'The client,' I said, 'is willing to deposit half the funds tomorrow into the Swiss account, and I'm to receive the other half on delivery, which is to be in Algiers. Is that all right with you, Charlie?'
'If you're willing to go there.'
'Oh, yes. Sign of good faith. The thing is, when can we deliver?'
Cone tried his first question. 'How soon do we have to do it?'
'As soon as we can.'
'I'll check with Samala.'
'Do that. Tell him we're only contracted for the nuclear warhead, not the whole NK-9 missile. Same price.'
'Warhead only.'
'Yes.'
He'd be hunched over the telephone, Cone, his back to the blizzard he lived in, had probably lived in since childhood, when he'd been abandoned or orphaned or in one of a hundred ways cast out, hunched over the telephone now in a small Berlin hotel wondering what London would do with this, wondering as I was what London would do. They could wreck Solitaire if they didn't get this thing absolutely right.
The figures on the dashboard clock flicked to 10:14. It would be a few minutes before we rang off and Cone hit the mast at Cheltenham and his voice came over the speaker at the Signals board and Carey or Matthews picked up the bit of chalk. Executive DIF 22:10 Berlin time reporting either as captive or surveilled, believed to have reached Nemesis centre, requests delivery of Miniver NK-9 warhead, see printout of DIF's briefing.
Croder would move in on a signal like this one or if he wasn't in the room then they'd page him and get him there, find him wherever he was. Croder had the soul of a piranha but he could think well, and there'd be a chance of keeping the mission alive until I could work as a free agent again and signal Cone and brief him. There'd be a chance but it was thin, terribly thin, because London might go for the obvious and decide to call in GSG- 9 in Frankfurt and the counter-espionage service in Algiers and stake out the delivery point and risk exposure and blow the whole thing.
'It could take a little time,' Cone said.
I used the chance. 'You'll have to cut corners, Charlie. I'm talking about – wait a minute, our client's here with me.' I turned to Klaus and I didn't put my hand over the mouthpiece. 'He says it can take a little time, so give me your deadline.'
He checked his watch. '19:15 hours tomorrow.'
'That's tight.'
'You offered me the missile.' His eyes were black now in the glow from the dashboard lights. 'If you can deliver it in that time, the deal is on. Not otherwise. Twenty-one hours.'
It suited me, because every minute I spent at the centre of Nemesis would be extending the risk of exposure; but I'd told him the deadline was tight because God knew how long it would take to persuade Army Ordnance to part with even an unarmed Miniver warhead casing. I was having to play the breaks as they came and make what choices I'd got: the longer I stayed with Nemesis the greater the risk, yes, but I was prepared to face that if the alternative was not to have delivery of the warhead made at all. I had to get it for Klaus if I could; I had to get closer to the deadline he'd been working on before I'd moved in; I had to know what he was planning to do before I could stop him.
'Charlie,' I said, 'the whole deal depends on the time of delivery, and that's our deadline: twenty-one fifteen hours, 19:15.'
'In Algiers.'
'In Algiers. So you'll have to cut corners, as I said. Do we want to lose a deal like this?
'No, if you put it that way.'
Cone's German was fluent and he'd heard Klaus making the deadline but he couldn't tell whether I needed delivery as fast as that for my own sake or whether I was forced to let Klaus pressure me like this because he could be sitting beside me holding a gun at my head.
In the cold night air I was beginning to sweat because all I wanted was the chance of sixty seconds on the phone with Cone in private, thirty seconds, Tell Control he's got to make the deadline with a dummy nuke and tell him that if he alerts GSG-9 or the Algerian counter-terrorist service he'll risk exposing me and blowing the mission, tell him that 2nd for God's sake make him understand.
It was all I wanted, thirty seconds, fifteen, enough time to protect the delivery scene and make it worth my while to stay inside Nemesis and talk to these people and get it right, watching every word, every gesture, every reaction, every expression, so that they wouldn't sense a trembling on the web.
'How long,' I asked Cone, 'will it take you to make the delivery?'
'I can't say. It -'
'You've got twenty-one hours, Charlie.'
'I can only do my best.'
'Then it's got to be good enough. You want to work with me again, you'll have to meet the deadline.'
'It's very short notice -'
'Charlie, are you listening to me? Get that item delivered on time or it's the last deal we do together, are you listening?'
There was no speech-code involved but I was giving him private information. I'd started to threaten him and he'd picked up on it and started raising doubts to see what I'd do, and I'd pressured him and given him an ultimatum and the message was clear enough now: I wanted him to make the delivery for my own reasons, because if Klaus had had a gun at my head I would have started raising doubts of my own, pointing out the difficulties to him and pleading for more time.
It had been all I could do to spell things out.
'I'll get moving on it, then,' Cone said. 'Where is the point of delivery?'
I looked at Klaus. 'Where do we deliver?'
'At Dar-el-Beida.'
The airport for Algiers.
'Who will receive the goods?
'Five men will be waiting in a black Mercedes 560 SEL at the north-east corner of No. 5 Maintenance Hangar at the airport at exactly 19:15 hours tomorrow.' He checked his watch again. 'I'm giving your partner an extra two minutes, which should please him.'
'Could make all the difference,' I said.
He gave a short laugh. 'We shall get on well together. I like your sense of humour.'
'We need a name,' I told him.
'When your people approach at that time, one of I the men in the car will get out and meet them. His name is Muhammad Ibrahimi. The parole for exchange will be… would you like to suggest something?'
The parole for exchange. That was the vernacular of the intelligence field. He'd been in Stasi intelligence, then, perhaps under the control of the KGB in former East Germany.
'Mushroom,' I said.
'I like that!' The short laugh. 'Mushroom, yes. The freight will be put into the boot of the car and the cash will be handed over immediately afterwards.'