22: POLLOCK

'God,' he said quietly, 'what a mess.'

The pilot had vomited when he'd regained consciousness and the pain had started up again, but I don't think Pollock meant that; he meant the whole situation.

'Move over there,' I said, 'behind him. And don't let him get up.'

'I doubt if he can. But I've got to get him to a hospital.'

'Pollock,' I said, 'this isn't a fucking cricket club. Get over there.'

He moved now, but not because the gun worried him. That was my impression.

'If the other man comes down the steps,' I said, 'and you give him any kind of warning, I'm going to put a bullet straight into your head. Parlez-vous English?'

He gave a slow blink, as if keeping patience. 'Look, if I take the handcuffs off, will you put down the gun?'

'In that order, yes. But first we've got to wait for the other man to come back. I want his gun too.'

'His name's Schwarz,' he said, with a formality that would have amused me if I hadn't been so enraged. On the trip from the rendezvous I'd been certain they were going to shoot me as they'd shot Lena Pabst, and there was all that adrenalin still hanging around the blood and going sour. 'We need to talk,' Pollock said, and then a door opened and someone came down the steps and Pollock looked up. 'Jurgen, put your revolver on the floor, will you?'

The man took a look at things and began pulling his gun out of the holster and I said, 'Do it very carefully,' and he just used his finger and thumb on the butt as if it were something smelly, and laid it on the bottom step. Then he looked at the man on the floor.

'We'll get him to a doctor,' Pollock said.

I was still holding the gun with my left arm twisted behind my back and it was tiring. 'Pollock, come over here and stand with your back to me.'

The man on the floor was crooning over his broken wrist, his face still bloodless. He was the one who'd kept digging his gun into me on the way here.

'Closer,' I told Pollock, and he went on backing towards me until the muzzle of my revolver was touching his spine. Then I told the pilot in German, 'unlock these things.' I didn't need to tell him what would happen to Pollock's spine if anyone played about. Schwarz, Pollock had said his name was.

When the handcuffs were off my wrists I told them both to move into the corner behind the man on the floor.

'Schwarz, is that driver still up there in the van?'

'Yes.'

'Get him down here. If you're longer than two minutes I'm going to put your friend out of his misery.'

'Look — ' Pollock said.

'Shuddup.' I was in a rotten mood and it was their bloody fault.

Schwarz went and got the driver, a young low-ranker in a windcheater and boots, his movements sharp and circumspect in the presence of the pilots.

I looked at Pollock. 'Where is this place?'

'The cellar underneath the Club.'

I told the driver, 'Go upstairs and get a bucket of water and a cloth and come back and clear up that mess on the floor. Then you'll take the officer to the nearest medical centre. Now move.'

'Sir!'

'Pollock, you can light a cigarette. Schwarz too.'

It'd help cover the smell. I watched their hands as a matter of caution, but Pollock hadn't got anything on him or he'd have reached for it when he'd come down the steps and seen the mess.

I went over to the phone and dialled the hotel.

Second ring: Cone was nursing it.

'The rdv,' I told him, 'was set up to make a snatch. I've restored order and I'm now in the Trumpeter operations room, though it looks more like a junk shop: we're not dealing with a very sophisticated cell.

'Where is it?'

'I don't want you sending people around. Listen, I'm going to get all the information I can, and I'll phone you again in an hour, at 7:45. If I don't, call the British Ambassador and tell him that Pollock, his cultural attache, is in the Trumpeter cell, and by the look of it I'd say he's running things. But do not give that information to anyone unless I fail to call you. I don't want to blow this operation until I know what's happening, and there's an awful lot of stuff hitting the fan. With this man Pollock involved we've got a second UK connection, so we don't want to make any waves.'

Cigarette smoke drifting on the air. The driver came down the steps with a red plastic bucket with the Kronnenburg logo on it and started to clean up, making a lot of haste.

Cone: 'You can't do this.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I've got to signal London. You must realise that.'

'I'm not stopping you.'

'But I've got to tell them you've successfully penetrated Trumpeter, and — ' on a thought '- you are in charge there, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'That's very nice, but I can't tell Bureau One that you're in contact with me but you're totally alone in the centre of the opposition cell and refuse to let me know where it is.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake, I've had a long day. I'm — '

'I know, but you're not listening. What sort of director will I look like?'

I thought about it while the driver took the bucket up the steps, boots banging. I suppose it was the only way Cone knew he could break me down, by appealing to my respect for him.

'It's not your fault if I don't do things by the book.'

I heard him let out a breath. 'You are in — ' no contraction, articulating carefully '- the centre of an opposition cell and may at any time find yourself compromised, and when questions are asked later I shan't be able to explain why my executive lost all trust in me and refused all confidence.' His voice went very quiet. 'It's not a question of not doing things by the book. It's a question of manners.'

Oh Jesus Christ, he was as bad as Ferris: we were only ten days into the mission but he'd learned exactly how to manipulate me.

In a minute I said, 'You go straight for the groin, don't you?'

'That's better,' he said.

The driver came down again and went over to the man on the floor.

'Hold on a minute,' I told Cone, and put the phone down and got the gun from the bottom step and swung the chamber out and dropped the bullets into my hand and threw the gun into the corner of the room; then I did the same thing with the one I'd borrowed and picked up the handcuffs and gave everything to the driver. 'You'll drop these bullets down the nearest drain in the car park and put the handcuffs into the van.' The man took them but looked across at Schwarz and I told Schwarz: 'Order him.'

'Do as he says.'

'Sir.'

He got hold of the other man and helped him onto his feet. He was fully conscious now and in a great deal of pain.

I looked at the driver. 'Can you manage the steps?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Quick as you can, then.' The movement wasn't going to help the pain and I didn't want any more mess in here.

I picked up the phone again. 'Something I had to see to. All right, but you'd have to give me your word that you'll send no one into this area unless I fail to make that call.'

It took him a few seconds. 'I will send no one.'

'Fair enough. I'm in the cellar underneath Charlie's Club. Got that? If I don't make the call, you can send in a whole platoon of the KGB and blow the place open.' I was watching Pollock as I said that, and he looked very surprised, though he kept most of it blanked off. I was beginning to think he was a. spook of some sort, running his own thing. 'Look,' I told Cone, 'I don't want to handle this on my own for the moment just for kicks. The thing is it's so bloody sensitive that I want a clear field to work in until I know which way we're facing. But I'll give you everything I've got as soon as I'm ready. I hope you can accept that.'