Audley had tightened his jaw, but it had fallen again.
‘“Dunsterforce”—? You’re joking!’
‘Before he dies.’ Panin nodded. ‘But our job is to see that he doesn’t die, David.’
9
Audley didn’t say a word as they trudged back the way they had come, until they reached the top of the descending fold from which they’d first spotted Russian-occupied Mountsorrel Castle. Then he turned and waved across at Panin, who was already halfway up the main ridge, and murmured darkly to himself.
Tom watched the Russian acknowledge the wave. ‘What was that, David?’
Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Audley lowered his arm. ‘I said “You crafty son-of-a-bitch”.’ He turned away and started walking again without another word.
Tom accelerated after him. ‘Can it be true?’ he shouted at the big man’s back.
‘Can what be true?’ Audley returned the question over his shoulder while lengthening his downhill stride.
‘About Zarubin—’ Tom broke into a trot ‘—Zarubin’s father—?’
‘Oh yes… huh. ’ Audley was already on the edge of the boggy ground again, and as regardless of it as before. ‘ Anything can be true of that swine Zarubin. He’s ex-Special Division, Second Directorate, from way back—’ He sneezed suddenly, but didn’t miss a splashing step ‘— from way back—’ Another sneeze ‘—
COMECON-Warsaw Pact expert… I first caught a whiff of Zarubin in ’68, in Czechoslovakia, but he dates back to Budapest in ‘56, when he commanded a snatch-and-exterminate squad as a young captain… So he must be a man who loves his work… Could be anything from forty-five to fifty-five, I suppose… But a natural for post-Solidarity Poland, anyway—got exactly the pedigree for that sort of dirty work. No bloody surprise there, by God!’
There was water in Tom’s shoes, he could feel it squelch between his toes as he tried to catch up with Audley beyond the bog. ‘But, David—’
‘Surprising over here, though—at least, to me.’ Audley stopped with so little warning that Tom overshot him, and had to turn to face him. ‘What about these “Sons of the Eagle”, so-called? Who the hell are they, Tom?’
Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State
‘I don’t know.’ It was useless to pretend. ‘I’ve never heard of them.’
Audley frowned. ‘But you’re the bloody expert—’ The frown deepened ‘—aren’t you?’
‘I’m not an expert on Polish affairs, David.’
For an instant Audley stared him out of countenance. “Then why the hell did they give you to me?‘
Only the obvious answer presented itself. ‘To guard your back.’
“That won’t do. Any plug-ugly could do that.‘ Audley shook his head. ’You’re still too much of a coincidence, Tom—that’s what you are!‘
The obvious and official answer lay between them like a dead fish on the deck, past its last gasp. ‘Then I honestly don’t know, David.
You can believe me or not—’ An alternative answer came to him ‘
— but if you thought I was an expert… just because of my mother… then you’re wrong. So maybe someone else made the same mistaken assumption—?’
‘Hmm…’ Audley’s mouth twitched. ‘That, at least, has the ring of incompetence! But it also means that someone on our side is engaged in some convoluted nonsense—’ Another twitch ‘—which also rings a bell, eh?’
Tom felt his brain race even as he put his face into neutral and let his mouth lie. ‘I don’t know about that either, David. But my job is to look after you, as best I can.’ Yet the trouble was, while he could remember exactly what Jaggard had said, there was that part of him which was asking again, and more insistently, whose side Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State are you on, Tom Arkenshaw?
Audley found a grin somewhere. ‘Well, if you do that I guess I can’t grumble. And if Panin’s telling the truth, then you don’t have too much to worry about.’
But that only reminded Tom of his own unanswered question. ‘I mean, is he telling the truth—about Zarubin’s father, David?’
‘Hah!’ Audley wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Well, at least that could be true—yes!’ Audley started to swing away from him again. ‘Let’s go! He’s going to get to the next rendezvous before us as it is, damn it! How far is it—to this place of his, where the Eagles have landed—?’
‘I don’t know—’ Audley was past him already ‘—until I see the map in the car… But, David—“Dunsterforce”— what was that?’
‘Huh! You may well ask, boy!’ Audley half-chuckled, half-growled over his shoulder. ‘That’s a thing of beauty, that is—fact improving on fiction, and heaping irony on the top of it: the only reason no one remembers Dunsterforce today is because no one combines all the talents of Kipling and Buchan and Le Carre…
God! But I’d have loved to be there!’ Sniff. ‘Or probably I wouldn’t, with the way the Cabinet chickened out—chickened out after Wilson chickened out, admittedly, in spite of Cabot Lodge doing his best…’
‘Wilson?’ Tom was half-breathless again. ‘Harold Wilson—?’
‘Jesus Christ, no!’ Audley’s stride lengthened again. ‘ President Wilson, I’m talking about—1919, 1920ish… 1920, it would have been. The idea was to get the Americans into the Black Sea, after Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State the Russian Revolution, rather as we got them into Greece after the last war… Bryce—Lord Bryce—put it to Cabot Lodge, and Cabot Lodge swung the Senate. But Wilson wouldn’t play. So poor old General Dunsterville was left out on a limb down in the back of beyond, on the Caspian Sea. Which, of course, he’d always expected to be—lovely man, Lionel Dunsterville! Spoke even more languages than you do, Tom… But I suppose I can hardly expect you to know anything about his romantic little fiasco—not while your Polish ancestors were beating the daylights out of Trotsky outside Warsaw, anyway.’
Tom’s confusion increased. Panin’s parting aside about
‘Dunsterforce’ had gone over his head, and now Audley’s
‘Dunsterville’ merely followed it.
And he was falling behind again—
‘David—’
‘It’s all true, though—“Dunsterforce”—’ It was as though the old man had five-league boots ‘—however unlikely it sounds. In fact, that’s almost certainly where the Navy story comes from, which sounds apocryphal but is probably just as true—about the fish jam… long before my time, or yours… Long before my father’s time—more like my grandfather’s time!’
Tom had just managed to reach his shoulder, but breathlessness and fish jam left him speechless.
‘The trouble is… yes, the only trouble is—’ A growling note entered Audley’s voice ‘—that that bastard son-of-a-bitch back there knows all too damn well that I, of all people, am most likely Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State to swallow any Dunsterforce story—fish jam and all—’ He pointed ahead. ‘But there’s the car, anyway.’ Once again he stopped without warning and faced Tom. ‘So what do we do, then? No time for your beloved back-up now, not even if I agreed to it. Which I don’t.’ He grinned unhelpfully.
A memory came to Tom, but equally unhelpfully, of Willy’s golden head on the pillow next to his. Willy had ‘had help’, she had said, in getting into his room last night. And the Company would never have sent her so far from home alone, that wasn’t their way—that way, at least, they were careful. So Willy and her Help were maybe ten miles away, and maybe half-an-hour, from Farmer Bodger’s farmyard at this moment; and that was the nearest thing he had to any sort of back-up. But neither Audley nor Jaggard would thank him for calling the 7th Cavalry out on Exmoor.