Buck-passer, thought Charlie, disgusted. The prat was at about the level to give out parking tickets and impose penalties for not having a dog licence but when it came to an initiative on something important it had to be dumped on to some higher authority so the shit wouldn’t be on his shoes if anything went wrong. Resigned, Charlie said: ‘I think it would be a mistake to allow any delay.’
‘So do I,’ agreed Blom.
Determined to remain part of it, Charlie exaggerated and said: ‘There will doubtless be more from Novikov.’
‘I would expect you to be involved throughout,’ accepted the counter-intelligence chief.
Blom was the sort of man who would cheat on that undertaking if it suited him, recognized Charlie. But then so was he. Charlie said: ‘I am staying at the Beau-Rivage, in Geneva.’
‘That is a very good hotel.’
Soon the man would be recommending the best half-day tours and whether or not to take a packed lunch, thought Charlie, exasperated. He said: ‘When do you imagine we will be able to talk again?’
‘How about tomorrow? Say ten?’
At least Blom was concerned enough to demand immediate access to whomever he was going to shift the responsibility, Charlie decided. He said: ‘I’ll be ready, at ten.’ And hope to Christ you will be, too, he thought.
Charlie wanted physically to shed his irritation at Blom’s attitude so he set out to walk to Thunstrasse, accepting the mistake by the time he crossed the Kirchenfeld bridge and his feet started demanding to know what the hell was going on. He found a bench, just beyond, and sat down to apologize, loosening his laces for a moment. Charlie Muffin was a man of hunches, of feelings in his water, and his instincts told him that as circumstantial as the facts so far were, the unknown jogger with the body of Mr Atlas was definitely the man he was seeking. It felt right: the way things felt, like hunches, was something else which influenced Charlie. So how was he going to follow his hunches and his feelings? By doing nothing until ten o’clock tomorrow morning, he accepted, frustrating though it might be to sit around with his finger up his bum. It would be wrong – and worse, possibly counter-productive – to start working independently and risk antagonizing the Swiss service before he’d allowed Blom the opportunity to show whether or not the co-operation would be as the man promised. And what was he going to do if the promised co-operation was not forthcoming? At the moment Charlie didn’t have an answer but he was sure he would have if Blom started to jerk him around.
Charlie re-tied the Hush Puppies but looser than before but was still walking with difficulty by the time he reached the British embassy, where his acceptance and accreditation were already waiting, authorized by a Director’s cable from London. Charlie was immediately given access to a secure telephone in the ambassador’s cipher room and connected without any delay to Wilson in London: the scrambler at both ends gave a vaguely disconcerting electronic echo, like shouting into an empty tin can.
‘How’s it look?’ demanded Wilson, at once.
‘Reluctant,’ said Charlie.
‘Explain that.’
Charlie did and the Director said: ‘I don’t think you could have expected anything different. Some of us have to live with political overlords, you know.’
‘Blom’s nervous.’
‘So would I be, if I were him,’ said Wilson. ‘Remember we’re there by invitation, Charlie. No one-man vigilante stuff.’
‘The possibility is that it’s a British passport, remember?’
‘I don’t need reminding of the embarrassment potential,’ insisted the Director. ‘I’m actually trying to minimize it, by warning you.’
Had anyone else said it he would have been offended, Charlie realized. He said: ‘Anything further from the aircrews?’
‘Witherspoon is handling it,’ disclosed the Director. ‘He hasn’t come up with a thing.’
If Witherspoon were involved there wouldn’t be a lot of point in asking in future, thought Charlie. He wondered who had taken over the debriefing of Novikov and whether he could play chess. Charlie said: ‘What about the passenger manifest?’
‘Too vague,’ said the Director. ‘We’ve been able to trace those who booked through companies or paid by credit card or cheque. Comes to forty-three of the likely English-sounding people and every one of them can be verified. The other seventeen are just names on a piece of paper. You don’t need addresses or even a true identity buying an aircraft ticket, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Charlie. ‘Makes it easy, doesn’t it? What about picking up Koretsky? Make out that we know more about Primrose Hill than we do and sweat the bastard?’
‘I suggested it to the Joint Intelligence Committee,’ admitted Wilson. ‘The word came back that it was politically unacceptable.’
‘I’ve always thought killing someone was pretty unacceptable,’ said Charlie.
‘That doesn’t look like being on our patch any more, does it, Charlie? Out of sight, out of mind.’
‘What about the passport?’
‘Deniable, if it ever comes out. It’s obviously a forgery or feloniously obtained, isn’t it?’
‘Has there been a change of heart over this?’
‘Let’s call it rationalization.’
‘Blom has promised to include me,’ reminded Charlie. ‘What’s my response if he doesn’t?’
‘Come home,’ ordered Wilson.
‘Come home!’ Ask a silly question, get a silly answer, Charlie thought: he wasn’t going to leave things in limbo, like this.
‘Like I said, it’s not our patch any more.’
‘I don’t like leaving things half done.’
‘It’s not a question of what you like or don’t like,’ said the Director. ‘It’s a question of following orders.’
‘Sure,’ said Charlie.
‘I mean it,’ insisted Wilson. ‘Positively no one-man vigilante stuff. And that’s an order.’
Charlie realized he was getting boxed in, with insufficient room to plead misunderstanding. He said: ‘I recognize my position here. I won’t upset anyone.’
‘I’m determined that you won’t,’ said the Director.
‘If you want me I’m staying at the Beau-Rivage,’ said Charlie.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. ‘The most expensive hotel in Geneva,’ acknowledged the Director.
‘Very central,’ tried Charlie.
‘Did you know by the way that the Mercedes was scratched at London airport?’
‘I’m not having a lot of luck with cars, am I?’ said Charlie.
‘Harkness says there appears to have been a great deal of drinking done, too.’
‘Necessary hospitality,’ insisted Charlie. ‘I was making a lot of demands on the airlines and airport personnel. Considered it a good way of saying thank you.’
‘According to Harkness you were very grateful.’
‘I was,’ said Charlie. ‘Very grateful indeed.’
‘Be careful, Charlie,’ warned the Director.
‘Always,’ assured Charlie.
The Swiss intelligence committee met in a room in the Bundeshaus, because the federal parliament building was the most convenient for the emergency session. There were five on the committee, two parliamentarians and three permanent civil servants and it was a civil servant, Klaus Rainer, who acted as chairman, to maintain impartiality. They listened without interruption to Blom’s account and when he finished Rainer said: ‘You were quite correct in asking for this meeting.’
‘Should we publish the picture, like the Englishman suggests?’ asked Blom.
‘Absolutely not!’ said the younger of the two MPs, Paul Leland. As well as being a leading hotelier in Geneva he was also deputy chairman of the national Tourist Board. He said: ‘Remember how Americans stopped coming to Europe after the last terrorist scare!’