Read Kings of Many Castles Online
Authors: Brian Freemantle
Kings of Many Castles (35 page)
“I think it’s a brilliant deduction of Charlie’s,” said Sir Rupert Dean, coming in as a buffer between the two other men. “Everything he suggested has been confirmed.”
“We’re in an even more jurisdictional quagmire than we were before,” warned Jeremy Simpson, the legal advisor. “I’ll need definitive guidance, of course, but with Bendall dead-and the case against him dying with him—I don’t see we’ve any legal claim to remain associated with the investigation.”
The director-general gestured with the Arkadi Noskov’s news agency statement of George Bendall’s bullet caliber defense to murder. “There’s still an unsolved case of conspiracy. I would have thought we have every justification to remain involved, despite Bendall’s death. We don’t even know if there are other Britons involved.”
“I don’t want to know, if there are!” said Patrick Pacey.
No one laughed. Simpson made his own gesture to the material in front of him. “Charlie’s only got one lead and it’s Russian. He hasn’t got the authority to pursue it. And as he points out in today’s
messages, there’s a high mortality rate among people who become identified.”
messages, there’s a high mortality rate among people who become identified.”
“I propose that Muffin is positively ordered to do nothing—to take no further part in the investigation, even if he’s permitted to do so-until we have the necessary jurisdictional guidance,” said the deputy director. “Of course the court episode is deplorable but objectively it’s the least difficult outcome there could have been for us. Things should be allowed to settle, not be stirred up.”
“As cynical as that is, I think it may well be the government attitude,” said Pacey, uncomfortable at politically having to side with a man with whom he almost invariably disagreed and whom he did not personally like.
“It’s Charlie’s breakthrough,” protested Dean. “I’d like to let him run with it. We still don’t know what the hell it’s all about. Our primary remit is to forewarn the government against the unexpected. We can’t do that putting Charlie on hold.”
“It’s my advice-and my political opinion—that we should,” urged Pacey. “Particularly with the legal uncertainty. We should at least wait until that’s clarified.”
“All right,” agreed the director-general, reluctantly.
“And let’s not give Muffin any excuse for intentionally misunderstanding,” said Hamilton.
Charlie didn’t misunderstood but he discarded the do-nothing instruction after the first reading, intent upon the technical evaluation which confirmed everything he’d asked to be checked. He hesitated, unsure which call to make first, finally deciding upon Natalia’s personal answering machine at Lesnaya. She’d be able to guess just how much there was to do, after what had happened, he dictated. He didn’t know how late he was going to be but it would probably be a good idea to eat without him and if he was very late to go on to bed.
To Anne Abbott Charlie said, “You want to hear just how ass about face it all was?”
“I’ve got Islay malt at the apartment. I checked with the embassy commissary to find out what you preferred.”
“What about a video player?”
“State of the art.”
“Thirty minutes,” accepted Charlie. There was nothing wrong—nothing he should feel guilty about-in his having a drink while he talked these new developments through. And Anne was the most obvious person to do that with, the lawyer who knew every facet of the investigation.
“I could have postponed moving in,” said Olga.
“Everything’s organized and under control,” insisted Zenin. “There was no need. I want to find out what sort of wife I’m going to have.”
“Apart from my clothes there’s not a lot more to bring.”
“The important thing is that you’re here,” said Zenin.
After what seemed to be an eternity of constantly not knowing, Charlie knew this was very definitely wrong; knew that despite every snatched-at justification—and there
were
official and legal justifications for his choosing Anne with whom to discuss the analyses—it should have all been kept strictly professional, which was how they’d agreed by her rules things should be restored after their return from London. So why had he changed the rules, hinting a situation that shouldn’t arise, certainly not in the insular claustrophobia of an embassy in which everyone knew before it lowered its hind leg when a mouse peed? Self-flattery? he wondered, answering his own question with another: Anne being interested in him while Natalia wasn’t? Not good enough by a million miles, Charlie rejected at once: juvenile, an even worse self-accusation. Or, alternatively, the arrogance that had been the life raft to keep him afloat for so long? Closer but still not sufficient. Adventure happened, as it had with him and Anne, to be taken and enjoyed but as no more than that,
a shared adventure to end when it ended, as unexpected adventures always did. Or should do.
were
official and legal justifications for his choosing Anne with whom to discuss the analyses—it should have all been kept strictly professional, which was how they’d agreed by her rules things should be restored after their return from London. So why had he changed the rules, hinting a situation that shouldn’t arise, certainly not in the insular claustrophobia of an embassy in which everyone knew before it lowered its hind leg when a mouse peed? Self-flattery? he wondered, answering his own question with another: Anne being interested in him while Natalia wasn’t? Not good enough by a million miles, Charlie rejected at once: juvenile, an even worse self-accusation. Or, alternatively, the arrogance that had been the life raft to keep him afloat for so long? Closer but still not sufficient. Adventure happened, as it had with him and Anne, to be taken and enjoyed but as no more than that,
a shared adventure to end when it ended, as unexpected adventures always did. Or should do.
So why was he threading his way through the lesser-used passages between the functioning embassy and its residential compound, until this moment so determinedly avoided that it took all his concentration to negotiate? A lawyer’s question, although hardly appropriate: never ask a question—even to yourself-to which you don’t know the answer. Back—responding to Kayley’s earlier question—to square one. Don’t ask, don’t get a reply you don’t want. Go, for the moment, with the flow: wherever it goes. He was copping out, Charlie honestly acknowledged at last; hoping for something without being the provable instigator.
Anne was barefoot, in a sheer beige silk and cashmere sweater beneath which she obviously wasn’t wearing a bra and jeans, and which didn’t betray a panty-line, either. The Islay malt, properly offered without either ice or water, was alongside the Stolichnaya, which did have an ice bucket, on a low table between matching piece of leather furniture too large correctly to be described as easy chairs but just slightly too small to be miniature settees. The apartment was pastel-shaded modern, grays and blues, which was hardly a choice considering its newness, and the curtains were drawn back for the ships’ marker river illumination and the lights of unseen traffic necklacing Tapaca nabereznaja beyond.
Anne said, “You pour for yourself, I’ll pour for me. Sorry I couldn’t manage Liberace’s piano; you didn’t give me time to ship it over.”
As he generously served himself Charlie said, “It wouldn’t have gone with the decor, too much glitter.”
“Do you want to eat? I could fix something with the miracle of microwave.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
Anne hesitated. “The foreplay’s been tantalizing. Shall we get to the point of whatever you are here for?”
Now it was Charlie’s turn to pause. He decided against picking up on the sharpness. Holding up the cassette as he crossed to Anne’s VCR, Charlie announced, “The entire film of the presidential shooting.
Don’t look at anything but the struggle between Bendall and Sakov.” He was defending himself against his oversight, Charlie recognized, and wanting to impress her, at the same time. “And here’s this morning’s: the very moment that Bendall, then Davidov was shot … .”
Don’t look at anything but the struggle between Bendall and Sakov.” He was defending himself against his oversight, Charlie recognized, and wanting to impress her, at the same time. “And here’s this morning’s: the very moment that Bendall, then Davidov was shot … .”
“We’ve watched so much so often that there’s nothing more to see,” dismissed Anne.
“Which was my problem—our problem,” admitted Charlie. He passed her a transcript. “I’ll play the White House shooting again and this time follow it with what Bendall and Sakov are yelling at each other, which I’ve had London extract verbatim with Russian-speaking lip readers …”
“
What
!”
What
!”
“Watch.”
“Jesus!” exclaimed Anne, staring down at the paper in advance of the film being run. “You’re …”
“Watch,” repeated Charlie, taking up the commentary. “They’re on the camera platform. They’re fighting, for possession of the rifle: Sakov’s preventing Bendall shooting again, fire at anybody. That’s what we all thought. But he wasn’t doing that at all. Read what Bendall’s saying. ‘Stop shoving … . Got to get away, you cunt … ! You know I’ve got to get away … . ! They’re waiting for me … . ! Stop pushing … shoving me … . ! Too near the edge … . ! Can’t hold on … Stop!’ But that’s what Bendall was doing—
holding on
to prevent himself being thrown over the edge …”
holding on
to prevent himself being thrown over the edge …”
Charlie glanced across at the lawyer, who was coming up and down between the film he was describing and the transcript of what the struggling men were saying to each other. “And here’s Sakov, when they swing around as he’s hit by the swivelling camera and what he’s saying can be lip-read. ‘You’re dead, Georgi. Done what you’re here for … down you go, like Vasili Gregorovich … no use anymore … let go the fucking rifle …’ Here’s the helicopter marksman. ‘Get the fuck out the way … need a clear shot …’ and you see that Sakov tries to do that and Bendall says ‘No, you fucker. You’re coming with me, everyone’s coming with me.’ And that’s when the bodyguards get to him up the ladder but that’s something else I missed. Bendall doesn’t fall, not really from the true height
from the pod. He slips under the rail, grabs at the edge and for a second hangs suspended before his hands are kicked away, kicked away by Sakov. But Bendall’s lessened by a good two meters, maybe more, how far he’s going to fall. So the drop doesn’t kill him … .”
from the pod. He slips under the rail, grabs at the edge and for a second hangs suspended before his hands are kicked away, kicked away by Sakov. But Bendall’s lessened by a good two meters, maybe more, how far he’s going to fall. So the drop doesn’t kill him … .”
“Which it was intended to,” came in Anne, understanding.
“Which it was intended to,” agreed Charlie. “Instead it badly hurts him.”
“But leaves him alive, the
holder
of the smoking gun, to tell all when he gets his moment in court,” said Anne, with her customarily quickness.
holder
of the smoking gun, to tell all when he gets his moment in court,” said Anne, with her customarily quickness.
“Which he thought he had this morning,” continued Charlie “Here’s today’s transcript …” He scrolled through, for the moment he wanted. “Here! Here’s Davidov, turning away from killing Bendall. The gun’s by his side, not in any firing position. He sees the militiaman for the first time, standing in front of him. Now look at the words. ‘Not me … . Get out of the way … . That’s the door … get out of the way of my door …’ Not
the
door.
My
door. The door he’d been told he’ll be able to use to get away. Just like Bendall had been told he’d be able to get away from the camera platform and lose himself in the crowd-helped by whoever it was waiting for him below—before anyone properly realized what had happened. Which he would have been able to do if Vladimir Petrovich Sakov hadn’t grabbed him and tried to throw him over the edge.”
the
door.
My
door. The door he’d been told he’ll be able to use to get away. Just like Bendall had been told he’d be able to get away from the camera platform and lose himself in the crowd-helped by whoever it was waiting for him below—before anyone properly realized what had happened. Which he would have been able to do if Vladimir Petrovich Sakov hadn’t grabbed him and tried to throw him over the edge.”
There was a long silence. Then Anne said, “That it?”
“No,” said Charlie. He slid across the table towards her two of the photographs the FBI obtained in their background investigation of Vasili Gregorovich Isakov. The clearer showed the young man in shorts and a singlet, smiling into the sunlight at a beach bar with a wine glass half-raised towards his lips, as if he were responding to a toast. “Bendall’s closest—only—friend who died on the Timiryazev level crossing too drugged and drunk literally to know what hit him. Look at his left arm—the one holding the wine—just above his wrist …”
“I can see it,” said Anne.
“Now look at this,” said Charlie, restarting the presidential shooting tape but very quickly into the struggle pressing the pause button and pointing with his finger right against the screen. “The same
tattoo, two parallel lines with an arrow, like a fulcrum, in between them, on the same place on Sakov’s wrist. London’s done the comparison, although it wasn’t really necessary. They’re identical.”
tattoo, two parallel lines with an arrow, like a fulcrum, in between them, on the same place on Sakov’s wrist. London’s done the comparison, although it wasn’t really necessary. They’re identical.”
“You any idea what we’re talking about here?”
“Some,” said Charlie. Her admiration was obvious and he enjoyed it.
Anne insisted on stopping to get crackers and cheese and changed to wine, although Charlie stayed with scotch, and asked for both films to be shown again against their transcripts.
“Why let Bendall live!” Anne demanded, when the transmission finally stopped. “Sakov fails, the first time. But they-whoever ‘they’ are-have got Bendall at their mercy, in hospital … .”
“Maybe they tried, with the injection,” reminded Charlie. “Pentathol
and
alcohol: alcohol we thought-because we were supposed to think-was residual in an alcoholic. An abnormally high level, injected directly into a vein, into the blood stream, to kill a man suffering advanced cirrhosis. Except that it didn’t. And afterwards he was under heavier guard, surrounded by doctors and nurses. It was too dangerous to try again.”
and
alcohol: alcohol we thought-because we were supposed to think-was residual in an alcoholic. An abnormally high level, injected directly into a vein, into the blood stream, to kill a man suffering advanced cirrhosis. Except that it didn’t. And afterwards he was under heavier guard, surrounded by doctors and nurses. It was too dangerous to try again.”
Anne shook her head. “I think you’re close but not close enough.”
“Where am I going wrong?” demanded Charlie, unoffended, glad she was questioning with a lawyer’s mind.
“I don’t know but it’s too loose an end. It always was,” insisted Anne, bent forward in total concentration. “Bendall was
alive
, uncontrolled and liable at any moment to tell us—tell anyone-what it was all about! Compared to that, the risk of trying a third time to kill him wouldn’t have been a consideration.”
alive
, uncontrolled and liable at any moment to tell us—tell anyone-what it was all about! Compared to that, the risk of trying a third time to kill him wouldn’t have been a consideration.”
“I said
maybe
the injection was another attempt to kill him,” said Charlie. “You want another scenario?”
maybe
the injection was another attempt to kill him,” said Charlie. “You want another scenario?”
“What?” prompted Anne, bringing her head up to him.
“He wasn’t
un
controlled! The very opposite. He was controlled. What
weren’t
we—haven’t we—been given!”
un
controlled! The very opposite. He was controlled. What
weren’t
we—haven’t we—been given!”
“You’ve lost me, Charlie.”
“There aren’t any taped records of George Bendall being treated: talking to doctors but probably more importantly to a psychiatrist.”
“Agayan?”
“Not necessarily but Agayan told us himself that he’d had several sessions with Bendall. Remember him saying something about Bendall being a classic, textbook case?”
Anne nodded, doubtfully.
“It’s Agayan’s voice on the tape closing Kayley and the Americans down, when their one interview blew up in their faces,” said Charlie. “And Guerguen Agayan was always around at every interview we had with Bendall … interviews that Arnold Nolan, our own psychiatrist, said at the beginning were entirely wrong, misdirected, to get a proper response from anyone with the mental condition Nolan suspected Bendall to be suffering … the mental condition Agayan would have known how to govern when he wanted to and manipulate when he wanted to. I talked to you in London about what Nolan told me—that people with Bendall’s condition are totally susceptible to directional suggestion …” Charlie paused, at the further recollection. “Totally susceptible to directional suggestion particularly under the administration of drugs like pentathol. How about Bendall being kept total controlled by an injected drug his medical doctor chanced upon finding just that once?”
“I don’t want to piss on the fire you’re stoking up here, Charlie, but there are so many holes it’s threadbare. You’re suggesting Guerguen Semonovich Agayan is in this conspiracy right up to his neck, right?”
“It’s a possibility. Or another psychiatrist.”
“And that he’s the mind manipulator who got George Bendall up on a TV platform with a gun in his hand to be held responsible while others carried out the assassinations?”
“We know that’s what Bendall was there for. We just don’t know who put him there.”
Anne held up her hand. “Let’s keep it simple. Bendall’s supposed to be pushed over and killed but instead he’s just badly injured. Now for the coincidence! Of all the hospitals in Moscow Bendall gets taken to, bingo, it’s the one to which his puppet-master, Guerguen Agayan, is attached and, double-bingo, gets assigned to care for the guy whose strings he’s been pulling. I believe in coincidences but I don’t believe in this one.”
During Anne’s dismissal Charlie had sat staring down into his
glass, locked into the sort of concentration she’d shown earlier. When he looked up he was smiling. “‘I never knew how or why it happened but George stopped stealing ever so suddenly,’” he quoted. “‘It was a long time before he told me he was seeing a doctor, a friend, who was helping him. I don’t remember his name. I’ll try. I’ll really try.’ There it is, Anne. Why Vera had to be killed in Lefortovo,
before
she could remember.”
glass, locked into the sort of concentration she’d shown earlier. When he looked up he was smiling. “‘I never knew how or why it happened but George stopped stealing ever so suddenly,’” he quoted. “‘It was a long time before he told me he was seeing a doctor, a friend, who was helping him. I don’t remember his name. I’ll try. I’ll really try.’ There it is, Anne. Why Vera had to be killed in Lefortovo,
before
she could remember.”
“You’re forcing the bits into the jigsaw because they look the right shape.”
“It fits.”
“You’ll have to do a lot more to prove it. And whether there’s a need to prove anything is another debatable point, isn’t it?”
Instead of answering, Charlie said, “I need to see Bendall’s body. I’d like to see Davidov’s, too, but even though he’s dead we’ve got the right of consular access to see Bendall’s body, haven’t we?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” admitted Anne. “But what are you looking for?”
“Tattoos.”
“I wouldn’t have believed that if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. I’d have dismissed it as kids’ stuff,” conceded Anne.
Charlie shook his head. “Remember how George reacted at belonging to an elite? Elite groups-societies-have often used tattooes as a sign of elitism. The praetorian guard of the Roman emperors marked themselves out like that. So did the Nazi SS. It’s the sort of shit George would have gone for.”
“And so did Vladimir Petrovich Sakov,” picked up Anne. “You think there’s a chance in hell of making him tell you about it … ?” She waved towards the VCR. “You’ve got evidence there of his being part of the conspiracy! He’s not going to incriminate himself by admitting anything else.”
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