They went through another set of fire doors.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’
His guide offered him a sardonic look. Halfway along the corridor, he stopped and rapped twice on a door.
And River, all of a sudden, wished he’d left the parcel at reception. He’d not seen James Webb in eight months. For the year preceding that, they’d been all but inseparable. What made it a good idea to see him now?
White tee under a blue shirt. That’s what you said.
Apart from anything else, the urge to deck the bastard might prove overwhelming.
From inside the room a voice called a welcome.
‘In you go, sir.’
In he went.
It wasn’t as large as the office River shared with Sid, but it was a whole lot nicer. The wall to the right was book-shelved floor to ceiling, lined with colour-coded folders, while in front of him was a big wooden desk, which might have been carved from the hull of a ship. A pair of friendly-looking visitors’ chairs were placed in front of this, while behind it loomed a tall window that gave a view of the park, which was mostly muted browns right now, but would be glorious in spring and summer. Also behind it, in front of the view, sat James Webb; inevitably Spider.
… First time in eight months, though for the year preceding that they’d been all but inseparable. Friends wasn’t the word—it was both too big and too small. A friend was someone you’d go for a drink with; hang out with; share laughs. He’d done those things with Spider, but not because Spider was his first choice for doing them with; more because he’d spent days with Spider doing assault courses on Dartmoor, which had felt like it was going to be the most difficult part of training, until the days spent learning torture resistance techniques somewhere on the Welsh borders. Resistance techniques were taught slowly. Things had to be broken down before being built up again. Breaking down happened best in darkness. When you’d been through that, you wanted to be near others who’d been through it too. Not because you needed to talk about it, but because you needed your need not to talk about it to be shared by those you were with.
Friendship, anyway, was best conducted on level ground. Without the competitive undercurrent generated by the knowledge that they were in line for the same promotion.
White tee under a blue shirt. That’s what you said.
Fuck you, Spider.
So here he was, eight months later: no bigger, no wider, no different.
‘River!’ he said, getting to his feet, thrusting out a hand.
They were of an age, River Cartwright and James Webb, and similar sizes: both slim, with good bones. But Webb was dark to River’s sandy lightness, and Webb favoured smart suits and polished shoes, and looked like he’d stepped off a billboard. River suspected that for Spider, the worst parts of those assault courses had been staying muddy for days on end. Today he wore a charcoal two-piece with a faint chalk stripe and a grey shirt with a button-down collar, the obligatory splash of colour hanging round his neck. There was an expensive haircut not long in his past, and River wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’d stopped for a shave on his way in—paid someone else to do it, with a warm towel and flattering banter.
Someone who’d pretend to be a friend for as long as the moment lasted.
River ignored the outstretched hand. ‘Someone threw up on your tie,’ he said.
‘It’s a Karl Unger. Peasant.’
‘How have things been, Spider?’
‘Not bad. Not bad.’
River waited.
‘Takes getting used to, but—’
‘I was only being polite.’
Spider eased back into his chair. ‘Are you going to make this difficult?’
‘It’s already difficult. Nothing I do’ll make a difference.’ He surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on the bookshelf. ‘You keep a lot of hard copy. Why’s that?’
‘Don’t play games.’
‘No, seriously. What comes in hard copy?’ River looked from the shelves to the sleek, paperback-thin computer on the desk, then back. Then said: ‘Oh, no. Jesus. Don’t tell me.’
‘It’s above your pay grade, River.’
‘Are they job applications? They are, aren’t they? You’re doing applications.’
‘I’m not just doing applications. Have you any idea how much paperwork an organization the size of—’
‘Jesus, Spider. You’re HR. Congratulations.’
Spider Webb licked his lips. ‘I’ve had two meetings with the Minister this month already. How’s your career looking?’
‘Well, I don’t have an arse two inches in front of my nose, so my view beats yours.’
‘The laptop, River.’
River sat in one of the visitors’ chairs, and passed Webb the padded envelope. Webb produced a rubber stamp, and carefully affixed its mark.
‘Do you do it every morning?’
‘What?’
‘Change the date on your stamp.’
Webb said, ‘When I remember.’
‘The responsibilities of rank, eh?’
‘How’s the delightful Sidonie?’
River recognized an attempt to regain the high ground. ‘Not sure. She went swanning off this morning almost before she’d arrived. Didn’t show much dedication.’
‘She’s a bright officer.’
‘I can’t believe you just said that.’
‘She is.’
‘Maybe so. But Christ, Spider—bright officer? You’re not back at Eton, you know.’
Webb opened his mouth—to point out, River knew, that he hadn’t been at Eton—but came to his senses in time. ‘Did you have breakfast? We have a canteen.’
‘I remember the canteen, Spider. I even remember where it is.’
‘I don’t get called that any more.’
‘Not in your hearing, possibly. But face it—everybody calls you that.’
‘This is schoolboy stuff, River.’
‘Nyah nah-nah nyaah nyaah.’
Webb opened his mouth and closed it again. The padded envelope lay in front of him. He drummed his fingers upon it briefly.
River said, ‘My office is bigger than yours.’
‘Real estate’s cheaper that end of town.’
‘I thought the action took place upstairs. On the hub.’
‘I’m there a lot. Lady Di—’
‘She lets you call her that?’
‘You’re a laugh a minute, River. Lady Di—Taverner, she keeps me busy.’
River waggled an eyebrow.
‘I don’t know why I’m even bothering.’
River said, ‘You ever going to admit you made a mistake?’
Webb laughed. ‘You still on that?’
‘He was wearing a white tee under a blue shirt. That’s what you told me. Except he wasn’t, was he? He was wearing a blue tee under a—’
‘The guy was wearing what I said he was wearing, River. I mean, what, I get the colours the wrong way round and there just happens to be someone there, that exact moment, wearing what I said? Same general profile as the target? What are the odds?’
‘And the tape not working. Don’t forget the tape not working. What are the odds on that?’
‘EFU, River. Happens all the time.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘Equipment fuck-up. You think they dish out state-of-the-art gear for assessment ops? We’re up against budgetary constraints, River. You don’t want to get Taverner started on that—oh, but hang on, you won’t, will you? On account of you’re in Slough House, and the closest you’ll get to the inner circle is reading someone’s memoirs.’
‘There isn’t an acronym for that? RSM?’