Madrigal for Charlie Muffin

23

The photograph that Sir Alistair Wilson had ordered from London had arrived by the time he and Naire-Hamilton got to the embassy. They went directly to the communications room, unpeeling it from the transmission drum, and carried it limply into the ambassador’s office. Billington’s antipathy still showed. The intelligence chief decided to ignore it. He thrust the picture towards the ambassador and said, ‘Is this the man?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why?’

Wilson’s whole body appeared to deflate. ‘He’s a traitor,’ he said simply. ‘Seven years ago he wrecked an intelligence department.’

Billington laughed uncertainly. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘I wish I weren’t.’

‘Good God!’

‘I want to know everything,’ said Wilson.

‘There’s little to tell. I warned my underwriter I wanted the jewellery revalued, according to the policy terms and they sent this man. He spent two days at the villa, checking the security and itemizing the pieces. Then he came on the day of the robbery and told me the thieves would most likely offer it back, at a price. And asked me to cooperate…’

‘What happened tonight?’ demanded the intelligence director.

‘I had a call from Walsingham about an hour ago. He said Muffin had contacted him and that an exchange had been agreed. He was meeting him and hoped to recover the jewellery.’

From the surveillance already imposed, Wilson knew the security man was still in his apartment. And there were five men outside, waiting to follow wherever he went.

‘Did he say where the meeting was taking place?’

‘Some apartment complex on the Via Salaria… 35, I think. Yes, 35.’

‘What time?’

‘Eight forty-five.’

Wilson and Naire-Hamilton looked at their watches simultaneously. ‘Still more than an hour,’ said the Permanent Under Secretary.

‘We’re going to get him!’ said Wilson in a sudden flare of confidence.

‘What about the police?’ suggested the ambassador.

‘No!’ It was Naire-Hamilton who spoke, his voice loud. Seeming surprised at his own outburst he said more quietly. ‘Not yet.’

‘We’re risking an incident,’ said Billington.

‘We’re attempting to avoid one,’ said Naire-Hamilton.

‘I have ultimate responsibility here,’ said the ambassador.

‘It’s a debatable point,’ said Naire-Hamilton. ‘If you want a ruling I suggest you contact the Prime Minister’s office.’

‘Would someone tell me what’s going on?’ demanded Billington.

Henry Walsingham let his car coast slowly along the Via Salaria as he strained through the darkness to make out the numbering. The rush-hour traffic was still heavy and there were hoots of irritation from behind him. The security man parked and checked the time, relieved that he was five minutes early. He felt like he had during the army exercises, particularly on the plains of Germany, with men behind him and hoping to Christ he didn’t make a ridiculous mistake.

He got out, unaware of the two following cars that had stopped a hundred yards away. For a moment Walsingham stared up at the jagged rooftops outlined against the night sky and then pushed through the centre door as instructed. He found the pushlight which dimly illuminated the stairs curling away from him. There was no lift. Walsingham climbed steadily, pausing on the first and second landings for the light switch.

Number 35 faced him, as he came puffing to the third floor. He listened at the door for voices and heard nothing. His first knock was hesitant. There was no reply. He rapped again more forcefully.

Solomatin opened the door and said in Italian, ‘I’m glad you’re not late: come in.’

As Walsingham stepped forward, Leonov crossed the landing from the linking corridor entrance opposite. There was a shot no louder than the heavy closing of a door. The impact forced Walsingham across the room, arms outstretched. His body slid when it hit the floor so that one hand was almost touching Fantani’s.

‘Go on!’ said Leonov urgently.

Solomatin knelt down and edged a key into Walsingham’s pocket, pulling hurriedly back as soon as he had done it. Leonov tossed the gun down beside the body, and followed Solomatin out. They were through into the adjoining building and making for the rear fire escape when Wilson’s car stopped behind the observer team already in position.