Gavin Lyall - The Crocus List

He stared moodily at the photograph, at the thin face with its moustache and big ears smiling out at an unimaginable future. Or had it been so unimaginable? Was Person Yeven then planning to take up secret arms against a sea of predictable troubles? No, it was just a photograph. But-"Could this man have done something to stop you reaching Person X? You must have turned your back on him."

"I thought he was a policeman."

"Quite. But could he have tried something?"

"That's what the Committee couldn't swallow."

"I can see their point. And Person X could have taken a shot at you."

"He'd dropped his rifle in the Abbey."

"He could have had a pistol as well: sensible precaution. Or really have thrown that grenade at you."

"Not a chance. I was covering him with-"

"Harry, he was notexpecting to meet a superman like you. My point is, neither of them even tried. X just shouted something about you getting hurt. If that wasn't a threat, it was a Jolly Decent Thing To Do, seeing as how he was about to blow himself up. You see what I'm getting at? They wanted to kill one person in the Abbey, to shock everybody, but do as little more damage as possible."

He clasped his hands in among his chins and glowered at the desk top. Behind him, the rain trickling down the window made wavery verticals behind the strict horizontals of the Venetian blind. "There must be a list of CCOAC delegates somewhere in St Louis. I'll think what I can do about that; I don't want to go back to Security, or through Six… when you come down to it, how do weknow some of the Old Guard in those places aren't involved in thisbloody attempt to run the country from the shadows? 1 don't like the government we've got, but nobody voted for men with rifles in the Abbey." He sat very still and spoke with quiet ferocity."And they've let the Bravoes in, given them a potential scandal that… I don't know what. But we're a small country, now: we can't afford big mistakes."

Maxim was smiling and nodding politely. "Anybody could be involved. Going to Miss Tuckey was a risk, but-"

"D'you think she…?"

"Very much doubt it. She was too obvious, with her lectures and books-and what access did she have? No official standing. Probably a few friends in high places, but it would be better to recruit them instead. No, I think she thought she could guess at somebody who might be involved-like Person Y-but nothing more."

"Unless it was cover."

"Double cover."

"I know: rhinestones over amethysts over diamonds." George had lapsed into determined gloom. "That way, you end by staring through a telescope poked up your own-"

"The most she might have done," Maxim said soothingly, "would be to give them training in techniques. She couldn't have been supplying Russian weapons, typewriter, unlisted phone numbers-oh, were those two Second Secretaries on the No-go-Alone List?"

There was, had to be, a discreet list circulated naming those (mainly) Soviet Bloc officials in London with whom it washighly inadvisable to have a solo drink or dinner. Maxim hadn't seen an update of the list since leaving Number 10.

"They were on it," George grunted.

"How would she get hold of the KGB's local order of battle? No, whoever gave them the kit could give them the training to go with it. These people have got good contacts-but with whom?"

"You're getting grammatical." George sat looking like a frog who has no idea where his next fly is corning from.

"All right. You get back to the Playforceofficeand look busy. I'll think whether I have any cousins in St Louis."

Maxim got slowly to his feet, his thoughtful face sending a shiver through George, because that look usually meant he might be going todo something. "You took a recording of the TV replay at the Abbey, didn't you?"

"It was you working that blasted machine."

"Can I come back with you and play it over-or borrow it?" On Saturday, Maxim had moved back into Wellington Barracks; he was supposed to be looking for a new flat to go with his London posting.

"Of course. I've got a meeting at four, should be through by half five."

Maxim half turned away, then decided he'd better say his piece anyway. "Would you mind if I followed you back -just to try and see if anybody else is trying to? I'm not very good at that sort of thing, but… one thing we do know is that the Bravoes know we're involved. I mean we George Harbinger and Harry Maxim."

As far as Maxim could see, nobody followed George through the fading damp light back to Albany, although there was no way to be sure and less way of knowing if he was followed himself, not over such a short and crowded distance. He caught George up at the porter's lodge and they walked together up the Ropewalk.

"Security here could be good," Maxim said tentatively.

"Apart from once having a porter who was a burglar, I think it is. The back gate's kept closed these days, so there's only the one way in and I have to tell the porter the name of anybody who's coming-you know that."

"Even when you're throwing a big party?"

"Well, not then, no, just to warn him I'm expecting guests… I see what you mean." It takes only one leak to sink a ship, one gate to let in a Trojan horse. George was frowning in thought as they clattered up the prison-like stone steps to his set.

Annette greeted George with cheery concern and Maxim with, he thought, some coolness behind the immediate offer of dinner. Suddenly he could imagine George on the Sunday after that Saturday evening at the cottage, exhausted by nightmares, pacing the rooms and jumping whenever the phone rang. As a good wife, Annette would have blamed it, whateverilwas, on Maxim. Rightly so, he thought sadly, and I'm going to make it worse.

He said: "Thank you, no, I'm just picking up a book George promised me."

"And a quick jar," George called from the cloakroom. "Go on in, Harry, help yourself, you know where."

"I'll get some ice." Annette vanished.

Alone in the big drawing-room, where Annette's choice of bright fabrics had fought hardest, albeit still without winning, against her dead in-laws' passion for dark-panelled gloom, Maxim went straight to the telephone. It was the same old-fashioned type as Miss Tuckey's, and he unscrewed the mouthpiece carefully but found nothing extra inside. Looking around, he remembered it was difficult to plant bugs actually inside panelling, but even his half-trained eye could see that the elaborate cornices and mouldings gave a myriad opportunities to a good wire man.

Annette came back, shining with suspicious goodwill. "You haven't got yourself anything yet, Harry. It's usually Scotch, isn't it? Water and ice?"

He took the glass, although he disliked iced drinks after the brief British summer, and asked: "Had a busy day?"

She ignored that. Glancing over her shoulder, she whispered: "Whathappened on Saturday night? George came in looking likedeath. Can you tell me what it was?"

"Misunderstanding, all cleared up now," he said, and her look told him how much use that reply had been.

"Isee," she said, smiling lopsidedly. "Youare getting into our little Whitehall ways, Harry. Oh well," gaily now, "these things blow over. Have I had a busy day? I made it seem like one. I got out to the shops this afternoon, and have you noticed they're into Christmasalready? Two and a half months ahead. The Americans do it much better, having Thanksgiving to space it out so they only have a month of Christmas, though they do seem to let their elections creep back, just as we do with football…"

George bustled in, rubbing his hands. "A drink, a drink, my kingdom for…" He gave Annette a piece of paper and put his finger to his lips. Annette stared, but took it silently while George clanked and prattled over the tray of bottles. "Had a good day, sweetie? Harry, the book, I was forgetting, it's over there…"He pointed to a rack of video tapes. "Dig it out for yourself, will you? It's quite good on D'Urbino and Speckle particularly, if you were ever thinking of going back to that monograph."