The Unlikely Spy(94)

"Is Kidlington there now?"

"I can see him sitting in his office doing his bloody paperwork."

"Keep watching. I think you'll enjoy this."





Harry nearly killed himself sprinting from his desk into Vicary's office. He told it very quickly, running over the details so fast that Vicary twice had to ask him to stop and go back to the beginning. When he was finished, Harry dialed the number for him and handed Vicary the receiver.





"Hello, Detective Chief Superintendent Kidlington? This is Alfred Vicary calling from the War Office. . . . I'm fine, thank you. But I'm afraid I need your rather serious help. It's about the Pope murder. I'm declaring it a security matter as of now. A man from my staff will come to your office right away. His name is Harry Dalton. You may remember him. . . . You do? Good. I'd like a complete copy of the entire case file. . . . Why? I'm afraid I can't say any more, Superintendent. Thank you for your cooperation. Good afternoon."

Vicary rang off. He slammed the palm of his hand onto the desk and looked up at Harry, smiling for the first time in weeks.





Catherine Blake packed her handbag for the evening: her stiletto, her Mauser pistol, her camera. She was meeting Jordan for dinner. She assumed they would go back to his house together afterward to make love; they always did. She made tea and read the afternoon newspapers. The murder of Rose Morely in Hyde Park was the big news of the day. The police believed the murder was a robbery that spun out of control and ended in murder. They even had a pair of suspects. Just as she thought. It was perfect. She undressed and took a long bath. She was toweling her wet hair when the telephone rang. Only one person in all of Britain knew her number--Peter Jordan. Catherine pretended to be surprised when she heard his voice at the other end of the line.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel dinner. I apologize, Catherine. It's just that something very important has come up."

"I understand."

"I'm still at the office. I need to stay here very late tonight."

"Peter, you're not obliged to give me an explanation."

"I know, but I want to. I have to leave London very early tomorrow morning, and I have a lot of work to do before then."

"I'm not going to pretend I'm not disappointed. I was looking forward to being with you tonight. I haven't seen you for two days."

"It seems like a month. I wanted to see you too."

"Is it completely out of the question?"

"I'm not going to be home until at least eleven o'clock."

"That's fine."

"And I have a car picking me up at my house at five in the morning."

"That's fine too."

"But, Catherine--"

"Here's my suggestion. I'll meet you in front of your house at eleven. I'll make us something to eat. You can relax and get ready for your trip."

"I need to get some sleep."

"I'll let you sleep, I promise."

"We haven't been sleeping much lately."

"I'll do my best to restrain myself."

"I'll see you at eleven."

"Wonderful."

The red light shone over Boothby's double door for a very long time. Vicary reached out to press the buzzer a second time--a flagrant violation of one of Boothby's edicts--but stopped himself. From the other side of the heavy doors he heard two voices elevated in argument, one distinctly female, the other Boothby's. You can't do this to me! It was the woman's voice, suddenly loud and slightly hysterical. Boothby's voice grew calmer in response, a parent quietly lecturing an errant child. Vicary, feeling like an idiot, leaned his ear against the seam in the doors. Bastard! Bloody bastard! It was the woman again. Then the sound of a door slamming. The light suddenly shone green. Vicary ignored it. Sir Basil's office had a private entrance, used only by the lord and master himself and by the director-general. It was not all that private; if Vicary waited long enough, the woman would turn the corner and he could get a look at her. He heard the sound of her high-heeled shoes, smacking angrily against the corridor floor. She turned the corner. It was Grace Clarendon. She stopped walking and narrowed her vivid green eyes at Vicary in disgust. A tear tumbled down her cheek. She punched it away, then disappeared down the hallway.





The office was dark except for the single lamp burning on Boothby's desk. The room reeked of the cigarette smoldering untouched at Boothby's elbow. Boothby was working through a file in his braces and his shirtsleeves. Without looking up, he commanded Vicary to sit by jabbing his gold pen at one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I'm listening," he said.

Vicary brought him quickly up-to-date. He told Boothby about the results of the daylong investigation into the murder of Rose Morely. He told him about the possible link between the German agent and the murder of Vernon Pope. He explained that finding Robert Pope and questioning him was imperative. He requested every available man to assist in the search for Pope. Boothby maintained a stoic silence throughout Vicary's briefing. His habitual fidgeting and pacing had been suspended, and he seemed to be listening more intently than usual.

"Well," Boothby said. "This is the first piece of good news we've had when it comes to this case. I do hope for your sake that you're right about the connection between these killings."