‘There is a point in all this which no one has touched on,’ Hernu said. ‘Who is he working for?’
‘Well it certainly isn’t the IRA,’ Mary said. ‘We did an instant computer check and we have links with both the RUC computer and British Army intelligence at Lisburn. Not a smell from anyone about the attempt on Mrs Thatcher.’
‘Oh, I believe that,’ Brosnan said, ‘although you can never be sure.’
‘There are the Iraqis, of course,’ Ferguson said. ‘Saddam would dearly love to blow everyone up at the moment.’
‘True, but don’t forget Hizbollah, PLO, Wrath of Allah and a few others in between. He’s worked for them all,’ Brosnan reminded him.
‘Yes,’ Ferguson said, ‘and checking our sources through that lot would take time and I don’t think we’ve got it.’
‘You think he’ll try again?’ Mary asked.
‘Nothing concrete, my dear, but I’ve been in this business a lifetime. I always go by my instincts and this time my instincts tell me there’s more to it.’
‘Well, I can’t help you there. I’ve done all I can.’ Brosnan stood up.
‘All you’re prepared to, you mean?’ Ferguson said.
They moved into the hall and Brosnan opened the door. ‘I suppose you’ll be going back to London?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I thought we might stay over and sample the delights of Paris. I haven’t stayed at the Ritz since the refurbishment.’
Mary Tanner said, ‘That will give the expenses a bashing.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Professor Brosnan, it was nice to be able to put a face to the name.’
‘And you,’ he said. ‘Colonel,’ he nodded to Hernu and closed the door.
When he went into the drawing room, Anne-Marie came in from the bedroom. Her face was drawn and pale. ‘Did you come to any decision?’ she asked.
‘I gave you my word. I’ve helped them all I can. Now they’ve gone and that’s an end to it.’
She opened the table drawer. Inside there was an assortment of pens, envelopes, writing paper, stamps. There was also a Browning High Power 9-mm pistol, one of the most deadly handguns in the world, preferred by the SAS above all others.
She didn’t say a word, simply closed the drawer and looked at him calmly. ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ she said and went into the kitchen.
In the limousine Hernu said, ‘You’ve lost him. He won’t do any more.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that. We’ll discuss it over dinner at the Ritz later. You’ll join us, I hope? Eight o’clock all right?’
‘Delighted,’ Hernu said. ‘Group Four must be rather more generous with its expenses than my own poor department.’
‘Oh, it’s all on dear Mary here,’ Ferguson said. ‘Flashed this wonderful piece of plastic at me the other day which American Express had sent her. The Platinum Card. Can you believe that, Colonel?’
‘Damn you!’ Mary said.
Hernu lay back and laughed helplessly.
Tania Novikova came out of the bathroom of Gordon Brown’s Camden flat combing her hair. He pulled on a dressing-gown.
‘You’ve got to go?’ he said.
‘I must. Come into the living room.’ She pulled on her coat and turned to face him. ‘No more coming to the Bayswater flat, no more telephones. The work schedule you showed me. All split shifts for the next month. Why?’
‘They’re not popular, especially for people with families. That isn’t a problem for me, so I agreed to do it for the moment. And it pays more.’
‘So, you usually finish at one o’clock and start again at six in the evening?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have an answering machine, the kind where you can phone home and get your messages?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. We can keep in touch that way.’
She started for the door and he caught her arm. ‘But when will I see you?’
‘Difficult at the moment, Gordon, we must be careful. If you’ve nothing better to do, always come home between shifts. I’ll do what I can.’
He kissed her hungrily. ‘Darling.’
She pushed him away. ‘I must go now, Gordon.’
She opened the door, went downstairs and let herself out of the street entrance. It was still very cold and she pulled up her collar.
‘My God, the things I do for Mother Russia,’ she said, went down to the corner and hailed a cab.
5
It was colder than ever in the evening, a front from Siberia sweeping across Europe, too cold for snow even. In the apartment, just before seven, Brosnan put some more logs on the fire.
Anne-Marie, lying full length on the sofa, stirred and sat up. ‘So we stay in to eat?’
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘A vile night.’
‘Good. I’ll see what I can do in the kitchen.’
He put on the television news programme. More air strikes against Baghdad, but still no sign of a land war. He switched the set off and Anne-Marie emerged from the kitchen and picked up her coat from the chair where she had left it.
‘Your fridge, as usual, is almost empty. Unless you wish me to concoct a meal based on some rather stale cheese, one egg, and half a carton of milk, I’ll have to go round the corner to the delicatessen.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘Why should we both suffer? I’ll see you soon.’
She blew him a kiss and went out. Brosnan went and opened the French windows. He stood on the terrace, shivering and lit a cigarette, watching for her. A moment later, she emerged from the front door and started along the pavement.
‘Goodbye, my love,’ he called dramatically. ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.’
‘Idiot!’ she called back. ‘Go back in before you catch pneumonia.’ She moved away, careful on the frozen pavement, and disappeared round the corner.
At that moment, the phone rang. Brosnan turned and hurried in, leaving the French windows open.
Dillon had an early meal at a small café he often frequented. He was on foot and his route back to the barge took him past Brosnan’s apartment block. He paused on the other side of the road, cold in spite of the reefer coat and the knitted cap pulled down over his ears. He stood there, swinging his arms vigorously, looking up at the lighted windows of the apartment.
When Anne-Marie came out of the entrance, he recognised her instantly and stepped back into the shadows. The street was silent, no traffic movement at all and when Brosnan leaned over the balustrade and called down to her, Dillon heard every word he said. It gave him a totally false impression. That she was leaving for the evening. As she disappeared round the corner, he crossed the road quickly. He checked the Walther in his waistband at the rear, had a quick glance each way to see that no one was about, then started to climb the scaffolding.
It was Mary Tanner on the phone. ‘Brigadier Ferguson wondered whether we could see you again in the morning before going back?’
‘It won’t do you any good,’ Brosnan told her.
‘Is