“Good Lord! You mean they can’t see beyond their own personal well-being?”
“Achh!” Chatham spat, throwing his hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter, man. We don’t have any better ideas about where to send these Americans. At least this way it makes the pompous ninnies think we’re doing something for them.”
“Do you think they can find the weapon, assuming it’s even there?”
“No. We were briefed at Number 10. This equipment is very limited. Give them a stadium or a small neighborhood to look in and they’ll find it. But a city the size of London? Not a sausage.”
A slightly built man knocked on the open door. He had a plethora of identification badges hanging around his neck, and Chatham thought he resembled a small bird with delightful plumage around the breast. Then he remembered. The name escaped him, but this was the very competent fellow who headed up Grounds Security at the Yard.
“Inspector, we’ve got a visitor who’d like a word with you.”
“David Slaton, perhaps?” Dark offered wryly.
“No,” the security man replied humorlessly. “He says his name is Anton Bloch. He seemed to think that would mean something to you.”
Chatham imploded in disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking!”
The man shrugged, “He’s sitting on a bench in the main lobby, between a pimp and a solicitor. Shall I send him down?”
Chatham looked at Dark, whose expression held equal parts excitement and puzzlement. There was only one answer. “Immediately!”
The two Scotland Yard men exchanged pleasantries with the stocky, serious Israeli. Ian Dark, lacking an invitation to stay, made a discreet exit, closing the door on his way out. Chatham offered Bloch a chair and the two men sat facing one another awkwardly. Chatham decided a touch of hospitality might be the right thing.
“Can I send for some coffee or tea?” he offered, not sure which they took in Israel.
“No, thank you,” Bloch said, “I just finished an eight-hour flight and I was swilling caffeine the whole time. Frankly, I’d like to get straight to business.”
Chatham made no argument as Bloch cast a suspicious eye around the room. “Is this place secure?”
The question took Chatham by surprise. “Secure? This is Scotland Yard, man.” Chatham saw that his guest seemed less than convinced, so he tried to remember what Dark had told him about that sort of thing. “Yes, they … ah, what was the word now …”
“Sweep?”
“Right, that’s it. They sweep the place with some sort of electronic contraption. Every day, I’m told. I suppose one can never be too careful.”
Chatham saw doubt creep in to Bloch’s face, but it seemed to disappear when he asked, “Does anyone in your government know you’re here?”
“No,” Bloch admitted, “aside from the two pilots who flew me in. And I should tell you,” he added sheepishly, “I entered your country this morning with a … a less than accurate passport. Sorry.”
Chatham dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “What’s brought you here? In particular, why Scotland Yard and not the Foreign Office, or something along those lines?”
“I’ll have to explain further, Inspector. You see, I’m no longer the Director of Mossad. I was forced to resign earlier today.”
“Going down with your Prime Minister’s ship, eh?”
“So to speak,” Bloch grumbled. “My resignation is not public record. We keep these things to ourselves for a number of reasons, but I don’t mind if you want to pass it on to your MI-6.”
Chatham nodded in appreciation of the gesture.
“Inspector, I’m here to help you find that second weapon.”
“I see. And where exactly did it come from?”
“As we explained yesterday to your ambassador in Tel Aviv, the weapons were South African. Beyond that …” Bloch hedged. “Inspector, I don’t represent my government any longer. I’d rather not get into how this all came about, or why.”
Chatham relented. “I can see you’ve gone and put yourself in an awkward position, so I’ll take whatever information you can offer.”
“And I would like to keep my visit here private.”
“Obviously. That’s why you showed up at the reception desk downstairs and announced yourself by name and not title. No one in the building would recognize you, and few would be able to associate your name. Direct, yet unobtrusive,” Chatham said approvingly.
“Thank you for understanding. Have you had any luck yet?”
“Finding the weapon? No. But I’ve spoken with your man Slaton.”
Bloch was clearly surprised, “You found him?”
“Well, I must admit, it was he who found me. When I went home last night he was waiting for me, with the American woman.”
“The doctor, the one who pulled him out of the ocean?”
“Yes, Dr. Christine Palmer. Slaton asked me to take her into protective custody.”
“And you did?”
“Of course.” Chatham nodded toward the door. “She’s right down the hall.” He watched the Israeli’s reaction carefully.
“What’s she like?”
“Attractive,” Chatham found himself saying. “Slaton insists she’s quite innocent with respect to all that’s been going on.”
“Maybe I could have a word with her later,” Bloch suggested.
Chatham’s reply was off-hand, “Perhaps.”
“What about Slaton?”
“We’re still looking for him. We’ve tracked him to a small farm out-side St. Ives, in Cambridgeshire.”
“You won’t catch him.”
“Time will tell,” Chatham countered. Spooks were always so full of themselves. “He put forward a rather incredible version of our recent events.”
“You must know more about the whole thing than I do then.”
“Perhaps. But I think there were a few parts he left out.”
“I’d like to hear everything,” Bloch suggested. “Maybe I can fill in the gaps.”
Chatham eyed his guest, calculating the possibilities. Had the Is-raelis sent Bloch to find out what the Yard knew? Would Bloch offer truth, or a carefully guiding script? There simply wasn’t time to dwell on all the ramifications. Had he been of a more self-promoting nature, Chatham might have succumbed to the professional risks of divulging sensitive information to a foreign national. Instead, he possessed a singular mindset. That of finding his quarry in minimum time. Being two strides behind Slaton, and probably farther behind that second weapon, Chatham decided he’d press ahead, listen carefully, and decide later whether he trusted what Bloch could add to the puzzle.
It took twenty minutes to cover it all, with Bloch asking questions and filling in the occasional blank. Afterward, Chatham had questions of his own.
“You say you found these electronic beacons that were installed on Polaris Venture?”
“Yes, in eleven thousand feet of water. But not the ship.”
Chatham put this together with what Slaton had told him. He was struck by the inescapable beauty of the plan. “So there you are. A lovely bit of deception. Someone put these beacons in deep water, assuming you’d then consider the weapons lost and out of reach. Safe, in a sense.”
“Right. But we finally did something right by pressing ahead with the search. Other than that, we don’t know much. Except that Slaton has turned up here in England and is decimating our U.K. contingent.”
“But if Slaton is going around killing your people, then isn’t it reasonable to assume that he’s one of those responsible for stealing the weapons?”
Bloch spoke grimly, “Officially, my government has no doubts. Slaton is the guilty party. But if you’re asking me, I can’t believe it. I know him, Inspector. He’s the last person I’d ever expect to turn or sell out.”