James Munro - The Innocent Bystanders

"Too nice for you," said Loomis. "Where the hell d'you get your clothes these days?"

"Savile Row," said Craig.

"Have your suit cleaned, then. It's disgusting."

"One of the nice things about being retired is you don't have to worry about looking smart all the time," Craig said. As he spoke, he watched Royce's hands. The left one clasped his drink, the right one fiddled nervously with the lapel of his jacket. Craig turned to him. "Why bother?" he said. "You can't start anything here."

Loomis glowered at him. "Sit still," he snarled, then turned back to Craig. "He could start something if I told him to. And so could this Benson person."

"You're not that daft," said Craig.

"I want you, son," Loomis said. "I want your hide in strips."

"That's just self-indulgence," said Craig. "I've wanted to put you on a diet for years, but I know I'm never going to get the chance. Anyway, I heard I'd come into money. That's why I'm here."

"A bloke called John Adams has come into money," Loomis said.

"You didn't give my name?" Craig asked.

"No," said Loomis, and his voice was wistful. "Not yet."

"How much?"

"A hundred thousand pounds," said Loomis. "Any currency you want."

Craig said, "You're taking a risk, aren't you? Talking of sums like that in front of these impressionable young people?"

"No," said Loomis.

"You aren't afraid that one day they may follow my example?"

"No, cock, I'm not. They got more sense." "And I've got a hundred thousand pounds. It's not enough, Loomis." "How much, then?"

"Oh, the money'll do," Craig said, "but I want something else as well. Security."

Loomis laughed aloud, a roaring boom that seemed to bounce against the walls of the room.

"Oh, son," he said. "The things you say."

Craig waited as he wiped his eyes.

"You want our friend, don't you?" he asked. "That's the price. A hundred thousand quid I can enjoy in peace. Guaranteed."

"And how could I guarantee a thing like that? Dammit, man, can't you see it's impossible?"

"You could give me a statement of what you did—and what these two did. What your orders were, how they carried them out. You could sign it and they could witness it. I'd call that a guarantee."

"I'd call it bloody madness," said Loomis.

"That's the price," Craig said. He stood up.

"Wait," Loomis said. "Let's have dinner first."

They went into the dining room, Royce limping badly, and Craig enjoyed the food and wine; enjoyed even more Loomis's struggle to be polite. It had been so many years since Loomis had had to be polite to anyone. He spoke of Craig's abilities, and praised in particular the skill with which he'd outwitted Force Three.

"Good chaps," he said. "Very good chaps. But they have the American weakness—and you used it."

"What do you mean, sir?" Benson asked.

"They tend to think that patriotism compensates for skill," said Loomis, "so they used the Loman girl. Once Craig knew who she was, she had no chance."

"How did you know Force Three was involved?"

"Those ads in the papers. 'Marcus is worried.' They must have been desperate to take a chance like that."

Craig said, "It's not that bad. They knew I'd see the papers—and it's me they want to talk to."

For a moment, Loomis looked up from his plate; his angry eyes burned into Craig's.

"That's right," said Craig.

"What about the Russians?" Joanna Benson asked. "Are you open to offers from them, too?"

"I'm open to offers from Martians—if they've got the money and guarantees," said Craig.

Loomis went on eating.

"There's something interests me," Craig said. "I wonder if I might ask about it."

"We'll see." Loomis's words were a growl.

Craig turned to Royce and smiled politely.

"What happened after I shot you?" he asked. There was a silence, then Joanna Benson giggled.

"What a bastard you are," said Loomis. "All right, Benson. You tell him."

She pushed away her plate and sat back. Royce continued to eat, his eyes looking downwards. It was impossible to look at Craig; to see the mockery in his eyes. At least, Loomis hadn't made him answer. He was grateful for that.

"You were really rather kind to us," Joanna Benson said. "I can't think why. Blowing up the Jag was a bit strong, though, wasn't it? Such a lovely car."

"Sorry about that," Craig said. "But I had to set you on foot."

"Poor Andrew was hardly even that," said the girl. "It was hands and knees most of the time. You got him in the leg, you know. Nothing serious, but he bled quite a bit. I had to use tourniquets and things." Royce went on eating. His tournedos Rossini absorbed him utterly. The girl went on: "It was all a bit of a problem. I couldn't carry Andrew and he needed a doctor. I walked back up the road and found a farm with a telephone and called the police. They produced an old boy who spoke a bit of German and I said we'd been attacked by bandits. You've never seen such excitement. Then I scurried back to Andrew and told him what to say, and the gendarmes arrived with an ambulance and took him off to hospital. After that it was all questions and statements and a big hunt for that mad shepherd. They patched Andrew up quite well, I think, and I said we had friends in Cyprus and we'd recuperate there, so they found us a boat and told us they'd let us know as soon as they'd found the mad shepherd. They thought he was running amok or something. His dog was dead, you see. They think he killed it."

"No. I did that," said Craig. He looked at Loomis. "Why Cyprus?"

"Benson's a sensible young person," said Loomis. It was as much praise as he ever offered a woman. "She was in a spot of bother and she handled it well, then she reported back to me. When she phoned I had a look in your file. Sending them here was my idea."

"What made you do it?" asked Craig.

"Where else in this part of the world have you got friends? But Angelos Kouprassi's your friend. He has to be. When you were a boy wonder in the SBS you saved his life."

Loomis's passion had always been for detail, mountains of it. But he had an unerring ability to pick out the one fact that was significant, and use it.

"So I sent the two of them here," he said, "and damn if you're not here too. How's Angelos?"

"Well," said Craig.

"Up in that little place of his in the mountains?" asked Loomis. He chuckled. "Nice people these Greek Cypriots, but the biggest bloody chatterboxes I ever came across. Still, it's useful. Benson here's a good listener. She's sensible, Craig. Wouldn't you say?"

"She is."

"Then how the hell did she come to let you get away once she'd tied you up?"

"I'm afraid that's my secret," Craig said.

Joanna Benson gave no sign of relief.

"But I did it the way Pascoe showed me," she said. "It's

impossible to- No, that's ridiculous, isn't it? You're

here, after all."

"You'll have to show Pascoe that one," said Loomis.

Craig shook his head. "That's over," he said.

Loomis turned to the other two. "Go and take your coffee on the roof garden," he said.

Royce left, still not looking at Craig, and limping heavily. The girl made no move to help him.

"He'd kill you for nothing," said Loomis. "You've beaten him twice. He hates you for it."

"He hates too much. And he enjoys hurting people too much."

"Yes. So I gather. And Benson?"

"She watched. I don't think she enjoyed it,"

"Tell me," said Loomis. "How d'you come to beat an upstanding young feller like Royce?"

"You made me angry. It was the best thing you could have done, Loomis. It gave me my skill back."

"How on earth did I make you angry?"

"You used me for bait. All that stuff about how I had one more chance to prove myself. I had no chance at all. From the minute I got to New York I was the decoy, wasn't I? Money but no gun, no proper contacts—just a twit from the FO—and Royce and Benson ahead of me all the time. When I was picked up in New York I didn't have a chance."