Only I suppose you know all about that too, of course . . . God only knows how, but it's the sort of thing Colonel Frederick J.
Clinton would know, naturally."
dummy5
Roche said nothing. They were far off the script now, with the news that Audley owed d'Auberon this old debt of honour. And yet, even if Clinton hadn't known about it, it was a reasonable deduction that Audley had to owe the man something, to be entrusted with that life insurance.
Audley was frowning at him. "Only Clinton reckons I'd sell him out for a nice cosy job, organ-grinding . . ." he watched Roche narrowly for a moment, and then smiled—"A nicely-calculated temptation . . . but unfortunately an academic exercise now."
The big man's sudden brightness struck a chill in Roche.
"What d'you mean?"
"What do I mean!" Audley beamed at him. "I mean, my dear fellow, that for once Colonel Frederick J. Clinton has miscalculated. It's very sad really—here he is ... or here you are . . . offering me marriage—remarriage—with the old firm, and my past crimes forgotten . . . and maybe it is just possible that I might have sold dear old 'Tienne down the river in the process—who knows?" The smile became icy.
"But I must refuse—that's what I mean, Roche. Because I haven't got what you want."
“You haven't got it?"
"That's right. Twenty-four hours ago we just might have done business. But not now. You're a day too late, old boy."
Roche swallowed. "You've given it back?"
"Right again. The trip to Cahors yesterday wasn't to chat up dummy5
my rugger-playing Frog pals, it was to open my safe deposit there. 'Tienne dropped the word yesterday morning, before you arrived on the scene. And I dropped everything and got it, and gave it back to him last night before I came back to the Tower. That's why I was late ..." the hands spread eloquently again ". . . we had a jar or two for old times' sake. And that's why I was half-stoned when we first made our acquaintance—
I usually manage to stay more or less sober until sundown."
He paused. "The funny thing is ... we don't actually like each other. In fact ... we hate each other as only an Englishman can hate a good Frenchman. He has elevated ideas of honour, and the ancestors to go with it ... whereas I like to think that I'm a pragmatic sort of bastard, you know."
Bastard was right. The truth cut deep inside Audley, to confuse the Kipling-bred ideals.
"I can give you some idea of the contents, if that's what you want," said Audley lightly. "Free of charge, of course."
"You've read it?" Roche was beyond astonishment.
"My dear chap—I may be a good Samaritan, but I hope I'm not a complete idiot! Besides which, when 'Tienne took me in back in '44 he picked my brains something horrid to make sure I wasn't doing la belle France down, so fair's fair . . .
And, also besides which . . . if I'm required by old times' sake to sit on a bomb I like to know what sort of bomb it is... So I took a quick peek at it."
Roche could only stare at him.
dummy5
"The end part was still cyphered, or it may have been a report of some kind in a sort of appendix, I don't know. But the main body was a transcript—in French of course—of a series of meetings in the Kremlin . . . only it was all pretty much ancient history from last summer and autumn. Mostly Hungary, plus Suez."
The key material of the RIP sub-committee exactly, in short.
"What I'd guess. . ."Audley pursed his lips ". . . is that the French have got one of the special advisers in their pocket—
one of the experts they wheel in—probably an Eastern European specialist by the look of it. Quite a smart fellow, too."
"Yes?" said Roche huskily.
"Well, I didn't read the stuff carefully once I'd established it was private Franco-Russian history." Audley waved a hand.
"And in retrospect it wasn't all that explosive ... It was just that the Russians were shit-scared of what was happening in Eastern Europe then, and particularly Hungary, and they reckoned the West knew all about it ... In fact, they reckoned we were stirring it in order to give ourselves a free hand in Egypt, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it.
Hungary was so important to them that they more or less decided just to make loud noises about anything we did in the Middle East, but nothing more than that. In short, Nasser could take his chances, but if we moved one tank towards Hungary the balloon would go up ... Oh, and a fellow called Andropov was usually chairman."
dummy5
"Yuri Andropov?" Christ!
"Just Andropov. They didn't run to Christian names. Who's he?"
"He was their Hungarian ambassador. Top brass KGB." One of my bosses. "He probably organised the Hungarian business."
"Sounds like the chap. Anyway, that's about the sum of what I was able to read, if it's any help to you . . . Which I assume it isn't, because the Frogs must have passed a good deal of it on to your people by way of encouragement. And it's all ancient history now, as I say—" he stopped suddenly.
"Except . . . there's always the identity of their Moscow man, of course."
"The satellite specialist?"
"That was my guess. It could be one of several people, but it wouldn't be too difficult to track him down—just a matter of textual analysis and elimination . . . Is he what you're after?
Or the encyphered stuff?" Audley eyed him speculatively.
"But you'd need the full text, either way, and that's obviously what you want, judging by that sick look."
"Does d'Auberon know you looked at what he gave you?"
"I shouldn't wonder. He merely put me on my honour not to get it photocopied, that's all ... the transcripts and the encyphered stuff—you want 'em both, so one probably complements the other ..." Audley was thinking aloud.
"You didn't get it photocopied, by any chance?"
dummy5
Are you trying to be offensive? I told you—I owe the man my skin." All the same, Audley spoke mildly, as though he was only giving Roche half his attention while the other half was engaged in more important matters. "So what's your position now?"
Roche persisted. "My position?"
"Would you be willing to help me try and get it?" Audley stared at him vaguely. "That's what I'm thinking about at this precise moment."
"You mean . . . you would?"
"Oh yes. Now that I've given it back, and fulfilled my bargain, I don't owe the blighter anything. And I'd still like to be an organ-grinder, you know ..." He focussed on Roche. "How long have you known I had the d'Auberon stuff?"
"Why d'you want to know?"
"Not long?" Audley crushed the counter-question aside.
"Only a few days?"
"I'd guess . . . not very long," admitted Roche. "If you mean how long has Clinton known . . . But why d'you want to know?"
"Timing . . . it's the timing. You popped the question to me at the first opportunity—now, even before breakfast. So Clinton must be pushing you like hell, to go ahead. Am I right?"
Roche nodded. It was almost time to tell Audley about Meriel Stephanides, and the question mark beside Bradford's name.
But he might as well see how far Audley could get unaided.
dummy5
"Timing?" he prodded Audley gently.
"That's right: you were damn quick but you were still too late, Roche. Which means that my old friend 'Tienne knew the cat was out of the bag, and he didn't trust me to resist temptation any more. And that's only the beginning of it, by God! Don't you see, man?"