A Matter of Honor

“Scott,” he informed her.

“Yes, sir,” she repeated. “Could you join the other gentleman? They will be seeing you next.” Adam went over and picked up a copy of Punch before settling down next to Wainwright, who was already filling in the Telegraph crossword.

Adam soon became bored with flicking through endless issues of Punch and took a more careful look at Wainwright. “Do you by any chance speak German?” Adam asked suddenly, turning to face the other interviewee.

“German, French, Italian, and Spanish,” Wainwright replied, looking up. “I assumed that was how I managed to get this far,” he added somewhat smugly.

“Then perhaps you could translate a paragraph from a German letter for me?”

“Delighted, old fellow,” said Adam’s companion, who proceeded to remove the pair of thick-lensed glasses from his nose and waited for Adam to extract the middle paragraph of the letter from his envelope.

“Now, let me see,” Wainwright said, taking the little slip of paper and replacing the glasses. “Quite a challenge. I say, old fellow, you’re not part of the interviewing team by any chance?”

“No, no,” said Adam, smiling. “I’m in exactly the same position as you—except I don’t speak German, French, Italian, or Spanish.”

Wainwright seemed to relax. “Now let me see,” he repeated, as Adam took out the small notebook from his inside pocket.

“‘During the past year you cannot have failed to … notice that I have been receiving from one of the guards a regular, regular … regular supply,’” he said suddenly, “yes, ‘supply of Havana cigars. One of the few pleasures I have been allocated’ —no, ‘allowed,’ better still, ‘permitted’—‘despite my … incarceration.’ That’s the nearest I can get,” Wainwright added. “‘The cigars themselves have also served another purpose,’” Wainwright continued, obviously enjoying himself, “‘as they contained tiny capsules …’”

“Mr. Scott.”

“Yes,” said Adam, jumping up obediently.

“The board will see you now,” said the receptionist.

“Do you want me to finish it off while they’re finishing you off, old chap?” said Wainwright.

“Thank you,” Adam replied, “if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Far easier than the crossword,” Wainwright added, leaving on one side the little unfilled half-matrix of squares.

Alex Romanov was not a patient man at the best of times, and with the General Secretary now ringing up his chief twice a day, these were not the best of times.

While he waited for results of the chairman of Cosbank’s inquiries he reread the research papers that had been left on his desk and checked any new intelligence that had been sent back by his agents in the field. Romanov resented the scraps of information the chairman of Gosbank must have been receiving by the hour, but he made no attempt to pester the old man despite his time problem.

Then the chairman of the bank called.

On this occasion Romanov was driven straight over to the State Bank and ushered up to the finely furnished room without a moment’s delay. Poskonov, dressed in another of those suits with an even larger check, was standing to greet him at the door.

“You must have wondered if I had forgotten you,” were Poskonov’s opening words as he ushered Romanov to the comfortable chair. “But I wanted to have some positive news to give you rather than waste your time. You don’t smoke, if I remember correctly,” he added, taking out his pack of Dunhill cigarettes.

“No, thank you,” Romanov said, wondering if the chairman’s doctor realized how much the old man smoked.

The chairman’s secretary entered the room and placed two empty glasses, a frosted flask, and a plate of caviar in front of them.

Romanov waited in silence.

“I have, over the past two days, managed to talk to the chairmen of twelve of the banks on your original list,” Poskonov began, as he poured two vodkas, “but I have avoided making contact with the remaining two.”

“Avoided?” repeated Romanov.

“Patience, Comrade,” said Poskonov, sounding like a benevolent uncle. “You have longer to live than I, so if there is any time to be wasted it must be yours.”

Romanov lowered his eyes.

“I avoided one of the chairmen,” Poskonov continued, “because he is in Mexico showing President Ordaz how not to repay their loan to Chase Manhattan while at the same time borrowing even more dollars from the Bank of America. If he pulls that off, I shall have to recom

mend to the General Secretary of the party that he is offered my job when I retire. The second gentleman I have avoided because he is officially in Chicago, closing a major Eurobond deal with Continental Illinois, while in fact he is booked in at the Saint Francis Hotel in San Francisco with his mistress. I feel certain you would agree, Comrade Major, that it would not advance our cause to disturb either of these gentlemen at this precise moment. The first has enough problems to be going on with for the rest of the week, while the second may well have his phone tapped—and we wouldn’t want the Americans to discover what we are searching for, would we?”