Albatross (18 page)

‘Oh, no trouble at all. I had to come up this way to see an aunt who's feeling a bit poorly. Still, she's near eighty-two, so I suppose you've got to expect these little set-backs, haven't you? If I'm up this way again, I'll pop in. Glad to see you looking well and settling in. It
is
a good billet here, isn't it?'

‘Oh, yes,' Harrington said loudly. ‘I think it's fine. Goodbye then.'

‘Bye, bye,' Stephen Wood said. He shook hands. ‘See you some time.'

Harrington didn't open the box till he went to bed. He stripped off the cellophane wrapping and lifted the lid. The message was on the strip of paper that gave the packer's number. ‘Wednesday, 19th, 1.45 at the supermarket entrance.' He screwed the paper into a tiny ball and swallowed it. Then he began to eat the chocolates.

He'd met James White. Davina woke with a start; she'd been dozing, sleeping lightly and half waking in the hours before dawn when the pulse is low and the subconscious exerts itself. Walden had fallen asleep in the sitting room, and she had left him there and gone to bed. He had met James White at dinner a fortnight or so ago. He didn't say it in connection with anything but the old man's persistent questions about her, and his evident hostility to her working for Walden. ‘He was a snide bastard,' Tony Walden recalled. ‘I got the feeling he was furious you'd left him and come to the agency. He did nothing but needle me till I was rude back.'

And Davina had said she hoped he was
very
rude. The warning didn't go off at the time; it fizzed and ignited in her mind at four in the morning and she woke with a violent start. Who would have wrecked Walden's contract with the prince – she could only think of one person malignant enough and powerful enough to do it. And she knew it was James White in the moment of full awareness when she switched on the light. He had shipwrecked the Arlington Agency. But why? Why take such a serious step against a man because he didn't like him? Or because he had employed a former colleague? That was it, of course. Something connected with her had motivated White into a particularly ruthless and vicious action against a man he had met only once. ‘The bastard,' she said out loud and threw back the bedclothes. ‘He did it – of course he was the one!'

She opened the door and went into the sitting room. She hadn't expected to find Tony Walden there still. The light was on and he was reading. He had taken off his shoes and his jacket. He sat under the little pool of light in the dark room and dropped the book as she came in.

‘I looked in on you to say goodbye, but you were asleep and I didn't like to wake you. You don't mind if I'm still here, do you?'

‘No,' Davina said. ‘I'll make us some coffee. I've got something to tell you, Tony. I've just had an idea why you lost that contract.'

He came into the little kitchen after her; she felt him come up behind her and half turned round. He took her in his arms and kissed her. ‘Thank you for tonight,' he said.

Davina didn't push him away; she said simply, ‘Don't do this, Tony. It isn't fair.'

‘Fair to the major?' he asked her.

‘Fair to me,' she answered.

‘I'd like to make love to you,' Walden said.

‘I'm sorry, no.'

He nodded and let her go. ‘I'll try again,' he said. ‘I like you so much.'

‘You may feel differently after I tell you what I think has happened,' Davina warned him. ‘You're just overwrought and tired, and you'd kick yourself when you saw me in the office next time. Let me make the coffee.'

‘I need you,' Walden said. ‘I need you just as much as your Army friend. Probably more. Nothing you tell me is going to change that. Let's have the coffee then. I like to sit in a kitchen; ours looks like a space ship, it's got so many gadgets. I'm glad you're not angry anyway.'

‘I'm not,' Davina said. ‘And you know it.'

‘Why would he do it?' Tony Walden asked. ‘For Christ's sake, why go out to kill me? It doesn't make sense.'

‘It does to me,' Davina answered. ‘I know James White. What he did was done for a definite motive, and I'm terribly afraid that I'm the cause of it. And that is why I'm going to make it my business to put it right.'

He shook his head. ‘You can't do anything,' he said. ‘He's a very powerful man, and a dangerous one. You mustn't do anything foolish, it's not your fault.'

‘It's my responsibility,' she maintained. ‘Bloody Humphrey got you into this to cover up for me, and I'm not going to let you suffer. You said yourself you could be pushed out by the Americans. Everything you've built up in the agency could be wrecked because of this. James White is not going to get away with it. I'm going to see him. He's asked to see me, as it happens, and I'm going to give him the shock of his life.'

She was flushed with anger; a very determined jaw, he noticed, and eyes bright with indignation. He wondered how he had ever thought that his two blonde vacant wives were beautiful.

‘What do you mean to this man?' he asked her. ‘Is it only professional, this feud he has with you?'

‘He let my husband die,' she said suddenly. There was a moment's silence.

‘I didn't know you had been married. Can you tell me about it?' Tony Walden asked her.

‘He was a Russian,' Davina answered. ‘He came over to the West. I won't go into details, but he was a very important catch for us. He gave us everything he knew; it wouldn't be an exaggeration, Tony, to say that he saved the Middle East from a Soviet take-over. I loved him,' she added simply. ‘We went to Australia and got married out there. He was given a safe post and a new identity. We were promised nothing could happen, he'd never be found. That was James White's responsibility. He didn't give a damn when he milked Ivan dry. So they put a bomb in his car and killed him. I was pregnant and I lost the baby.'

‘Oh, God,' Walden muttered. ‘What a story – I'm sorry.' He looked upset, and she thought for a moment there were tears in his eyes. She knew there were when he blew his nose and cleared his throat.

‘Tony,' she said gently, ‘I shouldn't have told you. It was a long time ago. But I've never let that swine forget it. I went back to work for one reason only: to fight the KGB and the man who planned Ivan's death. In spite of James White, not because of him. I let him know that too. And then I left, just when he thought I'd come meekly back into the team and would do as I was told again. That's what riled him. He didn't want me to walk out. It hurt his rotten pride. He likes to move people about like chequers; he hasn't any feelings and he doesn't consider anyone else should have any. I'm the one person who's spat in his eye, and he can't accept it. So he went for you because you'd made it possible for me to leave and be independent. He's going to wish he hadn't. Now, why don't you have a bath and think of a good excuse before you go home?'

‘I don't have to think of one,' Walden said. ‘I often spend nights away from home. My wife doesn't worry so long as she has everything she wants.'

Sir James White took the call himself when he heard Davina's name.

‘Good morning.' He sounded surprised. ‘How nice to hear from you.'

‘Humphrey said you wanted to see me,' she said. ‘I've called to make an appointment.'

‘I'm glad you've been so prompt,' he said. ‘When can you spare time from your new job?'

‘I have the most understanding boss in the world,' Davina said. ‘All I have to do is ask.'

‘In that case, would tomorrow at three be convenient? And Major Lomax could call too.'

‘I don't make appointments for other people,' Davina retorted. ‘You must fix that up with him. I'll be in the office at three tomorrow.'

James White heard the line clear and he smiled. He could imagine how angry she was; he knew that voice so well and the sharp turn of phrase when she was ready to do battle. He had given the first jerk on the string and brought Humphrey spinning on the end of it. Now Davina was feeling the pull. As for John Kidson … his eyes hooded for a moment. Kidson hadn't needed motivating. His own ambition had done that. Ambition and disquiet. Only a worried man sets things in motion because he fears inaction more than he values patience. Worried and aggressive. Very unlike the John Kidson who had worked with him for so many years. Davina had been to the office; she'd used a forged pass, and her so-called job with the Arlington Agency was nothing but a cover. Was she, he had demanded of Sir James, working with official blessing? Or was she doing something without authorization, and if so, shouldn't she be stopped?

Kidson had been very abrupt, obviously suspicious that in some way his sister-in-law was acting against him. The brigadier's little hint about her succeeding him had sunk in. The family connection wouldn't stop Kidson fighting her for what he wanted. It hadn't stopped her either. He was sorry he had delayed the meeting by a day. It was something he was really looking forward to. To seeing his three colleagues ranged against each other, and throwing his wicked pointed questions at them. Humphrey was already pinned like a moth against a board, wriggling and exclaiming. His connection with Peter Harrington's move to an open prison hadn't been difficult to uncover as soon as Sir James heard of the Home Office decision.

Davina's part in it would be interesting. So would her explanation for that visit to the office, which he had also checked out as soon as Kidson accused her. There was the name in the night book. Miss Burgess. It had been too simple to check on the former secretary and discover that she was working in Johannesburg in a very sensitive position in the British consulate.

Tomorrow at three o'clock. He could hardly wait.

5

The man known as Sam sent for his team. They arrived by train, stayed at two different boarding houses in the same street, and met their leader in the bar of the hotel. Lomax was having a drink by himself when they came in. It was early and the place hadn't filled up. He noticed them out of habit; he looked at people because he had been trained to observe and to register anything unusual. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the three men except the way they avoided each other till they were standing at the bar. Lomax had finished his whisky. He'd decided to have a sandwich and go to the cinema – there was a good Western showing at the Classic in the square. He hated his evenings; they were lonely and time crept by. The bar was filling up. He shouldered his way through to order another drink and because he was curious he ended up alongside the three who had caught his attention. A sandy-haired, foxy-faced man in his late thirties. Very hard and fit when you got close to him. Lomax said, ‘Double Black and White please.'

‘Okay, see you tomorrow.' He heard the muttered comment, spoken in a broad Scouse accent that grated on him. The group had broken up, leaving the bar one after the other; the foxy one was the last to go. He paused to put ten pence into the fruit machine, played it without success, and then disappeared into the street. Lomax had the feeling that he'd delayed on purpose. He took his drink back with a ham sandwich. Several residents smiled at him, one asked him to join them. He couldn't refuse though it was the last thing he wanted. He didn't like the brief scenario he'd seen played out in the bar. He didn't like the man with the pale eyes and sandy hair; there was something wrong about him. He moved the way Lomax had been taught, lightly on the balls of his feet, ready to spin into action if anything happened.

He didn't enjoy the film, and left before it ended.

The next day was Wednesday; he was making his last check on the rota of prisoners coming into the town. He planned then to go over his chosen route and get back to London the following evening. He'd be a day earlier than he'd told Davina.

It was market day and the square was full of stalls selling everything from household goods to fruit and vegetables and ready-made clothes. The atmosphere was busy and cheerful. Lomax paused by a stall selling hand-made silver jewellery. He wanted to buy Davina a present. He chose a silver friendship ring, with two clasped hands below a little heart. He hoped it would fit. He saw the bus round the corner and take up its position. He lingered, pretending to examine the shoes on a nearby stall. ‘Real leather,' the owner declared. ‘Soles and uppers, real genuine leather.'

He saw Peter Harrington get out of the bus, and immediately Lomax moved out of view, leaving the vendor of plastic shoes in mid sentence. Harrington was dressed in civilian clothes – a nondescript sports coat that hung on him, and an open-necked shirt with a handkerchief tucked inside the collar. He looked grey-faced and taut with nerves. Lomax edged round behind the group, keeping a good distance. Harrington and his companion separated from the rest. The prison officer again, the same man he had seen with him before. He saw Harrington check his watch and say something to his companion, who laughed. They went through the market; paused by several stalls, bought nothing, and moved on. Lomax followed, as he would follow on the designated date nine days later, with his back-up team in place.

‘What's over there?' Harrington asked. It was only 1.15, and he had half an hour to kill.

‘Second-hand books, bric-à-brac. Lots of rubbish really,' the officer said. ‘Do you want to take a look?'

‘Why not,' Harrington agreed. ‘I might find a couple of paperbacks – what do they cost?'

‘Five pence, ten pence. All right, we'll have a wander and see what there is.' Harrington had eighty pence in his pocket. He wasted time picking up little china nick-nacks and bits of broken paste jewellery out of a bowl that had a card saying everything ten pence, and finally, glimpsing his watch, bought a tattered second-hand book on walking through Wales. ‘I'd like to go to the supermarket,' he suggested. ‘Get some of those biscuits they have on special offer. Hope they're not all gone.'