GEORGE ALLOWED HIMSELF
a lengthy lie-in after his late night with the police. His story had been watertight, of course. Arnavon would confirm Soutine’s sale of the fake Sumerian cylinder-seals which had taken George to the gallery in search of answers. Sam’s role in events had been easy to suppress. Altogether, the police had been polite and sympathetic, although their ears had pricked up at the mention of Soutine’s dealings with George’s late brother-in-law, Sir Henry Maxted.
‘We may have further questions for you,
monsieur
. You are not planning to leave Paris?’
He had assured them he was not and there it had been left, with George transported back to his hotel with parting expressions of solicitude and regret.
‘Our apologies that you should have had such an unpleasant experience in our city,
monsieur
.’
He skipped breakfast, beyond a head-clearing
café noir
, in favour of an early lunch. Later he would visit Sam, reassure him that the police had no inkling of his presence at the gallery and extract the promised explanation of Henry’s connection with le Singe.
Most of the snow had melted, but it was still depressingly cold and overcast. George told himself a bracing stroll was nonetheless in order. He aimed for the Tuileries, knowing this would take him in the direction of a fondly remembered bistro near the Gare d’Orsay.
But the gardens proved to be altogether too bracing, so he abandoned his projected perambulation in favour of a quick march to the Pont Royal.
He was halfway across the bridge, his attention focused principally on the swollen waters of the Seine surging below him, when he became aware that someone was walking very closely behind him. Before he could turn round, something hard and heavy struck him a stunning blow at the back of the head.
Darkness folded round him as he fell. ‘
Il est malade
,’ he heard someone declare. He wanted to protest, but could not find his voice. He was being supported, then lifted and moved. And then . . . nothing.
Max began to relax as the train headed south. He had chosen to sit in a compartment where only one seat remained, which seemed to guarantee the innocence of the other occupants. They paid him no heed whatever. The crossing of the Tweed at Berwick felt momentous to him. He was back in England. The miles were rolling away between him and London. He worried about letting the telegram go unclaimed at Waverley, but knew it had been the right decision. He had been lucky to survive the first brush with his pursuers and had to do everything he could to avoid a second.
Sam was keeping his head down at the Majestic, concentrating as best he could on his work. He expected a visit from George Clissold before the day was out and found himself thinking enviously of Kuroda, who would be most of the way across the Mediterranean by now, bound for Japan. Sam would not have objected to a long ocean voyage himself. Every step he took in his present predicament had to be carefully judged. The bloodstains on the photograph he had taken from Soutine’s body reminded him of that whenever he looked at it. ‘
The skilful warrior does not rely on the enemy not coming
,’ Kuroda had advised him. ‘
He relies on his own preparedness
.’ Sam did not doubt the truth of that. He was no warrior. But still he must prepare.
Morahan apologized for keeping Malory waiting when he arrived at La Fontaine ten minutes late. She brushed the matter aside as unimportant, the first sign he detected that what she wanted to discuss with him was itself very far from unimportant.
‘If you’re worried about me, Malory, I want you to stop. I’ll find a way through this business with le Singe, I guarantee. I just need time – and a slice of luck.’
‘Well, I didn’t turn up anything helpful in the archives, Schools, so luck is what it’ll probably take. And you’re right: I
am
worried. So should you be, with Soutine dead. Murdered, you said.’
‘Yuh. And not prettily. Tomorrow’s papers will make quite a splash of it.’
‘There won’t be any papers tomorrow. A general strike’s been called for May Day.’
‘It has? Well, that’s downright
un
lucky. I was hoping the publicity might smoke le Singe out.’
‘Anyhow, he’s not who I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
Malory broke off at the appearance of the waiter to order a glass of red wine and an
omelette aux fines herbes
. Morahan opted for a steak.
‘Good choice. You need the iron.’
‘You think so?’
‘I do.’ She dropped her voice. ‘The thing is this. The trading of information between competing delegations is a disreputable way to make money in a lot of people’s eyes, Schools, but I’ve always reckoned it helps ensure fair play. You could argue Ireton Associates performs a public service in that sense.’
‘That’s a nice way to put it.’ Morahan smiled at her. ‘I’ll be sure to remember it.’
‘None of the countries represented at the conference are military enemies of the United States.’
‘What point are you leading up to, Malory?’
‘The Germans, Schools. They
are
military enemies of our country. The war could resume if they reject the terms offered to them. Travis regards them as just another potential client. But dealing with them – helping them – could be classified as treason. I can’t be party to that. Nor should you be.’
‘What has Travis told you?’
‘Nothing. But I know he has a go-between in place at their hotel.’
‘You’re right. He does.’
‘You know who it is?’
Morahan nodded. ‘I do.’
‘A senior member of the hotel staff, I imagine.’
‘You imagine correctly.’
A silence fell while Morahan and Malory looked searchingly at each other, extended by the arrival of their drinks. Then Malory asked, ‘Are you really willing to let Travis go ahead with this?’
‘It’d be hard to stop him.’
‘What if the French authorities were tipped off that the staff member in question represented a security risk?’
‘He’d be arrested right away.’
‘And it would be difficult, if not impossible, for Travis to replace him at short notice.’
‘It would.’
‘We’d actually be doing Travis a favour. Saving him from himself.’
‘I doubt he’d see it that way.’
‘No need for him to see it any way, other than as a stroke of misfortune.’
Morahan sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Damn it all,’ he murmured.
‘How should I go about it?’
‘You?’ He looked at her in surprise. ‘No, no. I’ll do it.’ He sat back in his chair and took a long, slow breath. ‘You’re right, of course. I’ve had a fair few other things to think about recently. But there are lines you can’t cross and this is one of them. A lot of our boys died in the winning of the war. We can’t let them down, can we? And we can’t let Travis let them down either.’
‘It’s a relief to hear you say that, Schools.’
‘I’ll deal with it as soon as possible. Just leave it to me.’
The train had just left Darlington and several passengers in Max’s compartment had begun nibbling at their packed lunches when the door was pulled open and a tubby fellow in NER catering livery looked in. He scanned several faces before fixing on Max.
‘Mr Hutton?’
Whatever his use of the name portended, Max knew at once it could not be good. ‘Why d’you ask?’ he replied coolly.
‘There’s a lady in the restaurant car, sir, travelling first class, who wonders if you’d like to join her for lunch.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Miss Kislev.’
It was Nadia. Of course. Who else?
‘Bit of a stunner, sir.’ The steward winked. ‘I’d take her up on the offer if I was you.’
NADIA WAS A
picture of travelling elegance in a green-flecked tweed jacket and skirt and a high-necked blouse. She was smoking a long cigarette and sipping a gin and tonic, while turning the pages of a slim novel. Her dark hair gleamed in the sunlight shafting through the window. There was a lustre to her skin and a depth to her gaze that reminded Max how attractive she was – and how dangerous.
‘I am so happy you can join me, Max,’ she trilled, rising to kiss him on the cheek.
He said nothing, dumbstruck by her flagrancy. He slid his bag under the table and sat down opposite her.
‘It was wise to bring your luggage,’ she went on, smiling at him. ‘There are thieves everywhere.’
‘Are there?’ he countered. ‘Have you read this?’ She showed him the title of the book:
The Thirty-Nine Steps
by John Buchan.
‘No.’
‘You should. It is very exciting. Though not as exciting as your own adventure.’
‘What are you doing here, Nadia?’
‘The same as all those people in Paris: trying to make peace.’
‘I met some colleagues of yours earlier. They weren’t very peaceable.’
‘You should have stayed on the train to Glasgow.’
‘What difference does it make what route I travel by, as long as I reach the right destination?’
‘None. As long as it is the
right
destination.’
‘How did you know I’d be on this train?’
‘They cabled me from Perth, Max. I left for Edinburgh immediately. This is the quickest way for you to reach London. So, I knew you would be on this train. However late you left it to board.’
‘And what d’you want to say to me?’
‘You have an agreement with him. You must honour it.’
‘Oh, I’m doing the honourable thing. You can rely on that.’
‘Will you have a drink with me before we order lunch?’ She signalled to the steward. ‘It is a long journey.’
‘All right.’ He ordered a whisky and soda; Nadia, a second gin and tonic.
‘I asked,’ she said with a smile. ‘But they have no vodka.’
‘You can’t stop me, y’know,’ Max declared. ‘Where are you carrying it? In the bag or under your shirt? You look a little stouter than I remember.’
‘Who says I’m carrying anything? Maybe I stuck a stamp on it and posted it while I was in Edinburgh.’
‘No. You did not do that. Precious, you called it. Too precious to post. Besides, who would you post it to? Who can you trust completely?’
‘More people than you can, I’m sure.’
‘He will get it from you. I think you know that.’
‘No. I don’t.’
‘It is not too late to come back to us. Deliver the file to him.
Then what you did to Fontana and what you did to the men on the train will be forgotten. It will be nothing.’
‘He’s never trusted me, Nadia. Neither have you. D’you think I don’t know why I was chosen? He’ll get the file over my dead body.’
She looked at him in earnest. ‘Then that is how he will get it. Surrender is your only escape, Max. Otherwise . . .’ She shook her head. ‘You have not a hope.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘There is another reason why you should give it up.’
‘Oh? What’s that?’
‘Farngold.’
Max was at first too amazed to react. He stared at her in silence as their drinks arrived.
‘Ready to order?’ the steward enquired, nodding to the menus that lay on the table.
‘Not yet,’ Nadia answered quietly, without taking her eyes off Max.
The steward retreated. Nadia touched her glass against Max’s. ‘
Za vashy zdarovy
,’ she said, drinking to her own toast.
‘What d’you know about Farngold?’ Max asked, as calmly as he could.
‘You want the secret, Max. Of course you do. It is natural. You want to know why your father died. Put the file in his hand. And it will be.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘You will not learn it otherwise.’
‘Do you know the secret, Nadia?’
‘I know a few things he has said I can tell you. The woman I worked for in Keijo. We called her the Dragonfly. I never knew her real name. He wanted her to help him find a man who had been asking questions about him. An Englishman, called Farngold. Jack Farngold.’
‘You met him?’
‘Once, yes. The Dragonfly wanted me to talk to him – distract him – while she alerted Lemmer. So, I sat with Jack Farngold in a teahouse and I listened to him and I learnt what had brought him to Korea. He had been chasing a secret for a very long time. He did not look well. He had taken on a burden and slowly, very slowly, he had buckled under it. I never met anyone more tired – or more determined.’
‘What did he say had taken him to Korea?’
‘I cannot tell you, Max. That
is
the secret. It is worth the Grey File, I think. What do you think?’
‘What happened to Farngold?’
‘He was arrested. They said he was deranged. He was put in the Governor General’s Hospital. I heard he was transferred from there to a hospital in Tokyo. After that, who would know? A mad Englishman, without a family, without friends, locked up in an asylum in Japan. Who would know anything about that?’
‘Did he say where he came from in England?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Did he or didn’t he?’
‘I cannot tell you any more. It is enough. My reward for helping the Dragonfly trap Farngold was an offer of employment.’
‘From Lemmer?’
‘Yes. I met him at the Chosen Hotel and we walked out into the garden and he told me what was in his mind for me. And I liked what he told me. I liked it very much.’
‘When was this?’
‘Not so long ago in some ways. In other ways, as distant as another life.’
‘Which year was it? Which season?’
Nadia smiled. ‘You want the date they arrested Farngold? You think that will help you find him? You think that will take you to the secret? No. Give up the Grey File. Then you will know the secret. Refuse and it will be taken from your dead hand. That is your choice. I will tell you no more. Hold a gun to my head or a knife to my throat. It will make no difference. I will tell you no more.’
‘You sound like Anna Schmidt.’
‘You have never met Anna Schmidt, Max.’
‘No. But her husband said she worships Lemmer. It seems you do as well.’
‘In a world where empires fall, he stands. I stand with him. You can too.’
Max shook his head. ‘Never.’
‘There is still time for you to reconsider.’ She picked up the menu. ‘We should order.’