The One a Month Man (15 page)

‘I never again want to hear the name Richard Pope … I mean, of all things, he’s with the CIA; can you believe that? … Yes, CIA, that’s what I said. I wish the cops had let me into that little secret when they were in New York. I might have had second thoughts about getting involved. I don’t fancy tangling with those cowboys. If I’d known, I could have told Lorenzo that he was beating his head against a brick wall … No way will that bunch hand HIM over. HE’s bound to know too much about their black ops for them to allow him to be interrogated in open court … Yes, his name is Richard Pope – as in the Vatican. His old man, dead now, used to be big in politics, a Democrat, a
string-puller
… Probably a whole family of string-pullers
.

‘There has to be a smarter game-plan than taking on the Ivy League hard-balls … I don’t know what to believe … If he was in the embassy, you can bet your life they’ve spirited him away by now … What do you mean to look after myself and watch my back? There’s a cop with a machine-gun outside my room every minute of the day and night, and whenever I go out I’m shadowed by Sarah or Mike or both of them. This is life in a straightjacket, so stop worrying. I’ll be home tomorrow. Will you be able to meet me? Oh, that’s good. I should be on a mid-morning flight. If that’s the case, I’ll probably be at JFK around 2 p.m., but I’ll give you my exact itinerary later.

‘Are you likely to be making a trip soon? Oh, that’s a shame. It would have been nice to have a few days together, but work is money and money is survival. See you tomorrow.’

Tina blew a couple of kisses into the phone.

‘So how was that, Mr Snoopy?’ said Sarah, who was now sitting upright. Alert. Fully switched on.

‘Perfect.’

‘Been turned on by dirty talk?’

‘No dirty talk. Very loving and solicitous, as a matter of fact.’

‘So what have you learned?’

‘Nothing … and everything.’

Her face once more was creased with curiosity. ‘Yet you implied that you got all that you were listening for; that your eavesdropping paid off.’

‘So it did.’

‘You’re losing me.’

‘Good; getting one over on you is so rare it’s worth
celebrating
.’

‘What have you in mind?’

‘Come closer and I’ll show you.’

She did and I revealed all. She, too.

A
fter
celebrating
between the sheets, we remained tangled, like a pair of exhausted wrestlers who had agreed to a truce.

We talked endlessly. When a man and a woman are naked together, it’s easy – mandatory, in fact – to bare all. A couple of puzzles still nagged me: one revolved around how Tina and Laura became an item. I asked Sarah if, during their shopping excursion and other times alone, this subject had ever been touched upon.

‘They met in a Manhattan gay bar,’ said Sarah. ‘Became friends. Started seeing one another regularly. It went from there, same as any other relationship, Mike. No great mystery.’

‘Surely the CIA would have got to know about it?’

‘So what, Mike? Since when have you been homophobic?’

‘Never, but …’ I stumbled along.

‘We have gay cops, don’t we? Very useful for working the gay scene undercover when necessary. Same would apply to the CIA, surely?’

‘You’re right,’ I caved in. ‘What explanation did she give to Laura about losing her sight in one eye?’

‘The truth. Well, half-truth. A jealous lover. A little light on detail, until we came along and she spilled everything.’

‘Something else has bothered me,’ I said, sort of enigmatically.

‘OK, let’s hear it.’ She spoke like a wife about to be accused by her husband of having an affair.

‘Just think about Tina’s history.’

‘A lot to think about,’ she said. ‘Which particular clip?’

‘Her messing around with Sergi Chekov. I mean, she actually married the guy! Because so much has happened, we’re
forgetting
that she meddled with espionage.’

‘
I
hadn’t forgotten. What’s your point?’

‘The FBI was tipped off about her. They’d have kept tabs on her. And when she teamed up with Laura they’d have suspected that she was up to her old tricks and was a national security risk. At the very least, Laura would have been warned off. Get me?’

‘I
get
you, but I think you’re forgetting how the world has changed.’

‘Oh, really?’ I said, a shade defensively.

‘Yes,
really
! Sergi was a Soviet. The Cold War was just thawing, but Tina’s
activities
with Sergi were solely
Russian-based
. The Americans would have labelled her a Communist-sympathizer. A baddie. But then the Berlin Wall and Iron Curtain came down. Democracy was embraced. The Soviet Union split up. Elections were introduced. And all
international
attention began to focus on the Middle East, with the emergence of the Taliban and Al Qaeda. After 9/11, do you think the FBI and indeed any of the West’s Intelligence agencies would have been the least concerned about a long-time-ago, clapped-out honeypot from the UK?’

‘That’s a bit harsh,’ I said, ‘calling Tina clapped out.’

‘Well, she is, in the context of seduction. Powerful men who can be choosy wouldn’t be panting after one-eyed, acid-stained Tina, now would they?’

‘God, you’re so poetic!’

‘And plausible?’

‘Probably,’ I said.

Sex was over for the night. My recovery rate was slower than Sarah’s, my libido always lagging behind hers by several hours.
Too much boozing in the past had caused ironical and conflicting damage: hardened liver and softened organ. That’s life for you; nature had a wicked way of making punishment fit the crime.

Although I no longer boozed, I still suffered hangovers. Sexual hangovers. When I woke – that’s assuming my
metabolism
had slowed sufficiently to allow me some sleep – I’d feel as dehydrated and liverish as if I’d had a skinful of alcohol, rather than the even more potent juices of carnality.

Naturally, our talk gravitated towards the comparatively mundane matters of work, the subject that bridged the chasm between two very different personalities and psyches. If we hadn’t both been cops, we’d never have been drawn to one another. Sarah would have been in the bed of someone far more worthy. I might still have been with my wife and family. More likely, though, I’d have been in a bar, digging my grave, making a down-payment towards my funeral.

‘Come clean….’

‘Unfortunate choice of words,’ I cut her short.

She giggled contentedly and snuggled even closer and deeper.

‘It’s time to clean up your act,’ she admonished me, playfully. ‘Be serious. Where do we go from here?’

‘To sleep, hopefully,’ I replied, obstructively.

‘And then?’

‘We go with Tina.’

Instantly, I sensed her sweaty body tense up. She tilted back her head so that she had my face sharply in focus. ‘To New York?’

‘That’s where she’ll be flying to, isn’t it?’

‘But why do
we
go?’

‘Because she’s going to lead us to Pope.’

Now she broke loose from me, immediately sobering up from sexual inebriation. ‘How? You’re not
seriously
suggesting she knows his whereabouts?’

‘Of course not. I’m sure the US ambassador and his
underlings
in London haven’t been lying when maintaining that Pope’s not with them. It’s the truth, but not the whole truth. He
was
there, of that I have no doubt, but he’s been posted
elsewhere
. Spirited away. A rush job; the moment approaches were made to them through diplomatic channels. That’s my take on it.’

‘Yet, apparently, there’s no evidence of his being on any flight passenger list out of the UK.’

‘You’re not
that
naïve, Sarah.
Those
people have briefcases stuffed with passports in different names and nationalities. He could even have been flown in a private jet from a rural air strip to any European country, where he connected with a scheduled flight to a US city.’

‘Accepted. But that doesn’t answer how Tina might know where he’s flown.’

‘You’re right. She won’t have a clue, but Laura Farrow will. Right now, I guarantee, Laura is in a networking frenzy. By the time Tina lands in New York, Laura will have chapter and verse of Pope’s disappearing act.’

‘How far have you thought this through?’ she said, mental battery now fully recharged.

‘Far enough.’

‘But Mike, we’re finished on this case,’ she said, exasperated. ‘We’ll be heading for London tomorrow, not New York.’ With a reflex twist of her head, she examined her wristwatch. ‘I should have said
today
, not
tomorrow
.’ The time was a shade after 1 a.m. and sleep was obviously still a long way off.

‘I’ve booked the three of us on a noon flight from Heathrow,’ I stated, doggedly. ‘Paid for with my Yard credit card, so Sharkey’s force won’t be footing one penny of the bill.’

‘That’s possibly even worse! Pomfrey will combust. We’ll both be on garden leave.’

‘Not if we nail Pope.’

‘It’s a gamble, Mike. You’re deluding yourself, but not me.’

‘Dedication not delusion,’ I retaliated, prickly.

‘You’ve an unparalleled track record of punting on losers with pocket-emptying regularity,’ she said cruelly, though somewhat truthfully. ‘Now you’re backing yet another wild, irresponsible hunch. If you were proposing following a lead to Newcastle, fair game, but to New York! We’ll be accused of splashing out public money on a luxury junket.’

‘Pomfrey will be delighted to have me off his radar for a few more days.’

‘No, no, Mike. He’ll see it as a chance to get you out of his hair for ever. You’ll get the boot. And you’ll take me down with you.’

‘Ultimate togetherness!’ I said. ‘Embracing as we drown. Romantic, don’t you think?’

‘
Titanic
togetherness! What’s romantic about that? I’m in no mood for a suicide pact.’

‘We could even take off without informing either Sharkey or Pomfrey,’ I said, my elbow deployed as a fulcrum on the mattress as I faced Sarah, my legs under the covers and my torso, still a suffusion of sweat, above the plimsoll line, cooling off.

Now Sarah eyed me snake-like, as if I really had flipped.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Never been more so.’

‘And you expect me to go along with you, over the cliff edge, like a lemming?’

‘I can’t see you chickening out.’

‘Mike, this isn’t the occasion for a school kid’s prank or
chest-beating
virility test.’

‘I’ll tell you what it is, though, Sarah: it’s the one and only chance we’ll have to make a catch. There’s no pressure on you from me. If you want out, that’s your prerogative. I’ll be
disappointed
, but I’ll go it alone.’

‘What do you mean there’s
no pressure
on me? Of course there
is and you damn well know it. You may not intend moral
blackmail
, but that’s what it amounts to.’

‘Only in your own head, Sarah.’

‘What you’re proposing is madness, Mike. Putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. One bullet for both of us.’

‘Is that your final verdict?’

‘Yes, absolutely, irreversibly final.’

Ten hours later, Sarah and Tina were with me at Heathrow, the three of us boarding a New York-bound flight.

Tina was pleased to have our company on the flight, of course, and assumed we were there for her protection.

‘Will you have to return to London as soon as you’ve seen me safely collected?’ she said, after a couple of hours into the transatlantic flight.

‘Probably,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to await instructions.’

‘You’re very welcome to stay with me and Laura until you’re recalled,’ she offered. ‘I want to dive back into the deep end of work as soon as possible, but my home can be yours for a few days while you rest up.’

I thanked her for her generosity, but declined as graciously as possible, saying that it was almost certain that we’d be winging our way homeward bound that same evening, doubling up on jet-lag.

‘Poor things,’ she said, her sympathy seemingly genuine.

Laura was in the Arrivals Hall, teetering anxiously, peering over heads as all the passengers from our flight – and several others that had landed around the same time – spewed from Customs like water gushing from a burst main. She waved frantically and called out the moment she spied Tina.

Laura and Tina hugged one another as if they’d been parted for years; Tina, a warrior, returning from a war-zone,
thankfully
not in a body-bag, not even wounded: it was that kind of ‘tie a yellow ribbon’ homecoming. They kissed, just the once,
while Sarah and I discreetly allowed our attention to be diverted.

Tina explained to Laura that we wouldn’t be going any further with them, but Laura insisted that we at least had a drink with them at the airport, so we migrated, rather desultorily, to one of the self-service cafeterias, where we perched on high stools at a shelf eating-surface against a wall, beneath a monitor that listed flight departure and arrival details, updated every few seconds.

‘I must thank you for all your efforts and I know that you must be as gutted as Tina,’ Laura said, solemnly. ‘Now the most important thing for Tina is that she’s able to put this behind her as quickly as possible and, hopefully, can slip back seamlessly into the life from which she was uprooted. Rightfully uprooted, I acknowledge. She had to do it, but now it’s all over. In life you have to learn when to cut your losses. That beast Pope was out of Tina’s cognition for thirty years. You reintroduced him into her life, but now he’s gone again and that’s how it must remain, if only for Tina’s sanity. Gone for ever!’

God, this woman was good! I looked into her eyes and she could have been giving the Sermon on the Mount, so much pained sincerity hanging over her like a halo. She was all heart, yet it was a slick sham; tantamount to a politician’s vote-seducing rhetoric. If she had a weakness, it was vanity. It’s one thing to be a smart operator, but to know it and to indulge yourself is risky. Humility and even a modicum of self-doubt made better armour and camouflage than over-confidence, something to which I could testify from painful experience. I’d paid the full price, without any discount.

‘How soon will you be on your travels?’ Tina said to Laura, conversationally, not excluding us.

‘Tomorrow, I’m afraid. First thing.’ The sadness in Laura’s voice was at odds with the excitement and eagerness in her eyes.

‘Where to this time?’ Tina enquired, heavy-hearted, shoulders sagging, eyes dull. ‘Out of town or out of country?’

I could read in Sarah’s face that she suspected me of having primed Tina to ask these questions, but I hadn’t.

‘Out of country. How are your nerves? Will you be OK while I’m gone?’

‘Of course I’ll be OK,’ Tina replied, almost snappily. ‘It’s not as if I can’t take care of myself and I’ll have my daughter home with me. I’ll collect her this evening.’

‘She’ll be pleased you’re home,’ Laura said, soothingly.

‘Any idea how long you’ll be away?’

‘Hopefully, only a few days – three or four at a stretch.’

‘You still haven’t said
exactly
where you’re going?’

‘Nassau. Sunny Bahamas.’

‘How my heart bleeds for you!’ said Tina, her envy contrived. Then a quick change of pace and direction, ‘No problem at the refuge?’

‘Not that I’ve heard; no cries for help.’

‘Bad taste!’ said Tina, reprovingly.

‘I meant no panic from staff,’ Laura explained herself, evenly.

‘Look, I think we should get on,’ I said, unhooking myself from my stool and kick-starting the valedictory handshaking ritual, with Sarah copying.

Tina and Laura both stood. ‘You did your best, I know that,’ said Tina, running a finger down my arm. ‘The odds were stacked against us.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘You’re both going to be so bushed when you hit London again.’

‘No different from a hangover,’ I observed, lightening the mood.

‘Something Mike has a head for!’ said Sarah, eliciting polite but mirthless smiles.

As we crossed the concourse, Sarah said, earnestly now, ‘Do you believe Laura’s destination is the Bahamas?’

‘Don’t know. Doubt it. Depends what game she’s playing.’

‘What next for us?’