The Final Reckoning

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The adviser asked for a private room. This was not their office and they had to tread carefully. Inside UN Plaza even still or sparkling was a political choice. They could pull rank, of course, demand whatever they wanted. But in a delicate matter like this, it was not a good idea. It would only draw attention.

There were only two of them in there now, the adviser made sure of that. Still, he wished his boss had listened to him and waited till they got back to the hotel to have this conversation. It was far too risky. Perhaps the bugs of foreign intelligence agencies posed no great danger, but they were at least vulnerable to the eavesdropping ears of their own side.

There were telephones here, used for conference calls no doubt. How could the adviser be certain they were not set on speakerphone, either by accident or design? Perhaps there was some kind of intercom system. Or maybe the head of mission here had established a taping system, so that his own meetings could be recorded. Plenty of ambassadors to the United Nations and elsewhere had done that. Hell, even his own boss, back when he was foreign minister, used to do that.

‘Has it happened?’ his boss asked, in that trademark baritone.

‘Yes. They sent people in a couple of hours ago. It's done.’

‘Did they find anything?’

‘So far, nothing.’

‘Nothing? Come on.’

‘They took some papers, a couple of documents, a computer with a few files which they're examining. But, so far, none of it seems to relate to the, er-’ His throat was dry. He was struggling to find the words. He wished his boss had kept him out of this operation. If they were back home, he knew he would have done. He'd have relied on his chief of staff, the man who had been with him since the beginning. But here in New York the boss's team had been pared down. The only one he trusted to get this done was him. The adviser tried to finish his sentence. ‘They have no bearing on this issue.’

‘Damn,’ the boss said quietly, his eyes faraway. ‘I thought this had gone away decades ago. I mean it, decades ago. I'm old now, but still it comes back. Even in death, he's come back to haunt me. He did it once before and he's doing it again. Gershon Matzkin, the man who comes back from the dead.’