Kings of Many Castles

15

Charlie Muffin’s reception was very different from the previous day. Within minutes of his beginning to speak at the reconvened meeting even Jocelyn Hamilton straightened from his overly-theatrical, shoulder-slumped affectation and hunched as attentively as everyone to the tape of George Bendall’s collapse. Charlie finished with the verbatim transcript of the FBI director’s cable that Morrison had relayed that morning. No one spoke, unwilling to offer an opening opinion. It was the director-general who did, finally.

Sir Rupert Dean said, “No! They quite simply wouldn’t have tried to drug him! It’s inconceivable!”

“Kayley’s under enormous pressure,” said Charlie.

“I don’t think it’s inconceivable,” said Patrick Pacey. “‘All and every investigatory means,’” he quoted, from the bureau director’s misdirected e-mail. “‘Earlier and explicit orders … clear understandingsfrom the highest level …’ There’s very obviously been instructions we don’t know about that fits what could have happened in Burdenko hospital …”

“At the moment it’s only an unidentified although possible puncture mark on Bendall’s arm, which has no medical explanation or purpose to be there,” cautioned Charlie. “There’s no proof it was an unauthorized, invasive injection until they get the results of the blood tests.”

“Where, legally, does that leave us-the United Kingdom?” asked the subdued deputy director.

Jeremy Simpson hunched uncertain shoulders. “Totally uninvolved, particularly with Charlie here in London, which probably turns out to be very fortunate. Going beyond that, if it’s true, legally-technically-it constitutes a physical assault upon George Bendall. That’s according to our law and as Bendall, again technically, is still a British subject I suppose there are grounds for us to protest. But I don’t see any practical purpose in our doing that. I don’t know what it qualifies as in Russia, even if there’s any competent statute. But is that what we should be talking about? If the Americans have done this, it surely blows any honest cooperation-any cooperation honest or even limited-completely out of the water?”

“Absolutely,” quickly agreed Hamilton, gratefully seizing the lawyer’s lead.

“But it doesn’t affect a legal prosecution for murder, does it?” argued the director-general, just as quickly.

“It might affect Bendall’s ability-competence-to plead if the damage is permanent,” said Simpson. “It could, possibly, be part of a defense plea in court.”

That had been Anne’s first reaction, as they lay side by side immediately after the telephone call from Donald Morrison in Moscow. Charlie decided against saying anything, despite the fact that Anne was known to be back in London for consultations.

“What’s the Russian response?” asked Dean.

“I don’t know, not yet,” said Charlie. “Olga Melnik told Morrison she’d been withdrawn from the incident room-which means from the American embassy-for discussions. It wasn’t clear with whom.”

“What did you tell him to do?” asked Hamilton.

“To get to the incident room as quickly as possible. Find out everything he can. I’m calling him there later. If there’s anything he doesn’t want picked up on the American monitor, he’ll go back to our embassy after we’ve initially talked and we’ll speak on a secure line from there.”

“The Americans are monitoring our calls!” demanded Hamilton.

Everyone in the room looked at the man in varying degrees of surprise. Charlie said, “Of course they are! I’d do the same, in their circumstances.”

The deputy flushed and shook his head but said nothing more.

Pacey said, “Sir Michael Parnell’s guidance from Moscow was that it was a serious diplomatic breach if it were proved we were responsible for the second gunman leak but that they’d been embarrassed as it is by the accusation. What’s happened since diminishes the leak problem, I suppose, although that was public and this isn’t.”

“Yet,” qualified Charlie, in another caution. “But what’s happened now helps us. I wasn’t responsible for the leak. So a denial would have been the truth. After today’s developments-the FBI director’s cable in particularly-the leak looks far more likely to have come from America.”

“If Parnell wants to be told what to do, tell him to deny it in the strongest terms,” said Dean, almost impatiently. “Which America will do about this injection business, of course. What’s the chances of the Russians suspending their part in the supposed cooperation?”

Charlie accepted he’d be able to answer that better after he’d spoken to Natalia, which it was now essential he do, despite yesterday’s insistence that he shouldn’t. After a lifetime of professional truth paring, convenient deception and ingenuous, open-faced lying, Charlie didn’t have the slightest doubt he could smother any guiltcertainly over a three thousand mile telephone link-but at that moment he was surprised, disappointed even, that there was no self-recrimination about the previous night’s unfaithfulness. There hadn’t been any awakening with Anne beside him that morning, either, and certainly she’d exemplified her own unique philosophy, doing nothing, saying nothing, to make their being together anything but totally unremarkable. Morrison’s telephone call had been theonly conversation at breakfast. To his parting arrangement to meet at the bar that evening she’d smilingly queried whether it was intended only to be a friendly drink and he’d asked what else it could be and seriously she’d said, “Nothing, remember?” There hadn’t been any embarrassing pretence of kissed farewells or lingering hand touching, either. So why didn’t he feel any shame or guilt, if he loved Natalia as much as he was always telling her-and himselfthat he did? Because it wasn’t any more than Anne’s special philosophy. He wasn’t going to pretend to fall in love with Anne and she wasn’t going to pretend to fall in love with him. Each knew where they stood or-perhaps more appositely-exactly where things lay. No confusion. No problems. A perfect unencumbering, unendangering ultimate friendship.

Finally addressing the question, Charlie said, “I don’t know about positive suspension. They might, although by cutting themselves off they’d be cutting themselves out ….” The speculation thrust into his mind but he chose not to introduce it until he’d thought more fully about it. “I guess things will remain in limbo until the results of the tests for any non-prescribed drug.”

“So I ask again,” said Hamilton. “Where does that leave us?”

“In a reasonably good position, as Charlie’s already pointed out,” suggested Pacey, the political manipulator. “It’s not our argument; it’s for the Russians and the Americans to fight out. Hopefully we could work between both camps, if there is a positive split.”

“That’s how I see it,” agreed Charlie.

“When did you plan to go back?” asked Pacey.

“Tomorrow, hopefully. As soon as I’ve seen the psychiatrist.”

“Wouldn’t there be an advantage in keeping out of it for a little while longer?”

Charlie very positively shook his head. “We’ve got a murder conspiracy to uncover … understand. This is yet another side-track I don’t want to go down.”

“I think you’re right,” said Dean.

Simpson said, “Quite apart from whether or not Bendall was drugged, where can we go if his collapse is irrecoverable?”

“That’s what’s worrying me most of all,” conceded Charlie. “Probably nowhere.” Which was, he decided, the side-track downwhich he did want to go. And a journey upon which he had already been far too long-and far too effectively-prevented from taking. But he thought, at last, that he could see some signposts.

Leonid Zenin collected the coincidences like unwelcomed souvenirs. The car taking him to the Kremlin swept past the White House on Krasnopresnenskaya naberezhnaya at precisely the time of the shooting eight days earlier and entered the ancient citadel by the most traditional “pine grove” Borovitskiye Gate through which the security detachments had so vainly argued would have brought both presidents to an arrival ceremony in a totally safe inner courtyard. Zenin didn’t hurry crossing the square, gazing around at the easily patrolled castellated ramparts and gated internal labyrinth, acknowledging how utterly protected everyone would have been. Hindsight instead of foresight. Some had it, some didn’t. What, he wondered, would be shown today?

Those summoned had been personally selected by Aleksandr Okulov, primarily to exclude not just General Dimitri Spassky but to keep any awareness of the gathering from the suspected FSB. Yuri Trishin, who’d adeptly adjusted to being chief of staff to the emergency president, was automatically included. The Foreign Minister, Boris Petrin, was an essential figure hurriedly added because of the overnight developments and Federal Prosecutor Pavl Yakovlevich Filitov was there for the same reason. Zenin and Natalia guaranteed both the complete, liaising knowledge as well as the necessary continuity of the investigation.

Okulov was the last to enter the suite which came close to overwhelming the small number assembled, despite being only an anteroom to the much larger main chamber, and Natalia’s immediate impression was how much more physically confident Okulov appeared to have become in such a short time, no longer the shadowy eminence grise but the positively striding-imperious almost-man very definitely to be seen, determined to be judged, in black and white leadership terms. He even seemed to dominate the baroque, echoing surroundings. Confirming that perception the short, hard-bodied man said, “Things have come to light in the last twenty-four hours that need to be discussed to decide the future of the shootinginvestigation …” He looked to Zenin. “ … General?”

Zenin had been given no indication of how many would be attending and had copied twice as many transcripts of the FBI director’s message as were necessary. It took him slightly longer to distribute them around the table than to disclose the discovery of the possible but unauthorized injection mark on Bendall’s arm.

Filitov, a white-haired, pedantic lawyer, came up from his e-mail print-out and said, “This is outrageous-verging on the hysterical-but the puncture mark is only a possibility, according to what I’ve understood you to say. We need to be absolutely sure.”

Zenin made a deferring head movement towards Okulov. “If there’s a positive pharmacology result from the tests during this meeting, I shall be informed.”

Okulov, still smarting from what he considered the personal insult of Walter Anandale leaving-virtually fleeing-the country without any contact, said, “Whatever the outcome of the medical tests, where does this leave any future cooperation?”

“That’s a political decision, far beyond my responsibility,” said Zenin. “What I would ask this meeting to confirm is my immediate decision that under no circumstances can Bendall be seen without our people being present, in the same room. He’s our prisoner, under our arrest. The British have the right of diplomatic access but there’s no legal requirement for the Americans to see him again.”

Physically an even more charismatic figure than the emerging Okulov and also someone extremely sure of himself, judged Natalia. With everything predicated by personal as much as professional considerations, she said, “It was an American who died.”

“And the man who killed him will be tried by full and open judicial process, not according to the cowboy justice obvious in this Washington message,” seized an unexpectedly outspoken Filitov.

“Which is exactly what this message is!” agreed Okulov. “An invitation to cowboy justice: lynch law. Or whatever the FBI contingent here-an FBI in this country at our invitation and permission-arrogantly considers they can do.”

Natalia at once saw beyond the remark. Charlie was in Moscow because of the FBI presence. If the Americans were expelled, his remaining was thrown into doubt. Which took the decision abouttheir continuing future … Natalia stopped the thought, finishing it differently from how it began. It didn’t take any decision about her and Charlie out of her hands. Rather it thrust it forward, for her to decide. Her choice-her avoided, refused, head-in-the-sand choice-would be whether to go with him if he were ordered to leave. Or stay. It was important for her to remain objective, to concentrate upon the immediate positive rather than the negative of an uncertain future. “How tight is the security that Bendall’s been under since the moment of his arrest, the moment of his hospitalization, in fact?”

All attention switched to her, Zenin’s most curious of them all. The closely bearded police chief said, “Total. I thought that’s been made clear?”

“To the extent of a detailed log being kept of everyone-including doctors-who’ve had access to him?”

Zenin said, “Of course,” but Natalia thought she detected a whisper of doubt.

“Everyone listed-including doctors and hospital staff-are being questioned?”

“Of course,” said Zenin, again.

“What’s your point?” demanded the Federal prosecutor.

“Premature, unsubstantiated reaction, which I thought you’d already warned against,” said Natalia. “I accept there is strong circumstantial evidence against the Americans. But look at the timing of their director’s instructions-twelve hours after their encounter with Bendall and the discovery of an apparent puncture wound in the man’s arm. Let’s not accept the obvious. I want to be sure we don’t overrespond to be proved wrong, at some later date. There’s been very little practical progress so far in the murder and conspiracy investigation.”

“I’d welcome the general’s suggestions how it could have progressed any quicker or more practicably!” said Zenin, in stiff, personal indignation.

“It was not a criticism! It was an observation,” said Natalia. “Of course the American director’s instructions is ill considered and reprehensible and I am not arguing against a protest if the feeling is that our making it is justified. But it also shows impatience, which I think is understandable. Let’s not forget that it is our FSB thatcan’t find files that could be important. Or that according to Vera Bendall, unknown people-people we can’t trace-took from her apartment what could be other evidence that might be equally, if not more, important. Or that the military still haven’t provided anything more than the most basic of George Bendall’s records. Or that in Russian custody Vera Bendall died in what could, at least, be suspicious circumstances …” She was going on too long, Natalia realized; almost appearing to offer a defense for the Americans, which she hadn’t set out to do. “Certainly this latest episode with George Bendall-coupled with our awareness of what would appear to be the official American attitude towards the investigation-should be our most direct concern. But I think there would be a benefit considering it in context with the other things I’ve set out.”

There was a momentary silence, heightening Natalia’s discomfort. It was the rotund chief of staff who moved them on. Yuri Trishin said, “There is a further purpose for this meeting: the establishment of the presidential commission …”

“I had already decided it should be concentrated upon the FSB …” took over Okulov. He smiled towards Natalia. “But which I’m now persuaded should be expanded to include the points you’ve just raised … perhaps others, as well …”

“ … Which will provide an answer to any complaints Washington might make against us for how the investigation is going,” said Trishin, completing the double act.

This was hardly the emergency meeting Natalia had believed it to be. From the expression on Zenin’s face, it wasn’t what he’d anticipated either. The police chief said, “When will that commission convene?”

“That’s a matter for its members,” said Okulov. He smiled again. “I’m appointing you, Natalia Fedova, to be its chair. I’m aware, of course, of your previous connection with the KGB, just as I am even more aware of the constant public reminders of my previous association. But I consider that a benefit rather than a disadvantage: you don’t have to be introduced into its workings nor, hopefully, will it be as easy to keep things from you as it might from someone unaware of those workings. I think speed is of the essence and you won’t need to be briefed on the progress of the investigation you’vebeen monitoring and liaising since it began. And you’ve given us ample evidence this morning of your impartiality …” The man switched his attention. “You, Pavl Yakovlevich, are obviously necessary for the legal application of the enquiry. The third member of the tribunal will be Yuri Fedorovich, which ensures I am fully aware of everything at all times. Yuri Fedorovich has the terms of reference. Quite simply they are that you have the presidential authority to bring before you whatever witnesses and material you demand, with physical imprisonment at your disposal for anyone who fails fully to cooperate. And I want a preliminary report within a week, sooner if that’s possible. Any questions!”

Natalia was sure there would be a lot but at that moment so complete was her astonishment that she couldn’t isolate one from another, her thoughts like dust swirls in the wind. Was she more exposed? Or better protected? Was her ability being recognized-rewarded-or was she being made a target? Did she really have the authority? Would it be acceded to her by Filitov and Trishin and whoever else she might now have to confront? Or was she a puppet, a totem? And-inevitably, the ghost always hovering in the corridors of her mind-would it, could it, endanger her and Charlie as much as she’d feared when she’d first learned there was going to be such an enquiry? The immediate positive, she urged herself again: all the other uncertainties could wait. “I appreciate the confidence. I will do everything I can to fulfill it.”

“If I hadn’t believed you capable, I wouldn’t have appointed you,” said Okulov.

The transition, from gray to black, was remarkable, Natalia decided. Answering-for the moment at least-one of her own questions she decided the appointment strengthened rather than weakened her.

Zenin said, “How will this affect Natalia Fedova’s liaison role, with the existing group of which I am part?”

“Not at all,” said Okulov. “For the reasons I thought I’d already made clear.”

Zenin’s face imperceptibly although only briefly tightened at the public rebuff. Before there could be any further reaction, one of Trishin’s aides came quickly into the ante-room and gave an obviouslypre-arranged signal to the militia chief, who’d started getting to his feet at the secretary’s entry.

There was a hiatus after Zenin’s departure. The Federal prosecutor said he would be pleased to serve on the tribunal, as if he had a choice, and Natalia sat trying to get her thoughts into order, deciding that while her appointment carried with it power-full access to the acting president himself-and prestige, it was also the path into an unmapped minefield in which she risked making many enemies, both known, which would be unnerving, and unknown, which could be potentially disastrous. And forcing the examination further, she honestly acknowledged that for once Charlie was not a primary, endangering factor. She’d been pushed farther across the swaying bridge between professionalism and politics. The reverie was broken by Zenin’s reappearance, the shoulders-back march to the table almost a parody of Okulov’s earlier entry.

“Well?” demanded the standby leader, before Zenin properly sat.

“There was provable traces of thiopentone in Bendall’s blood,” declared the militia commandant, stretching his announcement for its maximum effect.

“What’s that?” said Okulov.

“Pentathol,” identified Zenin. “A truth drug in common use in American agencies.” He extended a further pause. “But not available as such in this country.” He came sideways to Natalia. “Perhaps not as circumstantial as it was an hour ago?”

“Evidence, not proof,” refused Natalia, dogmatically. She wasn’t concerned at Zenin not being an ally. She hoped, though, that he didn’t become an enemy.

“Proof or not, we have to react in some way,” insisted Okulov. Consciously bringing the American expression to mind, he decided that whatever the outcome of the investigation-and long after-the FBI director’s message was going to be a smoking, quickly reloaded gun.

“And there’s a way readily to hand,” suggested Foreign Minister Boris Petrin. “Let’s not forget the American secretary of state stayed on, after the president’s hurried exit. I propose that I summon the American ambassador, and James Scamell, and ask them to explain their director’s message. And at the same time ask how theythink an unprescribed drug-a truth drug-was found to be in George Bendall’s system so soon after his interview with American officials.”

“Perfect,” accepted Okulov. He allowed a pause as theatrical as Zenin’s, earlier. “And make it clear we will do our utmost to prevent it being leaked to the media, which we were unfortunately unable to do about a second gunman.”

The Home Office pathologist was a nervously moving, distracted man named Geoffrey Robertson whose strained and bulged laboratory coat had clearly been bought before the weight gain from the sort of overflowing, doorstep-thick sandwiches he was eating when Charlie arrived. There was a dab of mayonnaise on the man’s chin. He frowned, seemingly unable to remember Charlie’s confirming telephone call before saying, “The Russian business!” and leading Charlie to a side table in his office on which everything that Charlie had provided was laid out in meticulously neat order, dominated by the Russian photographs.

In advance of any professional protest Charlie said, “I accept the difficulties, asking you to work like this. I’m looking for something a bit more positive than the Russians are prepared to agree.”

“I need properly to examine the body, of course,” said the pathologist. “And there’s virtually no scene-of-crime material whatsoever, but I’m prepared to agree with you that she was much more likely to have been manually strangled than suffocated by her own hand in a botched attempt to hang herself ….” He paused, looking down at the photographs with Charlie beside him. “Look at those closing sutures, after their examination! She’s almost been nailed back together. I’m always offended by the lack of respect in stitching like that.”

“Vera Bendall was someone who didn’t get any respect in life, either,” said Charlie. “But you were saying …?”

“The post lividity bruising, as you said in your notes, is the most obvious. That and the complete neck-encircling bruising, with the crushing of the cricoid cartilage of the larynx. But look here …” he demanded, isolating four photographs. “I’ve done a comparison betweenthe bruising on either side of the neck. See, it’s heavier on the right side than it is on the left. To have garrotted her as totally as this, her killer would have had to stand behind her pulling right to left, left to right. That heavier bruising, to the right of the neck, shows in my opinion that her killer was left handed: that’s the stronger pressure. And here …” He picked out two more photographs. “See those two slight, side-by-side bruises, above the ligature mark? I’ve seen those before, in these sort of strangulations. They’re made by the killer’s thumbs, where he drove them into the neck for additional leverage. And you’re right, in my opinion, about the shoulder blade markings. That’s where she was pulled back against the knees of the man strangling her …”

“Can you give me that, in a report?”

The man shook his head, dislodging the mayonnaise to add to the stains on his already marked coat. “Not to be produced in any court. I haven’t personally examined the body. There is no scene of crime material …”

“Not to be produced in court,” interrupted Charlie. “All I want is a contrary, more positive opinion than the Russian pathologist is giving.”

Robertson remained doubtful. “I’d have to qualify it, make it clear that it was entirely an opinion based upon the photographs.”

“But that opinion would be what you’ve just told me?”

The man nodded, slowly. “I suppose I could say that.”

“Please say it,” encouraged Charlie. “And there was the blood sample?”

“It showed 200mg,” said the bulged man, too glibly and without consulting his side-desk preparation.

“Spell it out,” insisted Charlie, satisfied more than surprised.

“The legal alcohol limit beyond which someone is incapable of being in charge of a moving vehicle is 80mg per 100ml of blood,” said the doctor, literally responding to Charlie’s demand. “Bendall was two and a half times over that limit.”

“Drunk?” persisted Charlie.

“By our legal driving standards, yes.”

“Those readings are incontrovertible?”

Robertson appeared surprised. “They’re scientific!”

“Which I can have, in written analysis, to take back with me to Moscow?”

“I don’t know what the legal alcohol limit is to drive in Russia,” protested the man.

“I’d guess it’s nonexistent but I’m not investigating a drunk driving offense,” said Charlie.

Robertson’s laboratory was in north London but Charlie still managed to get back to Millbank by mid-afternoon. Spence told him the director-general did not want to see him unless there was a positive development and that he could use the same temporary inner courtyard office that he’d been allocated the previous day. Charlie reached Donald Morrison on the basement incident room extension.

The younger man said, “A lot seems to be happening, but I don’t know what it is. When Kayley and I got to the cemetery the exhumation had already taken place. There was just an empty grave and a militia guard who wouldn’t talk to us. Kayley said he wanted to speak with you but he was called upstairs about an hour ago and hasn’t come back.”

“So the investigation’s stalled?”

“Has it ever started?”

Charlie smiled at the cynicism. “Our pathologist’s just agreed Vera Bendall was murdered. And George Bendall was drunk when he fired.”

“Surprising that he hit anyone.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” It had been automatic professionalism for Charlie to bring back from Moscow not just the Russian ballistic evidence but actual firing tests conducted by the Americans using the rifle recovered from George Bendall. Now he was glad he had. It was probably fortunate, too, that offended prima donnas at Woolwich Arsenal had staged their go slow.

“Can I tell Kayley?”

“No!” refused Charlie, at once. “I need to discuss it with others first.” Not others. Only Anne Abbott preparing George Bendall’s seemingly impossible defense.

“Nothing’s come from re-interviewing the witnesses but the personneldirector at NTV confirms it was Vasili Isakov who got Bendall the job. Anything else you want me to do? I feel a bit like a spare prick at a wedding, hanging around with nothing to do.”

Charlie smiled again, this time at Morrison’s too obvious, oneof-the-street-boys’ ribaldry. Aloud he said, “There aren’t supposed to be any spare pricks at a wedding.”

It wasn’t a convenient-safe-time to call Natalia. There was more than enough time, though, to go present-buying. Charlie actually thought he’d received a few presents himself that day. But they were in kit form, he had to assemble them himself.

Petr Tikunov’s second press conference since the shooting was again overwhelmed by the international media. The burly communist presidential candidate accused Okulov of stealing his party’s idea of an investigatory commission. But Okulov’s enquiry would be a cover-up, he insisted, conducted by puppets personally selected by Okulov himself. In answer to repeated questions about Okulov’s former association with the KGB, Tikunov said he left the public and the voters to judge the man’s previous connection with the intelligence service, the majority of whose officers, he knew, resented the disbandment and reorganization imposed by the existing government, disbandment and reorganization which had allowed the rise in crime culminating in the attack upon the two presidents. After his reelection, fighting crime-and seeking the FSB’s assistance in doing so-was going to be his immediate priority.

“If the need was for someone intimately aware of all the facts to bridge the two situations I should have been the one appointed!” protested Zenin.

Olga wondered if she would ever get properly to know this man. “You weren’t for the very reasons Okulov gave: it needs someone knowing every facet of the case but factionally above it. She is. You’re not, you’re the one who initially proposed an enquiry into the FSB!”

“Are you sure she’s factionally above it all?”

“Aren’t you?”

“She was KGB, before all the changes! Just like Okulov.”

“Which Okulov specifically referred to, from what you’ve told me. Referred to as a benefit.” Olga wished she were with him, instead of talking on the telephone. But everything was far too new to make demands upon him. The very thought surprised her. When had she ever been the one to seek and hope in a relationship! Lovers danced to her tune, not her to theirs. Until now. Exactly the time to get things in proper-normal-balance then. Spend at least one night apart: they weren’t, after all, rutting teenagers, discovering sex for the first time. But was it only-just-sex? That thought didn’t even deserve an answer.

“I think we should be extremely careful we don’t in some way fall victim,” said Zenin.

Precisely what she’d warned him about in the very beginning! remembered Olga. “We can be.”

“How did the exhumation go?”

“I advanced the timing, as you suggested. It was over before anyone else arrived. The tissue samplings were delivered to the laboratory by mid-afternoon. Kayley called six times during the day, trying to make contact.”

“What about the British … their new man?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s talk tomorrow, early.”

“I’m missing not being with you,” she blurted and at once regretted it, wishing she could bite back the words.

“What …?” he started, just as unthinkingly but instantly recovered. “Yes! I’m sorry. There’s things … tomorrow? Tomorrow night, I mean. If you’re free?”

“I’m free,” said Olga.

As always, Charlie let Natalia talk first, knowing her need was greater and afterwards kept his account brief and factual.

“Well?” she prompted, when he’d finished. She hadn’t mentioned the inference of the FBI possibly being expelled, not wanting to trample over ground already muddied by being walked on too many times before.

“You couldn’t be better protected, against our situation becoming known,” assured Charlie, sure that was the point of her question.“You’re spanning everything, knowing everything.”

“And attracting enemies in doing so,” she said. “I’ve convened the first session for tomorrow. Summoned the FSB chairman himself, along with all the rest.”

“Above any enemies, looking down at them,” out-qualified Charlie. “You can dispose of them before they can endanger you. You’re ahead, whichever which way you want to look at it.”

“You’re actually taking things forward professionally, as a criminal investigation,” Natalia allowed.

“I wish I’d known about the Pentathol before seeing the pathologist.” It would mean a second visit, he supposed. “What state is Bendall in now?”

“Still sedated.”

“It was a good suggestion you made about a visitor’s log,” praised Charlie. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“What’s it like, being back there?”

The moment for guilt, Charlie recognized. Nothing came. “I’ve been too busy to do much else but work and appear before committees. I did get time to buy Sasha a doll. It wets itself and has to have its nappy changed.”

“She’ll like that.” He’d forgotten buying Sasha the same on a previous recall to London.

“I hope you’re looking after her,” he said, with insufficient thought.

“I was looking after her very well a long time before you reappeared on the scene,” came back Natalia, at once.

His mistake, Charlie accepted. “Best of luck for tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“I hope to get back the day after.”

“You told me already.”

“Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.”

She hadn’t told him she loved him, thought Charlie. But then he hadn’t told her, either. He was still by the telephone when it rang.

Anne said, “That was a hell of a long call! I’m in the bar, waiting. Liberace’s look-alike ghost is about to make a pass at me.”

“If it’s Liberace’s ghost, you’re safe,” said Charlie.

Charlie had again to filter what he could tell the lawyer from what he shouldn’t have been in a position to know but there was sufficient for Anne to remark that he seemed to be working hard to provide her with a TV soap opera defense. Short of that being available, however, the decision had been made to have Bendall examined by two independent Russian psychiatrists to formulate a plea of mental impairment or even outright insanity, depending upon their diagnosis. But all that hinged on what sort of recovery the man made. It would also help if the court psychiatrists had access to Bendall’s previous psychiatric history that Vera had mentioned. A Russian lawyer necessary to lead Bendall’s defense had been engaged by fax that afternoon from the list Anne had brought to London with her.

“So you’ve finished?”

“Everything discussed and decided,” she agreed.

“You going back tomorrow?”

She frowned, in mock offense. “You in a hurry to get rid of me?”

“No,” said Charlie. “Not at all.”

“Good. And I haven’t done any shopping.”

They’d eaten again at a restaurant of Anne’s choice in Notting Hill and they had a nightcap again in the hotel bar and went unquestioningly to his room. Afterwards she said, “We’re getting very good at this. Maybe we should take it up professionally.”

Charlie said, “I thought we had.”

The bag containing Sasha’s doll was by the wardrobe, “toys” prominently printed against the name of the shop in which Charlie had bought it. Anne said, “You’ve already managed to do your shopping?”

“Some,” said Charlie.

He waited for the obvious question but she didn’t ask it.