“Ho ho. What’s he up to, Catherine?”
“He doesn’t tell me.” She seemed amused that River thought he might. “He does what he does. He doesn’t ask my permission.”
“But you’re closest to him.”
Her expression wavered not one inch.
“Geographically, I mean. You take his calls. You manage his diary.”
“His diary’s empty, River. Mostly he stares at the ceiling and farts.”
“It’s a captivating picture.”
“He smokes in there too. And it’s a government office.”
“We could make a citizen’s arrest.”
“We might want to practise on someone smaller.”
“I don’t know how you stand it.”
“Oh, I offer it up.” Fear flashed in River’s eyes. “Joke? He’d drive a saint to suicide, anyway. Frankly, whatever he’s up to, I’m just relieved he’s somewhere else.”
“He’s not at the Park,” River said. When Lamb was at the Park, he made sure everyone knew it. Probably hoping someone would break, and ask if they could come too. “But something’s up. He’s been weird. Even for Lamb.”
Lamb’s weirdness would pass for normality in other people. His phone had rung, and he’d answered it. He’d had Ho unfreeze his browser, which meant he’d been online. In fact, he’d given the impression of having a job to do.
“And he hasn’t said a word,” River said.
“Not one.”
“So you’ve no idea what’s lured him onto the streets.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Catherine said.
River studied her, an old-fashioned creature whose pale colouring spoke of an indoor life. Her clothes covered her wrist to ankle. She wore hats, for god’s sake. He guessed she was fiftyish, and until the business last year he hadn’t paid her much attention; there was little in a wall-hugging woman her age to interest an uptight man of his. But when things had turned nasty she hadn’t panicked. She’d even pointed a gun at Spider Webb—as had River. This shared experience made them fellow-members of a select club.
She was waiting for him to respond. He said, “Tell?”
“Who’s Lamb send for when he needs something?”
“Ho,” River said.
“Exactly. And you know how sound travels here.”
“You heard them talking?”
“No,” Catherine said. “That’s what was interesting.”
Interesting because Lamb was not in the habit of modulating his tones. “So whatever it is, it’s not for the likes of us.”
“But Roddy knows.”
It was also interesting that Catherine called Ho Roddy. Nobody else called Ho anything. He wasn’t someone you engaged in casual chat, because if you didn’t come with broadband, you weren’t worth his attention.
On the other hand, he currently possessed information River would like to share.
“Well then,” he said. “Let’s go talk to Roddy, shall we?”
“Nice,” said Min.
“Best you can do?”
“Spectacular, then. Better?”
“Much.”
They were on the seventy-seventh floor of one of the City’s newest buildings; a great glass needle that soared eighty storeys into London’s skies. And it was some room they were in, a huge one, yay metres long and woah metres wide, with floor-to-ceiling views to north and west of the capital, and then the wide space beyond, where the capital gave up and the sky took over. She could spend days in here, Louisa thought; not eating, not drinking; just taking in as much of the view as she could, in every weather, and all types of light. “Spectacular” didn’t come close.
Even the lift had been a thrilclass="underline" quieter, smoother and faster than any she’d known.
Min said, “Cool, wasn’t it?”
“The lift?”
“At Reception. The plastic cops.”
The security guys, who’d checked their Service ID with what Min had interpreted as awe and envy. Louisa thought it more the look state kids aimed at their public school counterparts: the age-old enmity of yobs v toffs. A long-time yob herself, she savored the irony.
She laid her palm against the glass. Then rested her forehead there. This brought a delicious feeling of safe vertigo; set a butterfly fluttering in her stomach, even while her brain enjoyed the view. Min stood by, hands in pockets.
“This the highest you’ve been?” she asked.
He gave her a slow look. “Duh, aeroplane?”
“Yeah, no. Highest building.”
“Empire State.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Twin Towers?”
She shook her head. “They were already gone when I was there.”
“Me too,” he said.
They were quiet for a while, watching London operate way below, thinking similar thoughts: of a morning when people in a different city had stood at greater heights, enjoying similar views from different windows, not knowing they’d never put their feet on the ground again; that the threads of their future had been severed with box cutters.
Now Min pointed, and following his finger she saw a speck in the distance. An aeroplane: not one of the liners leaving Heathrow, but a small, buzzy machine, ploughing its own furrow.
Min said, “I wonder how close they get?”
“You think it’s that important?” Louisa said. “This mini-summit? Big enough for a … replay?”
She didn’t have to specify what it would be a replay of.
After a while, Min said, “No, I guess not.”
Or it wouldn’t have been entrusted to them, Regent’s Park audit or not.
“Got to do it properly, though.”
“Look at all the angles,” she agreed.
“Else we end up looking bad even when nothing bad happens.”
“You think this is a test of some kind?”
“Of what?”
“Us,” she said. “Finding out if we’re up to the job.”
“And if we pass it, we get back to Regent’s Park?”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
This many people had made the return journey from Slough House to the Park: none. They both knew that. But like every slow horse before them, Min and Louisa hid secret hopes their story would be different.
At length she turned and surveyed the room. Still yay metres long and woah metres wide, it took up about half of the floor; the separate suite, also currently vacant, enjoying the views south and east. There was a shared lobby area where the smart lifts arrived; a third, the service lift, lay behind the stairwell, which was a vision of eternal descent. It passed floors and floors of high-end corporate offices, only some of which were yet occupied: the list in the folder Webb had provided included banks, investment companies, yacht salesmen, diamond merchants, a defence contractor. The tower’s lower third was a hotel, its grand opening scheduled for the following month. She’d read it was fully booked through the next five years.
Spider Webb must have called in favours, or opened some classified folders, to secure the suite for his meeting, a few weeks hence. Any part of town, a space like this commanded respect. This high up, it demanded awe. Kitchen and bathrooms aside, it was a single room, designed for business; its centrepiece a beautiful mahogany oval table big enough for sixteen chairs, which, if it hadn’t been larger than Louisa’s entire flat, she’d have coveted. But like the view, the table belonged to the moneyed. This wasn’t supposed to factor into her motivation, but still. Here they were, the pair of them, and they’d be ensuring the safety of some hotshot whose pocket change equalled twice their joint salaries.
Forget it, she thought. Not relevant. But couldn’t help saying: “Kind of flash for a discreet meeting.”