Lamb removed his cigarette from its nest and eyed it quizzically, as if hoping to find printed instructions. “Now, canning Cartwright’s not a bad idea. He’ll last longer. But what you were after was putting him in a position where he’d be inclined to prick his ears up when you threw a task his way, because we both know he’s still stupid enough to think that if he does you a favour you’ll do him one in return.”
“Instead of telling me what you think we both know, why don’t you tell me something I already don’t? Anything to make me feel this isn’t a colossal waste of my time.”
“How’s this? I’ve just heard Sid Baker’s missing. Which reminded me of something I shouldn’t have forgotten in the first place.”
“And what’s that?”
“That you’re a world-class mind-fucker.” He opened a drawer and scrabbled around in it with his free hand, which emerged with one of those pincer-like gadgets that remove staples. He clicked it a few times between finger and thumb, then, when it failed to produce a flame, tossed it over his shoulder. It missed Catherine by a good eighteen inches.
“How kind,” Taverner said. “You’re going to have to elucidate.”
“It’s Baker you had doing whatever it is you wanted doing. Putting the screws to Cartwright was your way of making sure she’d dance to your drum.” His hand was rummaging again. It found a pencil sharpener, of all things, which followed the staple remover. “And whatever that was, it’s gone banana-shaped, because I’ve just had your kennel-boss on the dog and bone. See what I did there? Seems those angry dogs you mentioned are off the leash in Oxford.”
“Funnily enough, the world is full of people who report to me before they report to you. So if that was your idea of telling me something I don’t know, try harder.”
“No, that was me filling in the background. Now you tell me something I don’t know. What Baker’s been doing and where she is now.”
“And why should I tell you that?”
Lamb said, “Because she was working out of Slough House when she got shot in the head, and at no time since has she been reassigned. Which means she’s one of mine, Diana. You want me to go into detail?”
After a pause, Taverner said, “She was running an errand. Nothing complicated. If any harm’s come to her, it’s because she’s tripped over her own laces or walked into a door. You don’t really expect me to check an agent’s apron strings every time she leaves the premises, do you?”
“That depends what you’ve tied the other end to. It wouldn’t be the first time you used a tiger as a tethering post.” His hand was back in the drawer, and this time came out with a matchbox. He opened it one-handed, his thumb pushing the cardboard tray free. “And I’m—what the fuck is this?”
“What’s what?”
“A tooth. Why is there a tooth in a matchbox? In my own desk drawer? I’m going to sack somebody one of these days.” He tossed the matchbox over his shoulder. “Call the Dogs off, Diana. And whatever your errand is, wrap it up.”
Taverner said, “I’ll call mine off if you call yours home. I’m trying to keep the nation safe, Jackson. That’s my job. Yours is keeping your bunch of retreads off the streets and out of sight, where the rest of us can be reasonably sure they’re not pissing in the well.”
She disconnected.
Lamb looked at Catherine, who was collecting something from the floor in the far corner. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. People can be so rude.”
“I’ll survive.” She straightened up. “Is Sid really missing?”
“Well, our finest minds seem to think so. So she’s likely at home reading the paper. On the other hand, Cartwright and Guy breaking into that safe house has flown a kite.” He regarded his unlit cigarette bitterly. “Mind you, they’ve probably trodden shit into the carpet. I should really just let them take a kicking.”
Back by his side, Catherine held her hand out and he extended a palm. She dropped four lighters into it. “Did you really just threaten First Desk?” she said.
“Me? Course not, I’m housetrained. Everyone knows that.”
“Who was it made the complaint about her?”
“Her PA.”
“Roddy found that out?”
“Nah, but it’s obvious. I was her PA, I’d dob her in just as a change from spitting in her coffee.” He lit his cigarette at last, coughed madly, stubbed it out, stood, stretched, and farted again almost inaudibly. “I’m off for a dump. You were so close, by the way.” He nodded towards the free-standing bookcase under which a tattered rug had rucked, before inserting a hand into the waistband of his trousers and scratching vigorously as he left the room.
Catherine found her final missing document under the rug.
“I’ve got this under control,” River said, cutting across both lanes, much to the anguish of his tyres, other road users and local wildlife. Louisa was busy watching her life unspool on her eyelids, and had just reached the part where the Spice Girls split when she was aware of a sharp turn as they departed the A40, a softer exit than departing this life would have been had River made his manoeuvre half a second earlier or later, courtesy of, respectively, a Tesco delivery lorry and an airport coach. The car took another steep curve and hit a straight River maintained for about seven heartbeats before peeling right then left with barely a pause between. There was a bump from beneath the car Louisa hoped was nothing organic, and the road surface became a rough crustiness.
Then everything stopped.
She opened her eyes to find they’d ploughed through an open gate into a field, the car now obscured from the road by a hedge, the way cartoon mobsters might evade pursuing police. She looked at River, who interpreted this as admiration. “That went well.”
The world outside had gone quiet. Possibly it was faking its own death. Louisa loosened her grip on the door handle, surprised it didn’t come off in her hand. “Where are we?”
“Oxford’s that way.” He indicated the rear of the car, though Louisa was sure they’d come through 180 degrees since leaving the main road. “Anyway, we’ve lost them. The Dogs.”
“Great. If they didn’t know who we are, and didn’t currently have possession of my car, you could argue we’ve got away.”
“Okay, fine. We’ll have explaining to do. But we can get on with finding Sid.”
Rattled, she wound her window down, and was struck by the feeling city dwellers get when they’re somewhere apparently remote: that she was supposed to like this kind of thing, the smell of grass and the buzz of insects. Even the background motorway hum had a country feel to it, traffic unaccompanied by drum or bass.
River said, “Sorry about your car. We’ll collect it tomorrow. After I’ve found out who sent Sid to that safe house. Though I can guess.”
“Taverner.”
“Who else? Last time Sid got caught up in one of her webs—yeah, we both know what happened.” He started the engine. “She’d better not be up to fun and games again, that’s all. Let’s go.” A large black SUV pulled into the field, blocking their exit. “Fuck.”
The Dogs emerged from their vehicle with a macho swagger they’d spent hours perfecting back at the Park. Both wore dark jeans, dark jackets; both, Louisa thought, would have pull strings in their backs. Let’s see some ID. Keep your hands where I can see them. They kicked up dust approaching the car, from ground that was clodded and clumped.
To River, she said, “Let’s take this as gently as possible, yeah?”
“They’ve got no authority here.”
“They don’t need authority, River. They’re pissed off.”
“So am—”
“Stay in the car.”
She got out, wishing she had more than the trainers on her feet. A couple of hand grenades, for instance, would have been nice. “Good afternoon,” she said.