A Matter of Honor

When they stepped out of the lift on the ground floor, Romanov spotted Herr Bischoffs father with another customer.

A Rolls-Royce accompanied by a police motorcycle whisked the Shah of Iran quickly away, and the chairman discreetly waved his farewell.

When they reached the entrance to the bank, the young Herr Bischoff bowed. “We shall look forward to seeing you again when you are next in Zurich, Your Excellency,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Romanov, who shook hands with the young man and walked out on to the pavement to find the anonymous black car waiting to take him to the airport.

He cursed. This time he did spot the agent he had seen earlier in the hotel.

CHAPTER NINE

“KILL HIM, SIR,” the corporal whispered in Adam’s ear.

“Not much hope of that,” muttered Adam as he bounced into the center of the ring.

The lean muscle-bound instructor stood waiting for him. “Let’s have a few rounds and see how you make out, sir.” Adam bobbed and weaved around the Physical Training Instructor, looking for an opening.

Adam led with a left and received a tap on the nose for his trouble. “Keep your guard up,” said the sergeant major. Adam led again, catching the instructor a full blow on the chest, but was punished with a sharp left jab into the side of his head. He wobbled and his ear tingled, but this time he managed to keep his guard up when a right and left followed. “You’re feeble, sir, that’s your problem. You couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding.” Adam feinted with his right and then swung a left with such force that when it caught the sergeant major full on the chin he staggered and fell.

The corporal standing by the

side of the ring smirked as the instructor remained on the floor. Eventually he managed to get back on his feet.

“I’m sorry,” said Adam, his guard up and ready.

“Don’t be sorry, you bloody fool … sir. You landed a bloody good punch. A technical knockout, to be accurate, so I’ll have to wait for a day or two to seek my revenge.” Adam breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his guard. “But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. It’s weight training for you now, sir. Beam work and floor exercises.”

For the next hour the sergeant major chased, kicked, harried, and badgered Adam until he finally collapsed in a heap on the floor, incapable of lifting an evening paper.

“Not bad, sir. I feel sure the Foreign Office will find some niche for you. Mind you,” he added, “as most of that lot are about as wet as a dishcloth even you’ll have a chance to shine.”

“You are most flattering, sergeant major,” said Adam from a supine position.

“Up, sir,” the instructor bellowed. Adam unwillingly got to his feet as quickly as his tired body would allow.

“Don’t tell me, Sergeant Major.”

“It’s the recovery that proves fitness, not the speed,” they said in unison.

“Sad day when you left the army,” said the instructor to Adam once they were back in the Queen’s Club changing room. “Can’t name a lot of officers who have put me on the floor.” The instructor touched his chin tenderly. “That will teach me to underestimate a man who survived nine months of Chink food. And let’s hope the Foreign Office doesn’t underestimate you as well.”

The sergeant major rose from the bench by his locker. “Same time Wednesday?”

“Can’t make it Wednesday, Sergeant Major. I may not be back from a trip to Geneva.”

“Swanning around Europe nowadays, are we?”

“I could manage Thursday morning if that suits you,” Adam said, ignoring the jibe.

“Your checkup with the quack is next Monday afternoon, if I remember correctly.”

“Right.”

“Thursday at ten then, it will give you a little longer to think about my right hook.”

The Chairman of the KGB studied the report on the desk in front of him: something didn’t ring true. He looked up at Romanov. “Your reason for visiting Bischoff et Cie was because they claimed to be in possession of a fifteenth-century icon that might have fitted the description of the one we are searching for?”

“That is correct, Comrade, and the chairman of Gosbank will confirm that he personally arranged the meeting.”