A Woman Involved (46 page)

‘Oh, poor Max. Big, rich, powerful, insecure Max … He was so in love with me. He was extremely jealous of me, but he knew I’d slept with you of course, and maybe he presumed others. But a
Russian
… ? And me a trained spy? Yet he laughed – he tried to take it as the silly confession I had made it sound. He said nothing would ever happen. And when I became worried that he was not taking it seriously . . She closed her eyes. ‘He got down on his knees. And begged me not to worry, not to let it stop me marrying him … And I was so grateful. And he wept.’

Morgan lay there, eyes closed. Anna went on flatly:

‘We got married finally. In one of those ghastly , twenty-four-hour wedding chapels.’ She breathed out. ‘Max took my story very well. Until the honeymoon was over.’

Morgan sighed. Oh, what a mess.

‘Of course, I should never have married him. He was dear to me, but I could not love him. I should have disappeared and fought my own battles.’ She snorted at herself. ‘I kept a smile on my face, but my heart was breaking. For you. I tried hard to make it up to him, because I felt so guilty. But you can’t fool people about these things. He’s a jealous man anyway, and he became obsessively jealous because he knew I didn’t love him, no matter how hard I tried and pretended. He figured out for himself that I hadn’t married you because of that spy nonsense. He began to drink and then he would taunt me with it. “My spy” he called me … I just had to ride it out because I
was
to blame. I threw myself into social work. I helped run clinics and libraries and I taught school. Church work. First Aid classes, domestic classes. I did organization work with the New Jewel Movement before they came to power. Anything to keep myself busy and forget my unhappy home. Always with a smile. I insisted that we have a religious marriage ceremony. I hoped that would reassure him. But it didn’t … I began to turn more and more to religion. And he taunted me with that
when he was drunk. “Confessing your sins”. Oh God …’ She massaged her forehead. ‘One of the worst things is that you lose
respect.
I had so much respect for him – he was on numerous government committees, under the old government, and he was very clever at business. But it’s hard to hang on to respect when there’s bad behaviour. But I felt guilty because I was responsible for his insecurity.’

‘How did he react to you joining left-wing politics?’

‘Oh, he always knew I was left-wing. I didn’t get involved as a politician, only office work. The old Cary government was so corrupt, they needed clearing out, Max knew that and Max is a survivor, he saw the writing on the wall – he began to sell up and move his money out. And when the old government was overthrown and Maurice Bishop came to power, Max was in with them too. He wanted to stay in Grenada …’ She sighed. ‘But then, something happened …’

She sighed. She went on flatly: ‘Max was a moderating influence on the revolutionary government. He was very opposed to the build-up of Russian influence. Then one day two Russian embassy officials came to his office. They told him to cool it, or else.’ She pressed her fingers to her eyes. ‘They said they had the goods on me – “very embarrassing evidence” … Max came storming home. He demanded to know what it was about. And … I told him about the album.’

‘Oh God …’

She said, ‘You can imagine. Not only was he insanely jealous, he was outraged, mortified that photographs of me … “fucking” were “doing the rounds”. And absolutely outraged that he was being blackmailed, his political position compromised.’ She sighed wearily. ‘He went storming to the Russian embassy, demanded to sec the ambassador. Demanded that their blackmail cease. The ambassador denied it, of course. But with a wolfish smile. Max hit the bastard. He came storming home again. And …’ She shook her head. ‘That was when I began to fight back. I felt as guilty as hell, but I had to fight back, for my sanity.’ She took a deep breath, ‘And it was because the Russians had the goods on me that he changed his stance against the bastards. He had to hold his tongue. To save me and himself from disgrace. What I did not know at the time was that it compromised his position with P2 – I did not know he was a
member at that stage.’ She sighed, bitterly. ‘Anyway, this was when the real cat and dog life began. Like that shark hoax. Then, when you came back, he went berserk … You know the rest. He got rid of you off the island, then got you dismissed from the Navy. About this time Klaus Barbie entered the picture – trying to join P2. At the same time, God’s Banker was getting into deep hot water financially. Then came the Falklands War and Argentina needed exocet missiles and P2 sent Max with Barbie’s microfilm to God’s Banker so he could blackmail the Vatican into paying up. And the British got to hear about it and nipped that in the bud, and won the war.’

Morgan rubbed his hair. ‘And how did these pornographic negatives get into Max’s box?’

‘I don’t know for sure. Most of these revelations from Max came out in furious outbursts. Often drunken. I know he tried to bribe the Russians, for the pornographic negatives. But when he came into possession of the microfilm from Barbie, he had something to fight back with. So he tried to make a deal, the microfilm for all the pornographic negatives. They jumped at the opportunity. They gave him some negatives gratuitously, to encourage him. These, I think.’ She nodded at the envelope. ‘He waved them at me in one of his outbursts. But he realized they must have copies, so he backed off. Then he found another use for the microfilm – exocet missiles, with Vatican money.’

‘Did you know the negatives were in the box?’

‘I thought they might be. They disappeared from our house. I searched high and low.’

‘Why didn’t he destroy them?’

‘To keep a hold over me, I think.’

Morgan dragged his hands down his face. He felt he had supped full of horrors. She looked at him and her eyes glistened. ‘And I’ve dragged you into this horrifying business.’

He turned and took her in his arms. She went on resolutely: I don’t want you to do any more. I’ll handle the rest on my own. I’ve ruined my own life, and yours, and Max’s. This much I’ve got to do.’

He held her tight. He whispered: ‘We’re not doing anything until after Christmas.’ He rocked her. ‘We’re going to
rest.
Then we’ll figure out what we’re going to do.’

She closed her eyes. Oh, to rest … Oh, to do nothing until
Christmas, just be with him, alone in this lovely house, an end to running until after Christmas. And then?

‘You must give me the microfilm after Christmas.’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you really not got a plan yet?’

He shook his head, ‘No.’

She knew he was lying and she knew he was doing it for her, to stop her trying to handle this herself, and she loved him for it: he was an honest man, a babe in the woods of big, bad politics that Max used to hunt in, but an honourable man, and for the moment it didn’t matter that he was lying to her for her sake. She would get the microfilm from him, but, oh God, all she wanted right now was to rest with him, in his arms, her true love, for the little time they had left together; because she knew the world was a cruel place that was not going to hesitate to destroy her, and it would not care afterwards that it was not necessary.

‘Please believe that the only reason I didn’t leave Max and come to you after he got you dismissed from the Navy was because he threatened to have you extradited.’

He held her tight. ‘I figured that out for myself. But now I’ve come to you. I’m
back
… We’re together at last, alone in our lovely house in the mountains and nobody knows.’ He squeezed her. ‘Isn’t this a good old house to have our honeymoon in?’

She held him tight and stifled a sob. ‘It’s a lovely house. I want to stay forever …’

Makepeace had got an FN rifle and an old Sterling machine gun from a contact of Danziger’s in Amsterdam. ‘Danziger doesn’t know where we are, does he?’ Morgan demanded.

‘No,’ Makepeace sighed. ‘Relax.’

‘Where is he now?’ They were alone.

‘In Marseilles, I think. That’s where a lot of the boys hang out. He and I have a job together soon, in Spain.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Never mind,’ Makepeace said loftily, ‘you have no need to know. Know what I mean?’

‘You be careful of that guy.’

‘The job,’ Makepeace said sanctimoniously, ‘is actually for the Spanish government. Against the Basque terrorists.’

Morgan smiled. ‘For somebody who has no need to know, I already know quite a lot. Know what I mean?’

Makepeace offered to stay on as bodyguard, for a hundred pounds a day, until the Spanish job came around, but Morgan wanted to be alone with Anna, to forget about the whole awful business, until December. Makepeace dropped his price to fifty pounds, then to nothing, just his food and booze, but Morgan still did not want him. ‘I’m sure we’re safe here, Dougie. But I want you to come back for a few days at the beginning of December. You must phone me once a week at a public telephone in the village.’ He produced a slip of paper. ‘This is the number. I noted it down when I passed through the village.’

‘What must I come back for?’

‘To look after Anna. I have to go away for a few days, I’ll tell you when to come, on the telephone. And I want you to bring me two things. Most important. One is a top-quality miniature tape-recorder. The kind I can hide in my pocket and stick the microphone through a button-hole on my jacket.’

Makepeace nodded. ‘I know the type.’

‘The other thing is a canister of nerve gas. The stuff that you squirt in your assailant’s face. Knocks him out.’

‘Okay.’

Morgan paced, thinking.

‘In your line of business, does the name Hank or Henri mean anything? An arms dealer. And the name Sanchez?’

‘No. What kind of arms dealer?’

‘Okay,’ Morgan said. I’ve got a job for you in Marseilles. Flat fee, three hundred pounds, plus reasonable expenses. No success, no pay. In Marseilles there’s a small airline called Meteor Air run by a man called Alex Wallen. He knows who Hank is. I simply want you to find out from him Hank’s full name, address and telephone number. And Sanchez’s if possible. But Hank is the important one. He is probably an American, with a nickname like that. Sanchez is probably Argentinian.’

Makepeace blinked. ‘And how do I find this out from Wallen?’

‘Meteor Air air-freights arms for mercenaries. You pose as a mercenary. You tell him you want to contact Hank to make a big purchase, which Meteor Air is going to freight.’

‘And if he won’t tell me? These guys can be suspicious of strangers.’

‘Pester him. Follow any clues. Ask discreetly round the underworld. But if you still don’t succeed, work him over.’

‘Work him over? How badly? Break an arm?’

‘
No
, Makepeace. I have no compunction about working over somebody who traffics in death, but surely you can make a man talk without mutilating him?’

‘Supposing he’s got heavies? Can I take Danziger along?’

‘
No.
And nobody must know you’re working for me!’

Makepeace blinked. ‘What kind of arms am I supposed to be after? There’re all kind of specialists in that game. If you want tanks it’s no good going to a pisspot hand-grenade man.’

Morgan said, ‘Except as a last resort, you refuse to discuss it with Wallen – you say you’ll only deal with Hank. But you must
not
meet Hank. All I want is his details. But it’s exocet missiles you’re supposed to be after.’

Makepeace stared. ‘
Exocet missiles? … 
Jesus Christ.’

‘And that’s all you need to know.’ He sighed. ‘And I want to know Danziger’s contact number.’

Makepeace was taken aback. ‘What for? I thought you didn’t trust him.’

‘In case I need him.’

‘Okay. But exocet
missiles
? …’

‘And you’re not to mention
any
of this to Anna. I just want to have a nice time until you come back.’

They had a lovely time, those long cold weeks of November after Makepeace had gone.

It was a lovely old house. The floors were stone and the beams were hand-hewn. They slept in the downstairs bedroom, on an old four-poster bed. In the mornings he always woke up before first light, suddenly, as if he had heard something, and he lay, tense, listening for footsteps, a turning door handle: but there was always nothing; and then there was only the joy, of her. He lay deep beside her feeling her warm, soft loveliness
against him, her smooth back and her long smooth legs spooned against his, and he held her breasts and kissed her back and her golden hair. He lay there a while, rejoicing in her and trying to go back to sleep; but then he could not lie still any longer. He got up and pulled on his tracksuit and went through the cold house to the kitchen. He always took the gun. He stoked up the embers in the hearth, and put the kettle on and made coffee. Then he stoked up the boiler for the bathroom. When the sun came up he went out to look for footprints in the snow.

He took the FN rifle. First he walked slowly round the outer walls, inspecting the snow. It would have been very easy to see if anybody had been around. Then he walked up the track, into the forest, until he could no longer see the house; then he did a big three-sixty. He walked in a circle all the way around his land, through the forest, down to the river, looking for footprints; then along the riverbank, and up alongside the scraggy orchards, back to the point where he had begun. But he never saw any footprints except his own, and hers.

Then he went back to the house, bolted the big doors. He made a pot of coffee, and took it to the bedroom. She was always awake. In the early days she was already dressed, in case he had found footprints; but after the first week she began to relax more.

‘Nothing.’

He stoked up the fire, then stripped off and climbed back into bed. And, oh, the warmth of her, the sheer joy of her in his arms.

It was lovely being in the big warm bed together, talking, the snow outside, icicles hanging from the eaves, the fire crackling. This is what he had dreamed about for many years: they had been apart for five long years, and they had run and fought their way half around the world, and now at last they were truly together.