"That's right. In return for letting him back into the service—
with promotion backdated, and all that . . . That was what they were banking on all along, of course . . . But I'm inclined dummy5
to think it wouldn't have been quite as straightforward as that
—"
" Audley had one of the copies?" Genghis Khan was still struggling with information which plainly astonished him.
Well—so much the better! An astonished Genghis Khan was almost as vulnerable as a wasp-stung one.
"You didn't know that? He owed d'Auberon a big favour, from back in '44, during the war—d'Auberon saved his life apparently, and this was the repayment . . . And that's why it might have been difficult, getting him to sell the man out to the British. I think it could have been done. . . strictly in d'Auberon's best interest, you know, now that the cat's out of the bag." It struck Roche as ironic that the arguments he might have used on Audley were almost identical with those Audley was proposing for d'Auberon. "It might have worked." It might have worked with Audley, anyway; but the very fact Audley wanted him to do the dirty work with d'Auberon, with no mention of his part in the plan, cast further doubt on it now. "You didn't know Audley had a copy, then?"
He listened to his own words, and they were still exactly the right mixture of arrogance and obsequiousness.
"What has he done with the documents?" It was to Genghis Khan's credit that his voice was back in neutral so quickly.
"He's given them back—d'Auberon asked for them. That's what I've been trying to tell you. I don't think I was intended dummy5
to be in on the d'Auberon part of the operation—I suspect they were going to get Audley to London, and then pop the question to him there. But someone's been talking, and the British had to accelerate things . . . and I was here, on the spot. . . But they were still just a few hours too late, as it turned out. That's my reading of what's happened—especially after Meriel Stephanides ran out of road."
At once, and quite naturally, the question he had left behind appeared in front of him again, like an open goal-mouth rewarded to him by attacking play. "Which reminds me . . .
you never did get round to filling me in on that little matter, did you? Or do I have to settle for a tragic accident?"
The children were back on the road again, chasing the dog, which still had the ball clenched between its jaws.
"Well?" In this changed situation the man's silence emboldened him to press his advantage. "I can't stand here forever like a spare prick, old boy. Either brief me or de-brief me, or let me go and try my luck with Clinton's man—he'll be a damned sight more forthcoming than you are, I hope."
The dog dropped the ball between its paws and taunted the children noisily. At least it was enjoying the game more than the man in the van..
"He-gave-it-back?" Genghis Khan spaced the words with doubt.
"D'Auberon asked for it back. So he gave it back." Roche shrugged at the children. "What's so surprising about that?"
dummy5
"You're sure he had it?" Doubt still nagged at Genghis Khan.
"He wasn't bluffing?"
"Why the hell should he be bluffing?" Roche decided to become irritable. "Clinton's man said he had it—that was what they were banking on, I told you. And he certainly knew all about it, because he'd looked at it—"
"He'd looked at it?"
"Oh—come on!" He let the irritation flare into anger. "This is Audley we're talking about—not a bloody Sunday School teacher! Do you seriously think a nosey bastard like Audley could resist looking at it? Of course he bloody-well did!"
Roche was no longer frightened: Genghis Khan stung into any sort of emotion was thereby further diminished. "That is the point—what sort of man Audley is ... that's what Avery and Clinton set me to find out, because everything else was plain sailing, they thought— they thought he wanted to come back, and they were right . . . and they knew he had the d'Auberon papers, even though they didn't know time was running out on them . . . But they also knew from past experience that Audley's a difficult and contradictory bastard, and if they sent down someone stupid to make the contact—like the time before—then he just might get bloody-minded again, out of sheer perversity . . ."
There were children's cries in one ear, and only the wasps'
endless buzzing in the other.
"He's a Jekyll-and-Hyde character, that's why. It was Dr Jekyll who took the papers, because he owed d'Auberon a dummy5
debt he had to repay, as a matter of honour. . . and it was Mr Hyde who looked at them, to protect himself— and to see how valuable they were."
"What did he make of them?" Genghis Khan slashed the question at him instantly.
"He thought they were ancient history. But I think Clinton was right—he would have done a deal with us. Mr Hyde would have out-voted Dr Jekyll." It occurred to Roche belatedly that Genghis Khan might not know Jekyll and Hyde from Laurel and Hardy; he was probably an illiterate sod.
"Yes. Clinton . . .Clinton. . ." Genghis Khan was speaking to himself, nodding to himself in the darkness in there, whispering the name of the man whom he saw as his real adversary.
"That's right," Roche encouraged him. "Audley was the key—
Clinton knew that." If Genghis Khan fancied he understood Clinton, his own stock-in-trade was understanding Audley, and he must press that advantage to the full. "Maybe he still is the key."
"What do you mean? If he no longer has the documents—?"
"Yes. . .But without them I'm never going to get on to the Eighth Floor, alongside Clinton. Turning in Audley won't be enough by itself—I'd guess that Sir Eustace Avery has set his heart on getting those papers, and he's not the man to reward failure. Nor is Clinton." This was a language Genghis Khan dummy5
understood only too well, not least because his own superiors spoke it even more implacably; and in another moment, after Roche had hooked them both together, he would understand it even better.
"So?" Genghis Khan accepted the cold logic so far.
"So this is where I need your help, old boy. And rather quickly, I suspect. Because if I can get my hands on d'Auberon's little nest egg, then we win hands down—I can make a copy of them for you and I get my promotion to where you want me to be. But if I can't, then I'm pretty damn sure someone else soon will. And then we shall both be in trouble, I think—eh?"
He was aware, as he delivered the final threat, which was barbed to lodge irremovably in Genghis Khan's soul, that he was raising his voice against all the competing noises—the dog (which had at last lost the ball), and the children, and the wasps, and the awakening town itself.
"Audley's got a plan, you see," said Roche. "Only I don't think it will work. What I need to know is whether you can maybe make it work."
"Audley has a plan? What plan?"
Roche drew a breath. "Oh . . . just a simple little mixture of bluff and bribery. He's a ruthless bastard, Audley is: now Dr Jekyll has paid his debt, Mr Hyde is in charge."
"Go on."
Roche decided to try again. "Just who did kill Miss dummy5
Stephanides, by the way?"
The dog and the children had gone again. Only the wasps, his friends and allies, buzzed on regardless.
"I do not know for sure. I can guess, but I do not know, David."
The 'David' surprised Roche. "Then guess for me."
"No. There is no time for guessing. It will be attended to—be satisfied with that. Go on."
Roche was past arguing. Also, there was a horrible thought rising inside him, like a bloated corpse which had freed itself from the weight of his illusions about the British: it was only Steffy's death which gave substance to Audley's bluff, and if the Comrades weren't responsible for that, could it be that Clinton—?