Brian Freemantle - Charlie Muffin U.S.A.

Charlie replaced the receiver and lounged back in his chair. Everything checked, just as it should have done. So perhaps he was wrong; his instinct hadn’t always been right in the past. Just a very high proportion of the time.

Pendlebury’s call came within the hour, surprising him.

‘You wanted me,’ said the American with his customary curtness. ‘Washington office said you’d been on.’

‘They’re efficient.’

‘That’s the motto,’ said Pendlebury. ‘What do you want?’

‘I wondered if you’d made it clear to the organisers that there wasn’t to be any display case opening here, any more than there was in New York.’

‘And you called Washington, just for that!’

‘I wasn’t sure how long you’d be there,’ said Charlie, aware of the man’s suspicion. ‘If you’d intended staying over a couple of days, I was going to tell them myself.’

There was the barest hesitation from the American. Then Pendlebury said, ‘I told them.’

‘Good,’ said Charlie. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Unpacking.’

‘Shall we meet later on?’

‘Fine,’ agreed Pendlebury. ‘I’ll check the exhibition, then call you.’

Charlie bathed and changed, awaiting Pendlebury, carefully rehearsing an approach that he hoped would be productive. There had been curiosity in the man’s voice about the Washington call, Charlie decided. So he would have to be cautious about doing anything to increase the attitude; he would have to be friendly, not intrusive. They met in the lobby and Pendlebury led the way to the Alcazar bar overlooking the ocean. Senator Cosgrove was already at a table with some people Charlie recognised from New York. Charlie nodded and the politician allowed a vague inclination of his head in response.

‘Great view,’ said Charlie as they were seated.

Pendlebury grunted. ‘In most other bars at this time there’s a Happy Hour, with drinks at half price.’

‘You’re on expenses,’ Charlie reminded him. ‘Security as good as when you rehearsed it?’

‘Yes,’ said Pendlebury. ‘It’s fine.’

‘New York seemed to go well.’

‘Raised $5,000 for the kids’ charity,’ confirmed Pendlebury, as the drinks arrived. ‘They’re expecting to treble that here.’

‘You got any kids?’ said Charlie, seeing the natural opening.

‘Two,’ said Pendlebury. ‘Both at high school. You?’

‘No,’ said Charlie. Edith had always been saddened by her infertility. Considering what had happened, it was fortunate that all the gynaecological treatment had failed.

‘Still time,’ said Pendlebury.

‘My wife’s dead,’ said Charlie. ‘An accident, about four years ago.’

He reached into his jacket pocket for the photograph he had selected. He offered it across the table and the American took it.

‘Taken about five years ago,’ said Charlie. ‘We were on holiday in Switzerland.’

The strain hadn’t been showing too much on Edith’s face then. They had only been running and hiding for about two years, and he hadn’t made the stupid mistake which had got him recognised by the British service, so the hunt hadn’t started.

‘Good-looking woman,’ said Pendlebury politely.

‘You live in New York?’ enquired Charlie. He was looking out over the Atlantic, a man politely keeping a casual conversation flowing.

‘Long Island,’ said Pendlebury, searching around for the waitress. ‘Bastard commuting every day, but it’s better than bringing up a family in Manhattan.’

Charlie nodded, feeling again the sensation he had known seeing the word TERRILLI written on the hangar roof. If Pendlebury were attached to the New York office, why didn’t Heppert know him? Producing the photograph had had a relaxing effect upon the other man, decided Charlie.

Pendlebury ordered more drinks, turning back to the table.

‘Used to take me three hours, getting in and out of London,’ agreed Charlie.

‘About the same for me,’ said Pendlebury. ‘Sometimes I think I should get a small apartment in town and just commute at weekends.’

‘Get about much?’ asked Charlie.

‘Not a lot,’ said Pendlebury. ‘We’ve offices in most of the big towns. This sort of thing is unusual.’

‘Now I’m by myself, I welcome the chance to travel,’ said Charlie.

They both pulled back for the waitress to replace the glasses, and when she moved Charlie saw that Pendlebury was sorting through a billfold, selecting some photographs. Up in the suite he had wondered about the psychology of showing the other man a family picture, but he had never expected Pendlebury to respond so readily.

‘Here’s the kids,’ said the American, offering a slightly out-of-focus Polaroid of two teenagers grimacing selfconsciously into the camera, both trying to hide their teeth braces.

‘And Betty,’ said Pendlebury.

The American’s wife was a woman who would become fat within a year or two but at the moment was just keeping her figure with the aid of an all-in-one girdle and desperate diets every three months. Charlie smiled down at the portrait of the blonde, shiny-faced woman, saw his bonus and recorded it, handing the picture back before Pendlebury could become aware of any special attention and realise his error.

‘Nice family,’ said Charlie politely. He made a show of swivelling in his seat, seeking something.

‘What do you want?’

‘Washroom.’

‘By the entrance,’ said the other man.

Charlie excused himself, hurrying to the toilet. He went straight into a cubicle in case Pendlebury followed, snatching a pen and paper from his pocket. The picture of Pendlebury’s wife had shown her outside a typically American single-storeyed home with the garage forming one side. She had appeared to be making her way into the garage because the doors were open, and the camera had recorded perfectly the car registration. Charlie wrote it down, looking up reflectively. As well as the number, the registration plate had listed the State. How was it, wondered Charlie, that Pendlebury lived in New York State and drove a Chrysler Monte Carlo with a Texas registration?

He returned to the table, to see that Pendlebury had ordered again. The American was putting the pictures back into his wallet.

‘Your wife’s a pretty woman,’ said Charlie.

‘Worries about her weight,’ confessed Pendlebury. ‘She’s joined Weight Watchers.’

‘Changed since that picture, then?’

‘Not much,’ said the American. ‘She’s only been going to meetings for about two months. Crazy about candy, that’s the trouble.’

‘You eating?’ asked Charlie.

Pendlebury nodded with the eagerness of a man who had already chosen a meal for which he wasn’t paying. ‘But later,’ he said. ‘I’ve arranged to see Heppert and the rest of the security team at seven for a final run-through. Senator Cosgrove is going to be there. Want to come?’

Charlie shook his head. ‘Better I don’t see it, otherwise I might come to rely on it.’

‘Probably a good idea,’ agreed Pendlebury.

After Pendlebury had left the room, Charlie decided against food, but for reasons different from Pendlebury. His telephone call to Houston took longer than he had anticipated. To the clerk in the State vehicle licensing department he explained that he had been involved in a traffic accident with a Chrysler Monte Carlo, knew the owner’s name was Pendlebury but had mislaid the address necessary for the insurance claim to be settled. It took a further ten minutes to locate the details from the registration number, and once he had obtained the address, Charlie went back to directory information and established that Pendlebury was currently listed in the Houston telephone book.

It was quite dark by the time he had finished, but Charlie didn’t bother with anything more than one side-table lamp. Pendlebury’s lie about where he lived was the first tangible thing Charlie had from all the supposition and guesswork. But it was enough to satisfy him that his instinct hadn’t failed. Not completely, anyway.