The Avenue of the Dead (32 page)

‘When will Mrs Fleming come back to Washington? She's not sick, is she?'

Fleming didn't answer. He saw John Kidson and his beautiful wife at the other side of the room and he hurried to join them. Benson didn't follow him.

Fleming spoke in a low voice to Kidson. ‘I think it's started. What Jerry Spencer-Barr warned me about. I'd better get in contact with him.'

Kidson managed to control his alarm.

‘They've sent in the journalist,' Fleming muttered. ‘That's him over there. He grabbed me just now and started asking questions about Elizabeth. He's ruined a lot of people's reputations and he never seems to get it wrong. If you have a skeleton in the closet, that son of a bitch will dig it out. I'm going to excuse myself and go home. I'll call Barr from there.' He took a drink from one of the embassy waiters. ‘The last thing I feel like is champagne,' he said. ‘What the hell are we going to do?'

‘Just keep calm,' Kidson advised. ‘And keep away from him. Stall, do anything, but don't say another word. Let Jeremy Barr know and leave it to him. There's nothing you can do but wait. And hope.'

‘Hope for what?'

‘News from Davina and Lomax,' Kidson said quietly. ‘They're working on it. I don't believe they'll fail us.'

Edward Fleming finished the champagne. ‘After what's happened to me,' he said, ‘I don't believe anything any more. If you'll excuse me, Mrs Kidson,' he said to Charlie, ‘I'll be going now.'

John Kidson watched him make his way towards the ambassador and his wife to say goodbye. He looked a handsome, well set-up man in the prime of his political life, with everything going in his favour. John Kidson took Charlie's arm. He had learned a lot about men from seeing them walk away.

‘Whatever happens,' he said, ‘he's finished.'

‘From what you've told me,' she said simply, ‘he won't be any loss. Look, darling, isn't that Senator Kennedy over there? Do you know him?' He nodded and she tugged at his arm. ‘Do introduce me, I'd be fascinated to meet him.'

‘Not for anything in the world,' John Kidson said firmly. ‘Introducing a beautiful woman to a Kennedy is like feeding a Christian to the lions. Come away, darling, and meet a nice dull Pentagon general.'

On their way home in the car Charlie said suddenly, ‘If Davy gets this woman back, what will happen?'

‘Whatever the CIA decides. It's out of our hands now. We should hear from her soon.'

‘How soon?'

‘By tomorrow at the latest,' he said. ‘Otherwise we know that she and Lomax are in trouble.'

The embassy in Mexico received the message; its principal KGB officer had been on alert since the week before. So far, all his reports from the clinic at Tula indicated that the Plumed Serpent was progressing satisfactorily. Whether the code concerned a person or a project he did not know. He transmitted the reports to Moscow. The telex that reached him that afternoon was in a different vein. It requested urgent investigation of two clients at the clinic, whose fingerprints followed shortly on the teleprinter. The embassy was one of the most important in Central America, and rated a high-grade ambassador and a very skilled intelligence contingent. The senior intelligence officer transmitted the details immediately to the communications centre in the Lubyianka in Moscow. It was three a.m. Moscow time, but within the space of an hour the computers had filed the information and returned an answer. The man was on record as a member of the visa section at the British Embassy in Washington. The woman was identified by her fingerprints as a former Soviet prisoner and a very important counter-intelligence agent; this was confirmed by the photographs. Instructions would be telexed as soon as General Borisov had been informed.

Borisov was woken in the small hours by the one telephone that put through emergency calls. His wife sat up in their double bed and asked him sleepily what was the matter. His response brought her wide awake. He slammed the phone down and shouted at her. ‘Disaster! That's what's the matter – go back to sleep, you stupid fool!' She heard him banging doors in the flat and getting dressed. She knew the significance of that telephone by the bed; it had only rung three times in the past eighteen months.

Borisov drove himself out through the back entrance and swiftly through the empty streets to his office. There he had the use of a full night staff. He shut himself up alone and stared at the telephotos and the fingerprints. He swore furiously. In moments of great crisis, Borosov gave vent to his feelings; they were a safety valve for his judgement. When that was done, his self-control became total and his reactions as void of emotion as the great banks of computers in the communications centre.

First he admitted his mistake. He should not have left the Plumed Serpent alive. She should have been killed as soon as it was known she had been questioned by the CIA. Her body, not that of the doped, dazed prisoner kept in readiness, should have been put in the boot of Fleming's car. He had followed Soviet tradition and protected his operator. And left alive the one witness who could destroy his plan and expose the tortuous and vicious trail of the Plumed Serpent' and its Soviet manipulators. If that happened, he would not only lose his appointment, he could lose his liberty for thirty years in one of his own labour camps. He made his decision, and as soon as it was done, the machinery of sophisticated communications clicked into action and the message sped round the world to Mexico, where from the embassy it hummed through on the telex in the Quetzalcoatl Clinic.

James Luis O'Farrell took the telex and decoded it. The instructions were stark and simple and one of them puzzled him. But he had the fanatic's respect for orders. Unlike the hotheaded Felipe, he didn't question anything that came from Moscow. His clients had finished their dinner in the cafeteria; some would be strolling round in the cool evening, others taking a late swim in the heated pool. He had to know what the couple who called themselves Maxwell were doing, and he set out to find them. Neither was in their rooms, and a search of the patios and the common-rooms was fruitless. It was too dark to see them if they were in the grounds. No one had seen them leave and their car was in the compound. Felipe joined him. O'Farrell walked through the clinic with the young doctor at his side. He stopped to speak to some of the clients he knew, and Felipe asked the normal questions about his charges' comfort and progress.

‘We can't do anything until we find them,' O'Farrell said. ‘There are three of us – send for Rose. We will look through the grounds. They're not in the clinic.'

‘What about her?' Felipe demanded. ‘What do we do about her?'

‘We do as we have been instructed,' the surgeon said. ‘We kill her. After we have taken the other two.'

Outside the main terrace they separated. Rose, a Mexican woman in nurse's uniform, was with them. Each took a path through the grounds. The two men carried guns under their overalls.

‘I'll open the door,' Lomax whispered. ‘It'll be locked, but unless it's bolted I can fix it in a couple of minutes.'

‘She'll hear you,' Davina protested.

He held up a thin twist of wire. ‘Not with this she won't. When it's open, you go in. I'll stay outside on guard. If she gives you any trouble, just call me. If I see trouble coming from my end I'll give you the signal to get out and run. You understand? You get the hell out of the place and go straight to the car. No arguments.'

‘None,' Davina promised him. ‘But you can't have a shooting match – the whole place will come running.'

‘I hope I won't have to,' he said. ‘Get in there and see if you can persuade her to come willingly. You know what to do if she kicks up a row.'

She nodded. He had given her a round stone, picked up from their afternoon walk in the gardens. Fitted into the palm of the hand, it would make an untrained blow to the side of the neck as effective as a karate chop. Davina had been unwilling to take the stone. But Lomax had assured her it was a last resort, only to be used if the woman started screaming or tried to attack her before he could rush through the door. ‘Think of the real Elizabeth Carlton,' Lomax had said.

They were hidden behind a screen of bushes when they saw the Mexicans in their white coats joined by a nurse.

‘Three of them,' Lomax murmured. ‘That's not too bad. They're fanning out in a search party. As soon as they pass out of the light along those three paths, we walk back inside. Is your watch right?'

‘I think so. It's nine-thirty.'

‘Nine-thirty-three,' he said. ‘Near enough. The lights go out at ten in the main rooms. The patients are encouraged to turn in at the same time. I reckon it'll take them half an hour to go right round the grounds and meet up together. By which time we should be on our way to the car park. Ready?'

‘Yes,' she said.

In the semi-darkness he looked down at her.

‘Scared?'

‘Scared stiff,' she whispered back.

‘Good,' he encouraged. ‘It's the best way to be – sharpens the reflexes. They're out of sight now. Come on.'

They walked back into the clinic. Davina caught her breath as a voice behind them said, ‘Hi, Mrs Maxwell – Dr O'Farrell was looking for you.' It was the pretty Texan.

‘Oh,' Davina said. ‘We were out walking. I suppose he wants to know if I've made up my mind about bobbing my nose.'

‘I guess so,' the girl said. ‘Have a good evening.'

‘Thanks,' Lomax answered, and they walked on. Inside the main building they separated. ‘Five minutes,' he whispered to her. ‘You give me five minutes by your watch and then come. If I'm not around, don't worry. Try the door, and if it gives go in. If it doesn't, go to the car and wait. If I don't join you in another five minutes, go direct to the embassy and stay there.'

‘Colin,' she began, but he interrupted her briskly.

‘Five minutes.' Then he turned and was gone.

Davina went to her bedroom. She didn't turn on the light, but stayed by the window, the stone weighing in her pocket. The time schedule was terrifyingly tight. Outside in the darkness three KGB agents were searching for them. Felipe, O'Farrell and the nurse. Lomax had a gun, she had a stone. He was satisfied with the odds – she wasn't. The time was up. She opened the door, glanced up and down the corridor. It was empty. She went out.

Lomax didn't attempt to hide himself. He strolled out on to the patio, and turned towards the little building at the back. There was nobody near the entrance; he looked swiftly right and left, and then slipped inside. There was a light under the door on the left. The patient who had undergone plastic surgery was inside, as Davina had seen. Six other rooms were empty, luxurious bedrooms waiting for the winter influx. And in the centre, next door to the operating theatre, was the room without windows. Light blazed into the sky from the glass roof and a streak showed under the door. The night was very quiet. He checked his watch. Then he took the little twist of wire from his pocket and crouched in front of the door. First he tried the handle, turning it so slowly that the movement wouldn't catch the eye of anyone the other side. It gave a faint click and he pressed gently forward but the door didn't move. He looked quickly round again and then inserted the lock pick. It was a simple mechanism, and there was no sound as the bolt slid out of its socket. Lomax stood up. His gun, its silencer in place, was strapped round his waist. He saw Davina come round the corner and beckoned her. She hurried to him.

‘It's open,' he whispered. ‘No problem. Go in and I'll keep watch outside.' Davina nodded. He noticed that she looked very white.

The woman was lying on her bed, reading a magazine. When the door opened she didn't look up. It's that goddamned nurse, she said to herself, with her orange juice and her sleeping pills. Davina closed the door quietly behind her.

‘Hallo, Elizabeth,' she said. ‘I thought I'd find you here.'

It was O'Farrell who came into view first, with Rose and Felipe behind him. The girl from Texas was just going off duty when she saw him. She always tried to be helpful. She turned back and came up to him.

‘You were looking for Mrs Maxwell, doctor? Did you find her?'

‘No.' For a second the grey eyes glittered. ‘Have you seen her?'

‘Yeah, about twenty minutes ago. She and her husband came in from the gardens. I told her you wanted to talk to her.'

‘Thank you, nurse,' he said. He paused and the other two came up to him. He waited until the young girl was out of sight. ‘They're back inside the clinic,' O'Farrell said. ‘Rose, try the recreation room. Felipe, go and check on her. I will look in their rooms. I will join you there if I don't find them.'

‘If we do?' Felipe demanded.

‘Obey your orders,' was the reply. ‘Then come to me when it's done. We will get rid of
her.
'

He watched the nurse and the young doctor hurry away. He stood for a moment, his hands in his overall pockets, the right one curled round the butt of an automatic. It was a beautiful clear night, and the full moon was shedding her cold majestic light upon the Mexican earth. Five hundred years ago his ancestors sacrificed to the moon goddess at the top of the great pyramid at Teotihuacan. Human blood ran black at night; the sun god saw it red. The voices of his Indian ancestors spoke to Jaime Luis O'Farrell and they were louder than the words of twentieth-century reason and the Marxist philosophy by which he lived.

A few miles away from Tula, the double pyramid at Tenayuca pointed upward to the sky, surrounded by the plumed serpents symbolizing the bisexual god who unified heaven and earth. The Spaniards had thrown down the people's idols and replaced them with their Christian counterparts. The Indian woman who married Jaime's grandfather kept the image of the Plumed Serpent, feathered, taloned and ferocious, in a secret place. The Christ figure and the Madonna reigned in public but the old dark gods were worshipped still.