‘What about anyone in a car?’ seized Wilson.
‘Possibly the cleverest part,’ said Charlie. ‘Elsworthy Road runs into The Avenue. And that joins Prince Albert Road, at a junction controlled by traffic lights. The change gives preferences to Prince Albert Road, which means there is always a back-up of traffic in The Avenue. And I know it is always blocked because Johnson checked it and the Metropolitan Police confirmed it when I asked them. On a bicycle he could overtake the lot, dismount and even ignore the lights if they were red against him, while any following car was stuck hundreds of yards back up the road, helpless to follow.’
‘I think you’re making a lot of assumptions,’ said the Director, doubtfully.
‘Look at the picture,’ urged Charlie. ‘Not just the one half-showing his face but all the rest. What – beyond the running gear – is common to them all in the disguise?’
Harkness went to the Director’s side, so they could study the prints together. Both did so without any sign of recognition.
‘What?’ asked Harkness, at last.
‘There’s one thing always impossible to alter in a disguise, other than by plastic surgery,’ reminded Charlie. ‘Ears. The ears always remain the same shape and size and are a marker for a trained observer. But he managed it and not just with the headset but additionally with the sweatband. It would not be obvious unless you were looking for it – which we are – but people don’t usually wear a band like that, not completely encompassing the ears. But he did. And he even arranged it to disarrange his hair, so that we can’t be sure of any positive style.’
Wilson was nodding, in growing acceptance. He said: ‘Do we have any identifying marks at all?’
‘None,’ said Charlie, gesturing towards the pictures again. ‘I’ve had them blown up to the greatest possible enlargement. There’s no jewellery, like a ring or a neck chain. And not one visible scar or blemish.’
‘What about the jogging clothes he wore?’ said Harkness.
‘I’ve had all the photographs professionally analysed,’ said Charlie. ‘The assessment is that all the clothes were brand-new, freshly bought. It’s possible to detect the crease lines from the packaging in the larger pictures and to pick out the absolutely unworn tread on the soles of the shoes. We can isolate the maker’s name every time but it’s no advantage. My guess is that he bought each piece separately, all from different shops. We could never run a trace in a hundred years because it would have been cash every time.’
‘And the bicycle?’
‘A standard Raleigh, blue, with a three-speed attachment,’ said Charlie. ‘From the photograph the company say they think it could have been manufactured about two years ago but they’d need actually to examine the machine to be sure. They say it’s the sort of model most popular among hirers.’
‘We haven’t got a thing, have we?’ said Harkness, showing his earlier anger.
‘Quite a lot,’ disputed Charlie. ‘Like I said, all the shots have been professionally analysed. Which means a complete description. He’s precisely five feet ten inches tall and from the physique that’s clearly visible is obviously extremely fit: that was also Johnson’s impression from the way and the speed with which he ran, after picking up the package. And from the style that’s clear on the photographs – the way he holds himself and the measured paces – he’s someone accustomed to running. The physique is confirmed by his measurements: his waist measures twenty-nine inches against a chest of thirty-eight inches. He weighs ten stone eleven pounds, so equating his height against his measurements – and we’ve got biceps and calf and thigh readings, as well – he’s practically all muscle. He takes a size eight shoe, slim fitting.’
‘We still lack any facial description,’ complained Harkness.
‘Not entirely,’ said Charlie. ‘And what we do have might be important. He’s absolutely clean-shaven but although the sweatband and the headset make any hairstyle impossible to establish it can’t conceal the colour. It’s completely black. Like his eyes, black as well or certainly deep brown. And there’s the very definite complexion. He’s dark-skinned.’
‘Meaning?’ queried Wilson.
‘Combined with another indicator that he’s definitely not English, disregarding the professionalism,’ said Charlie.
‘What indicator?’
‘There was just one mistake he made. And that hardly a mistake. When he got on to the bicycle he appeared to Johnson instinctively to ride on the right-hand side of the road, not the left. It was a good hundred yards before he adjusted. He’s not accustomed to travelling on our roads.’
‘Tenuous,’ insisted Harkness.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Charlie, with matching insistence.
‘What’s your thought about the package itself?’
‘“You will despatch the catalogue,”’ said Charlie, quoting the second message Novikov had encoded. ‘And then: “You will wrap the November catalogue.” Johnson guessed it at five inches by eight inches and that’s confirmed by the photo-analysis because it’s visible in his hand, at the moment of his coming up by the marker post. Too large for any written letter then. Put together with the two messages, I’d guess a passport or a plane ticket or possibly both.’
‘Airports and ports?’ said the Director.
‘I’ve covered as many as I think reasonable, the full description as well as the half-face photograph,’ assured Charlie.
‘What about major political events?’ asked Wilson. ‘I’ve had the Foreign Office bitching about the time they’re having to spend on that.’
‘Eight possibles, all in November,’ said Charlie. ‘There’s a meeting of OPEC in Vienna, an IMF conference in Paris, which is also hosting the bi-annual gathering of African non-aligned nations. In Geneva there is the continuing arms limitation talks and again in Geneva there is the American-initiated conference for which they’ve finally persuaded Israel to sit at the same table as a delegation from the PLO. Jordan and Syria are also involved. In Brussels there’s a Council of Ministers meeting. The United Nations is sponsoring a Foreign Ministers’ assembly in Madrid, to put pressure on the drug smuggling countries in Latin America: the majority of Colombian and Bolivian cocaine comes into Europe through Madrid. The American President is visiting Berlin, on the 28th. The Secretary of State will be with him and then go on to the Middle East conference in Geneva. From Berlin the President is going to Venice, for a NATO summit.’
‘Bloody hell!’ said Wilson, despairingly. ‘With how many is Britain involved?’
‘The Chancellor of the Exchequer is attending the IMF meeting in Paris, obviously,’ set out Charlie. ‘The Foreign Secretary is going to Brussels and to Madrid. And the Prime Minister is scheduled for Venice.’
‘What’s the first meeting?’ asked Harkness.
‘The drug meeting in Madrid, 2 November.’
‘That means we’ve got exactly three weeks,’ said Harkness. ‘That’s not enough …’ He looked at the Director and said: ‘I propose that we immediately issue warnings to the counter-intelligence services of every country involved, with what we’ve got.’
‘That would come to thirty-two,’ said Charlie. ‘I counted.’
‘Then it’s impractical. It would cause chaos,’ said the Director.
‘Let’s assume for a moment that the pick-up was a passport,’ said Harkness. ‘What about the chaos if there is an assassination and the man is caught with a British passport in his possession …?’ He hesitated, as the idea came to expand the argument. ‘That could even be part of whatever is going to happen: somehow, some way, to embarrass us with some false involvement.’
‘I acknowledge the risk but I don’t think there is sufficient to sound alarm bells yet,’ refused the Director. ‘How would we look if nothing does happen and we’ve got the counter-intelligence services of thirty-two countries – and possibly their external agencies as well – looking under every bed they can find? We’d make ourselves the laughing stock of the century.’