Brian Freemantle - The Run Around

‘Is he dangerous?’ demanded Lubin.

‘Very dangerous,’ warned Charlie. ‘If he comes back try as hard as you can to behave quite normally. And don’t call me from any of the phones here, which he might overhear. Use a public kiosk.’

‘It’s very exciting, isn’t it?’ said Lubin, enthusiastically. ‘Just like in the cinema.’

‘Just like that,’ agreed Charlie.

He used a kiosk himself to call the Beau-Rivage, to be told there were no messages, and then immediately redialled Brigadier Blom. There was a protracted delay, but finally the counter-intelligence chief came on to the line, the reluctance clearly obvious in his voice.

‘I think there’s the need for a meeting,’ said Charlie.

‘Of everyone?’ said Blom, gradually.

‘We’ve agreed to liaise completely, haven’t we?’ said Charlie, extending the encouraging carrot.

Blom bit straight into it. ‘How about three o’clock?’ he asked.

‘So there was something already arranged!’ seized Charlie. ‘I must have left the hotel ahead of your call.’

There was a moment of trapped silence from the other end of the line before Blom repeated: ‘Three o’clock,’ and rang off.

Deciding he deserved a small but personal celebration Charlie discovered a bar serving Glenfiddich, ordered a large one and loosened his shoelaces, aware as he did so that they’d soon succumbed to wear again and didn’t look half as posh as they’d been for the bank manager meeting. Which seemed a long time ago. The reference letters would have certainly arrived by now. What would Harkness have done? Almost a silly question, he decided. What about another one, with a more uncertain answer. Glass in hand, Charlie scuffed across to the wall-mounted bar telephone, managing a connection at once to David Levy at the Bristol.

‘Hi!’ greeted Charlie, cheerfully. ‘How’s it going?’

‘This an open line?’

‘I’m in a bar,’ confirmed Charlie.

‘Tried to reach you, about two hours ago,’ said Levy. ‘Didn’t bother with a message.’

‘Been out and about,’ said Charlie.

‘Anyone contacted you?’

‘No.’

‘There’s a meeting at three,’ disclosed Levy. ‘The American wants a daily get-together, whether there’s anything to report or not.’

It appeared at least as if the Israeli were playing honest injun, if that wasn’t too much of an ethnically mixed metaphor. And additionally that there was a lot of heat burning out of Washington. Charlie said: ‘I know. I’m going.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘I called our host.’

‘You weren’t intended to be at the party.’

‘I know just how Cinderella felt,’ said Charlie.

‘Have you got any presents?’

‘Maybe. How about you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘The others?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Could be a dull affair then,’ said Charlie. He’d finished his drink as he telephoned and he gestured for a refill on his way back to his table, where he sat in head-bent concentration, reflecting upon what he’d discovered. Bits, he decided: useful bits but not enough to tell him where to go, with the speed he considered necessary to get there. One positive avenue, at least. He hoped Blom hadn’t regarded that as lightly as the man appeared to be treating so much else and left it uncovered. What else? It certainly seemed Blom and Giles were determined to exclude him. Which was a bugger. But with Levy’s forewarning Charlie thought he could upset that in their laps: definitely cause them as much irritation as they were causing him, which was always important when people tried to piss him about. Charlie greatly admired the credo of America’s Kennedy dynasty, don’t get sore, get even. He usually managed it, although perhaps not on the scale of the Kennedys.

Charlie stopped after the third whisky and only took a half carafe of wine with a lunch of lamb and wild mountain mushrooms, congratulating himself when he left the cafe on remembering to get the all-important bill. He had quite a bunch, back at the hotel, in one of the hotel envelopes. Harkness was going to be pleased with him. No, thought Charlie, in immediate contradiction: Deputy Director Richard Harkness was never going to be pleased with him, not in a million years. Maybe he really did know how Cinderella felt.

For the first time he did not hurry to get to the chrome and glass building on the Rue Saint Victor. If he were going to be the uninvited guest then he was going to make a fittingly grand entrance. Which he did. The three other men were there and Brigadier Blom was actually moving impatiently around the room when Charlie entered.

‘Late again!’ he said. ‘Had to re-arrange a couple of things, to get here. Still, better late than never: that’s what I always say.’ He smiled around the table. Only Levy responded, an expression of curious amusement.

‘You said there was a reason for us to meet?’ said Blom, at once.

‘But this meeting had already been arranged, so what you have is probably more important than what I have,’ retreated Charlie, in apparent politeness. ‘After you.’

The redness started in Blom’s face. He looked awkwardly to Giles and said: ‘I believe you have some information?’

‘Negative, I am afraid,’ said the American. ‘Our immigration and FBI people tracked Klaus Schmidt down, in New York. He’s a banker: respectable as hell. Doesn’t even know the Bellevue Hotel.’

‘So Charlie was right?’ said Levy.

It was an unnecessary intrusion, goading, and Charlie wondered why the Israeli was trying to irritate the other two men. Charlie said: ‘And there’s no British passport in that name, either.’

‘A dead end?’ persisted Levy.

To Blom, Charlie said: ‘What about the address.’

‘Address?’ frowned the white-haired man.

‘The man who stayed at the Bellevue put an address on the registration card, which your people apparently took,’ said Charlie. ‘Might be interesting to find out what it was?’

Blom was very red now. He snatched out to one of the three telephones on his desk, gave clipped instructions and slammed the instrument down so hard that it jumped off the rest and he had to put it back on a second time, more gently, further angering himself. He said: ‘So what is it that you’ve discovered!’

‘I thought you should know about there not being any Klaus Schmidt passport,’ said Charlie, refusing to be hurried.

‘Is that all!’

Don’t come the high horse with me, sunshine, thought Charlie. He said: ‘The last time we met the supposed identification of Klaus Schmidt was being hailed as a breakthrough comparable with the discovery of penicillin! Now we’ve got two independent and guaranteed sources proving an attempt to lay a false trail.’

‘Providing, that is, that this whole episode isn’t one wild goose chase,’ fought back Blom.

‘It isn’t,’ insisted Charlie.

‘You got some additional proof?’ asked Giles.

‘I spent a long time with the clerk at the Bellevue,’ said Charlie. ‘The physical description he gives matches that of the man at Primrose Hill, in almost every respect. He further says that the man was direct: the airline staff considered him rude. He arrived at the Bellevue at exactly the time it would have taken him to travel in from the airport, after the arrival of flight 837-’

The jar of the telephone broke in, cutting Charlie off. Blom listened without question to what was said and then put the telephone down, hard again. For a moment he looked back at the three questioning faces and then he said: ‘It was an address in the Eaux Vives district of the city: the Rue de Mairie. A Mercedes salesroom. There is a space upon the registration form for a passport number: the one filled in has no relation to any Swiss-issued passport.’