The army disappeared over the brow of the hill as he spoke, its place being taken an instant later by the Porsche. 'What d'you mean?'
'I mean — ' he hated the next bit ' — maybe your Mr Jaggard hasn't been so slow off the mark after all. If he had any sort of informal contact with their new man in the embassy, and they have any sort of idea what Lukianov might be up to ... They might have suggested that a military presence in this general area would be prudent, even if they don't know the exact map reference. Just vehicles and men swanning around would be enough . . . Not that it matters, either way — whether it's just our good luck or Henry being smart. It amounts to the same thing, because Lukianov won't know which. But he'll have to assume the worst — at least for the time being.'
dummy1
They breasted the hilltop in turn, and for a moment the countryside was spread out below them: a rich landscape fading into the rain-mist, as deceptively peaceful now as it would have seemed in those other treacherous times when the quadrilateral castles had been garrisoned to protect it from the Welsh — when Moscow had been no more than a muddy provincial town and the Middle East "the Holy Land" of exotic crusading legend.
Then the rearmost of the army vehicles disappeared from sight among the trees and hedgerows, and the countryside closed in again on them as they descended on to the valley floor.
'Anyway, as long as we're behind them — ' An idea struck him, out of nowhere, as he broke the silence to reassure her, cutting him short.
The idea blossomed, as he tested it —
(They were slowing down now, because Mitchell had been again forced to slow down himself, at the tail-end of the convoy, which had itself telescoped into what must have been its original compactness before the traffic jams around Monmouth had opened it out. And, sooner or later on this twisty road, long before they reached the main road near Ewyas Harold, it would surely have to stop altogether. And that would be the moment —)
'Mary . . . whatever they're doing here — the military . . .'
He completed the test as he spoke: whether he was right or dummy1
wrong — or half-right, half-wrong, or whatever . . . and even if these really were the last days of Audley, if he was wrong, it didn't matter. Just as it didn't matter whether this military presence was due to Henry Jaggard or pure fluke.
'Most likely, if Jaggard hasn't had them ordered in, then they'll be on their way to an exercise in the Black Mountains.' He stared at her. 'So ... why don't we pull rank and cancel their exercise?'
'What —?'
'Cancel their exercise. Put 'em into Maerdy Castle, as their headquarters. Patrols out — ten-mile radius.' He nodded enthusiastically. 'If Lukianov is still loose, there has to be some sort of emergency still in force. And if I'm right about Richardson and his spade, and a Spetsnaz arms dump . . .
Charlie Renshaw said we weren't to cause any trouble. So this way we'll be preventing trouble —Lukianov trouble and Russian trouble, Mary.'
She thought for a moment, 'If you are right. . . But, if you aren't?'
'Then I shall have egg on my face.' It would be Henry Jaggard who would have to accept the egg officially, that was what she was thinking. And while that only made the idea more attractive to him it would hardly further her career. 'You can blame me.'
'I'm not thinking about blame.'
He kicked himself. 'No — of course. You're thinking about dummy1
Lukianov — quite rightly.' He nodded. 'Just as I am thinking also of Berlin. And Capri, too.' That was a better line. 'And Peter Richardson, Miss Franklin.'
She stared at the car in front, without answering.
They slowed down to a snail's-pace now, crawling past a derelict little cottage, boarded up and forlorn, but still with the last flowers of autumn colouring its overgrown garden.
'No.' Mary Franklin came to a decision. 'If the Russians aren't in any hurry ... we can arrange matters better from Hereford, Dr Audley.'
They stopped altogether.
Audley also came to a decision. 'Well, on my head be it, then.'
It was just like with Elizabeth: when you were out of a car you were free. But he had to move quickly once again, before the convoy started up again. Even as it was, he could only see the two rearmost trucks, stationary on the bend ahead of the Porsche.
Mitchell lowered his window. 'What the hell are you doing, David?'
The bend was a stroke of luck: there was no way Mitchell could overtake the army here. 'You stay put, Paul.'
He could feel the rain on his face as he approached the caped and goggled motor-cyclist at the side of the truck.
'Where's your officer?'
The motor-cyclist pointed at the truck.
dummy1
Audley walked round the truck. If there was an officer in it, he wouldn't be driving. Along the road now he could see several more vehicles, including a Jeep-like one with his hood up against the rain. It seemed more likely that the officer would be there, but he decided to start with the motor-cyclist's silent directions.
He banged the rain-smeared window. 'Open up!'
The window came down slowly, revealing a young fresh-faced soldier in a combat jacket and a beret with the Mercury-figure badge of the Royal Signals. 'Yes, sir?'
No indication of rank. But the voice was educated. 'Are you an officer?'
'No, sir. Corporal, sir.' The good old army smells of oiled metal and wet clothes accompanied this information. 'Can I help you?'
'What unit are you?'
'Royal Signals — TA.' As though to support the corporal, a radio in the cabin began to crackle. 'Can I help you, sir?'