October Men (23 page)

Richardson shrugged. “We like to think there is a slight difference, you know. But if you’re in doubt I suggest you ask Signor Boselli.”

“I shall do better than that.” The cold eye settled on Boselli. “Under which of our innumerable ministries do you come, Signor Boselli?”

Boselli quailed at the thought of the Minister on the telephone to the General. Anything was preferable to that, even the most shameless falsehoods.

“This—mission has been cleared at the very highest level.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“We have promised the British Government our fullest cooperation.”

“You have, perhaps. But I haven’t.”

Boselli cleared his throat. “Signor Narva, I assure you—I will take full responsibility—“

Full responsibility
! The very words stopped him in his tracks. He had heard them before—the General happily bulldozed through his subordinates’ doubts with them—but never, never from his own lips. Indeed, he had risen from nowhere to what had been until this awful day a comfortable and satisfying position by the judicious avoidance of those dangerous words, against which his instinct had always warned him—the same instinct which now groaned in anguish.

“Responsibility for the discretion of two foreign agents?” Narva dismissed the grand gesture with contempt. “My dear Boselli, oblige me by not treating me as a fool!”

“But I assure you—“

“No! It is I who will assure you, signore! It is of no consequence that you will not tell me to whom you are responsible—of no consequence to
me
that is. I know the man I want well enough.”

Boselli stared helplessly as Narva hooked the ivory and gold receiver from the telephone on the table beside him. Of course he knew the man he wanted; someone like Narva would be on more than nodding terms with half the government. What was surprising was not that he knew exactly where to bring pressure to bear, only that he had not acted the moment the security men had invaded his privacy. But then he had the reputation for being a careful man never given to precipitate actions, a man who waited until he had the exact measure of every danger, every opportunity. It had been an assessment which hadn’t fitted Boselli’s conception of an industrialist—one more appropriate to a peasant than a man of great affairs. But looking at this granite personality now he understood it at last, and despaired.

“Salvatore—“ Narva commanded the receiver, “—get me—“

“It won’t do,” exclaimed Audley.

Narva paused. “Professore?”

“I said—it won’t do.”

“One moment, Salvatore.” Narva lowered the receiver to his chest. “What will not do, professore?”

“Foreigners.”

Narva looked at him quizzically. “You are not foreigners?”

Audley considered him in silence for five seconds. “We are all foreigners somewhere. Here, in this house—in this country, I am a foreigner, certainly.”

Narva matched the five seconds before replying. “Go on.”

“Do I need to?”

“No … not if I take your meaning accurately,” Narva spoke slowly. “In England I am the foreigner, eh?”

“We are all foreigners somewhere, as I said.”

“But I am a bad man to threaten anywhere.”

“But I am not threatening you—I am asking you for help … just as you may need help in Britain.” Audley smiled. “You had better get used to calling it ‘Britain,’ signore—to call it ‘England’ only offends the Scots and the Welsh and the Irish. If you want to, make your fortune out of us then you must get used to our little ways. And there has to be a measure of mutual trust.”

Narva replaced the receiver.

“You are trusted in your business transactions, Signor Narva,” continued Audley more gently. “Your word is always enough, I have been told… And tonight you are keeping faith with a dead man.”

Narva inclined his head fractionally. “You honour me, professore.”

“No. Trust is part of your stock-in-trade.”

The Italian’s face hardened. “But not, I would think, any part of yours.”

“You’d be surprised how many people trust me,” said Audley evenly. “And not with money, either.”

Boselli examined each face in turn, fascinated. So the threat to telephone Rome, though real enough, had been also calculated to draw the Englishman. And the Englishman, in accepting this, was nevertheless taking the initiative.

“I was generalising, naturally, professore.”

“Naturally. Because we both know that trust brings in information. … In fact it was trust that brought you Richard von Hotzendorff.”

“You think so?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“I think you would find that difficult to prove.”

“I’m certain of that, too. But proving it is really not important.”

“Because I will break whatever confidence—whatever business confidence—I had with Herr Hotzendorff of my own free will?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“Indeed? Then I would be most interested to know how you would put it.”

Audley considered the question for a moment. “Well … I suppose I would say that unforeseen circumstances might cause you to break the letter of your agreement in order to adhere to its spirit.”

“My agreement?” Narva echoed the word with obstinate indifference.

“Hotzendorff sold you information about the discovery of oil in the North Sea, Signor Narva. Are you denying that?”

Narva shook his head. “I am neither denying it nor admitting it, professore. Neither do I deny or admit this agreement of yours—the words are all yours so far.”

“Not quite all. You have admitted meeting him.”

“I meet a great many people in the way of business. But I do not make agreements with them all.”

They were back to square one, thought Boselli; the Englishman seemed to be losing the initiative.

“Nevertheless, there was an agreement,” said Audley patiently. “And it didn’t simply concern money.”

It was a statement, not a question, and this time Narva did not reply to it. So the initiative hadn’t been lost after all—

“Hotzendorff had a family in East Germany, Signor Narva,” Audley continued in a matter-of-fact voice. “A wife and three young children. After he died they came to the West.”

Still Narva said nothing.

“It isn’t easy to get out of East Germany. Especially with three young children. Not for a widow—and not for a widow in a hurry. And especially not for a widow named Hotzendorff, I’d say— wouldn’t you?”

Silence.

Narva shrugged. “But not impossible, evidently.”

“No, not impossible. The West German Government could manage it. So could the Americans, and so could we, with a bit of extra effort.”

“But you didn’t?”

“None of us did, no. … But there are four private groups who would try it if the price was right—two in East Germany and two in West. When Frau Hotzendorff came out we reckoned it had to be one of the East German groups. At the time it hardly mattered, anyway.”

“Professore—“

“But later on we got curious, signore. And in the end I—we—found it was one of the West German teams that did the job. To be precise it was the Westphal Bureau.”

“West—“ Richardson bit off the name so quickly that his sudden reaction almost passed unnoticed. And yet in that instant Boselli gained an equally sudden insight into the younger man’s relationship with the older. A moment earlier he had been reflecting bitterly that he was the mere onlooker here, but now he knew that he was not alone; much of this was going above Richardson’s head too.

“You know Joachim Westphal?” Audley cocked his head, knowingly. “A Gehlen graduate before he went private—and Gehlen never had a better man. Very good—very reliable—and
very
expensive… And very choosy about his clients, so don’t tell me that Hotzendorff had this all set up in advance, Signor Narva. Westphal wouldn’t have touched Hotzendorff even if Hotzendorff had his sort of money, which he hadn’t.”

“No …” Narva nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “No, I will not insult you by arguing with you, Professore Audley. You are telling me that I arranged for the escape of Herr Hotzendorff’s family from East Germany after his death?”

“Exactly that, yes.”

“But you have no proof of this, of course?”

“Westphal never reveals a client’s name, as you well know—that’s part of the deal. But I’m not concerned to prove anything, as I said before. Knowing is quite enough.”

“Knowing.” Narva chewed on the word. “And this was my ‘agreement’—Herr Hotzendorff would trade information in exchange for safety?”

“And money—and secrecy.”

“But naturally!” Narva nodded again. “The one would be of no use to him without the others. Not with the risks he proposed to take.”

There was no argument about that, thought Boselli grimly, watching the two poker faces. By indulging in such a private deal the East German was not simply double-crossing his British paymasters by passing valuable information to a third party, but was also jeopardising their operations behind the Iron Curtain by taking on additional risks of his own. General Montuori’s sphere of activity did not extend beyond the curtain, but in broadly similar situations Boselli knew how incensed he became. And vengeful too, for his punishment, when the moment for it finally came, invariably fitted the crime. Which of course was never very difficult with double-crossers, once their original master had tumbled to them and their usefulness had ceased to protect them.

“Perhaps it is fortunate for him that he is beyond your reach,” Narva said blandly, “if that is what you think occurred.”

Beyond everyone else’s reach too. And that, no doubt, was why Narva felt so strong: he had paid his money and had his money’s worth, and the one man who might have compromised him with the British Government was safely out of the way.

Safely and conveniently. If it had been anyone else but Eugenio Narva one might be tempted to suspect that so convenient a conclusion to a politically dangerous business deal had been a little too convenient. But Narva’s reputation for honourable dealing was as rock-firm as the man himself—there Boselli disagreed with the big Englishman’s character assessment even while accepting his version of the alleged “agreement”; trust was not simply part of his stock-in-trade. Much more simply he was a man of honour. It might be a dying breed, and it might already be dead in the Englishman’s decaying island, but it was not yet extinct in Italy.

Indeed (Boselli warmed to the thought) the very fact that Narva had spared no expense to extricate Hotzendorff’s family after the man’s death—

The man’s death! That was the point, the whole point that made the agreement doubly binding in honour for a man like Narva if it had been in getting that information for him that the German had died. Information so valuable that even after three years both the British and the Russians were desperate to trace its source.

That was it. He felt the conviction of it blossom inside his brain. That was it.

“Beyond everyone’s reach, Signor Narva,” said Audley heavily, echoing Boselli’s thought. “But his family isn’t.”

“His—family?” For the first time Narva showed something like genuine surprise. “What makes you think his family can help you, Professore Audley?”

“I didn’t say they could.”

“But you think his wife may—“ The surprise gave way to sudden explosive distaste, “
—tchah
! But you think you can threaten me again, through them!” Narva’s hand came up in an exact, economical gesture, stabbing first towards Audley with the fingers held stiff together like a broad cutting blade. “Well, I tell you this—“ the hand moved abruptly sideways to include Boselli, “—and you also—that I do not tolerate such threats. Not to me, and not to them! And
that
is not a threat, signori. It is a promise.”

After that brief flare of surprise and disgust Narva’s voice had returned at once to its cool, almost conversational level. Anger, the brittle wall behind which doubt and fear so often tried to hide, would have been much more reassuring to Boselli; but here there was only determination and confidence—a confidence so strong that it permitted Narva to admit implicitly that he was aware of the Hotzendorff family. And—

Audley was nodding in agreement.

Boselli clamped his jaw shut quickly for fear that his astonishment should make him look foolish, even though no one was looking at him.

“Good—excellent.” The Englishman’s quiet confidence matched Narva’s own. “Now we may have two common interests.”

“Two—?” Narva frowned.

“The North Sea and the Hotzendorff family,” Audley nodded. “Profit and responsibility.”

“Since when did the British accept any sort of responsibility for Frau Hotzendorff and her children?” said Narva scornfully.

“We pay her a pension.”

“A pittance.”

“No doubt you augment it. But that’s neither here nor there. We don’t want the KGB calling on her—not if someone like George Ruelle is on their payroll.”

Narva looked sharply at Boselli. “You have arranged protection for Frau Hotzendorff I take it?”

Boselli looked helplessly from Narva to Audley for support. He could hardly admit that until ten minutes ago he had never even heard of the wretched woman—or her double-dealing husband.

“Well?” snapped Narva.

“Frau Hotzendorff is in no danger at the moment,” cut in Audley reassuringly. “But she will be very soon. And then you will be vulnerable whether you like it or not, Signor Narva—as vulnerable as a woman with three children. And that’s why you have to tell me what our Little Bird whispered in your ear.”

NARVA WAITED UNTIL
the servant had gone before raising his glass to his lips, sipping the wine, then staring at them each in turn as though he had thereby completed a ritual gesture of hospitality which transformed them from invaders into guests.

“You could have saved yourself much time by coming to the point directly, professore,” he said.

Richardson was surprised how dry his mouth had become. It was all he could do to prevent himself gulping the entire glass like a schoolboy, and the temptation to do so told him how unaccountably nervous he had become. The little Italian gunman next to him had evidently been as dry, if not as nervous also, but was less inhibited by it: he guzzled the delicious Capri bianco thirstily, like an animal at a desert waterhole.