Run Around (38 page)

‘Anything new from your end?' enquired the Director.

The attack upon Dajani lifted the London information from the curious to the suspicious. Yet Sir Alistair himself acknowledged that the Nabulsi photographs could mean nothing. No purpose just yet then in crying wolf, Charlie thought, in self-justification. Easily again he said: ‘Not a thing.'

‘What's the security like?'

‘Better than it was.'

‘Seems like it might have been a good idea for you to stay on, after all,' said Wilson.

‘Could easily be.'

‘I said advisory, Charlie!'

‘I heard.' To cover his arse he would eventually need to advise as ordered: and the problem with trying to be a one-man band was playing the trumpet and the trombone at the same time as banging the drum. Charlie said: ‘Any objection to Cummings coming back to Geneva with me?'

‘Why?' demanded Wilson, the surprise obvious.

Every cloud turns out to have a silver lining in the end, thought Charlie. He said: ‘The Swiss complained, don't forget. It might be better if he were involved, as the local man whom they know and have worked with before.'

There was a long silence from London. Wilson said: ‘Involved with what?'

‘Liaison,' said Charlie. He hoped this part of the conversation didn't continue much longer because there weren't many words left before he fell over the edge.

Wilson spoke slowly, spacing the delivery, wanting Charlie to understand every nuance. He said: ‘Strictly speaking, I disobeyed higher authority by not bringing you home.'

‘Yes,' said Charlie, shortly.

‘Now there seems to be an excuse. Just.'

‘Yes,' repeated Charlie.

‘This conversation – everything I've said – is being recorded at this end.'

‘I know,' said Charlie. ‘It's automatic.'

‘It's a protection device, to ensure accuracy,' said the Director. ‘Don't forget it, will you?'

‘No,' promised Charlie. ‘I won't forget.'

There was another discernible pause. ‘Have Cummings, if you think it's necessary,' conceded the Director.

The Bern
rezident
suggested driving back to Geneva in his own car and Charlie readily agreed, wanting to be cocooned with his thoughts. There
was
a need to be careful, he accepted; despite the experts' assessment the identification could still be mistaken. And the Dajani assault really could be concidence, although he didn't personally believe coincidence, space ships, ghosts or that the world was round. That long-absent sensation wouldn't go away, though: that tingle of anticipation, the gut feeling that at last something was going right after so much going wrong. Inside looking out, he'd told the Israeli. There would obviously have been the need for someone on the inside. Christ he'd been slow, not thinking of it before! Still not too late: almost, but not quite.

‘I still don't know what I am supposed to be doing,' protested Cummings beside him. ‘What this is all about?'

Charlie told the other man as much as he felt necessary, editing completely the restrictions imposed upon him by their Director in London, realizing as he talked that it would be an advantage to have a car. Beside him Cummings listened in increasing discomfort, physically shifting in his seat. Cummings had felt safe in Switzerland. It was one of the easiest postings in the service, a place where nothing ever happened and where his role had previously been to transmit between Bern and London low level intelligence judged so unimportant by both that neither side minded the other knowing. Which was how he wanted to continue, acting out the role of a special postman, enjoying the overseas allowances and the embassy cocktail parties and avoiding anything and everything which might upset the status quo. Like this, he recognized, worriedly.

‘I don't believe it!' he said.

‘Millions don't.'

‘What do you want me to do?'

‘Sit in my hotel room and drink Harkness's whisky until it comes out of your ears,' said Charlie. He felt cheerful – ebullient – at finally having a pathway to follow.

‘What!'

‘I need a contact point: a number and a person I know will be there, when I call. Just leave the bathroom door open when you pee, so that you'll hear the phone.'

‘Why!'

‘There'll be a need to tell the Swiss.' And I hope the time, Charlie thought, remembering Wilson's injunction.

‘Why not tell them now?'

‘Because we don't know enough to tell them anything, yet.' Which was a lie and could get him hanging by his balls from the ceiling hook if it all went wrong and Wilson launched an enquiry.

‘What are you going to do?' asked the man.

‘See what the second-class hotels of Switzerland are like,' replied Charlie, nebulously. ‘And I'll need this car, incidentally.'

‘I'm not sure about that,' protested Cummings.

‘It's a department car, isn't it?'

‘Yes.'

‘And we're in the same department, aren't we?'

‘Mr Harkness is very strict about office property,' reminded Cummings.

And don't I know it, thought Charlie. He extended his hand across the vehicle, so that Cummings could see his fore and middle fingers tight together. ‘Dick and I are like that,' he said.

‘Is that his name, Dick?' said Cummings. ‘I never knew.'

Dick was very much the man's name, reflected Charlie. ‘Richard,' he said. ‘One of the best.'

‘I thought you said “fucking Harkness” that day at the embassy,' accused Cummings.

‘Joke!' said Charlie. ‘You don't really think I'd call the Deputy Director that, do you?'

‘I suppose not,' said Cummings. ‘You will be careful of it, won't you?'

‘Look after it like it was my own,' assured Charlie.

He escorted Cummings up to the room at the Beau-Rivage and actually ordered a bottle of whisky, taking a quick nip himself, and said: ‘OK. Just wait for my call.'

‘How long?' asked Cummings.

There was no way he could make the assessment because he had no idea what was going to happen, Charlie accepted. ‘The formal session starts at noon tomorrow,' said Charlie. ‘If you haven't heard from me by eleven-thirty, press every button you can find.'

‘I should know where you're going to be.'

‘The hotel where the Palestinians are staying, off the Barthelemy-Menn.'

‘How do you know you'll get a room!' said Cummings, clerk-like.

‘One of their guests is in hospital, with his balls in a bandage,' said Charlie, confidently.

It was almost midnight when Charlie approached the night desk. As he signed in Charlie said casually: ‘Too late to call Miss Nabulsi tonight, I suppose? Two-oh-eight, isn't it?'

‘Three forty-nine,' corrected the night clerk, turning to check the key on the hook. ‘She appears to be in her room.'

‘I'll wait until tomorrow,' said Charlie. ‘What time does she usually leave?'

‘Depends,' said the man, consulting a ledger. ‘But tomorrow she's booked a call for six.'

‘Thanks,' said Charlie, surprised how easy it often was with just a little bit of knowledge. And then thinking in immediate contradiction that it was about time things became easier. Charlie didn't bother to undress, just to remove his Hush Puppies to stretch his feet out before him on top of the bed, his back supported against the headboard. Should he have told the others, instead of trying to go it alone? he wondered, in rare second thoughts. No, he decided, in immediate reply. Time enough to bring them in if there were no contact and he was wasting his time: the fail-safe was established with Cummings, after all.

Charlie left the hotel at five-thirty, using the fire exit on the ground floor to avoid the informative clerk of the previous night, shivering in the early morning mist that spilled over from the lake to cloak everything in wet, clinging greyness. To have started the engine to get the heater working would have created tell-tale steam from the exhaust so he remained hunched in the front seat, arms wrapped around himself, occasionally leaning forward to clear the condensation from the window so that his observation of the hotel was unobstructed.

‘Hurry up, my love,' Charlie said in the empty car. ‘It's bloody freezing!'

It was as if she had heard him. Sulafeh Nabulsi left the hotel precisely at six-thirty, hurrying down the step and setting off in the direction of the Avenue de la Roseraire with her head deep into the collar of a yellow topcoat, which Charlie isolated immediately as a marker. He waited until she had almost reached the junction before starting the car and edging forward, switching the heater on to full before the engine was really warm enough.

He reached the connection just in time to see her entering an early morning taxi, which took off towards the l'Arve river, and Charlie let the distance increase between them because the roads were practically deserted, making him too obvious. The taxi made a right turn on to the Rue de l'Aubepine, heading into the centre of the town, and Charlie let a newspaper delivery van intervene between them, head craned to his left to keep her vehicle in view around the obstruction.

Charlie was alerted to its stopping just before the sweep of the Carrefour Pont d'Arve by the sudden glare of brake lights and managed to halt with Cummings's car still hidden by the van. As he hurried forward Charlie passed a sign warning that parking was prohibited at all times and said softly: ‘Sorry, mate.'

Charlie paced himself about one hundred yards behind the woman, grateful that the city was gradually awakening around them and that the streets were becoming fuller. The yellow coat was very visible and in the better, growing light he saw that she carried a large, briefcase-type bag slung from her shoulder by a looped strap.

He had to close up when he saw the size of the junction, nervous of losing her at the controlled crossings of the converging streets, able to let the gap grow again when she regained the Avenue Henri Dunant. Sulafeh started obviously to try to clear her trail when she reached the cluster of cross streets. It was amateurish and caused Charlie no problems whatsoever. Rather, it pleased him because he immediately saw it as the confirmation that he'd got it right and that she was heading for some encounter that should not be taking place. Always, despite the dodging, she continued north, either on the Dunant avenue or the parallel Rue Defour. Charlie felt the first twinge of protest from his feet and winced, knowing it would get worse: it always did.

She did something clever that he did not expect when they reached the river, going down the Quai Motrices but then suddenly doubling back upon herself. Had he not been one hundred yards behind, sure of her from the coat, they would have come practically face to face and he would have had to continue on, risking her getting away. As it was, he was able to pull into a news-stand on the corner and study the selection until she unknowingly passed him. She seemed to stop bothering after the manoeuvre, striding across the Coulouvreniere bridge and going immediately right, when she reached the
quai
.

Charlie guessed at the Rhône Hotel before she entered it, hurrying so that he was only twenty yards behind when she went through the doors. It meant he was too late to see Zenin place the package containing the Browning into her briefcase.

‘Any change?' said the Russian.

‘No.'

From the perfect concealment of the telephone box into which he had pulled Charlie made the immediate identification from the Primrose Hill photograph. Got you, you bastard, he thought. Charlie was reaching out for the receiver to alert Cummings when he realized the man was making his way out of the hotel. It would have to be later, Charlie decided.

They had made love before Giles got up and Barbara lay languorously in bed, still warm from it, watching him dress. She said: ‘I don't think I'll bother with the boat trip after all. Maybe tomorrow.'

‘They're televizing part of the ceremony live,' said Giles. ‘Why don't you watch?'

‘I might,' she said.

Chapter Thirty-five

Charlie thought many things, all too quickly, the immediate predominant reaction being that the bastard had beaten him; then came the realization that he was up against an absolute professional, which he supposed he'd always known but which had been put out of his mind by the euphoria of actually finding the Russian.

From the Rhône Hotel Zenin strode directly across the
quai
to where the lake cruise boats were assembled, like bustling ducks at feeding time. Charlie, as far behind as he felt it safe to risk, saw the man appear to study the posters setting out the various trips and then board the leading cruiser, a shiny blue double decker. At the top of the steps he turned at once, leaning on the rail and gazing back on to the quayside.

‘Shit,' muttered Charlie, in reluctant admiration. The position meant the Russian had a complete view of everyone boarding – and possibly following – behind him. And he
was
studying everyone, Charlie saw. And who studied back, in return, covering himself as best he could by pretending to read a restaurant menu displayed in a glass case, about twenty yards away. The physical description that the experts had created from those snatched photographs was very accurate. So, too, was the impression of the immigration official at London airport: the Russian appeared to hold himself in readiness, a very fit man, tensed always to move. The face, which Charlie could see for the first time, was dark skinned – like the picture had recorded – but lean and narrow, which it hadn't. The skin seemed stretched over high cheekbones beneath the jet black hair he'd known about.

Definitely not Slavic, Charlie judged. Maybe one of the southern republics.

What was he going to do? There was a haphazard line of early tourists straggling aboard the cruiser, but they actually looked like tourists, carrying cameras and guidebooks. The fact that he was not would possibly register at once with a cautious man, Charlie decided: by itself it would mean nothing, but it would isolate him from the rest, mark him out for attention. Could he risk letting the cruiser go, hoping to follow in the next? Ridiculous, Charlie dismissed at once. He did not know because he could not chance going to the posters to find out but he guessed the sailings were staged, possibly as far as an hour apart. So a boat that left an hour later returned an hour later. By which time the Russian could be God knows where. Wait then, until he got back? Ridiculous again. Once more he didn't know, without checking, but Charlie guessed there would be several stops around the lake, at any one of which the Russian could disembark.