Albatross (11 page)

‘Jim?'

‘Oh, morning, sir.'

‘Any dramas in the night?'

‘No, nice and peaceful. There'll never be a nuclear attack while I'm on duty.'

‘That's good to know. By the way, did you see Miss Burgess? She said she might come over last night.'

He saw the other man's head begin to shake, and his stomach lurched once. It was his particular alarm signal.

‘No, nobody came last night. It was dead boring, actually.' He was a very pleasant young man with an engaging manner and a cheerful grin.

Kidson didn't feel like grinning back, but he managed it. ‘Don't worry, you'll get your fill of excitement one day. And the best part will be waking up the Chief at three in the morning!'

He went back to his room. His instincts had been right; they nearly always were when things weren't what they seemed. Davina had gone into the office on a forged pass. She couldn't have got that for herself. He sat very quietly until his secretary came in. He had decided to say nothing to Humphrey. Let Humphrey look out for himself. He partly listened to what his girl was saying, while asking the same question over to himself. What was she looking for? And at the back of his mind he knew the answer. The filing room. Only Grant and the brigadier had keys.

‘Mr Kidson? Sorry, but did you want to send an answer to that?'

He said, ‘I'm sorry, Jane. I wasn't paying attention. Say that all again, will you?' It was the brigadier; he was certain of that. Playing one of his devious games, moving his own people about like pawns on a board. He was using Davina, but against whom? He made a great effort and put the whole issue aside. He worked hard and singlemindedly for the rest of the day. But when he got home he knew he had to tell Charlie. Because if he was going to engage Davina in a power struggle, his strongest ally would be her own sister.

‘I can't do any more,' Peter Harrington insisted. ‘I've reread your bloody report till I'm quoting it in my sleep, and I'm stuck. So were you!'

‘Maybe,' Lomax said. ‘But I picked up enough in six months to see what none of your lot even guessed at – I needed facts and don't tell me you haven't got some.' He leaned towards Harrington. ‘You can try that “I don't know” bit on Davina, but you won't get away with it with me. I haven't got a lot of patience, Harrington, and I don't like your type anyway.'

Davina had her back to them and was looking out of the window in the governor's office.

‘And who the hell are you, anyway? You're just a glorified bloody hit man!'

‘If you say so,' Lomax remarked.

Harrington recognized the type. Tough and merciless. He'd seen men like Lomax on both sides. He was frightened, but he wasn't going to show it. ‘You don't have anything to say but “Yes, sir” when you get your bloody orders, so don't try and bluff me!'

‘You haven't told him, Davina?'

She turned round and walked back to them. ‘No,' she said to Lomax. ‘I thought I'd wait.'

‘Told me what?' Harrington demanded. His heart had begun to flutter and bump. He looked from one to the other and cursed them both inwardly. Bastards. Cold-blooded, tormenting bastards.…

‘The official investigation has been closed down,' Davina said. ‘They've given up on you, Peter.'

He sagged in his chair and gave a loud moan. ‘Oh, Christ, no.'

‘I warned you it would happen,' she went on. ‘We needed results and quickly if the whole thing wasn't going to be shelved.'

He looked up at her and said slowly, ‘Then why are you here? What's
he
doing here?'

‘Because we've decided to go it alone,' she answered. ‘Your Mandarins as you call them want this swept under the carpet. I don't, Peter. I want to get the man who helped them kill Ivan. You want to get out of here, don't you?'

‘No,' he mocked bitterly. ‘No, I love it here – wild fucking horses wouldn't drag me away –'

‘Mind the language,' Lomax said quietly.

‘You've got to stop playing games,' Davina said. ‘You've got to cooperate.'

‘What do you want?' he asked her. ‘What does cooperate mean?'

‘It means you've got to tell us everything you know,' Lomax answered. ‘And we take it from there. The only promise is, you'll end up with your own dirty lot on the other side. If you don't like the option, we won't be coming back.'

‘Give me a cigarette,' Harrington muttered. ‘No.' He glared at Lomax, and then looked at Davina. ‘You can't help me – not without the office behind you. If they've pulled out, that's the end of it.'

‘Think about it,' she said quietly. ‘I'll be back.'

‘Suit yourself,' Harrington said. He didn't look up when they were let out of the office and the warder came to escort him back to his cell.

Harrington needed an answer to one question. That question could determine whether he was free and broke, or living a comfortable life in some pleasant Swiss canton. How much was he to tell Davina Graham about Albatross? Was Albatross expendable? He condensed the message into a few lines, and scribbled them on the margin of the eighty-third page in the book on Grinling Gibbons's carving which Wood had brought him.

As Wood was leaving that evening, Harrington said, ‘You couldn't come back next Friday, I suppose? I've been feeling a bit down lately. I'd like an extra visit.'

‘I'm sorry about that, old chap,' Wood said kindly. ‘I'm sure that'll be all right. I'll have a word about it. Want me to bring you anything? Got enough to read?'

‘I've got plenty. But if you think of something funny, I'd like that – cartoons, anything with a bit of a laugh in it.'

‘David Niven's new one,' Wood said eagerly. ‘I've got it for myself. You won't feel under the weather if you're reading that. I really laughed over the other one –
Bring on the Empty Horses
. Anyway, I'll see you on Friday. I'm sure that'll be all right.'

Outside he said thoughtfully to the prison officer, ‘I think he's suffering from a bit of depression, you know. Looked very sorry for himself tonight. I'll ask for an extra visit. How's my other fellow?'

‘Fair to middling,' was the answer. ‘Always easier after he's seen you.' As he unlocked the cell door for Wood's second prisoner, the officer thought what a decent man he was. Never missed a visit; very friendly to the prison staff, unlike some, who kept their distance. People like Stephen Wood did a lot of good. He wouldn't hear a word against that type of prison visitor.

‘What you're saying,' Humphrey insisted, ‘is that you're giving up.'

‘If that's how you want to put it, yes.' Davina turned away and stared angrily out of the car window. She felt if she had to look at that particular piece of grass and flowerbed in Regent's Park once more, she would start screaming.

Humphrey looked and sounded genuinely shocked. ‘But there
is
somebody; we know that, from Lomax's report! How can you sit there and tell me you're not going on with the investigation!'

‘Because I'm not sure myself any more,' Davina said. ‘I know Colin's deductions made it look as if we had a mole working inside. I know exactly how it all fitted together, but there's nothing else, Humphrey! There's not a shred of outside proof that I can find. The files showed nothing.'

‘Harrington,' he reminded her. ‘Harrington confirmed that there was a Soviet plant.'

‘Harrington,' she said acidly, ‘would say anything to get himself out. He couldn't back it up when I pinned him down. All he kept on about was being moved – it's no good, Humphrey. I'm wasting my time. If there is someone, they're so well covered that I can't find them, and that's that! And you needn't think I like giving up on it, because I don't!'

‘Very well,' he snapped out the two words, and then repeated them. It was a maddening habit. ‘Very well. We'll drop the whole thing.' He leaned across and opened the car door for her. His face was set and furious.

She got out and leaned down towards him. ‘Thanks, Humphrey. Luckily I haven't got far to walk.'

He pulled the door shut and drove off, banging through the gears. Davina stood for a moment looking after the car. Genuinely angry or secretly relieved that he had blocked his own exposure? It was a sickening situation. Colin was right. She either carried on alone or she gave up. Thank God she had him to support her.

‘Davina?' She hadn't heard the car draw up beside her; she had walked slowly, miles away from her surroundings in her thoughts.

Tony Walden leaned across and called her name again. She stopped, startled to see him. The car was a big blue Mercedes. ‘Oh – hello, Mr Walden.'

‘Get in and I'll give you a lift,' he said.

She hesitated. She felt suddenly low and tired of walking by herself. ‘Thanks very much.' He was a smooth driver; the big car sped along and turned out of the park. He hadn't spoken since he picked her up. She said, ‘I thought you'd have a driver.'

‘Why? Do you think I'm too grand to drive myself? I like driving. Other people make me nervous. Why were you looking so depressed, walking along with your head down and your back bowed? I've never seen you like that.'

‘I was thinking,' Davina replied.

‘Not very happy thoughts, then,' he said.

She didn't answer; glancing out of the window she saw they were heading towards Marble Arch and had missed the turning to Arlington Place.

‘Aren't you going to the office?' she said quickly.

‘No. I'm meeting a very important client in Kensington Palace Gardens. It will be nice to have you with me.'

‘I haven't got much choice,' she retorted.

‘You can jump out at the next traffic lights,' he suggested. ‘But this meeting might amuse you. What do you know about Arabs?'

‘Nothing at all. Except that they're rich.'

‘That's the first thing I knew about them too,' he said. ‘And the second is equally simple. Don't expect them to be like anyone else you've dealt with. Put every accepted business and social practice to one side and start from the very beginning.'

‘You sound as if you know rather a lot about them,' Davina said. She had begun to feel less low-spirited. He had been right when he said she was depressed. He had an optimistic aura which lifted other people up. She recognized it and, in spite of herself, she was grateful. The more he talked about his Arab client, the less she remembered that awful empty sense of isolation after leaving Humphrey Grant.

‘I know quite a lot about the man I'm going to see,' he agreed. ‘He is one of the most powerful men in the Middle East. A younger prince, but much favoured by his father. Full of enthusiasm for Western ideas and anxious to modernize his country on Western lines. But without antagonizing his elder brothers. They are strict Muslims. At home, anyway.'

‘And where does the agency fit in?' she asked him.

‘In a discreet campaign to promote the country in the public eye,' he answered. ‘Television programmes, articles, features in important magazines. All showing how the kingdom has come into the modern world. Hospitals, technology, schools, transport – you know the sort of thing. Fine hotels. One of the biggest aluminium smelters in the world. Skyscrapers and palm trees. Doesn't it fascinate you?'

‘Not really,' she smiled slightly. ‘It's too much of a man's world to attract me. I've never suffered from the sheik-in-the-desert fantasy, I'm afraid.'

‘No,' he agreed. ‘I wouldn't expect you had. Tell me, what kind of man would he have to be to carry you off into the night?'

‘I've no idea,' Davina retorted. ‘I prefer to walk where I want to go.'

‘You're not a romantic, what a pity.' He looked round and he was laughing at her.

Immediately she felt defensive. ‘Mr Walden,' she started, and he interrupted her immediately.

‘Not that tone of voice, please. Let me have my little joke – it helps me concentrate on the important things. Like my Arab prince.'

‘I'm glad to act as light relief,' Davina said. ‘But I don't enjoy being talked to like a fool.'

‘You mean you don't enjoyed being flirted with,' he said lightly. ‘That's quite different. I'm sorry. Most of the women I know expect it.'

‘Now you can see that I don't,' Davina pointed out. ‘There's the turning into Kensington Palace Gardens.'

‘So it is,' he murmured. ‘And of course I saw it. What a bossy lady you are, my dear. And how attractive. There's the Soviet embassy.'

‘I know it is. I always thought how inappropriate it was to have it in a place known as Millionaires' Row!'

‘That shows you believe in all their nonsense about equality,' he remarked. ‘Here we are. Now remember. You are my secretary; the prince is an enlightened and charming man, but he won't expect you to say anything except good morning, your Highness, and goodbye, your Highness. In his country, women are still kept in their proper place.'

She got out of the car and followed Walden inside the magnificent house. She didn't know whether she was glad or sorry that she had come with him. They were shown into a vast salon, with a gilded ceiling and a giant-sized crystal chandelier which was blazing with lights in spite of the bright sunshine outside. Everything in the room was on a massive scale: the velvet sofas seated ten in comfort; there was a modern red and gold throne-type chair at the head of the room, and some of the finest Persian carpets Davina had ever seen. An Arab servant asked in good English if they would like tea or fruit juices while they waited for His Highness. Walden asked for tea without consulting Davina. It was watery and aromatic, with a slightly bitter taste. The time went by and Walden looked at his watch.

‘How much longer?' Davina started to demand, but he put a finger to his lips.