The Company of Saints (26 page)

‘You came in
my
car,' she reminded him quickly. ‘I'll see you tomorrow morning. And by the way, you've done a marvellous job. I'm not very good at saying thank you, but I mean it. Simply marvellous.' They looked at each other for a moment. Then she turned and went quickly before he moved towards her.

‘This is a serious mistake.' The doctor shifted from one foot to the other. Not so confident now, my friend, his protector thought, angry and yet satisfied. The crack was revealed at last. You are human after all. Too human, because your calculations haven't worked out, and my elaborate system is in danger. Anger was predominant now. You'll pay a high price for that self-confidence of yours, he thought, watching the impassive face and the unwavering look. But the feet betrayed the man. ‘You assured me that once a subject was programmed, he couldn't escape control. But this one has. And she holds the key to everything. I accepted your assurances about the one they have in Italy. But not ‘France'. She can tell them everything!'

‘I have been looking for a reason,' the young man said.

He was interrupted. ‘I want a solution, not an excuse. What are you going to do about it?'

‘I shall apply the final test,' the doctor answered. His heart was beating too fast. He was annoyed at his own lack of control. He shouldn't have reacted to the pressure. He had programmed himself as efficiently as any of his subjects. He prided himself on his mastery of the sympathetic nervous system. ‘I have worked it out in a way that can turn this to our advantage. It's my fail-safe for a situation like this.' His feet were still now. ‘I promise you, ‘France' will obey this signal. She won't be able to resist it.'

He didn't answer for some moments. He was still very angry, and his irritation with his protégé was growing. He forgot about the amazing successes he had already achieved. ‘You perfected a technique,' he said suddenly. ‘I gave you all the facilities you needed – whatever resources you asked for. I accepted what you told me.' He banged the top of his desk. ‘But you didn't warn me it could fail! How do I know this final test will work?'

‘Because you saw the experiments,' the doctor said quietly. ‘You were there. In each case, the subject responded. And they were all different. France will respond too.'

The other man leaned forward, scowling at him. ‘You stand by your theories. But how do you propose to do it with someone who is held by the SIS? Answer that problem, my friend, and you'll regain some credibility.'

‘I can answer part of the problem,' he said. ‘But I can't provide the means. That's not my department. I will guarantee that, in response to my signal, France will be motivated to kill. Because of her captivity I can't guarantee success. Getting the signal to her is up to you.'

He smiled at the doctor. ‘My department will do their part,' he said. The smile was full of threat. ‘You will do yours. How long will it take to prove you are right?'

The doctor didn't hesitate. ‘It will be immediate. France will find it unbearable until she acts.'

He was at his dacha that weekend. Close to the riverside, where he could sit and fish, if he chose, or simply watch the steady flow of water and contemplate. He liked the hot summer days. His colleagues went to the Black Sea at this time of year, disporting themselves in villas as luxurious as those owned by the aristocracy in the old days. The climate was idyllic, the scenery beautiful; there were clinics and private establishments where the powerful elite could go and recuperate from the rigours of ruling the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Sometimes he thought of the holidays he'd spent there and regretted not being able to go this summer. Instead he stayed in the heat of Moscow, close to the centre of the power he loved.

He sent for two people that weekend, two trusted aides. And he explained what he wanted. They listened and he could sense their uneasiness. ‘It's difficult,' he said, ‘but not impossible. It must be done, Comrades. And I am confident that you can do it. You have the means.'

‘It will break a precedent,' the elder man remarked. He wore the insignia of a full colonel of the KGB when he was in uniform. That afternoon he was dressed in a sweatshirt and shorts. His legs and arms were muscled and hairy. His companion was in a tracksuit. Both were keen athletes. Neither wanted the other inhabitants of that exclusive area to think they were on official business.

‘It's never been done before. It's an unwritten rule,' the colonel pointed out.

‘Then it'll set a new precedent,' he countered. ‘A new rule. That nobody in the Western world is safe.'

There was a moment's silence. The younger officer showed himself to be a brave man. He said, ‘And nobody in the East either.'

‘That we've already proved,' was the answer. ‘It will make our task easier, Comrades. And Russia safer. Colonel, report back as soon as possible.'

They stood up, made a half salute, and then he was alone again. He would break the precedent that said no head of Security was invulnerable. It had gone on for too long to be tolerable. No more immunity for Brunson of the CIA, the sardonic Frenchman of SEDECE or Davina Graham in London. His self-proclaimed genius of a doctor had better be right this time, or he'd end up as a patient in one of his own psychiatric clinics.

It was seven o'clock in the evening when Davina finally decided to leave Welton. She and Humphrey went into the small lounge reserved for senior officials, and accepted a drink. The officer in charge of Welton was a retired brigadier, with an impressive war record. He was sympathetic. ‘Of course it's disappointing – but then it's not unexpected. The girl's suffering a reaction. She's not sure she did the right thing, so she's holding out.'

‘She's lying,' Davina said angrily. ‘She's lying through her teeth – and I know it. Don't you think, Humphrey?'

‘I'd say so,' he replied. ‘She has made up her mind to cooperate as little as possible. I rather expected this. I've seldom come across anyone so intensely hostile.' He sipped his glass of sherry. ‘Particularly to you, Davina.'

‘Then perhaps I shouldn't participate at this stage,' she said. ‘Maybe I'd better stay out of it until Tim has made some kind of breakthrough. She seemed to respond better to him. Anyway he speaks perfect French and that establishes some kind of relationship.'

Humphrey said, ‘Her English is better than she makes out. She understands everything, provided we don't talk too quickly. I think you're right, Davina. You seem to serve as some kind of irritant. I'd like to talk to her alternately with Tim, for the next few days anyway. See if her attitude changes.'

‘You made no progress at all?' the brigadier inquired. He had been fully briefed on the background of his visitor.

‘None,' Davina said irritably. ‘Where is Tim?'

‘He said he was going for a quick walk,' the brigadier said. ‘Wanted to stretch his legs. It's certainly a lovely evening. Have you any special instructions, Miss Graham?'

‘I don't think so,' she said wearily. ‘I tell you one thing. If she goes on like this, I'm going to call her bluff.'

‘How?' Humphrey asked. He disliked Davina in this mood. She was snappy and on edge.

‘I'm going to hand her back to SEDECE with a recommendation that they give her the full treatment,' she said. ‘She knows who killed the Duvaliers. I'm not putting up with this little-girl act for long. Thanks for the drink, Brigadier. Keep a very close eye on her, won't you?'

‘Don't worry,' he reassured her. ‘She can't make a move without our knowing. The whole room is a bag of electronic tricks. I'll see you both to your car.' Outside he turned to Humphrey. ‘Will you be back tomorrow, Mr Grant?'

‘I think we'll leave Tim to it,' Davina said. ‘Humphrey, you take over in a couple of days and give him a break. Good night.' She hurried down the steps and got into the back of the car. Humphrey followed. He was furious at the way she had answered for him. And then, typically, she made amends.

‘I'm sorry I'm so on edge, Humphrey. Of course you must say whether you want to go back, or leave it to Tim. It's entirely up to you.'

He didn't want to be mollified. ‘I think I'd rather leave it as you arranged,' he said stiffly.

Davina didn't notice the sulk. She lit a cigarette, inhaled and sighed. ‘God, I'm tired. It's the frustration of sitting there, hour after hour, listening to her lie. All that stuff about being shy and feeling inferior – I could have boxed her ears at one moment! And she knew it. She was deliberately mocking me. She knew I didn't believe a word of it.' She stared out of the window. ‘We've got to break through,' she said. ‘After the news from Modena, this is the only hope we've got. Valdorini was only small fry. She's told him everything she knows, and it's not enough. They didn't leave Franklyn's killer around to answer questions. And they tried to murder this one – that
proves
how important she is!'

‘We'll never find Father Mamie's murderer,' Humphrey said gloomily. ‘MacNeil's people are combing through all the meditation centres, or whatever they're called. It'll take months to find out which are genuine and which are just making money out of gullible idiots. Let alone if one of them is a British version of Ma-Nang.'

‘You can bet it is,' Davina said. ‘You can bet they've used the same technique as they did in France and Italy. But that's not our pigeon, Humphrey. We can't do everything. It's up to MacNeil and CID to get together and sort out the freaks. The traffic's heavy for this time of night.'

He grunted. He felt tired too. He hadn't enjoyed the session either. He found Hélène Blond a most disturbing personality. He didn't envy Tim Johnson her company for the next few days. But Davina was right when she said that the girl reacted violently against her. It was unmistakable: Hélène Blond hated Davina Graham with the animosity that some women felt for others of their sex. He wondered why, and then gave up thinking about it. Davina dropped him off at his flat and the driver took her directly home.

She had waited until nearly a quarter to nine for Colin Lomax to turn up that morning, but he hadn't come. She turned on the television, watched impatiently for a few minutes and then switched it off. It had been a hellish day. Frustrating, but worse, she had the feeling of being deliberately baited. Davina got herself a cup of coffee. She couldn't be bothered to eat. Cigarettes. She was nearly out of them. Suddenly she thought of Tony Walden. How he had nagged about smoking. It was bad for your health – a filthy, dangerous habit. I love you, he used to insist, so stop doing it and damaging yourself.… ‘Oh Christ.' She said it out loud. Then she picked up the packet, and smoked the last cigarette.

She decided to ring Lomax. The phone rang for ages before he answered.

‘Why didn't you come this morning? I waited for you.'

‘I overslept. I'm sorry.'

‘Like hell you did.' She could feel her temper rising. ‘You could at least have called me and said you weren't coming.'

‘Had a bad day, have you?'

‘Yes, bloody awful. Anyway, why should you care?'

‘You always try to pick a row when you're uptight. Listen, Davina, my part of the deal is over. There's nothing for me to see through, as you put it. So don't be difficult. What went wrong, then, that it was so bloody?'

‘If you were the slightest bit interested,' Davina said, ‘you'd have come to Welton and found out.' She hung up, and turned on the television again. If Hélène Blond continued to be obstructive, they'd have to give the information on the house of Ma-Nang to the French. And return the girl. Leaving a vacuum, with the murder of the leader of the Peace Movement unsolved, and everybody depending upon the goodwill of SEDECE, who were unlikely to appreciate the British poaching on their preserves. Especially since Lomax had made them look fools by finding out more in a week than their investigators had done in months.… She hadn't been concentrating on the new programme. And it was a minute or two before she realized that her front door bell was ringing. She picked up the entryphone and said, ‘Who is it?'

‘It's me, Davina. Let me in.' She put back the phone, hesitated and then pressed the release knob that opened the front door. He always came up stairs at a run. Two at a time. Unlike the other one, who took the lift even to the first floor. But when she opened the door she almost said ‘Tony' instead of ‘Colin'.

‘Well, this is a surprise,' she said.

He looked at her. ‘It shouldn't be,' he said. ‘When you wanted to fight, it always used to end one way, remember?'

‘Colin,' she started, but he stopped her.

‘Let's just pretend we've had the row,' he said, and took her in his arms.

That night Hélène Blond had a nightmare. She hadn't dreamed that kind of dream for nearly a year. She woke panting with anxiety, her body cold with sweat. For some seconds she couldn't remember where she was; then she reached out and turned on the light. As she did so the hidden camera operating in the ceiling light above the bed recorded every movement. She pulled herself upright and sat, forcing herself to relax, to be calm.… Her mother. She hugged herself tightly, adopting the pose of a child without realizing it. A frightened child, using body language to protect itself. She had dreamed that her mother was in the bedroom, carrying the stick in her right hand, walking towards her. She had tried to scream, but she had no voice. She felt paralysed, unable to run from the approach of that awful punishment, and her mother's enjoyment in inflicting it. Her father wasn't in the dream. He had no part in Hélène's nightmare, because he hadn't been there when it was reality. Away on his endless trips abroad, leaving his wife and the child that she hated in the house alone.