For the Good of the State (15 page)

‘Actually, it wasn’t my fault.’

He would have given good money to see the old man’s face. ‘No?’

‘No. Not that it matters whose fault it was.’ Audley was silent for another brief moment. ‘But we did a bit of research afterwards, just to find out who we owed one to, for the future.’

‘It wasn’t a suitable case for … reciprocal action?’

‘No.’ Audley took up his moment of silence again. ‘He didn’t have red tabs on his lapels. He was just a poor bloody field officer.’ He looked at Tom in the darkness again. ‘If you catch a bullet in the line of duty they won’t avenge you, Tom. If I do … then they will. You better bear that in mind for the next few hours.’

‘There’s no justice in this world.’ But it did make horrible sense, thought Tom sadly: in Lebanon, the biblical eye-for-an-eye payment had reduced local life to a murderous all-comers chaos.

‘Never was, and never will be,’ agreed Audley. ‘But we’ve got long memories in Research and Development—like old Fred Clinton used to say, “the baked meats of revenge are best eaten cold”. So … we’ve got a name: or two on the red side of our tablet now, anyway. And we’ll dish the buggers one day, you can depend on it.’ He sniffed. ‘Killing isn’t our style, we don’t have the resources for it, never mind the permission. But there are others we can use who think quite differently—the French, for example—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘But you’re making me digress. Because, the point is that I got Old King Cole to check up on Panin then, because he’s the resident Panin-watcher—right?’

‘“M to R”, you mean?’

‘Just so—M to R, right!’ Audley nodded in the darkness. ‘And he said that so far old Nikolai was still busy keeping an eye on his own side … That he might have given the First Directorate a bit of advice, as a consultant, but nothing more.’ He sniffed. ‘Actually, to be heart-breakingly honest, he rather put me in my place, did Basil Cole. Huh!’

‘Oh?’ It took an effort to imagine such an occurrence. But the lightly self-mocking admission both established Cole as someone to be reckoned with and accounted for Audley’s present action satisfactorily. ‘How?’

‘He said that Panin had bigger fish to fry than me, in his own home frying-pan. And he also said that I wasn’t part of the man’s job—just his hobby.’ Another sniff.

‘Somehow I find that neither flattering nor reassuring, you know.’ Then he sat up suddenly. ‘But now I’ll make the old swine eat his words: he can tell us why Nikolai Andrievich is poaching in my coverts again after all these years. Right?’ He rapped the dashboard sharply. ‘So not another word, not another question—
in with you
.’

Tom engaged the gear, and turned the big car cautiously past the huge beech tree into an overgrown rhododendron drive, still thick with unswept winter leaves.

They were still a long way from Panin, but he felt better now. Or, anyway, he understood why Audley was doing what he was doing, even if it also suggested that Jaggard was unaware of a real Panin-expert in their midst, who knew more about the Russian than Audley did. But then (to be fair to Jaggard) Cole might have acquired his expertise in retirement service for Research and Development, not in his previous existence.

The headlights picked up the red reflectors of a parked car, and then Tudor black-and-white half-timbering.

‘Pull round to the left,’ said Audley.

More piles of decaying leaves; and the house wasn’t genuine Tudor, but minor stockbroker’s mock-Tudor, with only just enough room for him to squeeze the Ministry Rover past the elderly Ford which was jammed against its garage doors beside the darkened house. (And he had learnt something about the arcane workings of R & D, too; about which Harvey had been half-scornful, yet oddly envious: that killing wasn’t their style, but that they had long memories when there was a name to enter in the ledger of unpaid accounts.)

‘It doesn’t look as though anyone’s home, David.’ He scanned the unimpressive house again: its most notable attribute was the circle of huge beech trees which surrounded it, embracing it with their enormous limbs and cutting out what was left of the last faint remnants of daylight above them.

‘It wouldn’t—the sitting room’s at the back.’ Audley opened his door. ‘He’ll be in, don’t worry—he never goes out.’ He started to get out, but then stopped. ‘He’s somewhere inside a five-year drink-driving disqualification … not that I’ve ever noticed any difference in him, drunk or sober.’ He started to move again, and then stopped again. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Tom—drunk or sober, he’s
good
, believe you me. Fawcett was a fool for retiring him, and old Fred Clinton was nobody’s fool—I wish I’d known the game he was playing, years back, in fact—’ Then he grunted, and did at last lever himself out of the car.

Tom switched off the lights, and for an instant it was prematurely night. Then the half-light seeped back through the beech trees, slightly reassuring him, with Beirut as well as this afternoon in mind: this was close country, with no high-rise buildings or distant ridges allowing long shots; and neither the Russian nor the American-Israeli night-sight image intensifiers were much use in these conditions, if he had not been quite as clever and careful in shaking off any pursuit as he thought he had been.

All the same, he was uneasy: in full daylight one could expect the worst, and plan accordingly. But after that it was a case of
negotium perambidans in tenebris
. ‘Let’s go and meet your Basil Cole then, David.’

‘Okay.’ Audley stretched himself, oblivious of any danger, and then took three steps to the mock-Tudor door, and thumped it with his fist. ‘Open up there!’

Tom cringed from the battering-ram challenge: Stephen of Blois hadn’t hammered on the gates of Ranulf of Caen’s
motte
at Theckham more noisily than that, but half of England had heard him. Or Baldwin de Redvers certainly had—and the Bishop of Salisbury too … and probably Robert fitz Herbert, and Henry fitz Tracy, and William fitz Odo … and probably the unspeakable Earl of Chester too—

‘Open up there!’ Audley hammered on the door again. ‘Basil Cole, you drunken old bugger!’

The porch light flashed on, dousing them both in a sudden pool of yellow light which made Tom skip back out of it instinctively. (Nobody turned on lights in Lebanon: rather, if there were any lights anywhere, they turned them off, inside as well as outside; and then they didn’t open the door until supplied with some very different and less offensive pass-words.)

But this door opened wide suddenly, regardless equally of insult and danger. ‘Yes?’

There was light inside the house, innocent of all precautions. And whoever it was in the doorway, it wasn’t Basil Cole, drunk or sober—it was a woman. ‘What do you want?’

Audley drew himself up to answer, obviously put off by the woman, and by the coldness and unexpected question.

‘Ah … Good evening, madam—’ Then he seemed to flouder.

The wrong house
? thought Tom. But that was impossible!

‘Mr Cole—?’ The great shoulders squared, ambushed but not defeated. ‘Mr Basil Cole—?’ Audley’s voice travelled from doubt to greater certainty. ‘You wouldn’t be by any chance Mr Cole’s daughter-in-law—?’

No answer. But there came another sound from inside the house, as of a squeaky mock-Tudor door opening.

‘What is it, dear?’ The new voice followed the mock-Tudor sound, not so much quavering as uncertain. ‘Who is it, dear?’

‘It’s all right—it’s nothing.’ The younger woman in the doorway threw back her answer harshly, almost dismissively.

‘My name is Audley.’ Now there was nothing soft about Audley’s own voice: being dismissed as ‘nothing’ was plainly not to his taste. ‘David Audley—’

There was a fractional pause. ‘David—?’

‘Margaret!’ Audley threw the name past the younger woman.

‘Mother—’ The woman tried to hit Audley’s reply back at him, and away out into the evening, but she was just too late.

‘
David Audley
!’ Now there was someone else inside the doorway. ‘Why, David—how very kind of you!’ The someone bobbed up and down behind the pearls-and-twin-set obstacle between them.

‘Mother—’

‘Christine, dear—you remember David Audley?’ The woman behind was not to be denied. ‘Come in, David—you remember Dr Audley, dear!’

‘Mrs Cole—’ Audley offered his hand to the obstacle ‘—actually, I don’t think we’ve ever met. But Basil has told me about you, of course.’

The obstacle winced, but still stood her ground obstinately, and without taking Audley’s hand. ‘Mother, I think it might be better if—’

‘And this is my colleague, Sir Thomas Arkenshaw, of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Mrs Cole.’ Audley swept the unaccepted hand round to indicate Tom, like a general revealing a hitherto masked battery of heavy guns. ‘Who has come all the way from London to see—’

‘Sir Thomas—’ The obstacle had just started to frown incredulously at Tom, but now suddenly cut Audley off ‘—Dr Audley,
of course
, my mother-in-law has spoken of you, as one of my late father-in-law’s
oldest
friends—do
please
forgive my bad manners, Dr Audley—I
simply
didn’t recognize you—but I’m sure you’ll understand, in the circumstances—
in the circumstances—
’ The younger Mrs Cole had to draw breath there, but she drew it so quickly that Audley only had time to open his mouth, not to speak, before she plunged on ‘—
in the circumstances—
my father-in-law’s death was so
sudden
, I’m
sure
you’ll make allowances for us—you
do
understand,
don’t
you?’

‘Ah … ’ Audley opened his mouth again, but then closed it. And then he nodded. ‘Yes, Mrs Cole. Believe me, I
do
understand,’

‘Thank you, Dr Audley.‘ The younger Mrs Cole stood aside at last, to allow her mother-in-law to get a clear view of their visitors.

‘David! And Sir Thomas—’ The elderly Mrs Cole peered at Tom through smudged spectacles ‘—it is so good of you both to come down so soon after poor Basil’s dreadful accident.’ She shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe it’s true—that I’m not dreaming some awful nightmare.’

‘Mother—’

‘It’s all right, dear. I’m not going to embarrass you, or disgrace myself.’

‘I didn’t mean that, Mother. I’m here, is what I was going to say.’

‘And so you are, dear—and I’m very grateful.’ The old lady smiled at Tom with her mouth as she blinked at him. ‘Having family is a great comfort, Sir Thomas. And now I know that his old friends and colleagues care too—enough to come all the way from London so quickly … when I know how busy you all are— ’ She transferred the smile to Audley ‘—although there really isn’t anything you can do. My dear daughter-in-law—who is more like a daughter—has been so good. So you see, you’ve really had a wasted journey, David. I’m quite all right.’

‘I’m sure you are, Margaret,’ agreed Audley gently. ‘And you won’t need to worry about anything at our end. Colonel Butler and I will deal with everything there. But … if there
is
anything—?’ Audley rolled an eye at Tom. ‘I suppose there are formalities here … ’

‘There isn’t anything—‘ The younger Mrs Cole stopped suddenly. ’But if you’d like to take Dr Audley through to the sitting room—the coffee’s just percolated—perhaps you would carry the tray for me, Sir Thomas?‘

There was an edge of command in her voice. But more than that, she was deliberately splitting them. ‘I’d be pleased to, Mrs Cole.’

‘Yes … ’ The old lady blinked at Audley. ‘Or perhaps you’d like something stronger, David?’

‘Coffee will do. Mother.’ The cutting edge flashed. ‘Dr Audley is driving, remember.’

‘Yes, dear … of course. Do please stay, David. And I’ll tell you all about it—no, it’s all right … It’ll be good to talk to someone—’ She gestured Audley onwards ‘—it was all so silly—
so unnecessary —
’

‘Yes.’ The younger Mrs Cole watched Audley and her mother-in-law cross the hallway, to disappear through a mock-Tudor doorway. ‘So unnecessary—you can say that again!’ She addressed the closing door with cold venom before turning back to Tom. ‘This way, Sir Thomas.’

Tom followed her meekly in the opposite direction. Audley was about to get it all. But he, also, was about to get something. Only his share might not be so palatable, he suspected.

The woman touched the light-switch as she entered the room. For an instant nothing happened, then an overhead strip-light flashed, and flashed again before coming on, reminding him quite inappropriately of the flashing gunfire in the hills above Beirut.

It was just a kitchen: a rather tatty kitchen, styled in the last-word fashion of 1935, with all the attendant mess of a sudden and unexpected bereavement in the house: unwashed breakfast crockery, and innumerable coffee cups on the draining-board.

The woman turned on him in the harsh light: a handsome, yet utterly unfeminine woman, altogether different from his own dear Willy—
Willy-on-the-town now, probably with that damned naval attaché—

Mustn’t think of Willy. Must look innocent. ‘Coffee cups—?’ At least he could smell the coffee percolating.

‘Damn the coffee cups!’ she blazed at him. ‘You aren’t the old swine’s “very kind” colleagues, are you? You haven’t any idea of what’s happened—have you?’

‘No. We haven’t.’ It was no good lying to this woman, any more than it was any good lying to Willy. And it was particularly no good because she’d obviously heard Audley’s unwise exhortation to his ‘
drunken old bugger
’ and her ‘
old swine
’ through the thinness of the mock-Tudor front door.

‘Who are you?’

He was used to this sort of doubt, because he didn’t look like the ‘Sir Thomas Arkenshaw’ people expected. But it was beginning to become irritating, that disbelief. ‘You are Mrs Cole, are you? Basil Cole’s daughter-in-law?’

‘Yes—’

‘Then I am Sir Thomas Arkenshaw, of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Mrs Cole.’ He reached inside his jacket. ‘And this is my identification.’

She examined his warrant card carefully before returning it to him. So she had guts. But he knew that already.