The Inscrutable Charlie Muffin

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘What did John Lu say would happen to the men who had caused the fire?’

  ‘Just that they would become ill … nothing more.’

  ‘Why did he want that?’

  ‘He said it would get into the newspapers … that it was important.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  Charlie wanted nothing more from the man. It had seemed ridiculously easy. But the rest of the day wasn’t going to be.

  He sat back, looking to Chiu.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘That is all?’

  The Foreign Ministry official appeared surprised.

  ‘It is enough,’ Charlie assured him.

  ‘Much trouble has been taken,’ said Chiu. ‘A mistake would be unfortunate.’

  ‘To go on might create just such a mistake,’ said Charlie, looking to Hodgson for support.

  The lawyer nodded agreement.

  ‘You came pretty close on one or two occasions as it was,’ he said.

  ‘How long will it take to notarise this statement?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Fifteen minutes,’ said Hodgson. ‘Won’t take much longer to prepare it, either, I wouldn’t think.’

  Charlie came back to Chiu.

  ‘So I could return to Hong Kong first thing tomorrow?’ he said. He had to limit his stay in Peking to the minimum, he had decided. Even if he identified him, Collins would have no reason to attempt his detention. The risk was in querying his presence with London. And by the time that was answered, he could be clear of Hong Kong. Running again.

  Chiu was still unhappy with the brevity of the account, Charlie knew.

  ‘If you wish,’ said the Chinese, stiffly.

  He did wish, thought Charlie. It wasn’t just the new danger of the ambassador. He shouldn’t forget the curiosity of Harvey Jones. At least he could escape that now. One problem replaced by another.

  Charlie turned to the trembling figure sitting opposite. Fan still gazed steadfastly down at the table, not realising the questioning was over.

  People who bring disgrace to China never go unpunished, Chiu had said. Hardly surprising the poor bastard had pissed himself.

  ‘Will you tell him I am grateful?’ Charlie asked the interpreter. ‘He has been of great assistance.’

  Fan stared up at the translation. Even he was bewildered that it was over so quickly.

  Charlie rose, ending the interview.

  ‘Right,’ said Hodgson briskly. ‘Let’s get along to the embassy, shall we?’

  First, thought Charlie, he’d need a toilet.

  ‘Quite the most unusual city to which I’ve ever been,’ volunteered the lawyer, in the car taking them to the embassy.

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie. It didn’t appear to have a centre. Rather, it was sprawl upon sprawl of squares.

  ‘Do you know that underneath all the buildings and offices there are nuclear shelters?’ said Hodgson.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a fact,’ insisted the lawyer. ‘The Chinese are paranoid about an attack from Russia. They reckon they can clear the entire city in fifteen minutes.’

  That’s what he needed, mused Charlie. A bomb-proof hole in the ground to which he could run at the first sign of danger.

  ‘We’ve arrived,’ announced Hodgson.

  To what? wondered Charlie. Despite his preparedness, he still faltered at the entrance to the ambassador’s study, knowing as he did so that the reaction would look strange but momentarily unable to control the urge to turn and run.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ encouraged the ambassador. ‘Not often we get visitors from home. And under such strange circumstances.’

  Collins had altered very little, Charlie decided. Not physically, anyway. He continued into the room, taking the outstretched hand. The man’s face remained blank. Please God let it stay that way, prayed Charlie.

  ‘Sherry?’ fussed Collins, indicating the decanter.

  ‘Thank you,’ accepted Charlie. Not more than three hours, he thought again. How good was the man’s memory?

  ‘Astonishing business, this fire,’ said Collins, offering Charlie the glass.

  ‘Very.’

  The man’s manner had changed since their last meeting, even if his appearance hadn’t. He was more polished than he had been in Prague: showed more confidence. But it would only be surface change, guessed Charlie. Still be a prissy sod.

  ‘The Chinese chap made a full confession, did he?’

  ‘Full enough,’ said Charlie. ‘It will be enough for us to challenge Lu’s claim in the High Court.’

  ‘Have to make a report to London about it,’ said the ambassador, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

  ‘Of course,’ said Charlie uneasily. ‘I understand the Hong Kong police have asked officially for assistance.’

  Collins nodded.

  ‘No reply yet to my Note,’ he said.

  He suddenly put his head to one side:

  ‘Have we met before?’

  Charlie brought the sherry glass to his lips, knowing an immediate reply would have been impossible for him.

  ‘Met before?’ he echoed dismissively. ‘I don’t think so. Not often I take sherry with a British ambassador.’

  At least the strain didn’t sound in his voice. Sweat was flooding his back, smearing his shirt to him.

  Collins laughed politely.

  ‘Odd feeling there’s been another occasion,’ he insisted.

  ‘There must be so many people,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Quite,’ agreed Collins.

  ‘Do you anticipate the authorities will send the cook back?’ said Charlie, trying to move the man on.

  ‘They helped you,’ pointed out the diplomat.

  ‘But only to obtain a statement. I gather they feel to turn the man over to the Hong Kong police would be establishing a precedent for any future cases. And they are unwilling to make such a sweeping commitment.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Collins again.

  The ambassador was still examining him curiously.

  ‘And as far as they are concerned, a High Court challenge will be as good as any criminal court proceedings,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Ever been to Lagos?’ blurted Collins, snapping his fingers in imagined recollection.

  ‘Never,’ said Charlie. The perspiration would be visible on his face, he knew. And the room was really quite cold.

  Collins moved his head doubtfully at the rejection.

  ‘Usually got a good eye for faces,’ he apologised.

  ‘I’d have remembered,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Quite,’ said Collins.

  Since their last meeting, the man had affected an irritating air of studied vagueness, thought Charlie.

  ‘How long you staying in Peking?’

  ‘I’ve got what I came for,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m leaving as early as possible tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Collins, in apparent disappointment. ‘Going to invite you to dinner tomorrow evening. As I said, not often we get visitors from home.’

  ‘Very kind,’ Charlie thanked him, ‘but we’ve got to file an answer in the London courts as soon as possible.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Just a stupid mannerism? wondered Charlie. Or the thoughtless use of a favourite word, to feign interest while he tried to recall their other meeting?

  ‘Stockholm?’ tried Collins, gesturing with his finger.

  Charlie shook his head.

  ‘Never been there,’ he said. The man would persist, Charlie knew. He looked the sort of person who played postal chess and did crossword puzzles, enjoying little challenges.

  Charlie looked obviously at his watch.

  ‘I’ve a four o’clock appointment at the Foreign Ministry with Mr Chiu,’ he improvised. He hadn’t and there was a danger of the ambassador’s discovering the lie. But it was the best escape he could manage. And there was an even greater danger in continuing this conversation.

  ‘I’ll check with Hodgs
on,’ said Collins, taking the hint.

  He spoke briefly into the internal telephone, smiling over at Charlie as he replaced the receiver.

  ‘All done,’ he said.

  Almost immediately there was a movement from behind and the lawyer entered at the ambassador’s call, carrying a file of documents.

  ‘The Chinese original,’ he said, holding out the papers, ‘and a British translation. Both notarised by me and witnessed by the First Secretary. I’ve also annotated the identified photograph and sworn a statement that it was the one seen by the man.’

  ‘You’ve been very kind,’ said Charlie, including the ambassador in the thanks.

  ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ replied Collins, rising with Charlie.

  The ambassador walked with him to the study door. Charlie was aware of his attention.

  ‘Amazing,’ said the ambassador, when they reached the hallway. ‘Just can’t lose the feeling that I know you from somewhere.’

  ‘Thank you again,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Sure about tomorrow night?’

  ‘Quite sure. I’m sorry.’

  Charlie hesitated immediately outside the embassy buildings. He was trembling. Almost noticeably so. He straightened his arms against his sides, trying to control the emotion. After his discovery at Sir Archibald’s vault, when he had realised they were chasing him, there had been times when he had felt helplessly trapped in a contracting room, with the walls and ceiling slowly closing in upon him. It had been frightening, claustrophobic. For a long time he had not encountered it. But it was very strong now.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Clarissa Willoughby.

  ‘I’ll have to make the statement soon,’ admitted the underwriter.

  ‘Even before you finally hear from Hong Kong?’

  ‘It’s a criminal offence knowingly to go on trading without funds to meet your obligations,’ said Willoughby.

  ‘Criminal!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Christ, I couldn’t stand you appearing in court as well.’

  ‘I didn’t think you intended to stand anything.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said the woman.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind. Does it matter?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘I feel very sorry for you, Rupert. I really do.’

  She spoke in the manner of a person discovering that a friend’s pet was having to be put down, thought the underwriter.

  ‘Thank you. When do you intend to leave?’

  ‘End of the week, I suppose,’ said the woman.

  She smiled.

  ‘You really are being remarkably civilised,’ she said.

  ‘Isn’t that what we’ve always been?’ he said, the bitterness showing for the first time. ‘Remarkably civilised.’

  ‘If it confirms Lu’s involvement with the fire, then surely it’s enough? For our purpose, anyway,’ said the chairman.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Chiu.

  ‘What else is there?’

  Chiu shrugged.

  ‘You’re right,’ he agreed.

  ‘And on behalf of the council, I would like to thank you,’ said the chairman formally.

  Chiu smiled, gratefully.

  ‘The statement still has to be put to its proper use,’ he reminded them.

  ‘I don’t think we should worry about that, do you?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  17

  The wind was stronger than the previous day, so the dust from the Gobi drifted in pockets through the capital, gritting the buildings and plants with a light, greyish-yellow dust. Charlie saw that a few people wore face masks or pulled scarves up around their mouths. He sat in the Hsin Chiao foyer, his briefcase and shoulder grip already packed beside him, knowing he was early but impatient for Chiu’s arrival. Because the hotel was organised on the Russian style, with each floor having its own reception staff, the main foyer was remarkably empty. The furniture was frayed and shabby and the walls were patched with quick repair work; it reminded Charlie of a retirement hotel way back from the sea front at Eastbourne.

  The Chinese official stopped just inside the entrance when he saw Charlie already waiting.

  ‘I am not late,’ stated Chiu.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ said Charlie truthfully. ‘So I got up early.’

  ‘The car is waiting.’

  As the vehicle nudged out into the shoals of bicycles, Chiu said, Tan Yung-ching is still available.’

  ‘I have what I came for,’ said Charlie. ‘It will be sufficient, believe me.’

  ‘It would be difficult to arrange another meeting, if anything had been overlooked,’ warned Chiu.

  What were they going to do with the poor old bugger? wondered Charlie.

  The car moved out of the Legation district, with its pink-bricked buildings and into the huge T’ien An Men Square.

  ‘There is much to see in Peking,’ offered Chiu, gesturing towards the red-walled Forbidden City.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve time,’ said Charlie.

  ‘There is the monument to the Heroes of the Revolution,’ said Chiu, pointing through the car window. ‘The cornerstone was laid by our beloved leader, Mao Tsetung.’

  Charlie nodded politely. It reminded him of the Russian statue to their war dead in East Berlin. The department’s attempt to kill him, remembered Charlie. He’d actually stood by the Russian monument and watched the innocent East German he’d cultivated for just such a purpose drive the marked Volkswagen towards the checkpoint. Poor sod had believed he was driving towards an escape to the West.

  ‘How can a man as sensitive as you sometimes be so cruel?’

  Several times Edith had asked him that, unable to understand his peculiar morality of survival. As Sir Archibald’s secretary in the early days, before their marriage, she’d heard it talked about in the department. Admired even, as essential for the job. But she hadn’t admired it. She’d been frightened of it. He didn’t think she had ever been completely sure that it hadn’t affected their marriage, suspecting Charlie of a calculated willingness to use her as he seemed willing to use everyone else.

  Not even at the very end had she truly believed that it was inherent in him, something of which he was more ashamed than proud.

  ‘You would not care to stop to see the monument?’ said Chiu. ‘Or perhaps the Museum of the Revolution?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Charlie. ‘I’d rather get straight to the airport.’

  Again the formalities were waived and they were the first on the Canton-bound aircraft. Neither spoke while the other passengers boarded, but as they trundled towards take-off, Chiu said, ‘You had a good meeting with your embassy?’

  Charlie looked at the man beside him. That was the problem, he accepted. He’d never know. Not until it was perhaps too late.

  ‘Very,’ he said. ‘The ambassador is making a report to London about your helpfulness.’

  ‘It will probably mean a fresh application for the man to be returned to Hong Kong.’

  ‘Probably,’ agreed Charlie.

  He closed his eyes, hoping the other man would stop forcing the conversation. He was very tired, realised Charlie. But not from the restless, almost unsleeping night. It was an aching mental and physical fatigue, his mind and body stretched against relaxation not just by the need to anticipate the obvious dangers, but to interpret the nuances and half-suspicions. He’d swung the pendulum too far, he thought. The rotting inactivity about which he had whined to Willoughby seemed so very attractive now. But wouldn’t, he supposed, if he were pushed back into it. Which didn’t, at the moment, seem very likely.

  He managed to feign sleep until the arrival of the meal.

  ‘We will be in Canton soon,’ promised Chiu.

  And after that, Hong Kong. To what? wondered Charlie.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for the help you’ve given me,’ he said sincerely.

  ‘Let us hope it has not been wasted,’ said Chiu,
the criticism obvious.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Charlie, unannoyed. ‘Let’s hope.’

  Because there was special clearance in Canton, they were aboard the express within an hour of touchdown. The same peasants seemed bent beneath the same hats in the same fields, thought Charlie.

  ‘I will keep Mr Kuo and your Hong Kong legation informed of what happens,’ promised Charlie.

  ‘What do you intend doing?’

  ‘I’ll lay the information before the Hong Kong police, obviously,’ said Charlie. ‘It will be more than sufficient for them to begin enquiries. Then tell our lawyers in London that we have proof upon which they can immediately enter a defence to Lu’s claim.’

  And then flee, he thought.

  Chiu nodded. ‘With no guarantee that there will be either a criminal or a civil hearing at which Lu can be denounced.’

  ‘It’s almost a certainty, in one court or another,’ said Charlie carelessly.

  ‘Almost a certainty,’ echoed Chiu, throwing the qualification back.

  At the border, Chiu escorted him to the bridge.

  ‘Again, my thanks,’ said Charlie, facing the man near the jostling booth. There seemed to be more people than when he had entered China.

  ‘It was in both our interests,’ said Chiu.

  Charlie turned, offering his passport, but was again waved through without inspection. He walked across the bridge, glad of the distant sight of a train already in Sheung Shui station. He felt a flush of relief. Then, immediately, annoyance because of it. He had become so nervous that he saw omens of good fortune in something as ridiculous as a waiting train, like a housewife planning her day around a newspaper horoscope. He hadn’t realised the strain had become that bad.

  He was about a hundred yards into the New Territories when instinct made him react, seconds before the attack became obvious. He swivelled, automatically pulling the overnight bag and briefcase in front of his body as some sort of protection. There were three of them, he saw, marked out against the rest of the Chinese by their Westernised silk suits. The sort that Lucky Lu favoured, thought Charlie fleetingly.

  They were spaced expertly, so that it would be impossible to confront one without exposing himself to the other two. And approaching unhurriedly, very sure of themselves. The man to the right was even smirking.