Adam turned and shook hands with the manager.
“Leaving us so soon?” said Stephen.
“Afraid so,” said Adam. “But thanks for the lift. And I won’t forget the calendar.” The driver pulled on to the shoulder and pressed a knob, and the hydraulic doors swung back.
“‘Bye, Robin,” said Adam, giving her a brotherly kiss on the cheek.
“Good-bye, baby brother,” said Robin. “Give my love to mother if you see her before I do.” She smiled and waved at him as the door swung closed and the coach returned to the highway to continue its journey on to Frankfurt.
Adam was on his own again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PROFESSOR BRUNWELD was rarely treated with any respect. It was the fate of academics, he had long ago concluded. “The President” was all they had said and he had wondered if he should believe it. Certainly they had got him out of bed in the middle of the night and escorted him silently to the Pentagon. They wanted Brunweld’s expert opinion, they assured him. Could it be possible? After Cuba and Dallas he’d begun to believe anything was possible.
He had once read that the Pentagon had as many floors below the ground as above it. He could now confirm that as an established fact.
Once they had handed him the document they left him alone. He studied the clauses for over an hour, and then called them back. It was authentic, he told them, and if the Russians were still in possession of their copy, also signed in 1867, then his adopted country was—what was that awful American expression? ah, yes—in all sorts of trouble.
He began to realize how serious it was when they told him he would not be allowed to leave the Pentagon until M
onday. That didn’t surprise him once he’d seen the date on the bottom of the treaty. So it was to be three days of solitude away from his demanding students and chattering wife. He would never have a better opportunity to settle down and read the collected works of Proust.
Romanov knew he couldn’t risk standing by the side of the car for much longer. He was too conspicuously dressed not to be noticed by everyone who came out of the hotel. Three minutes later he threw his gray cap on to the backseat and instructed Valchek to get rid of the car and then return to the consulate.
Valchek nodded. He had already carried out Romanov’s orders to kill the two British agents as if he had been asked to fix a burst water pipe. The only thing that hadn’t run to plan was when Valchek tried to button up the dead chauffeur’s uniform. Romanov thought he detected a smirk on Valchek’s face when he realized who would have to be the chauffeur.
Romanov slipped into the shadows and waited for another half hour, by which time he was sure the plan must have been aborted from the London end. He hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take him to the Soviet consulate. He didn’t notice the taxi driver’s look of disbelief at his passenger’s chauffeur-clad vision.
Could he really have lost Scott twice? Had he also underestimated him? Once more, and Zaborski was going to require a very convincing explanation.
On his way back to the consulate an image kept Hashing across Romanov’s mind, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. Something had happened outside the hotel that didn’t quite fit. If he could only think clearly for a moment, he felt certain it would become clear to him. He kept playing the last thirty minutes over in his mind, as if rewinding the reel of an old film; but some of the frames still remained blurred.
Once Romanov was back in the consulate, Valchek handed him a large envelope, which had just arrived in the diplomatic pouch from Moscow.
Romanov read the decoded telex a second time, still unable to fathom its possible significance.
“Information has come to light concerning the late Colonel Gerald Scott, D.S.O., O.B.E., M.C. that may prove useful when you make contact with your quarry. Full documentation will be with you by morning, latest. A.I.”
Romanov wondered what headquarters had discovered about Scott’s father that could possibly prove of interest to him. It was still his avowed intention that the son would be dispatched to join the father long before any further missive from Moscow had arrived.
Romanov thought of his own father and the escape route he had made possible by leaving such a fortune and how, for the sake of advancement, he had betrayed him to the State. Now for the sake of advancement he had to kill Scott and bring home the icon. If he failed … . He dismissed both fathers.
“Either Scott’s extremely clever, or he’s living on an amateur’s luck,” Romanov said, moving into the small office that had been made available for his use. Valchek, who followed him, did not comment other than to ask what he should do next.
“Tell me what you saw when we were at the hotel.”
“What do you mean?” asked Valchek.
“Don’t ask questions,” said Romanov, changing back into his own clothes, “answer them. Tell me everything you remember seeing, from the moment we drew up outside the hotel.”
“We arrived at the Richmond a few minutes before ten,” began Valchek, “parked the Mercedes on the far side of the road and waited for Scott to show up. We stayed put for a few minutes after ten, but Scott never materialized.”
“No, no, no. Be more specific. Don’t just generalize. For instance, do you remember anything unusual taking place while we were waiting?”
“Nothing in particular,” said Valchek. “People continually entering and leaving the hotel—but I’m sure Scott wasn’t among them.”
“You are fortunate to be so certain. What happened next?” asked Romanov.