Moment of Truth (14 page)

He was pleased with himself, but his overwhelming reaction was one of relief. Not simply that he hadn't been killed, but relief that he hadn't let anyone down. Commander Craddock and Major Morton had been relying on him in his new status as a Magic Department operative, but he was acutely conscious of the lives of the people in the embassy and the surrounding streets – and the countless others whose lives may have been affected had an unhappy outcome here caused retribution and a more bloody war.
Where does responsibility end?
he wondered.

He sighed and saw George, walking rather stiffleggedly toward him. ‘Well,' George announced. ‘That was an experience.'

Aubrey thought it wise not to draw attention to George's pallor. Normally ruddy-faced, he was definitely pale. ‘Did you learn much?'

‘They let me cut the red wire.'

‘The red wire?'

‘The one that might have set the whole thing off, if it was the wrong one.'

‘And where were they?'

‘They said they were moving to a safe distance. One of them suggested the next county. They wished me luck before they went, though.'

‘And they left you alone? To cut the red wire?'

‘I'm reasonably sure I was alone. Not that I looked around. Or stretched. Or twitched – they emphasised that twitching was a very bad thing to do.'

‘Before they left.'

‘Before they left. I did sweat a little, though.'

‘I imagine you would.'

‘They didn't say anything about not sweating.'

‘And what happened when you cut the red wire?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Nothing? Well, that's good.'

‘No, I mean nothing happened because they'd disarmed it before I joined them.'

‘Ah.' Aubrey sought for comforting words. ‘I suppose they were showing you what it was like, without putting you in any real danger.'

George nodded. Very slowly. ‘That must be it. And their laughing, when they came back. That was useful too, I imagine.'

‘Most likely. Instructional laughter, probably.'

‘I tell you what, old man. I'm going to look for a spot of tea. And some scones. A slice or two of cake wouldn't go astray, either.' He took off his cap, turned it around in his hands and then replaced it on his head. ‘We're not messing about here any more, are we?'

‘No, we're certainly not messing about. We've jumped in the deep end.' Aubrey took a deep breath. ‘Go and get some morning tea, George. I'll find Elspeth and we'll join you.'

Aubrey didn't need any reminder that everything had changed, but the usually sunny George's understanding underlined the way that the world was different.

Adventuring was well and good, but it had had a touch of the carefree, no matter how dangerous the situation. Now, it was different.

After entering via a small conservatory, redolent with palms and philodendrons, Aubrey went searching for stairs leading downward, reasoning that a cryptography department simply
had
to be in the basement. He'd turned several corners, perfecting his Gallian ‘excuse me' and ‘terribly sorry' as he eased through the crowded corridors, when he realised he'd lost his sense of direction. Was he facing the front of the embassy, or the rear? He was in a nest of activity, an open typing pool surrounded by offices with neat windows for those inside to monitor those at work on the typewriting machines. A dozen young women were hard at work on their machines but, even so, several of them looked up as he passed. He did his best to appear as if he weren't glancing at the papers they were copying, which made him walk with a rather stiff, chin-up gait.

Which meant that he wasn't totally aware of his surroundings as he marched through a door into a smaller area with a young woman working alone at a desk, her back toward him. Still trying to appear as if he knew where he was going, he kept on toward the open door just past her and was glad when she didn't look up. For a moment, he thought of asking her for directions, but he dismissed the thought. He was bound to find the basement sooner or later.

When he opened the door, all he saw on the other side was a windowless office. A lonely desk, an empty hat rack, a filing cabinet and nowhere to go. He rehearsed what he hoped was a rueful and inoffensive smile and prepared to turn on his heel to admit he was lost – only to feel a hefty shove from behind.

He stumbled through the open door, which closed behind him. He whirled – and stared at his latest assailant.

Caroline! Why are you dressed as a typing girl?'

Caroline Hepworth stood with her back to the door, arms crossed on her chest. She wore a plain white blouse, a severe dark skirt and an expression that could only be described as disapproving.

‘Because I've
been
a typing girl, Aubrey. My team has been practising covert infiltration. I'm in typing, Walter is in the kitchen, Gregory is inspecting plumbing.'

Aubrey made a mental note to introduce himself to Walter and Gregory. To foster esprit de corps, camaraderie, that sort of thing. ‘In an allied embassy?'

Caroline made an impatient noise. ‘The Gallians know we're here. It's practice, that's all. Except...' She frowned. ‘How well do you know Mattingly?'

‘Elspeth?'

‘When I saw you three blunder in to the embassy, I decided to observe her. For practice.'

‘And it wouldn't be useful to follow George or me,' Aubrey said carefully.

‘Don't be silly, Aubrey.' Caroline pushed back a stray strand of hair that Aubrey found quite invisible. ‘She was the only option. So with an armful of files I shadowed her as she left you and George blocking up the bottom of the stairs.'

‘She was looking for Captain Bourdin.'

‘That's what she told you?'

Aubrey wouldn't have said that Caroline's slight smile had a hint of triumph, but he wondered if someone else may have.

‘Well, we'd lost him...'

‘She met a man in one of the second-floor offices.'

‘She mentioned that she had a friend at the embassy.' Aubrey frowned. Hadn't Elspeth said that her friend was female? And that she worked in the library?

‘She did, did she? And did she mention that this friend would like to shoot you?'

‘Not in as many words, no.'

‘Not in as many words?'

‘Not in any words, actually.' Aubrey frowned. ‘She met that bald chap?'

‘The cultural attaché. They spoke behind closed doors for a few minutes and then she rejoined you.'

‘Then took us to meet him.' Aubrey stood still, taking this new datum apart and trying to see how it worked.
Why would Elspeth talk to someone who was an assassin?
‘But she shot him, after he tried to shoot me.'

‘It made her look brave, didn't it? Made her more trustworthy?' Caroline's eyes were hard. ‘I'd call that a measure of her ruthlessness.'

‘Elspeth? Ruthless? But she's so...'

‘Sweet? Kind? Cuddly?'

‘Cuddly? What? Elspeth?'

‘Three questions in a row, Aubrey. You're on the verge of blustering.'

‘I was going to point out how professional Miss Mattingly has been,' Aubrey said, so stiffly that he was sure he would turn into wood at any second.

‘I'm sure she has.'

Aubrey had to bite his tongue quite severely to prevent himself from commenting on Caroline's tone. He had a premonition that such an observation would be a very bad thing indeed. ‘I've been keeping a good eye on her.'

‘So I've noticed.'

Aubrey hoped that his tongue wasn't actually bleeding by now. ‘She's well trained, has useful skills, seems like a fine addition to the security of the nation. I'm sure she has a good reason for talking to that attaché.'

‘No doubt. And I'd like to hear it.' Caroline straightened. ‘But first I'd like to hear your account of what happened.'

A reasonable, professional request, Aubrey thought, and he launched into what he hoped was a reasonable, professional report about the incident and then about the bomb disposal episode.

‘I see,' Caroline said when he finished. She pursed her lips, gazed at the ceiling, and tapped a foot. An enchanting display, Aubrey decided. But entirely professional, he hastened to add. To himself.

‘You do?' Aubrey adjusted a collar that felt a little tight.

‘Your assassin missed. From a distance of a few yards.'

‘You know those cultural attachés. Notoriously poor shots, most of them.'

‘Even the ones who are crack marksmen? I checked his military record. He won the Armand Cup last year.'

‘For shooting, I imagine, rather than fashion.' Aubrey rubbed his forehead as he remembered. ‘He did seem a little startled. And unhappy with his pistol.'
A spell on it, to make sure he missed?

‘Then Mattingly shot him.'

‘That's right.'

‘So she ended up looking decisive and competent.'

‘Indisputably.'

‘And you were extraordinarily grateful to her for saving your life.'

‘I appreciated her actions, yes.'

‘I think her actions were intended to inspire more than appreciation. We need to talk to this Miss Mattingly.' Caroline nodded decisively, then held open the door. ‘Nice haircut, Aubrey.'

Aubrey was excruciatingly aware that the disarming incident he'd undergone in the courtyard was as nothing compared to what he had on his hands here. In a moment of godlike apprehension, he suddenly saw all of the thousand ways he could make this situation worse. Outcomes danced in front of his eyes, where he saw Caroline hurt and bewildered, and, alternatively, him hurt and bleeding. He saw lengthy and inadequate explanations. He saw entreaties. He saw imperious retorts and many, many variations where Caroline stormed off, never to be seen again. Of course, most of these outcomes came from his not doing anything, so he was in the most cleft of cleft sticks that he'd ever been in.

So it was with something more than relief that he greeted the door when it burst open and George when he entered excitedly.

‘Aubrey! Hello, Caroline! Didn't know you were here. Charming skirt, that. Have you heard the news? The blackguard who took a shot at you, he's escaped.'

Caroline raised an eyebrow at Aubrey. ‘An interesting development, wouldn't you say, Aubrey?'

They were eventually able to push through the crowd near the infirmary at the rear of the ground floor, near the conservatory. Gallian excitement had meant that all the important business of preparing for war was suspended while rumour and gossip were passed around with all the authority of the evening newspapers.
Everyone
wanted to see what was going on.

Gallian guards recognised Aubrey and George, but some earnest discussion was needed before Caroline was admitted. Captain Bourdin was alone in the small, sunny room, which smelled of disinfectant and soap. He stood dolefully by a bloodstained hospital trolley. ‘The infirmary opens to the courtyard,' he said without any preliminaries. ‘He produced a pistol and threatened his way out.'

‘I wouldn't have thought he'd be in any condition to run anywhere,' George said, pointing at the bloodstains.

‘That is true,' Captain Bourdin said. He was despondent, and Aubrey wondered if he'd be looking for a new job. A shooting in the embassy, and the miscreant escaping soon after? It wouldn't look good on a curriculum vitae. ‘He had a confederate waiting in a van outside. It drove, at high speed, past our guards.'

‘Sounds as if your gatehouse might need some strengthening,' Aubrey said.

Captain Bourdin shot him a sour look. ‘The gatehouse is to prevent people getting in. We did not think we would have to prevent people leaving.'

‘This escape,' Caroline said. ‘How long after Mattingly spoke to the prisoner did it occur?'

‘This is Miss Hepworth,' Aubrey explained to the puzzled Captain Bourdin. ‘She belongs to the Directorate.'

‘Mattingly,' Caroline repeated. ‘She did speak to the prisoner in the infirmary, correct?'

‘That is so,' Captain Bourdin said slowly.

‘And she also spoke to him before the shooting incident. This would tend to indicate a suspicious level of familiarity. If the prisoner had assistance in his escape from inside the embassy, I know in which direction I'd be looking.'

‘Elspeth?' George said. ‘She was the one who told me which direction you'd gone, old man.'

Caroline's observations had Aubrey thinking. He'd often wondered at the frame of mind needed to work in the security services, where suspicion was a natural state of affairs – but he could see how it was necessary. In a world where deceit and falsity were prized skills, who could be trusted? Was anyone what he or she seemed?

If Elspeth had been talking to the cultural attaché before the shooting, and if she had been responsible for his pistol being unreliable, then her talking to the same cultural attaché – after she'd shot him – might be curious.

She could have been doing some extra interrogation,
he thought, but it rang false, even to him.

He remembered her brown bag. Clearly, it was large enough to hold more than one firearm.

By the look in Caroline's eyes, she had followed the chain and arrived at the same conclusion Aubrey had. ‘Miss Mattingly supplied the pistol the attaché used in his attempt to shoot me. And, most probably, the one he used to escape,' he said. ‘She is an enemy agent.'

Captain Bourdin scowled. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Sure enough that I'd advise you to prevent anyone from leaving.'

‘Ah.' George held up a hand. ‘We may have a problem with that. She's left already.'

‘Left?' Aubrey said. ‘Why? Where?'

George grimaced. ‘On reflection, I may have had something to do with that. I couldn't find a cup of tea anywhere, so I went looking for her. She wasn't in the coding area and I remembered her mentioning her friend in the library. I found my way there, but with no sign of her, I thought I'd see if I could borrow one of those Gallian romance novels she was talking about.'

Everyone stared at him. ‘Romance novels,' Captain Bourdin repeated. ‘You wanted to read a romance novel?'

George shrugged. ‘I have a Gallian friend who enjoys them. I thought I'd see what all the fuss was about.' He shrugged. ‘Her letters talk about dark brooding looks and whatnot. Piqued my curiosity.'

‘But you don't speak Gallian,' Aubrey pointed out. ‘Or read it.'

‘Thought I'd give it a go, old man. Might impress Sophie, just having a crack at it like that.'

‘But you couldn't,' Captain Bourdin said. ‘Not here, not in our library. We do not have these romances you speak of.'

‘I found that out quite promptly,' George said. ‘Your library is a technical library. Lots of stuff on Gallian history and law and the like. Not much light reading.'

Aubrey's heart sank. Elspeth's duplicity was becoming clear.

‘No stories, no fiction at all,' Captain Bourdin said.

‘And that's what I told Elspeth when I ran into her,' George said. ‘Come to think of it, she look a little flustered, and she didn't unfluster, if you take my meaning, when I asked her about the romance novels.'

‘And that's when she remembered that she'd been called back to headquarters?' Caroline asked, one eyebrow raised.

George grinned. ‘She said she'd just received a message, if that's what you mean. She told me that we'd all catch up back there.'

‘She knew she'd made a false step,' Aubrey said. The detail about the romance novel had probably appealed at the time, but it had brought her undone. For an instant he pondered why she'd wanted to show a romantic side to her nature, but he veered away from that as far too dangerous.

He was still having trouble imagining Elspeth as an enemy agent. He recalled her infectious good spirits, her provocative challenges ... She was attractive, he couldn't deny that, but now he was starting to question how calculated her persona had been. The little touches on the arm, the outlandish dash she displayed, had him warming to her before he knew it. She was unlike any young women he knew, which was no doubt part of her appeal. With a chill, he wondered who else knew that.

If she were a Holmland agent, she was a deeply embedded one, one whose actions indicated that Aubrey was a person of some interest to Holmland Intelligence. She was ruthless, too, underneath the carefree surface. He doubted that the cultural attaché had agreed to be shot. His surprise at the malfunctioning pistol tended to indicate that he was only aware of part of the plan. He'd been told to assassinate Aubrey, not knowing that he was a dupe whose real role was to make Elspeth Mattingly a hero – and to make Aubrey hugely grateful to her.