Alan stretched out his hand in greeting.
‘Good morning, Bernard.
Great to see you after all this time.
How’s R? Is he still hopping mad?’
‘Good to see you, too.
Yes, he is, unfortunately. He’s
waiting for you. Go straight in.’
Alan pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into a
plain but expensively furnished office.
Its occupant moved swiftly from behind the desk. He took Alan’s hand in both of his and shook
it firmly and repeatedly.
‘Alan. Good of you to
come. Let’s cut to the chase. We can exchange pleasantries later. Perhaps over a beer.’
‘Bernard said you were angry. I was intrigued.’
‘Yes. That’s what I
led him to believe. Actually, I’m
delighted.’
Alan raised an eyebrow.
‘Sit down my old friend.
I think I need to explain something to you.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘We have, of course, been following your every move. Using a
number of our best agents. You led them a merry dance. But they’re good. Nearly as good as you used to be.’
Alan reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a
slim, gold cigarette case. He flipped it
open and leaned forward to offer one of its contents to R. R shook his head.
‘Balkan Sobranie.
Your favourite.’
‘Bless you for remembering, Alan, but I’m trying to give
them up.’
Alan snapped the case shut and returned it to his inside
pocket.
‘You do know that the Russians have got the microfiche? I
can’t understand why that would delight you.’
R leaned back in his chair and placed both hands over his
ample stomach. He looked thoughtful.
After a long silence, he said, ‘It delights me because that’s precisely
what we had wanted to happen. We had
them ‘anonymously’ tipped off about your precious cargo and your
whereabouts. How else would they have
known? So, rest assured you are not
losing your touch as much as you feared.’
R paused as Bernard came through the door with a tray of
coffee. He restarted after Bernard had
left.
In fact, you seem to have retained many of the, erm, skills
of our trade, shall we say. I am more
than a little impressed. Do you know, I
think I might just have one of those Sobranies.’
Alan’s face was impassive.
He remained perfectly still.
‘I see. So, you have
been using me.’
‘Sorry. We thought it best not to burden you with the
truth.’ R’s voice held not a tinge of
regret.
‘And there I was, feeling ashamed for telling the Russians
where the microfiche was in order to save a vulnerable woman. I think I had better leave now. And you can buy your own bloody Sobranies.’
Alan stood up and walked towards the door. Just before
opening it, he turned towards R.
‘Never, ever underestimate me.’
He marched out past an astonished looking Bernard.
Fifteen minutes later, he walked into the lobby of a nearby
hotel and sat in a huge, plush armchair in the far corner. After ordering a cognac, he pulled the
cigarette case out of his pocket and turned it over and over in his hand. A marvellous piece of engineering, he mused,
opening it. Making sure that he was not
being observed, he pulled out the brushed gold interior to reveal a tiny hidden
compartment. The micro fiches only just
fit inside them. He smiled and closed the case firmly shut.
He downed his cognac in one go and stood up.
Less than a minute later, he was in the phone booth.
‘Dmitri. We need to
talk.’
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