Czech Mate (32 page)

Ah, the cause of the twinkle in his eyes? ‘Going home?'

Max nodded. ‘They'll be praying for a white Christmas but I'll be glad to get away from one. Take care of yourself, Tom, and do as Nora tells you.'

Loath to see him go, Tom asked, ‘Has anything more been heard of Frank Treeves' threat to go to the newspapers with a tale of whitewash over the sudden death of his son?'

‘Oh, yes.' Max lingered behind the chair he had vacated. ‘Clarkson heard from the Treeves' doctor that the medical explanation has now been accepted, albeit with continuing bewilderment. I can understand that. It's not an easy situation to come to terms with.' He smiled with a hint of mischief. ‘I've left the other bit of good news to the last. Klaus Krenkel called me just as I was leaving to come here. They've found our equipment in a disused barn near the border. It looks very much as if the blizzard following the theft caused them to take shelter, then the blocked country lane prevented onward movement for several days. Krenkel reckons they planned to rendezvous with someone able to cross the border easily – too risky for illegals – and the adverse weather also delayed that meeting. When it eventually takes place they'll find men waiting with restraints.'

Tom laughed very painfully. ‘Bully for them! That'll save our bacon with the MoD. Next thing you'll tell me is that the heating system in our new headquarters is fully up and running.'

‘Don't push your luck, Tom. Merry Christmas.'

Max drove through Dorset country lanes in pale sunshine. England really is a green and pleasant land, he silently agreed, breathing the cool, clean air as his eyes appreciated the gentle rolling curves of distant hills dotted with sheep.

The signpost at yet another crossroads showed him his destination was a mere three miles away. His excitement increased as he turned right and sped between high hedges towards the village. Kingfishers was not difficult to find. On the banks of a lazy river, the large cottage-style house was as she had described it. Chocolate-boxy in the most elegant manner. Low and rambling, with a thatched roof, it must have featured in many photographs taken back home, from New York to Los Angeles.

Right now it looked festive, with a silver and blue tree at one window and a huge holly wreath with red satin bow hanging on the white front door. Several cars were parked on the gravel forecourt bordered by rhododendrons. It was Christmas Eve. Family members must already have arrived.

Max drew up just inside the open gates and took out his mobile. Keying in the digits he had memorized all the way here, he counted the number of rings before a male voice answered. A
young
voice.

‘Good morning. I'd like to speak to Livya, please.'

‘Who shall I say's calling?'

‘One of her army colleagues.'

‘OK. She's in the kitchen covered in flour or veg peelings, like the rest of them.'

An irreverent teenager, Max decided, as he heard the now-distant voice call out, ‘Liv, one of your brainy admirers on the line.'

Seconds later she was there. ‘Hallo. I'm afraid my cheeky nephew didn't give me your name.'

‘I didn't tell him.'

‘
Max
! Where are you?'

‘Come to the door.'

It opened several minutes later. She looked as wonderful as he remembered in tailored grey slacks and a deep pink cashmere sweater, but it was her obvious delight that caught his breath with relief.

‘How on earth did you know where to find me?'

He approached with a grin. ‘I'm a detective, ma'am.'

Only then did she register the import of his leather gear, high boots and the crash helmet in his left hand. Her eyes widened with disbelief.

‘You
haven't
!'

He stood aside to reveal the hired Harley Davidson down by the gates. ‘What better and faster way to come? I drew the line at jumping hedges, I'm afraid.'

Her response was all he had hoped for and told him magic Christmases were back in his life.