Part 15 (2/2)

'D'you know, Hector, I think I could have made that up myself,' he says, shaking his head in what must pa.s.s for admiration. 'Beautiful is all I can say. Fluent, imaginative, and puts him right at the top of the heap. How can anyone possibly question the veracity of such a magnificent global statement? I'd give him an Oscar for a start. What does he mean by clean envoy clean envoy?'

'Clean like cleanskin, Billy. No previous convictions, criminal or ethical. Accountants, lawyers, moonlighting policemen and Intelligence officers, any made brother who can travel, sign his name, owes his allegiance to his Brotherhood and knows he'll wake up with his b.a.l.l.s in his mouth if he robs the till.'

Appearing to Luke more like a careworn family solicitor than his irrepressible self, Hector consults a bit of battered card on which he had apparently scribbled himself a march route for the meeting, and again fast-forwards the tape.

'Map,' Dima barks in Russian.

'b.u.g.g.e.r it. Too late,' Hector mutters, and runs back a stretch.

'Also conditional upon reliable British guarantees, will be very secret, very important map map.'

Dima resumes, reading rapidly, as before, from script in Russian: 'In this map map will be recorded international routes of all black monies under control of the one they are calling will be recorded international routes of all black monies under control of the one they are calling Dima Dima who is speaking to you.' who is speaking to you.'

At Matlock's bidding, Hector yet again pauses the tape.

'What he's talking about here isn't a map, it's a link chart link chart,' Matlock complains, in the tone of a man correcting Dima's inadequate vocabulary. 'And I'll just say this regarding link charts link charts, if you'll bear with me. I've seen a few link charts link charts in my time. They tend to resemble multicoloured rolls of barbed wire leading in no direction known to man, in my experience. in my time. They tend to resemble multicoloured rolls of barbed wire leading in no direction known to man, in my experience. Useless Useless, in other words, in my judgement,' he adds with satisfaction. 'I put them in much the same category as p.r.o.nouncements regarding mythical criminal conferences on the Black Sea in the year 2000.'

You should see Yvonne's link chart, it's absolutely wild, Luke wants to tell him in a fit of miserable hilarity.

Matlock on a winning streak does not lightly let go. He is shaking his head and smiling ruefully: 'You know something, Hector? If I had a five-pound note for every piece of pedlar material from untried sources that our Service has fallen for over the years not all in my time, I'm glad to say I'd be a rich man. Link charts, Bilderberg plots, world conspiracies, and that old green shed in Siberia that's full of rusty hydrogen bombs, they're all one to me. Not rich by the standards of their ingenious fabricators, maybe, or your standards either. But for the likes of me, very comfortably off indeed, thank you.'

Why the h.e.l.l doesn't Hector cut Bully Boy down to size? But Hector appears to have no stomach left for retaliation. Worse still, to Luke's despair, he doesn't bother to play the last section of Dima's historic offer. He switches off the tape recorder, as if to say 'tried that one, didn't work', and with a chagrined smile and a rueful 'Well, maybe you'll be better off with some pictures to look at, Billy', takes up the remote control for the plasma screen and switches off the light. But Hector appears to have no stomach left for retaliation. Worse still, to Luke's despair, he doesn't bother to play the last section of Dima's historic offer. He switches off the tape recorder, as if to say 'tried that one, didn't work', and with a chagrined smile and a rueful 'Well, maybe you'll be better off with some pictures to look at, Billy', takes up the remote control for the plasma screen and switches off the light.

In the gloom, an amateur video camera shakily roams the battlements of a medieval fort, then descends to the sea wall of an ancient harbour crowded with expensive sailing boats. It is dusk, the camera is of poor quality, unequal to the failing light. A ninety-foot luxury yacht in blue and gold lies at anchor outside the harbour walls. It is dressed overall with fairy lights, its portholes are lit. Distant dance music reaches us from across the water. Perhaps someone is celebrating a birthday or a wedding? From its stern hang the flags of Switzerland, Britain and Russia. At its masthead, a golden wolf bestrides a crimson field.

The camera closes on the bow. The s.h.i.+p's name, inscribed in fancy Roman and Cyrillic gold lettering, is Princess Tatiana Princess Tatiana.

Hector is providing a flat, dispa.s.sionate commentary: 'Property of a newly formed company called First Arena Credit Bank of Toronto, registered in Cyprus, owned by a foundation in Liechtenstein which is owned by a company registered in Cyprus,' he announces drily. 'So a circular owners.h.i.+p. Give it to a company, then get it back from the company. Until recently she was called the Princess Anastasia Princess Anastasia, which happens to be the name of the Prince's previous squeeze. His new squeeze is called Tatiana, so we may draw our conclusions. The Prince being presently confined to Russia for his health, the SS Princess Tatiana Princess Tatiana is out on charter to an international consortium called, funnily enough, First Arena Credit International, a different ent.i.ty entirely, registered, you'll be surprised to hear, in Cyprus.' is out on charter to an international consortium called, funnily enough, First Arena Credit International, a different ent.i.ty entirely, registered, you'll be surprised to hear, in Cyprus.'

'What's wrong with him then?' Matlock asks aggressively.

'Who?'

'The Prince. I don't think I'm being stupid, am I? Why's he confined to Russia?'

'He's waiting for the Americans to drop some thoroughly unreasonable money-laundering charges they levelled against him a few years back. The good news is, he won't have to wait long. Thanks to a spot of lobbying in Was.h.i.+ngton's halls of greatness, it will shortly be agreed that he has no case to answer. Always helpful when you know where influential Americans keep their illegal offsh.o.r.e bank accounts.'

The camera leaps to the stern. Russian-style crew in striped s.h.i.+rts and matelot hats. A helicopter about to land. Camera returns aft, descends uncertainly to sea level as the picture darkens. A speed-launch pulls alongside, pa.s.sengers aboard. Busy crew in attendance as pa.s.sengers in their finery cautiously ascend s.h.i.+p's ladder.

Go back to stern. The helicopter has landed but its blades still slowly rotate. Fine lady in billowing skirt descends red-carpeted steps, clutching hat. Followed by second fine lady, then a bevy of fine men in blazers and white ducks, six in all. Fuzzy exchange of hugs. Faint shrieks of greeting over dance music.

Cut back to second speed-launch pulling alongside, delivering pretty girls. Skin-tight jeans, fluttery skirts, many bare legs and shoulders as they ascend ladder. A brace of fuzzy trumpeters in Cossack uniform sound halloos of welcome as pretty girls come aboard.

Pan awkwardly on guests a.s.sembled on main deck. There are so far eighteen. Luke and Yvonne have counted them.

Film freezes and becomes a series of clumsily advancing close-ups, much enhanced by Ollie. Caption reads SMALL ADRIATIC PORT NEAR DUBROVNIK June 21 2008. It is the first of many captions and subt.i.tles that Yvonne, Luke and Ollie in committee have superimposed as an accompaniment to Hector's spoken commentary.

The silence in the bas.e.m.e.nt is palpable. It's as if everyone in the room including Hector has drawn in his breath at the same time. Perhaps they have. Even Matlock is leaning forward in his chair, staring fixedly at the plasma screen before him.

Two well-preserved, expensively tailored men of affairs are in conversation. Behind them, the bare neck and shoulders of a middle-aged woman with lacquered white bouffant. She has her back turned to us and wears a four-row diamond collar and matching pendant earrings, the cost anyone's guess. At left of screen, an embroidered cuff and white-gloved hand of a Cossack waiter is offering a silver tray laden with gla.s.ses of champagne.

Close on the two men of affairs. One wears a white dinner jacket. He is black-haired, heavy-jawed and of Latin appearance. The other wears a very English double-breasted navy blue blazer with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons or, as the British upper echelons prefer to have it Luke should know, they're where he comes from himself a boating jacket. By comparison with his partner, this second man is young. He is also handsome in the way that young men of the eighteenth century were handsome in the portraits they donated to Luke's old school when they left it: broad brow, receding hairline, the haughty sub-Byronic gaze of sensual ent.i.tlement, a pretty pout, and a posture that manages to look down on you however tall you are.

Hector has still not spoken. The committee's decision was to let the subt.i.tles say what anyone would know from half a glance: that the double-breasted boating jacket with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons belongs to a leading member of Her Majesty's Opposition, a Shadow Minister tipped for stratospheric office at the next election.

It is Hector, to Luke's relief, who ends the awkward silence.

'His remit, according to the Party handout, will be to put British trade into point position in the international financial marketplace to put British trade into point position in the international financial marketplace, if anyone can tell me what that means,' he remarks caustically, with a slight resurgence of his old energy. 'Plus of course putting an end to banking excesses. But they're all going to do that, aren't they? One day.'

Matlock has found his tongue: 'You can't have business business without making friends.h.i.+ps, Hector,' he protests. 'That's not how the world works, as you of all people should know, having dirtied your hands out there. You can't without making friends.h.i.+ps, Hector,' he protests. 'That's not how the world works, as you of all people should know, having dirtied your hands out there. You can't condemn condemn a man just for being on someone's boat!' a man just for being on someone's boat!'

But neither Hector's tone nor Matlock's implausible indignation can ease the tension. And it is no consolation at all that, according to Yvonne's subt.i.tle, the white dinner jacket belongs to a tainted French marquis and corporate raider with strong ties to Russia.

'Anyway. Where did you get this lot from?' Matlock suddenly demanded, after a spell of silent brooding.

'What lot?'

'The film. Amateur video. Whatever it is. Where d'you get it?'

'Found it under a stone, Billy. Where else?'

'Who did?'

'A friend of mine. Or two.'

'What stone?'

'Scotland Yard.'

'What are you talking about? The Metropolitan Police? The Metropolitan Police? You've been tampering with police evidence, have you? Is that what you've been doing?' You've been tampering with police evidence, have you? Is that what you've been doing?'

'I would like to think I have, Billy. But I very much doubt it. Would you care to hear the story?'

'If it's true.'

'A young couple from the London suburbs saved up for their honeymoon and took a package holiday on the Adriatic Coast. Walking the cliffs, they happened on a luxury yacht at anchor in the bay and, seeing that there was a spectacular party in progress, filmed it. Examining the footage in the privacy of their home in let us say Surbiton, they were amazed and thrilled to identify certain well-known British public figures from the worlds of finance and politics. Thinking to recoup the cost of their holiday, they sent their prize hotfoot to Sky Television News. The next thing they knew, they were sharing their bedroom with a squad of uniformed gun-toting policemen in full-body armour at four o'clock in the morning, and being threatened with prosecution under the Terrorism Act if they didn't hand over all copies of their film immediately and forthwith to the police, so very wisely they did as they were told. And that's the truth, Billy.'

Luke is beginning to realize that he has been underrating Hector's performance. Hector may appear b.u.mbly. He may have only a bit of scruffy old card in his hand. But there is nothing scruffy about the march route he's put together in his head. He's got two more gentlemen to introduce to Matlock and, as the frame widens to include them, it becomes evident that they have all along been party to the conversation. The one is tall, elegant, mid-fifties, and of a vaguely amba.s.sadorial demeanour. He dominates our Minister-of-State-in-Waiting by nearly a head. His mouth is open in jest. His name, Yvonne's caption tells us, is Captain Giles de Salis, RN, retired.

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