Bernard Cornwell - Wildtrack

And who do you think told this Mulder fellow where to find you and Jill-Beth Kirov on Dartmoor?”

“She did?” I said it hesitantly, not wanting to believe it.

“Of course! They want Bannister to feel safe. They want Bannister to believe that he’s found the fly in his ointment: you. So they set you up to be the threat. You just happened to be convenient, Nick, so they pointed a damned great finger at you. They did some clumsy sabotage, but only when the boat was where you could get at it. And all the time the real man was lying very low.”

“Mulder.” It was obvious.

“Bingo. How did Bannister meet Mulder?”

“His wife found him.”

“Who took the tape-recording?”

“Mulder.”

“That was just a happy accident, of course,” my father said. “He probably had a camera with him, and planned to take a snap of you and the Kirov girl together, instead of which he lumbers on your mate with his tape-recorder. So who, my dear Nick, do you think Mulder works for?”

“Kassouli.” I sat there, feeling very foolish. “And Mulder beat me up because he had to prove his loyalty to Bannister?”

“I would imagine so, wouldn’t you?”

“But the rumour says Mulder helped with the murder!”

“Who’s spreading the rumours?” my father asked patiently.

“Kassouli?”

“And who has convinced Kassouli that his daughter was murdered?” my father asked, then answered it himself. “Mulder.

And why? Because a rich man’s gratitude can be very bankable.

Mind you, I’d have smelt a rat the moment Kassouli offered four hundred thousand! The going rate for a killing can’t be much over twenty grand, but people like you always think that a big sum only increases the seriousness of something.”

“But Jill-Beth brought it with her!” I protested. “I saw it. A hundred thousand dollars.”

“Which Mulder would have taken from you as proof that you were betraying Bannister.” My father spoke gently. “Why do you think he followed you in the boat that night? He probably thought you had the hundred grand in Sycorax . My dear Nick, they were stitching you up. Kassouli probably hoped you might help him by being a back-up to Mulder, which is why he laid it all out for you in America, but once he saw you were going to be boring and honourable he danced you like a puppet to distract Bannister.” He saw my face. “Don’t blame yourself, Nick. Kassouli’s played for higher stakes than this and against some of the slimiest creatures that cap-italism ever spawned. You musn’t feel bad at being beaten by one of the best.”

But I did feel bad. I’d never been clever, not as my father and brother and sister were clever. When we’d been growing up they had always competed to win the word games, while I would sit silent and lost. I lack subtlety. Only a bloody fool would have charged straight up that damned hill when there was another company working their hard way round the flank. Still, I’d saved that company from some casualties. “Damn it,” I said now. My father did not reply, and I tried one last and despairing protest. “But Kassouli doesn’t even know if his daughter was murdered!”

“Perhaps he does. Perhaps Mulder has the proof. Perhaps Mulder has been blackmailing Bannister and taking money off Kassouli.

Whatever”—my father shrugged—“Yassir Kassouli will get his perfect revenge. You can kiss Bannister goodbye.”

“At sea,” I said bitterly.

“Far from any jurisdiction,” my father agreed. “There’ll be no messy body, no police dogs, no forensic scientists, no murder weapon, no witnesses who aren’t Kassouli’s men, nothing.”

“But I’ll know about it,” I said stubbornly.

“And who would believe you? And if you made a fuss, Nick, just how long do you think Yassir Kassouli would tolerate you?” He touched my arm. “No, Nick. It’s over now as far as you’re concerned.”

I stared at the cricket, but saw nothing. So the night that Jill-Beth had screamed, and I had thought Mulder was raping her, had all been a part of the careful construction to trap me? And I, believing myself to be full of honour, had fallen for it. I swore softly. I knew my father was right. He’d always been so good at explaining things.

The truth had been there for me to see, but I’d been blind to it. Now, according to the yachting magazines, Fanny Mulder was to be the navigator on Bannister’s boat. Bannister himself would skipper Wildtrack , but Mulder would be the boat’s tactician and navigator.

From Kassouli’s point of view it was perfect, just as it was always meant to be; perfect.

“What time’s your bus?” my father asked.

“Five.”

We strolled slowly round the boundary together. “The world’s a tough place,” my father said softly. “It isn’t moved by honesty and justice and love, Nick. That’s just the pabulum that the rulers feed the people to keep them quiet. The world is run by very ruthless men who know that the cake is very small and the number of hungry mouths is growing all the time. If you want to stop the revolution then you have to feed those mouths, and you do it by being very tough with the cake. Kassouli means jobs and investment.”

“And Bannister?”

“He married the wrong woman, and he carelessly lost her. At the very least he’ll be sacrificed for carelessness. You think that’s unfair?”

“Of course it is.”

“Good old Nick.” He rested a hand on my shoulder for an instant.

“Seen your brother or sister lately?”

“No.”

He smiled. “I can’t blame you. They’re not very nice, are they? I made life too easy for them.”

“You made life too easy for me as well.”

“But you’re different, Nick. You believed all that claptrap they fed you in the Sea Scouts, didn’t you? You still do, probably.” He said it affectionately. “So what, my favourite son, will you do about Angela?”

“There’s nothing to do. They get married on Monday.”

“There’s everything to do!” my father said energetically. “I’d start by buying every orchid in Paris and drenching them with the most expensive perfume, then laying them at her feet. Like all beautiful women, Nick, she is there for the taking, so take her.”

“I’ve got Sycorax . I’m sailing south.” He shrugged. “Will Angela sail on the St Pierre?” I shook my head. “She gets seasick.”

“If I were you, then, I’d wait till she’s a rich widow, which can’t take very long, then marry her.” He was being quite serious.

I laughed. That was vintage Tommy Sandman.

“Why ever not?” he asked, offended.

“I’m sailing south,” I said stubbornly. “I want to get to New Zealand.”

“What about Piers and Amanda?”

We stopped at the prison entrance. There were no guards, not even a locked gate, but only a long drive that stretched between pea fields. “I’ll fly back and see them,” I said.

“That takes money, Nick.”

I held up my hands that were calloused again from the weeks of good work. “I can earn a living.”

“I’ve got some cash. The buggers didn’t get it all.”

“I never thought they did.”

“If you’re ever in trouble, Nick…”

“No.” I said it too hastily. “If I’ve learned one thing these last months, it’s to pay my own way in life.”

“That’s a mistake.” He smiled. “With full remission, Nick, I’ll be out in a year. You’ll let me know where you are?”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps I’ll come and see you. We can sail warm seas together?”

“I’d like that.” I could see the bus coming up the long drive. Dust plumed from its wheels on to the pea plants. I fished in my pocket and brought out the flat box. “I thought you might like to keep this for me,” I said awkwardly. I told myself that the gesture was spontaneous, but I knew it wasn’t because I’d taken the trouble to bring the box with me. I might not have brought my father cigars or wine, but I had fetched him the one thing I knew would give him the most pleasure.