A Matter of Honor

… Troilus and Cressida, All’s Well That Ends Well …”

As the handle plunged down, the volts seemed to find their way to every nerve ending in his body. Adam let out such a scream that if they had not been in a soundproofed room anyone within a mile would have heard him. When the initial effect was over he was left shaking and retching uncontrollably. Stravinsky and Pollard rushed forward to the chair and quickly undid the nylon cords. Adam fell on his hands and knees, still vomiting.

“Couldn’t afford to let you choke to death, could we?” said Stravinsky. “We lost one or two that way in the early days, but we know better now.”

As soon as the sickness subsided, Stravinsky threw Adam back up on to the chair, and Pollard tied him up again.

“Where is the Czar’s icon?” shouted Stravinsky.

“ … Measure for Measure, Othello, King Lear …” Adam said, his voice now trembling.

Pollard picked up another bottle of water and thrust it at Adam’s lips. Adam gulped it down, but it was as a tiny oasis in a vast desert. Romanov came forward, and Stravinsky took his place beside the plunger.

“You are a brave man, Scott,” said Romanov, “with nothing left to prove, but this is madness. Just tell me where the icon is, and I will send Stravinsky away and order the colonel to leave you on the steps of the British embassy.”

“ … Macbeth, Antony and Cleopatra …”

Romanov let out a sigh and nodded. Stravinsky pushed the plunger down once again. Even the colonel turned white as he watched Adam’s reaction. The pitch of the scream was even higher, and the muscles contorted visibly as Adam felt the volts reach the millions of little nerve ends in his body. When once more he had been released, Adam lay on the floor on his hands and knees. Was there anything left in his stomach that could still possibly come up? He raised his head, only to be hurled back on to the chair and bound up again. Stravinsky stared down at him.

“Most impressive, Captain Scott, you have qualified for Stage Three.”

Adam passed out.

When Lawrence arrived at Orly Airport that evening he was looking forward to a quiet dinner with his old friend at the ambassador’s residence. He was met by Colonel Pollard.

“How is he?” were Lawrence’s first words.

“I hoped you were going to tell us,” said Pollard, as he took Lawrence’s overnight suitcase. Lawrence stopped in his tracks and stared at the tall, thin soldier who was in the full-dress uniform of the Royal Dragon Guards.

“What do you mean?” said Lawrence.

“Simply that,” said Pollard. “I followed your instructions to the letter and went to pick up Scott at the Ministry of the Interior, but when I arrived I was informed that he had been taken away twenty minutes earlier by someone using my name. We contacted your office immediately, but as you were already en route to the plane the ambassador ordered me straight to the airport while he phoned Sir Morris.”

Lawrence staggered and nearly fell. The colonel came quickly to his side. He didn’t understand what Lawrence meant when he said, “He’s bound to believe it’s me.”

When Adam regained consciousness, Romanov stood alone.

“Sometimes,” said the Russian, continuing as if Adam had never passed out, “a man is too proud to show lack of resolution in front of the torturer or indeed one of his own countrymen, especially a traitor. That is why I have removed Stravinsky and the colonel from our presence. Now I have no desire to see Stravinsky continue this experiment to Stage Three, but I can stop him only if you will tell me where you have put the icon.”

“Why should I?” said Adam belligerently. “It’s legally mine.”

“Not so, Captain Scott. What you picked up from the bank in Geneva is the priceless original painted by Rublev, which belongs to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. And if that icon were to appear in any auction house or gallery in the world, we would immediately claim it as a national treasure stolen by the seller.”

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“But how could that be … ?” began Adam.

“Because,” said Romanov, “it is you who are now in possession of the original that the Czar left in the safekeeping of the Grand Duke of Hesse, and for over fifty years the Soviet Union has only had a copy.” Adam’s eyes opened wide in disbelief as Romanov removed from the inside pocket of his overcoat an icon of Saint George and the dragon. Romanov paused and then turned it over; a smile of satisfaction crossed his face as Adam’s eyes registered the significance of the missing crown.

“Like you,” continued Romanov, “I only have this one on loan—but you tell me where the original is, and I will release you and exchange the copy for the original. No one will be any the wiser, and you’ll still be able to make yourself a worthwhile profit.”

“Old lamps for new,” said Adam with a sneer.

Romanov’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Surely you realize, Scott, that you are in possession of a priceless masterpiece that belongs to the Soviet Union. Unless you return the icon you are going to cause considerable embarrassment for your country, and you will probably end up in jail. All you have to do is tell me where the icon is and you can go free.”

Adam didn’t even bother to shake his head.

“Then the time has obviously come to let you into some information you will be more interested in,” Romanov said, extracting a single sheet of paper from an envelope he removed from his inside pocket. Adam was genuinely puzzled, quite unable to think what it could be. Romanov opened it slowly and held it up so that Adam could only see the back.