London Match (60 page)

We were waiting for Sheldon Rensselaer to arrive. Bret was in the intensive care ward and not expected to live beyond the weekend. His brother Sheldon was flying in from Washington on a US Air Force flight. Sheldon Rensselaer had a lot of influence in Washington.

'And his wife?' I asked. Ex-wife, I meant. Bret's wife had started spending her alimony years ago.

'Yes, they finally found her. Apparently she winters in Monte Carlo.'

'She's coming?'

'She sent three dozen roses.'

'Perhaps she doesn't realize how bad Bret is.'

'Perhaps,' said Frank in a voice that meant she knew.

'Poor Bret,' I said.

'He didn't recognize me,' said Frank. He was waiting to see Bret again and still wearing the white medical gown they'd given him to go into the ward.

'He wasn't really conscious,' I said,

'I should have stopped him getting up on that train. He saw the kid hit and felt he had to do something.'

'I know,' I said. Frank was reproaching himself unnecessarily for what had happened to Bret. 'Did you talk to London?' I asked him, in order to change the subject.

'The old man was not in the best of moods,' said Frank.

'We got him off the hook,' I said. 'We got them all off the hook. Without what you did, those stupid bastards would still be believing all that crap Stinnes was feeding them.'

'But they're not admitting that,' said Frank.

'How can they deny it? Last night the monitoring service picked up an item about Stinnes being honoured in Moscow.'

'We both know we stopped London making complete idiots of themselves, but they're closing ranks and pretending they knew about Stinnes all the time. Even the old man said that there's valuable information to be obtained even from non-genuine defectors.'

'And what about what they did to Bret?'

They say he wasn't really under house arrest. They say the man who spoke with him was acting without official instructions.'

'Balls,' I said.

'And now the man in question is on duty somewhere and can't be reached.'

'I bet,' I said.

'I spoke to all of them. They're bastards, Bernard. I've often choked you off for saying so, but I take it all back.' Everywhere was dark. A nurse came through the swing doors wheeling a trolley that was clanking with glass and stainless steel. She walked away slowly and eventually disappeared into the darkness that was at the end of a long corridor.

'And what about you, Frank?'

'I was in line for a K.'

'So I heard.' Frank had set his heart on that knighthood. Even though he pretended not to care, it meant a lot to him.

'The old man says it would be inappropriate to recommend that now, after I've so flagrantly disobeyed orders.'

'But you saved them.'

'You keep saying that,' said Frank peevishly. 'And I keep telling you that they don't see it that way.'

'We couldn't have done it without you, Frank. You risked everything and we were proved right.'

'There was talk of giving the K. to Bret instead,' said Frank. 'I don't know what will happen now.'

'The surgeon said Bret won't live.'

'The surgeon says no one can predict what a bullet wound like that will do. They've wrapped him in some kind of tinfoil trying to preserve his body heat. They're doing everything that can be done.'

'You'll retire anyway?' I said.

'The old man has asked me to stay on here. There is the prospect of a K. in two years' time.'

'What did you say?'

'I said you should have Berlin,' said Frank. 'But the old man said that you were lucky not to be facing grave charges.'

Now that my eyes had become used to the gloom I could see the big electric clock over the door that led to the wards. It was the clock that gave that loud click every second. It was the only sound to be heard. 'What time did they say his brother's plane would arrive?'

'I don't think he can possibly get here before four,' said Frank.

'Sheldon was his father's favourite. Bret resented that. Did he ever tell you?'

'Bret didn't reveal much about his private affairs.'

'Yes. I was surprised he confided in me.'

'He knew he could trust you, Bernard, and he was right. He came to you at a time when there was no one else he could trust.'

'I didn't know him very well,' I said. 'I'd always suspected that he'd had an affair with Fiona.'

'He knew you didn't like him, but he came to you all the same. Bret was grateful for what you did. He told me that. I hope he told you.'

'Neither of us did anything for Bret,' I said. 'It wasn't personal. It wasn't like you doing something for me or me doing something for you . . . '

'Or you doing something for Werner,' said Frank artfully.

'It was for the good of the Department,' I said, ignoring Frank's aside. 'Bret was being framed, and those idiots in London were letting it happen. Something had to be done.'

'There will be a big shake-up,' said Frank. 'Dicky is hoping to get the Europe desk, but there's not much chance of that, thank God. Bret might have got Europe if this hadn't happened. Morgan, the D-G's hatchet man, is getting some sort of promotion too.'

'Is Bret in the clear now?'

'Yes, Bret without this damned bullet in his guts might have ended up as the golden boy all over again. Funny how things happen, isn't it?'

'Yes, very funny.'

'I told the D-G that you should have a recommendation, Bernard. But it was no use. He's against it and I'm not in a position to do much for you at present, I'm afraid.'

'Thanks anyway, Frank.'

'Don't be disappointed, Bernard. This is a disaster averted, a Dunkirk for the Department. There are decorations galore and ennoblements and promotions for victories like Trafalgar and Waterloo; but there are no rewards for Dunkirks, no matter how brave or clever the survivors might be. London Central don't give gold medals to staff who prove they are wrong, and prove it with senior staff from Five looking on. They don't give promotions after finales like the last act of
Hamlet
with blood and gore on every side and the unexplained death of a senior KGB official, even if he wasn't given a safe conduct.'

'But we saved them from making fools of themselves. We saved the D-G's job, Frank.'

'Maybe we did. But there's more to be gained from giving bad advice when the result is a triumph, than from giving good advice when the outcome is a near disaster.'

A doctor came through the door that led down the long corridor to the intensive care unit where a white-faced, motionless, unseeing Bret was wired into a roomful of life-support machinery: heart pumps, oxygen supply and drip feeds. At his side attentive nurses watched dark monitor screens on which little electronic lines jumped, faltered and flickered.

'Would you come?' said the doctor, a Turk with a strong accent and large moustache. 'He might be able to recognize you this time.'

'Thanks,' said Frank to the doctor. To me he said, 'Life is like show business — it's always better to put a fiver into a hit than five grand into a flop.'

'We put five grand into a flop,' I said.

'Give my best wishes to Werner,' said Frank. 'I wouldn't have let him down, Bernard. Even if you hadn't been here, twisting my arm, I wouldn't have let Werner down.'

'He knows that, Frank. Everyone knows!'

Werner was waiting outside in Zena's car. He looked tired, but no more tired that I'd often seen him before. He was still wearing the old jacket and corduroy trousers. 'I got your message,' he said.

'Didn't I tell you not to go near that bloody Miller woman?' I said.

'You didn't know it was a stakeout?'

I let his question hang in the air for a moment; then I said, 'No, I didn't know it was a stakeout, but I had brains enough to guess it might be.'

'I just got back to my apartment here when the phone rang,' said Werner. 'It was your girl. She'd been trying to get you all day.'

'My girl?' I knew he was talking about Gloria, of course, but I was annoyed that she'd phoned, and also that she'd got through to Werner.

'Gloria. She thought you might be staying with us. Rumours were going around in London. She was worried about you.'

'What time was this?'

'Just now.'

'In the middle of the night?'

'She was in some rotten little hotel in Bayswater. She couldn't sleep. She said you'd quarrelled and she'd moved out.'

'That's right.'

'I told her to pack her things and get a cab and move back into your place.'

'You did what?'

'You don't want the poor kid sitting in some crummy little doss house in Bayswater, do you?'

'Are you trying to break my heart, Werner? She's got enough money to check into the Savoy if Bayswater is so terrible.'

'Don't be a bastard, Bernie. She's a nice kid and she loves you.'

'Hold everything, Werner! Did you tell her that this was my idea, this moving back into my place?'

No answer.

'Werner. Did you tell Gloria it was my idea?'

'She thought it was your idea. I thought it was better that you sorted it out when you got back to London.'

'You're a regular bloody matchmaker, aren't you, Werner?'

'You're crazy about her — you know you are. You should grab her while you have the chance, Bernie. It's no good you living in the hope that one day Fiona will come back to you.'

'I know that,' I said.

'You saw her today . . . yesterday, I mean. I saw her too. Fiona's changed, Bernie. She's one of them now. And she beat us at our own game. She's tough and she called the shots. She made fools of us all.'

'What do you mean?' I said. I was weary and irritable. I wasn't asking that Werner thank me for getting him out, but neither was I welcoming his criticism.

'So take Stinnes. Are you still going to tell me he's sick?'

I didn't reply.

'Because I saw him after he arrived over there. I saw him light up a big Havana and make some crack about how pretending to be off tobacco was the worst part of the job. He didn't avoid the physical because he was very sick; he avoided it because he didn't want us to know how strong he was.'

'I know,' I said, but Werner had to go on about it.

'That was just one small part of the deception plan. By letting us think he was sick, he avoided any risk of us giving him intensive interrogation. He was treated with silk gloves . . . '

'Kid gloves,' I corrected him.

'Just the way Fiona knew a sick man would be treated. She outwitted us at every turn. It's game, set and match to Fiona, Bernie. It's no good you trying to pick a quarrel with me — it's game, set and match to Fiona.'

'Don't keep saying the same thing over and over again,' I said.

'Don't keep saying the things
you don't like to hear
over and over again. That's what you mean, isn't it?'

'We came out of it intact,' I said. 'You're here, I'm here, and the Department is still putting our salaries into the bank. . . .'

'Face the truth, Bernie. See how fast her success has come. Do you remember that night we waited at Checkpoint Charlie in my old Audi? Zena was away somewhere and you were sleeping on my sofa. We were expecting Brahms Four to try. Remember? That was only a year ago, Bernie, and that was well before Fiona went over there. Look what she's done since then. Brahms Four is retired, Bret's economic department is closed down. She's smeared you so cleverly that it will take you years to get in the clear again. Bret's been facing some sort of enquiry. Stinnes stirred up all kinds of trouble for us with MI5 so that it may take years before the bad feeling is gone. And they've done it all so cheaply. Fiona is as arrogant and successful as I've ever seen a KGB senior grade officer — and I've seen plenty — while Stinnes is repatriated and will obviously use the knowledge and experience he's acquired to stage more operations against us. Face the facts, Bernie.'