Bad Actors (Slough House, #8)(13)

“Well, smiley face, ironic wink, you’d better get used to communicating that way. On account of I can’t hear a word you’re saying with that thing on.”

“If you didn’t hear me, how come you know what I said?”

“Best not to encourage him,” Catherine said quietly.

Lamb gave his injured martyr look. “Eye roll. Pay no attention to Jane Eyre. She’s been in a snit since I friend-zoned her.”

“Could we get on with things, please?”

“Unless anyone else has something to contribute?” He stared at Roddy Ho. “Hmm?”

“Well—”

“Shut up.” He gazed round at the rest of them. “Now, it won’t have escaped your attention that there’s fewer of you than there used to be. Which means there’s more work to go round, because that’s just plain maths. So you two,” meaning Lech and Louisa, “can split whatever Dander was doing. And you,” meaning Roddy, “find out what Cartwright was up to and finish it.”

“What about me?” asked Ashley.

“You carry on doing what you’re doing. Only do twice as much of it.”

“I’m doing nothing.”

“Yeah, so you could probably get away with only doing half as much again.” He squashed the side of his nose with his finger and winked horribly. “Just make sure I don’t find out.”

“There’s probably an emoji for that,” muttered Louisa.

“Thank you, smartarse. Since you’re crammed full of general knowledge this morning, tell the ship’s monkey here where the Russian embassy is.”

He gestured with his unlit cigarette at Roddy Ho.

“It’s on Bayswater Road,” Louisa said. “Why?”

“Because he pretty certainly doesn’t know.”

“I meant why—”

“Because one of us gets to give instructions, and the rest of us get to carry them out. See if you can work out who’s who. My door’s always open.”

Lech said, “The stuff you’ve got us on already, the social media dropouts and the library lists and the rest, they’ll pretty much take us forever to finish. So how do you expect us to do Shirley and River’s jobs as well?”

“Well, that’s something for you to brood on next time you’re planning a jolly of your own, isn’t it?” He opened the three left-hand drawers of his desk, and slammed them shut in quick succession. Then fumbled through his jacket pockets before producing a lighter. “If I wanted you to display anything, I’d choose something you can spell. Initiative’s not the first thing that’d come to mind.” He lit his cigarette and tossed the lighter over his shoulder. It landed with a plastic bump. “Your arse’d be the first thing that comes to mind. I appreciate that’s a novel experience for you, but imagine how it makes me feel.”

“I already knew where the Russian Embassy is,” said Roddy.

“Amazing. Skillset like yours, you could work for Deliveroo, once you’ve learned to ride a bike.”

“I can already—”

“Yeah, shut up. There’s enough CCTV round there to stage an Olympic opening ceremony, right? Usual traffic stuff, plus local security, plus whatever the Park’s set up to keep the Ivans in the spotlight. So you do whatever it is you do when you’re not playing Star Trek, and hijack or lojack or just plain jack off one or other or all of these, and let me know when you’re done.” He exhaled smoke without apparently having inhaled any yet. “Because today’s the day the teddy bear’s having a picnic. And I want to know who’s invited.”

Which didn’t so much cast light on the assembled company as push them a little further into the dark.

Catherine said, “Perhaps, when you’re giving instructions, you could aim for more clarity?”

“Christ. I should use flashcards.” He leaned forward, and all present, bar Ashley, braced. Sudden changes of position often signalled an oncoming fart. “The Russian Embassy—Russian, bear, get it?—the Russian Embassy’s hosting a shindig this evening. And I’d like Kung Fu Panda here to provide a list of those turning up for caviar and chips. Is that clear enough? Why are you all retreating?”

“Eager to get on with the job,” said Louisa.

“Nice to see some enthusiasm for a change. I’m pretty sure I’m due a tea break myself. Oh, wait. One more thing.” He paused. They waited. He farted. “No, sorry. Forgot what I was about to say.”

Lech and Louisa stopped off in the kitchen before heading to their offices: she put the kettle on; he leaned against the fridge and groaned.

“Take more painkillers,” she suggested. “Has Bachelor been in touch?”

“Thanks for the sympathy. He called, yes.”

“Everything okay?”

“I’d have said if it wasn’t. Catherine doesn’t know about any of this, does she?”

“Doesn’t appear so.”

“And he normally tells her stuff. You think this Russian Embassy do is connected?”

“I think Lamb wasn’t kidding when he told us to keep quiet about it.”

Or I’ll do for both your careers what he’s already done to his face, had been Lamb’s codicil.