Spy Who Jumped Off the Screen : A Novel (9781101565766) (37 page)

Chapter Forty-five

Philip Frost regarded the
attaché cases arranged upon Ian's malachite desk.

Sitting across from him, Andrej Melinkov returned Philip's expression with a puzzled look. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I expected you would be—”

“Somewhat more upset? I know. Strange, isn't it, but what I feel at this moment is virtually nothing. Not emptiness, not possibility—nothing. Perhaps this is freedom, Andrej.”

The Russian nodded uneasily. “I am certain freedom takes many forms,” he said.

“Go ahead, Andrej, ask the question that's on your mind. It's acceptable under the circumstances, especially our having come so far.”

Andrej hesitated.

“Fine,” Philip snapped. “I'll ask it for you. Did I expect it? Yes and no, no and yes. But I am not an adolescent. My heart doesn't break.”

“That's good, then.”

“As far as it goes,” Philip conjectured. “For a man's heart to break, he has to believe in love, and I do not. I do believe in desire, but desire is, almost by definition, transient. It exists within time while love, supposedly, does not. Will I crave and covet tomorrow that which I do today? As I ordinarily do not hunger today for what I might well have killed for yesterday, ‘Absolutely not' would be my answer, or rather only those aspects of today that are fungible.”

Andrej's black eyes glistened. “Such as the gems and jewels in those cases,” he suggested, “whose beauty will not fade.”

“Whose
value
will not fade,” Philip corrected. “Mr. Santal concerned himself with aesthetics. I am less bothered where material possessions are concerned. Beyond an easily obtainable level of comfort, my tastes, in fact, are spartan.”

Andrej laughed.

“Well, in comparison to Ian's,” Philip acquiesced.

“You appreciate a beautiful woman.”

“The most natural thing in the world, isn't it? I appreciate them, and I
have
them. I command them in the marketplace. Such women are perverse and cannot resist what's unobtainable. They relish nothing more than being fucked by a hard body and a stiff prick who they know is bedding them entirely for
his
satisfaction. I had Isabella Cavill at her peak, Andrej. The novelty wore off long ago, though plainly there were other compensations. Had our liaison gone on very much longer, would these have been enough to endure the inevitable slippage, the eventually monotonous and mundane quality of our lives as husband and wife? I very much doubt that. I would have tired of her before she'd tired of me. Besides, when a man is fool enough to make that sort of commitment and then live by it, he has imprisoned himself within not only his own horizons but hers.”

Andrej hesitated. “Well, then,” he said.

“This is not self-justification,” Philip pressed on, less temperately. “It's simply the truth, as well as an unfortunate turn of events I had already provided for, with the utmost care, in my plans.”

“I understand.”

“Not entirely,” Philip assured him, for Andrej could not possibly know that Philip had induced Isabella to draw up and sign her will in his favor.

“As you wish,” Andrej relented.

“Which has nothing to do with my right to feel betrayed, does it, or to revenge that filthy, sickeningly public betrayal?”

“You are asking a highly personal question,” Andrej said.

“So? Answer it.”

“It is well known that there exists such a thing as a crime of passion,” Andrej replied.

“Indeed,” Philip concurred, “there have been many celebrated
crimes passionelles.
Books and plays, even operas have been written about them. Paintings have portrayed them.
But I can tell just from your expression that you would find it difficult to imagine me as the perpetrator of one.”

“It's not your style.”

“That's very useful to know,” Philip said. “Thank you. I take it we are ready.”

“Correct,” Andrej answered.

“And Hans and Franz understand what they are to do?”

“They do. Hans is just outside. You can judge for yourself.”

“In a moment,” Philip said. “We have a great deal to accomplish over a shorter period of time than I'd hoped for, but if we don't permit ourselves the luxury of any further mistakes, at the end of the day that might well prove to our advantage.”

“I can't imagine what happened on Santal's yacht,” Andrej said.

“That's because you don't know Jean-François. Whatever triggered their unease I am sure had to do with him, not your men, who barely speak English and surely looked the part of the guards they were meant to be. No, I misjudged Jean-François. I thought all along there was a chance he might overplay his hand, but who else was there? Still, it was out of that concern that I devised the contingency plan we are now following.

“I assume the men are ready to take their positions in the upper galleries.”

“Yes, within fifteen minutes' notice,” Andrej replied. “They have been fed. They are resting now, waiting for my call.”

Philip glanced at his watch, then said, “The last wire transfers will have been completed in less than twenty-four hours. Tomorrow night, if not tonight, you should sleep like a baby, Andrej.”

“I will welcome that.”

“Okay,” Philip said, as much to himself as to Andrej. “Hans is to leave here in exactly one quarter hour. I will follow by my own route no more than ten minutes after that. Your men should be in their positions, with weapons locked and loaded, by the time I leave. Please confirm this before I do. Isabella and Ty Hunter will be arriving sometime within the following hour.”

“You seem very certain of that.”

“They will have made their way here somehow. I don't know how, but they will have concluded that Gibraltar, not Tangier, is the new playing field. Of course, there is always the possibility that they won't. In that case perhaps they will flee to a love nest in Marrakesh. Or perhaps the whole scene was staged for the press, to evade pirates who had betrayed not merely them but me. Then they'll call at any minute to let me know that they are safe and not really together, to ease my concern. We'll soon see. If they
have
flown off to Marrakesh, they can be dealt with later. If they call, I'll listen to what they have to say, but it is my strong suspicion I won't have to. They will come in person, because while the search parties search, they will want to have a look around, hoping to find a clue everyone else has overlooked. Ian Santal's inner sanctum, after all, should contain a mother lode of information, and as his heir, Isabella will expect to have the run of it. She'll be given that, too, at least to start.

“Why not ask Hans to come in now?”

“I'll do that,” Andrej replied as he set off toward Ian's reception room.

A moment later he returned with a young man of almost exactly Philip's age, height and weight, with hair of the same color, cut in the same meticulous style, but combed, for the moment, differently. The young man was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and sandals.

“Good afternoon,” Philip said.

“Good afternoon,” replied his doppelgänger in overprecise yet halting English.

Reaching into the well of his desk, Philip removed a blue canvas garment bag and handed it to the man. “I would like you to put on these clothes.”

The man nodded.

“You will find shoes that fit you in the dressing room just over there. Study my hair, then go into the loo and rebrush yours in the same style. Once you have done that, come back here. It should not take you long.”

When the man returned, he could have been mistaken for Philip's twin, particularly in profile and at the distance from which he was likely to be observed. Philip studied him. “Take off that tie,” he said. “I will show you how to tie a half Windsor, which is the knot I use. Where, I wonder, did Andrej find you?”

“Through my agency in Berlin,” the German replied.

“You are an actor or a model.”

“Sometimes one thing, sometimes the other, sometimes something else entirely.”

“I see,” Philip said. “Play this role well and you will be handsomely compensated.”

“Instruct me and I will do my best.”

“Now I want you to put on the panama trilby you see on the seat of that chair by the door through which you came in. I'll adjust the angle for you and the brim. Once that's done, you will take it off, hold it in your left hand and not put it on again until the very instant you leave this building. When you do put it on, arrange it exactly as I have shown you. My car will be waiting for you. It is a dark blue Mercedes S600 with Gib number plates and tinted windows. Assume the owner's seat, rear right, as though you've never sat anywhere else. Breathe deeply, pause, then collect the newspaper you will find folded in the seat-back pocket in front of you and begin to read it. The driver knows what to do. He will take you on a circuit of the harbor and airfield. Whenever the car stops and it seems appropriate to do so, retract the window, but before you do, be certain you are wearing these,” Philip said, handing his impersonator a leather case bearing a pair of custom-made Italian sunglasses. “Choose a ship or an aircraft, look at it intensely for a moment, as if you are trying to discern what is going on aboard it, then raise the window as if you've satisfied yourself. That's all there is to it. It should not be a difficult assignment.”

“No,” agreed the young man, “it won't be.”

“One more thing,” Philip added, with a transient smile, “say as little as possible.”

“Understood,” said the German.

“I'll just be a minute,” Philip told him, and with that retreated to the reception room where two secretaries were seated at opposing desks.

“I shall be going out shortly for a few hours to see to some business,” Philip instructed them. “Should Miss Cavill come by in the meantime, please ring me at once. Ask her to make herself at home in the office. It is, after all, hers. She may be alone, or she may have Mr. Hunter with her.” Philip watched the secretaries carefully, wondering if they, too, had already seen the video of Ty and Isabella's embrace. “One more thing,” he said. “I wonder if you could round up the files relating to Mr. Santal's last venture with Sir Timothy Fan Dang Foo.”

“That would have been a while ago,” replied the buxom woman whose desk faced Ian Santal's office. “They'd be upstairs in the records room.”

“Not to worry.” Philip smiled. He had expected that she, the office's unofficial archivist, would be the first to answer. “If you could have them on my desk when I return, I'd be grateful.”

“I'll just go and have a look,” she told him.

“Thank you,” Philip said.

Back in his office, he addressed the young man. “We're almost ready. If you would excuse us for a moment,” he said, indicating the dressing room in which the man had recently changed.

The man withdrew immediately.

When he had, Philip beckoned Andrej toward his desk. “Ready?” he inquired.

“The men are in place,” Andrej told him.

“What about the incendiary device?”

“All neatly tucked away in the bottom drawer of that campaign chest,” Andrej said, pointing to the brass-trimmed walnut cube at the center of an interior wall.

“And you've changed the office access codes?”

“Not yet, but they've been prepared. When you call the number you have for the device, you will not only trigger a twelve-second countdown to detonation but effect the change of access codes and thus enforce a barrier in both directions. No one will be able to enter or leave this room without them.”

“That's good. The fire will purge any record of the change, of course.”

“Exactly and there will be no record anywhere else. It will also devour any clue as to its origin.”

“The fire is a necessary piece of business, Andrej. Certain things must be erased, and it will erase them. In the process it should also serve to confuse the curious, which is to our advantage. One thing it most definitely is not, however, is a crime of passion.”

“Of course not,” Andrej dissembled. “For it to be that, you would have to be overcome by a passion you don't feel.”

“Just so,” Philip said. “In any event, I shall miss you, Andrej. It
has
been fun, hasn't it?”

Andrej nodded. “You will always be welcome at my villa.”

“Yes, well, when you've finally bought it, let me know, and I may take you up on that. There are some lovely women in the South of France. In the meantime, I've downloaded everything I need off site,” explained Philip, walking slowly toward then rapping gently on the door to the dressing room. “So, all that remains is for you to escort our young friend out.

“Take this iPhone,” Philip told the young man when he emerged.

“It's brand-new, isn't it?” remarked the young man.

“I bought it and one just like it this morning. Don't talk into it. Rather hold it intently, as though you are listening to something important and can't be distracted. Give a quick and friendly wave to the secretary in the next room as you pass her, but don't stop. She will see only the back of your head if you move quickly. The woman who ordinarily faces her has gone on a fool's errand, so you'll have no trouble standing in for me once you hit the street.”

When the young man and Andrej had left, Philip returned to the dressing room, where he carefully removed all his clothing except for his shorts and folded it into a duffel. From a second duffel, he removed a pair of peacock blue Bermuda shorts, a pair of swim trunks to substitute for undershorts, a white tennis shirt, a rope belt and a pair of Top-Sider deck shoes, which he put on without socks. At Ian's desk he proceeded to load the second duffel with the three slim attaché cases bearing the gems that Sheik al-Awad had purchased from Guardi, the same ones that had been delivered to Isabella both at Pond House and shipboard and that Philip had taken from
Surpass
that morning. Then, balancing one bag in either hand, he beat his retreat through the cavernous gallery that led to a spiral of old stone stairs that eventually emerged at the base of the Rock.