Part 6 (1/2)

Yet another taxi pa.s.ses. Still not ours. Whatever does one wear for spies spies, darling? as her mother would have said. Cursing herself for even wondering, she has changed out of her office clothes into a skirt and high-necked blouse. And sensible shoes, nothing to stir the juices well, except Luke's, but how could she have known?

'Perhaps he's stuck in traffic,' she suggests, and again gets no answer, which serves her right. 'Anyway, to resume. You gave the letter to an Adam Adam. And an Adam received it. Otherwise he wouldn't have rung you, presumably.' She's being irritating and knows it. So does he. 'How many pages? Of our secret doc.u.ment? Yours.'

'Twenty-eight,' he replies.

'Handwritten or typed?'

'Handwritten.'

'Why not typed?'

'I decided handwritten was safer.'

'Really? On whose advice?'

'I hadn't had advice by then. Dima and Tamara were convinced they were bugged at every turn, so I decided to respect their anxieties and not do anything electronic. Interceptible.'

'Wasn't that rather paranoid?'

'I'm sure it was. We're both paranoid. So are Dima and Tamara. We're all all paranoid.' paranoid.'

'Then let's admit it. Let's be paranoid together.'

No answer. Silly little Gail tries yet another tack: 'Do you want to tell me how you got on to Mr Adam in the first place?'

'Anyone can do it. It's not a problem these days. You can do it on the Web.'

'Did you you do it on the Web?' do it on the Web?'

'No.'

'Didn't trust the Web?'

'No.'

'Do you trust me me?'

'Of course I do.'

'I hear the most amazing confidences every day of my life. You know that, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'And you don't exactly hear me regaling our friends at dinner parties with my clients' secrets, do you?'

'No.'

Reload: 'You also know that as a young barrister who is self-employed without a paddle and terrified of where the next job is or is not coming from, I am professionally disposed against mystery briefs that offer no prospect of prestige or reward.'

'n.o.body's offering you a brief, Gail. n.o.body's asking you to do anything except talk.'

'Which is what I call a brief.'

Another wrong taxi. Another silence, a bad one.

'Well, at least Mr Adam invited both of us,' she says, going for cheerful. 'I thought you'd airbrushed me out of your doc.u.ment completely.'

Which is when Perry becomes Perry again, and the dagger in her hand turns against herself as he gazes at her with so much hurt love that she is more alarmed for Perry than for herself.

'I tried tried to airbrush you out, Gail. I did my absolute d.a.m.nedest to airbrush you out. I believed I could protect you from being involved. It didn't work. They've got to have us both. Initially anyway. He was well adamant.' Lame laugh. 'The way you would be about witnesses. ”If the two of you were present, then two of you must obviously come.” I'm really sorry.' to airbrush you out, Gail. I did my absolute d.a.m.nedest to airbrush you out. I believed I could protect you from being involved. It didn't work. They've got to have us both. Initially anyway. He was well adamant.' Lame laugh. 'The way you would be about witnesses. ”If the two of you were present, then two of you must obviously come.” I'm really sorry.'

And he was. She knew he was. The day Perry learned to fake his feelings would be the day he wasn't Perry any more.

And she was as sorry as he was. Sorrier. She was in his arms telling him this when a black taxi with its flag down appeared in the street outside, last two numbers 73, and a nearly c.o.c.kney male voice informed them over the house entryphone that he was Ollie and he had two pa.s.sengers to pick up for Adam.

And now she was excluded again. Debarred, debriefed, discarded.

The obedient little woman, waiting for her man to come home, and having another man-sized gla.s.s of Rioja to help her do it.

All right, it was in the whole ridiculous contract from the start. She should never have let him get away with it. But that didn't mean she had to sit and twiddle her thumbs, and she hadn't.

That very morning, although he didn't know it, while Perry had been sitting here waiting obediently for the Voice of Adam, she had been busy in her Chambers tapping away at her computer, and not, for once, on the matter of Samson v. Samson Samson v. Samson.

That she had waited until she got to her office rather than use her own laptop from home that she had waited at all was still a puzzle to her, if not a cause for outright self-reproach. Put it down to the Perry-generated prevailing atmosphere of conspiracy.

That she still possessed Dima's deckle-edged business card was a hanging offence since Perry had told her to destroy it.

That she had gone electronic and therefore interceptible was as it now turned out also a hanging offence. But since he had not informed her in advance of this particular branch of his paranoia, he could hardly complain.

The Arena Multi Global Trading Conglomerate of Nicosia, Cyprus, its website informed her in bad, blotchy English, was a consulting company specializing in providing help for active traders specializing in providing help for active traders. Its head office was in Moscow. It had representatives in Toronto, Rome, Berne, Karachi, Frankfurt, Budapest, Prague, Tel Aviv and Nicosia. None, however, in Antigua. And no bra.s.s-plate bank. Or none mentioned.

'Arena Multi Global prides itself on confidentiality and entreprenurial [with an 'e' missing] [with an 'e' missing] flare flare [misspelled] [misspelled] at all levels. It offers top-cla.s.s oportunities at all levels. It offers top-cla.s.s oportunities [with one 'p'] [with one 'p'] and private banking facilities and private banking facilities' [spelled correctly]. Note: this web page is currently under reconstruction. Further information available on application to Moscow office Note: this web page is currently under reconstruction. Further information available on application to Moscow office.'

Ted was an American bachelor who sold futures for Morgan Stanley. From her desk in Chambers she rang Ted: 'Gail, sweetheart.'

'An outfit calling itself the Arena Multi Global Trading Conglomerate. Can you dig up the dirt on them for me?'

Dirt? Ted could dig dirt like n.o.body else. Ten minutes later he was back.

'Those Russki friends of yours.'

'Russki?'

'They're like me. Hot as h.e.l.l and rich as figgy pudding.'

'How rich is rich?'

'Anybody's guess, but looks mega. Fifty-something subsidiaries, all with great trading records. You into money-laundering, Gail?'