Out of the Sun (27 page)

"I should get on with it if I were you," said Chipchase. "You don't want the bloody fire to get out of control, do you?"

FORTY-TWO

The managing director of Page-Muirson Ltd and his senior partner stood in the lift car, hands poised close to the controls in case any member of the Globescope staff forgot the injunction against using elevators during a fire. Predictably, however, they had been well trained in evacuation procedure, as the audible march of feet towards the stairs demonstrated. Soon, the sound of their good-humoured exchanges "Is this a drill or what?"; "One hell of a time for it to happen' faded away. The top floor and no doubt the ones below it fell silent save for the tireless wail of the alarm. The managing director of Page-Muirson Ltd and his senior partner were left in sole occupation.

Harry opened the doors and stepped gingerly out into the hall. It looked and more importantly felt deserted. Signalling for Chipchase to follow, he started at a jog towards Brownlow's office, arriving a few breathless moments later. It was empty, the desk disordered. The low fat leather armchairs still bore the crinkled imprints of recent use. But their use had been abruptly suspended.

Harry dropped his briefcase, flung the cushions off the nearer of the two chairs and forced his hand into the narrow gap between the seat and the base of one of the arms. A void of sorts revealed itself within the arm. But the gap was so narrow that exploring it was both awkward and time-consuming. The sudden and ludicrous fear that he might end up with his hand trapped did little for his thoroughness. And nothing more substantial than dust and what felt like biscuit crumbs met his questing fingers.

"Trouble," said Chipchase from behind him. But Harry could not stop to ask what trouble there was. As he moved to explore the other arm, he heard Chipchase leave the room. Then his voice carried from further down the hall. "Perhaps you can help me, squire."

"Can't you hear the alarm, sir?" came another voice. The idea is to leave the building." A security officer, Harry assumed. Deputed to check the evacuation was complete. Or to find the source of the alarm. Either way, Harry's activities were going to look just about as suspicious to him as they possibly could.

"I'm a visitor, actually. A colleague and I had just left a meeting with Mr. Lazenby when this happened."

"Page and Cornford?"

That's us. I'm Cornford."

"Yen, you're on my list. Where's Page?"

That's just it. He went to find the men's room. Then the alarm went off. I didn't like to leave without him. But I'm not sure where '

777 check the men's room, sir. After I've seen you safely to the emergency staircase." There was an exasperated tone to his voice. "Follow me, would you?"

Harry reckoned he had a few minutes at least. If he kept calm, it was enough. If there was anything to find, he should find it. Abandoning the first chair, he moved on to the second, tossing the cushions aside and shoving his hand into the gap so fiercely that he had to stifle a cry of pain as a rigid framing bar came off better in a contest with his knuckles.

This is bloody ridiculous," he complained under his breath. "I've been involved in some fiascos in my time, but this has to be '

A small cool solid metal object, about the size and shape of a matchbox, just as Hammelgaard had promised. There it was, exactly where it had been all these weeks, safe, secure and waiting. Harry's fingertips burned at the touch of it. And all the fear and mounting panic left him. Even the alarm seemed to stop ringing in his ears. Cocooned in the silence of his own concentration, he gripped it firmly in his fingers and pulled his hand and forearm free, oblivious now to the scraping of the bar over his knuckles. It was just a tiny black box, but when he held it up and saw the miniature spool of tape visible through a transparent plastic window at its centre, he smiled broadly.

"Bugger me," was the only thing he seemed capable of saying by way of celebration. Then urgency resumed its grip. He dropped the recorder into his pocket, hoisted the cushions back onto the chairs, grabbed his briefcase, strode out into the hall and started towards the lift.

Rounding the first corner, he cannoned straight into the security officer and rebounded like a rubber ball hitting a tree. "Mr. Page?" the man flintily enquired.

"Er .. . yes. I'm looking for .. ."

"Mr. Cornford?"

That's right. How did '

"Hold on one moment, would you, sir?" He raised a hand to the walkie-talkie clipped to his lapel and spoke into it. "I've located the other one, Mr. Fredericks .. . Yuh .. . OK. I'll wait for you here."

"Shouldn't we, er, be leaving?"

"There's no fire, sir. It was a false alarm." As if on cue, the bell was cut off in mid-wail. "Triggered from this floor. Kinda coincidental, wouldn't you say?"

"In what way?"

"Well, this is also the floor I found you and Mr. Cornford wandering around .. . after everyone else had gone."

"I lost my way. Simple as that."

"Same as Mr. Cornford?"

"Exactly."

"In that case, you won't mind co-operating in a straightforward security precaution."

"What sort of precaution?"

"We have to be on our guard against theft; industrial espionage; that kinda thing."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Nothing, I expect, sir. As searching you will no doubt confirm."

FORTY-THREE

They were back in Lazenby's office. Harry, simulating affronted dignity in his refusal to submit himself to a search. Barry, wearing the look of choirboy innocence he reserved for such occasions. Cherie Liebermann, as perplexed by their behaviour as she seemed irritated by having to spend time analysing it. And Lazenby himself, a baffled frown lending an ugly cast to his face. Plus the security officer who had waylaid Harry; and Fredericks, his boss, a beady-eyed petty tyrant exhibiting a brewing suspicion that something was in danger of eluding him.

"You have to see this from our point of view, Norman," said Lazenby. "Our clients of whom I hope you'll become one rely on the absolute confidentiality of our work here. Security precautions are essential to that. And they have to be observed without fear or favour."

"I came here in good faith," Harry blustered. "I don't care to have that called into question."

"It's not being. But the circumstances under which you were found on the premises after their evacuation require explanation."

"I have explained them."

"Not to our satisfaction. Cherie tells me you interrogated her about my taste in office furniture."

To find out whether your fee levels high by your own admission are subsidizing corporate extravagance. And it was much less of an interrogation than this is."

"But why did you return to this floor after she'd escorted you to the elevator?"

To verify what she'd told me. Bill bet me it was a cover story."

"A chair-cover story," put in Chipchase with a frail grin. But nobody laughed.

"As soon as I saw the chairs she'd described in Luke Brownlow's office, I was satisfied."

"Yet you still didn't leave."

"I happen to have a slight prostate condition. Use of your men's room counts as suspicious behaviour, does it?"

"If Mr. Page won't consent to being searched," said Fredericks, as unmoved by Harry's explanation as he had clearly been determined to be, "I recommend we call the police and ask them to take him and Mr. Cornford downtown for questioning. I don't see there's any other way to settle the issue. The alarm was manually tripped on a lever-switch halfway between Mr. Brownlow's office and the elevator. And that's exactly where they were at the time."

"Any member of your staff could have done it," protested Harry.

"Why should they?" countered Lazenby.

"A prank. A dare. Perhaps they were just bored and wanted a break."

"I do not employ people who indulge in practical jokes, Norman. And those I do employ are never bored."

"I'll have to take your word for that. Just as you'll have to take mine that I didn't set off the alarm. Why in heaven's name should

I?"

"I don't know." Lazenby glanced at Fredericks. "What does Luke say?"

"Nothing taken or disturbed. As far as he can tell."

"Weird." Lazenby looked back at Harry, his gaze narrowing, his brow furrowing. "One other thing. Why do I get this feeling we've met before, Norman? Why is that, huh?"

"As far as I know, we never have."

"Norman has that kind efface," contributed Chipchase. "He tends to remind people of their favourite uncle."

"I don't have an uncle," snapped Lazenby.

"No? Well, you won't have many clients either if you go on treating them like this. I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say we're prepared to write this off as an unfortunate misunderstanding provided it goes no further. If it does go further .. ."

"Yuh? What then, Bill?"

Barry eyed Lazenby nonchalantly. "A lawsuit for harassment, detention and assault. Whatever our attorney recommends. He's like you, Byron. Expensive and effective. Gives up about as easily as an Israeli Nazi-hunter. Know what I mean?"

"Then there's the publicity," contributed Harry, warming to Barry's theme. "An old school chum of mine writes for the Financial Times. He'd be happy to describe our experiences. Coming on top of all that no doubt groundless speculation about the death rate among your former employees, it might put a significant dent in your share price."

Lazenby scowled. "You didn't mention you knew about that."

"Because I didn't think it was relevant."

"It isn't. The situation we have here is '

"Oh, for God's sake!" With a forcefulness that clearly surprised Chipchase, Harry slammed his briefcase onto Lazenby's desk and flung it open. "Anything there I didn't come in with?" Then he unloaded his pockets onto the desk as well: wallet; passport; cigarettes; matches; pen; comb; diary; handkerchief; a bunch of keys; some loose change. "Or there?" Next he pulled out the lining of his pockets one by one. "Or here?" He glared at Lazenby, then Fredericks, then back at Lazenby. "Well?"

Lazenby gave him a long glowering look, weighing his baffled exasperation against the possibility that these two fast-talking Englishmen represented a genuine threat. One he ought logically to defuse at this low ebb of his public reputation. In the end, logic won. "Like you say, gentlemen. An unfortunate misunderstanding. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

"But sir protested Fredericks.

"Let's leave it." Lazenby turned to Cherie Liebermann. "Show them out, would you, Cherie?" He allowed himself a weary smile. "Again."

"I'm glad this has been amicably resolved," said Harry, gathering up his possessions from the desk. "Really I am." He gave Lazenby a conciliatory smile that was secretly self-congratulatory. For he was holding a Marlboro cigarette pack in his hand at the time. And he could feel through the cardboard something heavier and harder and squarer than the few cigarettes that remained.

FORTY-FOUR

"Tell me, Harry old cock, why do I seem to spend my entire bloody life saying goodbye to you for what I think is going to be the last time?" There was a trace almost of affection in Chipchase's protest, delivered on the concourse of Union Station half an hour after their hasty departure from Globescope. A homeward flood of commuters was in spate around them, bathing them in reassuring anonymity. They had bolted down the escalator into Dupont Circle Metro station largely on instinct, representing as it did the handiest and swiftest means of quitting the area. Now, five stops along the Red Line, sheltering by a pillar in an eddy of the workaday tide, they paused to recover their nerves as well as their breath. "And another thing. What was that about Globescope staff dropping like bloody flies? You never mentioned that to me."

"I didn't want to worry you," Harry replied with a smile.

"Didn't want me to twig how risky the whole barking bloody mad escapade was, you mean."

"Well, that too, I suppose."

"What's on the tape, Harry?"

"I don't know."

"Liar."

"Look, Barry, you're better off not knowing, believe me. Go back to your hotel, wine and dine Gloria, then get on with your holiday. That's all you have to do. In fact, I thought it was all you wanted to do."

"Yeh, well .. ." Chipchase sighed. "It's not exactly life on the edge, is it? Easingwold's hardly a thrill a bloody minute, take my word for it."

"What's the matter? Not sure you want to settle down after all?"

"Well, it was something, wasn't it? What we did back there. Quite something. Just like old times. Remember those triumphs of private enterprise we pulled off at R.A.F Stafford? The same bloody technique, Harry. You and me. The old firm. We should never have split up."

"Your decision, as I recall."

"No, no. It was a combination of... unfavorable circumstances .. . and Jackie's evil little mind. You know how persuasive she can be. When you boil it down, it wasn't really any of my doing."

Harry could not help himself. He laughed so suddenly and uproariously that he had to bend over, tears starting into his eyes.

"What the bloody hell's the matter?"

"Nothing, Barry ... Nothing at all." He straightened up and did his best to look serious. His success was little short of miraculous, given the expression of trampled sincerity on Chipchase's face. "Let's go and find a cab. Before I start remembering all the grudges I should still be bearing."

"Where are we going?"

"You're going to the Watergate Hotel. Via the best hi-fi store in town. Which is where I'll be getting out. And don't worry. This probably is the last time you'll be saying goodbye to me. Unless you invite me to the wedding, of course." Chipchase's eyes widened in horror. "Just joking, Barry. Just joking."

For different reasons, Harry was equally sorry they had come to a parting of the ways. When he clambered out of their taxi at G Street and 13th, it was with a queasy awareness that he was relinquishing the lucky charm of Chipchase's unquenchable self-confidence. Without his Smart Alec sarcasms, the immediate future looked altogether more hostile and uncertain. And Harry would have to face it alone. Solitude was no stranger to him. But nor was it any kind of friend.