A Matter of Honor

“No,” said Grieg. Romanov scowled. “Unless you count Robin Beresford’s brother.”

“Robin Beresford’s brother?” inquired Romanov, his eyebrows raising interrogatively.

“Yes,” said the manager. “Adam Beresford. But he only traveled with us as far as Solothurn. Then he got off.”

“Which one of you is Robin?” said Romanov, staring rou

nd a sea of men’s faces.

“I am,” piped up a voice from the back. Romanov marched down the bus and saw the double bass case, and then everything fitted into place. It always worried him when something was out of context. Yes, that was what hadn’t rung true. Why hadn’t she put the double bass in the trunk with all the other large instruments? He stared down at the heavy-framed woman who now sat behind the monstrous instrument.

“Your brother is the one called Adam?”

“Yes,” said Robin.

“Quite a coincidence.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” she said, trying not to sound nervous.

“The man I am looking for just happens to be called Adam as well.”

“Common enough name,” said Robin. “Perhaps you’ve never read the first chapter of the Bible.”

“Six foot one inch, perhaps two inches, dark hair, dark eyes, slim and fit. Not a convincing brother for you,” added Romanov, studying her frame.

Robin pushed back her red hair but didn’t rise. Romanov could sense from the nervous expressions on the faces around him that it was Scott who had been on the bus.

“Where was your brother,” he emphasized the word, “intending to go once he had left the coach?” Romanov asked, tapping his passport against his other hand, like a baton.

“I have no idea,” said Robin, still not changing her expression from one of uninterested politeness.

“I will give you one more chance to cooperate with me. Where was your brother heading?”

“And I’ll tell you once more, I don’t know.”

“If you refuse to answer my questions,” said Romanov, “I shall have to arrest you.”

“On whose authority?” asked Robin calmly.

Romanov considered showing her his passport but realized that this girl was sharper than either the driver or the manager.

“With the authority of the Swiss police,” Romanov said confidently.

“Then no doubt you’ll be happy to show me proof of your identity.”

“Don’t be insolent,” Romanov said sharply. He towered over her.

“It is you who are insolent,” said Robin, standing up. “You drive in front of our coach like a lunatic, nearly sending us down the mountain, then the three of you burst in like a bunch of Chicago mobsters, claiming to be Swiss police. I have no idea who you are or what you are, but I’ll let you into two secrets. You touch me, and there are forty men on this coach who will beat you and your two cronies into pulp. And even if you managed to get off this bus alive, we are members of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra of Great Britain, and as such are guests of the Swiss government. In a few moments when we cross the border, we will become the guests of the West German government, so you’re about to get yourself onto every front page in the world. Single-handedly, you will bring a totally new meaning to the words ‘diplomatic incident.’” She leaned forward and pointing a finger at him, said, “So I’m telling you, whoever you are, in as ladylike fashion as I can, ‘Piss off.’”

Romanov stood staring at her for some moments and then backed away as Robin’s eyes remained glued on him. When he reached the front he waved at Valchek and the chauffeur, indicating that they should leave the coach. Reluctantly they obeyed him. The coach driver closed the door the moment Romanov’s foot touched the ground, and he quickly moved into first gear and drove back on to the highway.

The entire orchestra turned round and gave Robin the kind of ovation normally reserved for the entrance of the conductor.

It went unappreciated. Robin had collapsed back into her seat, shaking uncontrollably, only too aware that not one of the forty men on that coach would have lifted a finger against Rosenbaum.

Sir Morris Youngfield glanced round the table: everyone was in place despite the few minutes’ notice the head of the D4 had given them.

“Let’s hear the latest report,” said Sir Morris, looking up at his number two, who was once again seated at the far end of the table.