The Avenue of the Dead (46 page)

‘Yes, I would.' Kidson looked at her. ‘I'd give my eye teeth to get it. And that's something I've never admitted to myself before. And I'd be bloody good in it, too. Better than Humphrey.' He hadn't mentioned it to her before, because it stung his pride, but now he said, ‘And I didn't tell you, but the Chief actually said he'd been thinking of recommending Davina!'

‘That's ridiculous.' Charlie sat upright. ‘It's not a woman's job. What a stupid suggestion – anyway she's left the Service – what's he talking about?'

‘I don't know,' Kidson admitted. ‘I thought it was just mischievous; or trying to get me to talk about her. Grant thinks he meant it.'

‘Why should James White want you to talk about Davina? And if he did, why not ask a question if he wanted to know – I don't see the sense in that.'

‘I didn't either,' Kidson admitted. ‘I just felt there was something behind the lunch and the whole conversation. He knew all about her anyway. I had a word with Humphrey and he hit the roof! My God, he means to get the job when the old man does retire – I didn't realize how much it meant to him.'

‘He wouldn't do it as well as you,' his wife said quietly. ‘He hasn't got the personality, or the vision. He's a natural second-in-command.' John stared at her for a minute. Then he shook his head. Behind that lovely face there was a shrewd brain. She had slotted Humphrey Grant into place in a few words: a natural second-in-command.

‘You think I'm a natural leader, then?' It was a hesitant question, self-mocking.

Charlie looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘No, darling, I don't. But I think you'd soon turn into one when you had the responsibility. That's all you need. To be given the job, and you'll do it. Grant will be a mess. Besides, he's an old queer deep down, and that's not proved very reliable, has it?'

‘You've no reason to say that,' Kidson murmured. ‘And no proof.'

She shrugged. ‘I don't need proof,' she said. ‘He hates being touched by a woman, haven't you noticed? When I shake hands he pulls back as if he'd got hold of a scorpion. I know when a man's queer, and he certainly is. Not actively, darling, not even consciously, but underneath.' She hesitated for a moment. ‘Has it ever been suggested? At the office, I mean?'

‘Good God, no,' Kidson said. ‘He's just looked on as a sort of neuter, that's all.'

‘Well, why don't you drop a hint to Sir James – that ought to put Humphrey out of the running.'

‘Charlie,' he said, ‘you amaze me.' He sounded stern and disapproving. ‘That would be the most bloody awful thing to do, just to get ahead myself.'

‘Only if it wasn't true,' she pointed out. ‘I think you're being silly, John. And I'm sure he'd do it to you if he had anything against you. You want this so badly, why won't you fight for it?'

He didn't answer at once. He was shocked at her. And at himself, because part of him was listening and agreeing. ‘Because I don't live by the law of the jungle,' he said at last.

‘You live in it,' Charlie said quietly. ‘You can't have two standards, my love, without being a plain hypocrite. I wouldn't hesitate if I were you. And I know you're going to say I haven't any morals, and I don't care. I don't pretend to have any. You do, and it's time you stopped. Now I'm going up to bed because you're cross. Good night, darling.'

He kicked the fire, but it wouldn't break into flame. He had ash over his shoe. He was angry with Charlie. Very angry. He didn't want her to show the ruthless side of her he knew existed. He didn't like to be told he was a hypocrite and had no morals, as if she were humouring a boy who wouldn't face the facts. He wanted her soft and loving and gorgeous to look at – she had no right to remind him that she was still Davina Graham's sister. They weren't alike; he wouldn't have it. And yet she drew aside the veil from time to time and showed a face that wasn't hers. ‘You live in the jungle.' The remark hurt because it was so true. He lived with lies and betrayal, and no moral values except the belief that what was done was necessary. And no KGB assassin would disagree with that. He wanted to succeed Sir James White. His wife had taunted him because he wouldn't fight to get what he wanted. If he didn't fight, she would despise him. He should never have mentioned it in the first place. Women didn't understand. They didn't accept that there was such a thing as loyalty between colleagues, lines that no decent man would cross, no matter what he stood to gain.

And then he raised his head and said out loud in the quiet room, ‘You bloody liar. Grant isn't a colleague – you don't even like the miserable bastard. He's a rival, and Charlie's right. Go out to get what you want. You need it, Kidson, you need it very badly. And instead of sitting here in judgement on her, be bloody glad you've got a wife like Charlie on your side.…'

He went into their bedroom very quietly in case she was asleep. He knew by her breathing that she wasn't. He sat on the edge of their bed and reached his hand over and touched her. Their fingers gripped and intertwined. ‘I'm sorry,' he whispered. She sat up and took him in her arms.

Later, just before they drifted into sleep, she said, ‘If he was being serious about Davina – you mustn't hold back because she's my sister. You come first with me.'

The night staff came on at 6.30 at Queen Anne's Gate. Davina waited until nine o'clock, when she was sure the offices would be empty, and then she walked to the side entrance and rang the bell. It was opened by a security guard. She handed him the pass. Humphrey had made it out in the name of Burgess, under her photograph in the plastic window. The guard was polite but cautious. He let her inside after he had studied the likeness and checked Grant's signature.

She walked into the hallway; nothing had changed. The same faded green paint, reproductions of Bartolozzi engravings on the walls, a handsome antique mirror over the fireplace. ‘Thank you,' she said briskly. ‘I'm going upstairs. I'll see the duty officer.'

She ignored the creaking lift and hurried to the first floor. The duty officer had a small room next to the switchboard. She had no intention of going near him. The filing room was in the basement, and that was her objective. By the broom cupboard on the first floor was a little door that led to the back stairs. It was unlocked, and she went through and down, bypassing the hallway and the man on duty there. The key to the filing room was one of three. James White, Grant, and the chief filing clerk were the only people able to open that room at will. She didn't waste a moment; she got out three files. The basement was invisible from the street; nobody would see the flaring neon lights, but they were bright enough that she didn't need to use a flash as she photographed. It took just under half an hour, and she had hurried, aware that her hands were trembling slightly. The nerves got out of practice, she thought. She'd spent too long in the peace of her parents' home in Wiltshire looking after Colin and believing that this side of her life was ended for ever.

She finished. In her haste one of the dossiers fell on the ground. It was James White's personal file, and if she hadn't been clumsy, she wouldn't have noticed from the subsequent photographs that a section in the last part had been removed. There were numbers in series at the top left-hand corner of every page. These corresponded to a computer key which stored the information.

The margin above and below the script was three inches wide, and the number high up near the inside of the page. She knew she had aimed the lens below it to take in the script. Therefore no discrepancy would show up in the photograph. It had only caught her attention because the folder had fallen open, and she saw that there was a four-digit difference between the facing pages. Davina looked at her watch. Half an hour, nearly forty minutes.

One file had been tampered with. What about the other two – Grant's and John Kidson's? All three had sections missing, and in more than one place. Over a period of years, there were sequences that didn't match, sometimes only a page. She gathered them together and replaced them. Only the silent computer in the far end of the room possessed the information that someone had been so anxious to hide. And without the key it couldn't be operated. She switched out the lights and went out, locking the door behind her. Someone had got there first and made certain she would find nothing.

Unless it had been done over a long time, careful editing of material that might provide a questioner with ugly answers. She couldn't know which. If it hadn't been for a less than steady hand, she wouldn't have realized the deception at all.

It would be interesting, but sterile, to see how the photographs read. She went up the back staircase and let herself out onto the first floor. The lights showed through the glass door of the duty officer's room. She could hear voices. She walked very quickly past the door and slipped down the main stairs to the hall. She showed her pass to the security man, who unlocked the side entrance and let her out. It led into a little passageway that came out on Birdcage Walk. Only the initiated used it; any tourist happening to turn in by mistake would be delighted by the cobbled path, the narrow walls and leaning houses of a genuine eighteenth-century street that ended in a cul-de-sac.

‘Look, darling – isn't that Davina?'

Kidson was driving, and it was Charlie who saw her sister emerge from the passage and walk hurriedly away towards the Barracks.

‘My God,' he said, and he slowed down, ‘is it? What the hell was she doing – coming out of Anne's Yard?'

He was watching her through the driving mirror, seeing her back view stop by a parked car, open it and get inside.

‘What was she doing at the office?' He almost asked himself the question.

‘Darling, you're going to shoot the lights if you're not careful,' Charlie pointed out. ‘Why shouldn't she go to the office? Except that it's closed.'

‘No reason.' He pulled himself together. He smiled at his wife; they were on their way to dinner with friends. Davina should have waited till it was dark. She was losing her touch.…

‘No reason at all,' he said. ‘Bloody Parliament Square – it's always blocked!'

‘It won't matter if we're late,' Charlie said. ‘They never sit down before nine thirty. I do hate having dinner at Spanish hours.'

She took out a mirror and examined her beautifully made-up face, flicked a wayward strand of hair into place. Kidson negotiated the traffic without saying any more. But she noticed that he was unusually silent during the evening.

‘Nothing,' Davina said. ‘Everything we wanted has been taken out.'

‘Which proves beyond doubt that we're on the right track,' Lomax reminded her. ‘The sections deleted dealt with Harrington, Sasanov and Mexico. The bastard was connected with both operations; what he's done is remove the evidence of how he sabotaged them. Or tried to.'

‘The computer,' Davina murmured. ‘It'll be in there.'

‘Don't bet on it,' Colin said. ‘Whoever doctored those files would have access to the computer key. It's not difficult to erase the memory bank. My guess is, they'll have interfered with the whole process of filing over the last six years, to make it look like a computer error.'

‘Then what the hell am I to do?' she demanded. ‘Humphrey knew I was going to look at the files. He's the obvious suspect. So obvious that I don't believe it for a minute. John doesn't have a key, but he could easily get in on a pretext. There's always a file clerk on duty during the day. He couldn't have touched the computer, if you're right about that. But he could have fiddled with the ordinary files over a period of time. And then we have James White.'

‘Who has access and could use the computer,' Lomax said. ‘But we've no proof of anything. Unless I'm wrong and the computer hasn't been told to erase. Maybe only the files were tampered with.'

‘Because they were going to be inspected,' Davina finished for him. ‘Which means Humphrey, doesn't it? He edited them before I got there.… My God, I can't think straight any more!'

‘Let's see what's missing,' Colin said.

‘You look at it.' She got up. ‘I'll make coffee, my head's spinning.'

He looked up when she came back. ‘I've been going back,' he said slowly. ‘There have been alterations made long before you joined. I've found half a dozen dates and serial numbers that aren't in sequence. Right back to the time of the brigadier's predecessor – Osborn.'

‘He was suspected,' Davina said slowly. ‘That's why he retired. Nothing was proved against him or even investigated, but there was talk that he'd let Philby get away.'

‘So whoever the mole is, he was there before you or Harrington joined. He's covered himself right back to Osborn's time.'

‘That cuts out Humphrey,' Davina said. ‘Sir James recruited him.'

‘But it leaves Kidson.' Lomax reached for a cup of coffee. ‘How do you feel about that?'

She got up and moved restlessly round the small room. ‘It couldn't be him.'

‘Why not? Because he's married to your sister?'

‘Don't be silly, Colin, it's nothing to do with that! I
know
John; all right, I accepted that he had to be considered, but I didn't take it seriously.'

‘Well, I think you should,' Lomax answered. ‘Because he had every opportunity to act as a double. And he was there early on. He was a Cambridge man, wasn't he? Yes, it's here. Educated Rugby and King's College, Cambridge. Went up in 1946, just after the war. The Communists were still busily recruiting at that time.'

‘You make it sound as if everyone who went to Cambridge was a Soviet agent,' Davina said impatiently. ‘John wasn't there with Philby or Burgess or Blunt. He's much younger.'