30

It was night. There was a loud, regular, clicking noise, but it was too dark to see where it was coming from. I could only just see Frank. He was sitting on a hard wooden bench.

'We have to be thankful for small mercies,' said Frank Harrington. 'At least they released Werner Volkmann. They might have kicked up an unholy row when one of their senior staff got killed.'

'Yes, they released Werner.' I'd just come up from the morgue where Pavel Moskvin was in a drawer in a chilled room with a label tied to his toe. I sat down on the bench.

'Even though we didn't guarantee the safety of that party, I was expecting all hell to break loose. I thought there might have been an official protest.'

'Then I've got news for you, Frank,' I said. 'The ballistics report says that Pavel Moskvin was not killed by one of our rounds.' I tossed the mangled piece of metal into the air and caught it.

'What?'

'They said they'd put the report on your desk.'

'I haven't been back to the office.'

'Three of our bullets hit him, but the one that killed him came from a Soviet-calibre gun.' I offered him the round, but he wouldn't take it. Frank was curiously squeamish about firearms.

'What the hell?' said Frank. 'And why use one of their own guns?'

'Someone over there wanted him dead, Frank. And they wanted us to know that.' It was, of course, Fiona's little touch – a way of turning attention away from me, and thus away from her too.

That's why there's been no protest?'

'And why Werner was released as promised,' I said. I hadn't told Frank about my conversation with Fiona and her request that Pavel Moskvin be 'taken out'. Now it had become evident that the KGB hadn't relied upon us; they'd had their own marksman chasing Moskvin. I suppose they would have had too much to lose had we taken him alive.

'Good grief,' said Frank. There's never a clean ending, is there?'

'That's why we have files, Frank.'

'So Moskvin was intended to die,' mused Frank. That explains the KGB hit team we identified. I thought they might be after you.'

I said, 'Stinnes will return in triumph. Moskvin represented a threat to him. I overheard a conversation between them once. Moskvin was out to get Stinnes.'

Our voices were hushed. It was night and we were in the Steglitz Clinic, a part of the hospital of the Free University, the same place from which the Miller woman had been rescued after her pretended attempt at suicide. It had been a terrible night and Frank Harrington's lined face showed how badly he was taking it. Old Percy Danvers, one of Frank's best people and his close friend, was dead. Pavel Moskvin had shot him through the head. That happened in Kleiststrasse before they even got to the flea market and the gun battle in the station. Young Peter – Bret's bodyguard – was badly hurt.

We were waiting for Sheldon Rensselaer to arrive. Bret was in the intensive care ward and not expected to live beyond the weekend. His brother Sheldon was flying in from Washington on a US Air Force flight. Sheldon Rensselaer had a lot of influence in Washington.

'And his wife?' I asked. Ex-wife, I meant. Bret's wife had started spending her alimony years ago.

'Yes, they finally found her. Apparently she winters in Monte Carlo.'

'She's coming?'

'She sent three dozen roses.'

'Perhaps she doesn't realize how bad Bret is.'

'Perhaps,' said Frank in a voice that meant she knew.

'Poor Bret,' I said.

'He didn't recognize me,' said Frank. He was waiting to see Bret again and still wearing the white medical gown they'd given him to go into the ward.

'He wasn't really conscious,' I said,

'I should have stopped him getting up on that train. He saw the kid hit and felt he had to do something.'

'I know,' I said. Frank was reproaching himself unnecessarily for what had happened to Bret. 'Did you talk to London?' I asked him, in order to change the subject.

'The old man was not in the best of moods,' said Frank.

'We got him off the hook,' I said. 'We got them all off the hook. Without what you did, those stupid bastards would still be believing all that crap Stinnes was feeding them.'

'But they're not admitting that,' said Frank.

'How can they deny it? Last night the monitoring service picked up an item about Stinnes being honoured in Moscow.'

'We both know we stopped London making complete idiots of themselves, but they're closing ranks and pretending they knew about Stinnes all the time. Even the old man said that there's valuable information to be obtained even from non-genuine defectors.'

'And what about what they did to Bret?'

They say he wasn't really under house arrest. They say the man who spoke with him was acting without official instructions.'

'Balls,' I said.

'And now the man in question is on duty somewhere and can't be reached.'

'I bet,' I said.

'I spoke to all of them. They're bastards, Bernard. I've often choked you off for saying so, but I take it all back.' Everywhere was dark. A nurse came through the swing doors wheeling a trolley that was clanking with glass and stainless steel. She walked away slowly and eventually disappeared into the darkness that was at the end of a long corridor.

'And what about you, Frank?'

'I was in line for a K.'

'So I heard.' Frank had set his heart on that knighthood. Even though he pretended not to care, it meant a lot to him.

'The old man says it would be inappropriate to recommend that now, after I've so flagrantly disobeyed orders.'

'But you saved them.'

'You keep saying that,' said Frank peevishly. 'And I keep telling you that they don't see it that way.'

'We couldn't have done it without you, Frank. You risked everything and we were proved right.'

'There was talk of giving the K. to Bret instead,' said Frank. 'I don't know what will happen now.'

'The surgeon said Bret won't live.'

'The surgeon says no one can predict what a bullet wound like that will do. They've wrapped him in some kind of tinfoil trying to preserve his body heat. They're doing everything that can be done.'

'You'll retire anyway?' I said.

'The old man has asked me to stay on here. There is the prospect of a K. in two years' time.'

'What did you say?'

'I said you should have Berlin,' said Frank. 'But the old man said that you were lucky not to be facing grave charges.'

Now that my eyes had become used to the gloom I could see the big electric clock over the door that led to the wards. It was the clock that gave that loud click every second. It was the only sound to be heard. 'What time did they say his brother's plane would arrive?'

'I don't think he can possibly get here before four,' said Frank.

'Sheldon was his father's favourite. Bret resented that. Did he ever tell you?'

'Bret didn't reveal much about his private affairs.'

'Yes. I was surprised he confided in me.'

'He knew he could trust you, Bernard, and he was right. He came to you at a time when there was no one else he could trust.'

'I didn't know him very well,' I said. 'I'd always suspected that he'd had an affair with Fiona.'

'He knew you didn't like him, but he came to you all the same. Bret was grateful for what you did. He told me that. I hope he told you.'

'Neither of us did anything for Bret,' I said. 'It wasn't personal. It wasn't like you doing something for me or me doing something for you… '

'Or you doing something for Werner,' said Frank artfully.

'It was for the good of the Department,' I said, ignoring Frank's aside. 'Bret was being framed, and those idiots in London were letting it happen. Something had to be done.'

'There will be a big shake-up,' said Frank. 'Dicky is hoping to get the Europe desk, but there's not much chance of that, thank God. Bret might have got Europe if this hadn't happened. Morgan, the D-G's hatchet man, is getting some sort of promotion too.'