do the room.”

“I’m busy,” shouted Verago. “Come back in a couple of hours.”

They heard her shuffling away, and then he and Laurie looked at each other and started laughing.

“Hell, I am busy,” said Verago.

Laurie looked up and addressed the ceiling. “I wonder when you last saw it in the middle of the day,” she called out, and they both laughed again.

They got up and began dressing.

“By the way,” said Laurie, as she fastened her dress. “You said You were going on a trip. Where?”

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Veragostraightened up from the case he had pulled out from under the bed to pack.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” He hesitated just for a moment. Then he said:

“Berlin.”

Wednesday, July 26,1961

London

FOR the second time, Daventry scanned the Times, the paper spread out in front of him, his eyes moving up and down every column, on every page. Except the sports section and the advertisements.

Across the breakfast table, Alex watched him. “What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Pass me the Telegraph,” he replied abstractly.

Without a word, he studied the front page and then skimmed the inside, not reading any of the stories but searching all the headlines, screening every item, whether it was a page lead or a tiny news-in-brief paragraph Finally he threw the paper aside.

“Nothing,” he said. “Not a line.”

“About what?”

He took a piece of toast and scraped some butter across it. Then he said, “Serene Howard’s case. The courtmartial.”

“Should there be?”

“It began yesterday. I can’t understand it. I was sure it’d get into the papers.”

He put the piece of toast down.

“Maybe,” said Alex, “they don’t want anything pub]ished.”

He stared across the table at her. “They?”

Alex poured herself some more tea. “I should think it’s very likely, don’t you?” she remarked.

“I don’t see why….”

“Oh, come, Gerry.” She could be very practical. “AD that fuss. You know they desperately wanted to hush it up. They’re probably holding it In camera. There have been a few at the Old Bailey like that, after all.”

“Only security cases. Official Secrets Act.”

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“Well?” Alex said quietly. “Isn’t that what your school chum said it is?”

He was still turning the pages of the Telegraph, but finally gave up. “I was sure Fleet Street would find out,” he muttered.

Alex got up and came over to his side of the table. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Gerry, do me a favor,” she said. “Stop having a guilt complex. You did the only thing that made sense. You’re welt out of it.”

“Am I?” he asked quietly. “You thing I really am?”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember that yellow file Grierson talked about? My yellow file. I wonder what’s happened to it.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s all torn up.”

But she didn’t sound very convinced.

London

In his check Harris tweed jacket, turtleneck sweater, and brown corduroys, Ivanov fitted into the clientele of the Spaniards. He was drinking beer, a lager, because it gave him time to stand and watch people. There was nothing unusual about a beer drinker lingering over his pint.

He had been watching, in particular, the two girls having a snack in the corner. They were chatting animatedly, and occasionally one of them burst out laughing at something her friend said. There was a close intimacy in their gossiping. Men, decided Ivanov. They were discussing men.

They were both blondes, slim, leggy blondes, and Ivanov thought of Stephen. They’d do well in his setup. He could just see them at one of his parties. Being introduced as models..Or actresses. It didn’t really matter, they’d go down in a big way.

He was half inclined to try his luck. Walk over and sit down at their table. Make some excuse. Get into conversation. They could be fun.

But not today. l le had come to Hampstead on official business. There wasn’t time for pleasure. Regretfully, he finally drank up his beer and left the inn. The two girls hadn’t even noticed the interest they had aroused.

Ivanov walked around on the heath for half an hour. He strolled slowly, enjoying the clear air here, high up above

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London. He seemed to walk aimlessly, but he knew exactly where he was going,

He came to Kenwood, entered the grounds of the Iveagh bequest through a gate in the railings, and turned left, following a path along the edge of the woods at the back of St. Columba’s hospital.