Jack Ludlow - The Burning Sky

‘I did some research, Colonel, naturally, so I know what you say is the case.’

Meant to deflect the man, it failed: Dimitrescu was determined to list the contributors. ‘Original German weapons, of course, some Russian rifles, but most of the ordnance are the gifts given to us by France and Britain, so that together we could fight the Central Powers.’ His voice had risen at the end, as if he had led the charge to do that himself.

‘Yet broken up into smaller parcels they could be passed on into other hands.’ Dimitrescu’s eyes narrowed as he digested what Jardine had said.

‘Broken up?’

‘Yes. I need hardly tell you, Colonel, that we live in a troubled world where things flare up suddenly and die down again. That is a situation in which a person holding a stockpile of useable weapons-’

‘Not major pieces of artillery?’ he interrupted.

Jardine shook his head: he was going to have enough trouble getting guns across a desert; wheeled cannon were out of the question. ‘I would be interested in what one man can carry, really.’

‘I fear that would affect the price.’

‘By driving it down, Colonel, I think. Right now the market is not buoyant for what you are seeking to dispose of …’

‘That, Herr Jardine, is guesswork. I have not said yet the government are keen to sell it.’

‘Soup,’ he replied, glad of time to think, for in his last statement Dimitrescu had put heavy emphasis on the word ‘government’. Was that deliberate or accidental? If the former, what was he trying to say? Whatever it was, Jardine knew he would have to pick up on it by inference: this fellow was too shrewd to ever say anything definite to someone he had only just met. He had to dip a toe in the water, in between dipping his spoon in his soup.

‘Would I be required to request an indication of policy from a minister?’

‘I think not necessary — I feel you can safely deal with me.’

That either meant he was powerful enough to act independently or he was offering to work on his own behalf, and if that were the case, the price would head for the floor. Paying a government was one thing, lining the pockets of a high-placed thief quite another. If Jardine had been trading normally he would have stopped the conversation there, but he was acutely aware that time was not on his side, so he would have to push matters, yet such haste had to avoid selling the pass. His next dip was really a plunge, followed by another mouthful of his fish soup.

‘Perhaps I should come to the Ministry for discussions.’ No reply came, just a cold stare that did not waver as he supped. ‘This soup is delicious, is it not?’

Dimitrescu did not say a word until he finished, sitting back in his chair and flapping his linen napkin. ‘I am to understand you would wish to stockpile these arms, that is, if they were available for disposal?’

‘That is my intention.’

‘Perhaps they could be kept in their present locations and only released from the armouries when required.’

That was very much like a price negotiation, which, if true, had jumped matters on even quicker than Jardine was prepared for; if the Rumanian held the keys to the goods the payments would be his to set at the time they were required, no doubt after a hefty down payment.

‘After all, securing warehousing is so expensive.’

Reel him in, Jardine, reel him in. ‘An interesting point, Colonel, which would require much examination.’

‘While I must take an accurate inventory of what it is possible to dispose of, and when.’

Time for a bit of cold water. ‘And I would be required to consult with my principal to get his view.’

That did not please him; he was near to being brusque. ‘You are not here with the power of decision?’

‘Let us say, Colonel, that my advice is central, but it would never do to wound the amour propre of the person with the money needed to complete, now sitting in a Swiss bank.’

‘That would be where the transaction took place?’

‘Contracts could be signed in Bucharest and the monies released on my cognisance.’

‘Let us leave that all aside, Herr Jardine, and get to know each other better. Enough has been said tonight to encourage me to believe you are a serious person, and given I have much to ponder, I fear to say more in case it is potentially misleading. I suggest, however, we commit to meet tomorrow, where I will be happy to return your generosity, for there are better places to eat and drink in Budapest than these grand hotels.’

‘Very kind.’

‘Tell me, Herr Jardine, are you a married man?’

‘He’s as slippery as a barrel of eels and I think he plans to ply me with food, drink and loose women tomorrow evening.’

‘Time to swap places, old fruit,’ Lanchester joked.

‘What about me?’ Vince asked. ‘Don’t I get a sniff?’

‘Find your own,’ Jardine replied as he went to his jacket and pulled out the paper Monty Redfern had given him, which he waved before the others. ‘Given I don’t trust the bugger, I think it is best if I try and find out something about him. I was given a number to call by a Jewish friend in London and there’s no time like the present.’

‘Is he Jewish too?’ Jardine nodded. ‘Then don’t call him from the room, Cal. I had a meeting with a banker today. He spent half the time railing about the Jews, as well as telling me how wonderful the Iron Guard was and how they would soon rid the country of what I think he called a pestilence. It might be worse than Germany.’

‘Christ,’ Vince exclaimed. ‘I might as well ’ave stayed fightin’ Mosley.’

‘I’ll call from the lobby.’

That was still busy, the Rumanians keeping the kind of late hours that would have pleased a Spaniard. The phone was on a desk by the reception and Jardine was just about to go to it when a fellow in a grey suit, not terribly well cut, turned his face away just a mite too quickly, bringing up the hackles. Still he went to the phone, but instead of asking for an outside line he called Vince’s room.

‘I am in the lobby, Vince, and I fear not alone. I will go out for a bit of a walk, old son, and I need a second eye. I will wait in the lobby, then take point.’

There was enough of the soldier still in Vince to pick up on what he was saying: ‘second eye’ was an expression they had used in Iraq when a man going out needed cover. ‘Taking point’, another one, was self-explanatory.

‘Gotcha, guv. Two ticks and I’ll use the stairs.’

Jardine positioned himself looking towards the lifts and staircase so he would see Vince appear, thankfully unseen by the man that needed to be checked out: his eyeline was angled. There was always a chance he was wrong, that the fellow looking away, as he had, was coincidence. When Vince appeared on the first landing, Jardine headed for the double doors at the entrance, nodding to the uniformed flunkey who held it open for him and ignoring the look of the top-hatted doorman, who wondered if he wanted a motor taxi or a trasura . Shaking his head he went past the deep rows of diners sitting in the outside restaurant and out to the plaza on which the hotel stood.

The night was warm, even slightly muggy, and the streets were busy with promenading couples, the women dressed up to the nines and the menfolk in clothing that announced good tailoring, the impression very like that of the Italian nightly passeggiata . All along the boulevard there were cafes, even open shops, and every building was lit up, giving the place an air of prosperity, not that it was complete.

Beggars were ubiquitous, overweight women swathed in shawls held forth emaciated babies, uttering a constant low-volume plea, gaunt-looking men sitting in doorways with their hands held out making a similar sound. Jardine did no more than an uneven circuit, spotting several places that should have a phone, probably a public one, before coming back to the hotel like the bored tourist he was seeking to portray. Back in his suite, Vince joined him.