‘The service is bad everywhere,’ said Anselm.
‘Same place in two days.’
‘Kael’s all paranoia,’ said Anselm, ‘but Serrano doesn’t seem to give a shit.’
Tilders nodded, flicked back a piece of pale hair that fell down his forehead, separated into clean strands. ‘It appears like that.’
Anselm took the photograph of the man with the missing finger joints down the corridor, knocked. Baader swivelled from his monitor.
Anselm held out the photograph. ‘Calls himself Spence.’
Baader glanced. ‘Jesus, now you’re playing with the katsas?’
‘Katsas?’
‘His name’s Avi Richler. He’s a Mossad case officer.’
‘Thank you.’
Anselm went back to his office. Tilders put another tape in the machine, watched the digital display, pressed a button.
Serrano: Richler wants the details. He knows about Falcontor. Bruynzeel too Kaeclass="underline" The cunts, the fucking cunts.
Serrano: I said that to him. He says it’s about our personal safety.
Kaeclass="underline" They must have holes in their fucking heads if…Jesus.
Serrano: Well, who brought in the Jews? This boat is making me sick.
Kaeclass="underline" Don’t be such a child. What could be in the papers?
Serrano: Lourens said to me at the Baur au Lac in ’92 when we were meeting the fucking Croatians, he was snorting coke, he said people who betrayed him would have a bomb go off in their faces. He was paranoid you understand… Kaeclass="underline" In the papers? What?
Serrano: I don’t know. I told Shawn to take anything he could find. There could be instructions. Notes maybe, things he wrote down. There’s nothing on paper from us. Not directly.
Kaeclass="underline" What do you mean not directly?
Serrano: Well, obviously he would have had proof of some deposits I made.
Kaeclass="underline" Your name would be on them?
Serrano: Are you mad? The names of the accounts the deposits came from.
Kaeclass="underline" How secure is that?
Serrano: As it can be.
Kaeclass="underline" And this film?
Serrano: I told you. He said he’d found a film, someone came to him with a film, it was dynamite. He said, tell them it’s Eleven Seventy, they’ll fucking understand. That was when he wanted us to go to the Americans to solve his problem.
Kaeclass="underline" Eleven seventy? And you didn’t ask what it meant?
Serrano: He was shouting at me, you couldn’t ask him anything. And he was on a mobile, it kept dropping out. I couldn’t catch half of what he said.
Kaeclass="underline" You set this up, you’re the fucking expert who’s left us turning in the wind, you should fucking know better than… Serrano: Christ, Werner, he was your pigeon. You brought him to me. You’re the one who said the Sud-Afs were like cows waiting to be milked, stupid cows, you’re… Kaeclass="underline" You should shut up, you’re just a… Serrano: Calm down.
Kaeclass="underline" Don’t tell me to calm down.
A long silence, the sounds of the ferry, something that sounded like a series of snorts, followed by laboured breathing.
Silence, sounds of movement, a cough.
Kaeclass="underline" Paul, I’m sorry, I get a bit too excited, this is a worrying… Serrano: Okay, that’s okay, it’s a problem, we have to think. Richler wants an answer today.
Kaeclass="underline" You know what they want to do, don’t you?
Serrano: Maybe.
Kaeclass="underline" They want to tidy up. And they want the assets.
Serrano: These boats, I’m not getting… Kaeclass="underline" Tell him we agree but it’ll take time. Seventy-two hours at least.
Serrano: Where does that get us?
Kaeclass="underline" They’ll have this prick by then. If what he’s got is bad for us, we’re possibly in trouble. If not, we haven’t handed them our hard work on a plate.
Serrano: You don’t actually think he’ll believe me?
Kaeclass="underline" Of course he won’t. But they won’t take a chance.
Tilders switched off. ‘That’s it,’ he said.
‘Good bug,’ said Anselm. ‘You’re doing good work.’
‘Another put and take…’ Tilders shook his head.
‘If you can’t, you can’t. We don’t want to spook anyone.’
Tilders nodded. His pale eyes never left Anselm’s, spoke of nothing.
29
…LONDON…
‘THere’s money in my account I know nothing about,’ said Caroline. ‘Ten thousand pounds.’
Colley was looking at her over the Telegraph, narrow red eyes, cigarette smoke rising. ‘Wonderful, darling,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised you noticed. Perhaps mummy popped it in.’
‘The bank says it’s a transfer from the Bank of Vanuatu. An electronic transfer.’
‘Electronic money. Floats in cyberspace, falls anywhere, at random. Like old satellites. Finders keepers. Congratulations.’
‘I’m declaring it to Halligan, I’m handing it over.’
He lowered the paper. ‘Are you? Yes, well, that’s probably a sound thing to do. In theory.’
‘In theory?’
‘Well, it may be a bit late to develop principles. After you’ve played the bagwoman.’
Caroline wasn’t sure what he was saying. She had no anger left, it had taken too long to get the bank to tell her where the money had come from. The blood drained from her face. She was no longer certain that she knew what had happened. But she had a strong feeling about what was happening now and she felt cold.
‘I’ve been set up,’ she said. ‘You know about this, don’t you?’
Colley shook his head. He had an amused expression. His strange hairs had been combed with oil and his scalp had a damp pubic look.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But if you’re unhappy, that probably stems from something unconnected with the present situation. It could come from realising that you’re just a pretty vehicle, a conduit. Something people ride on. Or something stuff flows though.’
She had no idea what he was talking about. ‘I’ve been set up.’
‘You’ve said that, sweetheart. Remember? Not too much nose-munchies with the public schoolboys last night? All I know is you came to me with a proposition involving paying someone for something that we could make a lot of money out of. I told you that the right thing to do was to go to Halligan. I said I wanted nothing to do with your proposal.’
He opened a drawer, took out a flat device. ‘You’re out of your depth here. Like to hear the tape?’
Caroline felt the skin on her face tighten, her lips draw back from her teeth of their own accord. She turned and left the room without saying anything, went down the corridor, through the newsroom. In her cubicle, door shut, she sat at the desk with her eyes closed, clenched hands in her lap.
Out of your depth.
Her father had said those words, those words were in her heart. The image came to her of her toes trying to find the bottom of the pool, toes outstretched, nothing there, the water in her mouth and nose, smell of chlorine. She could still smell chlorine anywhere, everywhere, smell it in the street, anywhere, any hint of it made her feel sick. Her father had used the phrase that day when she was a little girl wan from vomiting and he had repeated it every time she failed at anything.
She shut the memory out, stayed motionless for a long time. Then she opened her eyes, pulled her chair closer to the desk, and began to write on the pad.
Out of her depth? Go to Halligan and tell him the whole story? Who was going to be believed? Colley had a doctored tape. She had no hope.