Romanov put the icon back in his pocket and looked down at the silent men.
“Remember that Scott is good, but he’s not that good.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“YOU’RE NOT BAD, Scott, not bad at all,” said Robin, who had remained standing by the double bass throughout Adam’s story. “Either you’re one hell of a liar, or I’ve lost my touch.” Adam smiled up at the massive girl, who made the bow she was holding in her right hand look like a toothpick.
“Am I permitted to see this icon, or am I supposed just to take your word for it?”
Adam jumped off the bed and pulled out the package containing the Czar’s icon from the map pocket of his trench coat. Robin put her double bass up against the wall and, leaving the bow propped against it, lowered herself into the only chair in the room.
Adam handed the icon over to her. For some time she stared at the face of Saint George without making any comment. “It’s magnificent,” she said at last, “and I can understand anyone wanting to possess it. But no painting could be worth the tragedy and trouble you’ve had to go through.”
“I agree it’s inexplicable,” said Adam. “But Rosenbaum or whatever his real name is has been willing to kill twice to get his hands on the piece, and he’s already convinced me that as long as I am in possession of the icon I’ll be the next in line.”
Robin continued to stare at the tiny pieces of gold, blue, and yellow that made up Saint George and the Dragon.
“No other clues?” she asked, looking up.
“Only the letter given to my father by Goering.”
Robin turned the painting over. “What docs that mean?” she asked, pointing to the tiny silver crown embedded in the wood.
“That proves it was once owned by a czar, according to the man from Sotheby’s. And greatly enhances its value, he assured me.”
“Still, couldn’t be worth killing for,” said Robin. She handed the icon back to Adam. “So what other secret is Saint George keeping to himself?”
Adam shrugged and frowned, having asked himself the same question again and again since Heidi’s death. He returned the silent saint to his trench coat.
“What was to have been your plan if you had stayed awake?” asked Robin. “Other than making the bed?”
Adam smiled. “I hoped to call Lawrence again once I could be sure he had returned home and check if he had any more news for me. If he wasn’t back or couldn’t help, I was going to hire a car and try to get across the Swiss border to France and then on to England. I felt sure that between Rosenbaum and his men and the Swiss police they would have had all the airports and stations fully covered.”
“No doubt Rosenbaum will have also thought that much out as well, if he’s half as good as you claim,” said Robin. “So we’d better try and get in touch with your friend Lawrence and see if he’s come up with any bright ideas.” She pushed herself up out of the chair and walked across to the phone.
“You don’t have to get yourself involved,” said Adam hesitantly.
“I am involved,” said Robin. “And I can tell you it’s far more exciting than Schubert’s ‘Unfinished.’ Once I’ve got your friend on the line I’ll pass him over to you, and then no one will realize who’s phoning.” Adam told her the number of the flat, and she asked the girl on the switchboard to connect her.
Adam checked his watch: eleven-forty. Surely Lawrence would be home by now? The phone didn’t complete its first two rings before Robin heard a man’s voice on the line. She immediately handed the receiver over.
“Hello, who is that?” asked the voice. Adam was reminded how strange he always found it that Lawrence never announced his name.
“Lawrence, it’s me.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m still in Geneva.”
“My clients were waiting for you at eleven o’clock this morning.”
“So was Rosenbaum.”
“Who is Rosenbaum?”
“A six-foot, fair-haired, blue-eyed monster, who seems determined to kill me.”
Lawrence did not speak for some time. “And are you still in possession of our patron saint?”
“Yes, I am,” said Adam. “But what can be so important about—”
“Put the phone down and ring me back again in three minutes.”
The line went dead. Adam couldn’t fathom the sudden change in his old friend’s manner. What had he missed during those months he had lodged with him? He tried to recall details that he had previously considered unimportant and that Lawrence had so skillfully disguised.
“Is everything all right?” asked Robin, breaking into his thoughts.
“I think so,” said Adam, a little mystified “He wants me to ring back in three minutes. Will that be all right with you?”
“This tour’s already lost eight thousand pounds of the taxpayers’ money, so what difference can a few international calls make?” she said.
Three minutes later, Robin picked up the receiver and repeated the number. In one ring Lawrence was back on the line.
“Only answer my questions,” said Lawrence.
“No, I will not answer your questions,” said Adam, becoming increasingly annoyed with Lawrence’s manner. “I want one or two of my own answered before you get anything more out of me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” said a more gentle-sounding Lawrence.
“Who is Rosenbaum?”
Lawrence didn’t immediately reply.
“You’ll get nothing further from me until you start telling the truth,” said Adam.
“From your description I have every reason to believe Rosenbaum is a Russian agent whose real name is Alex Romanov.”
“A Russian agent? But why should a Russian agent want to get his hands on my icon?”
“I don’t know,” said Lawrence. “We were rather hoping you might be able to tell us.”
“Who’s we?”
Another long silence.
“Who’s we?” repeated Adam. “You can’t really expect me to go on believing you work for Barclays DCO.”
“I work at the Foreign Office,” said Lawrence.
“In what capacity?”
“I am not at liberty”
“Stop being so pompous, Lawrence. In what capacity?”
“I’m the number two in a small section that deals in …” Lawrence hesitated.
“Espionage I think is the current jargon we laymen are using,” said Adam, “and if you want my icon that badly you had better get me out of this mess alive because Romanov is willing to kill me for it, as I am sure you know.”
“Where are you?”
“The Richmond Hotel.”
“In a public phone booth?” asked Lawrence, sounding incredulous.
“No, in a private room.”
“But not registered in your name?”
“No, in the name of a friend. A girlfriend.”
“Is she with you now?” asked Lawrence.
“Yes,” said Adam.
“Damn,” said Lawrence. “Right. Don’t leave that room until seven A.M., then phone on this number again. That will give me enough time to get everything in place.”
“Is that the best you can do?” said Adam, but the phone had already gone dead. “It looks as if I’m stuck with you for the night,” he told Robin as he replaced the phone.
“On the contrary, it is I who am stuck with you,” said Robin, and disappeared into the bathroom. Adam paced around the room several times before he tested the sofa. Either he had to rest his head on a cushion, balanced on the thin wooden arm, or he had to let his legs dangle over the far end. By the time Robin had come back out clad in a pair of sky-blue pajamas, he had selected the floor as his resting place.
“Not much of a chair, is it?” said Robin. “But then British Intelligence didn’t warn me to book a double room.” She climbed into the bed and turned out the light. “Very comfortable,” were the last words she uttered.
Adam lay down flat on the bedroom floo
r, using the cushion from the chair as a pillow and a hotel dressing gown as a blanket. He slept intermittently, his mind switching between why the icon could be that important, how Lawrence knew so much about it and, most immediately, how the hell were they going to get him out of the hotel alive?
Romanov waited patiently for the phone to be picked up.
“Yes,” said a voice that he recognized immediately.
“Where is he?” were the only words Romanov uttered. Four words were all he received from Mentor in reply before the phone went dead.
Adam woke with a start an hour before he was due to phone Lawrence back. For nearly forty minutes he lay on the floor with only Robin’s steady breathing to remind him he was not alone. Suddenly he became aware of a strange sound coming from the corridor outside—two or three steps, a pause, then whoosh, two or three steps, a pause, another whoosh. Adam raised himself up silently from the floor and crept to the door. The rhythm of Robin’s breathing never faltered. Whoosh, it now sounded closer. He picked up a heavy wooden coat hanger from the table by the door. He gripped it firmly in his right hand, raised it above his head, and waited. Whoosh—and a newspaper shot under the door and the steps moved on. He didn’t have to bend down to see that it was his photograph that dominated the front page of the international edition of the Herald Tribune.
Adam took the paper into the bathroom, closed the door silently, switched on the light, and read the lead article. It was yesterday’s story with guarded comments from his old commanding officer and embarrassed silence from his mother. He felt helpless.
He crept up to Robin, hoping she wouldn’t wake. He stood over her, but she didn’t stir. He silently picked up the phone and dragged it to the bathroom. He could only just manage to close the door behind him. He dialed the operator and repeated the number.
When the ringing stopped, he immediately said, “Is that you, Lawrence?”
“Yes,” came back the reply.
“Things have become much worse now. I’m still holed up in the hotel, but my picture is on the front page of every paper”
“I know,” said Lawrence. “We tried to prevent it, but yet again the Swiss wouldn’t cooperate.”
“Then I may as well give myself up to the Swiss,” said Adam. “Damn it all, I am innocent.”
“No, Adam, in Switzerland you’re guilty until proven innocent, and you must have worked out by now that you’re involved in something far more important than a double murder.”
“What could be more important than a double murder when the rest of the world thinks you’re the murderer?” asked Adam angrily.
“I can understand exactly how you feel, but your only chance now is to carry out my instructions to the letter and treat every other person you come in contact with with suspicion.”
“I’m listening,” said Adam.
“Just remember everything I say because I am only going to tell you once. The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra is staying in the same hotel as you. They are going on to Frankfurt at ten o’clock this morning. Leave your room at five to ten, join the orchestra in the lobby, and then make your way to the front door, where you’ll find their coach parked. We will have a car waiting for you on the far side of the road. The car is a black Mercedes, and you will see a man in gray chauffeur’s uniform holding the door open for you. We have already arranged that no other car will be able to park on that side of the road between nine-thirty and ten-thirty, so you can’t mistake it. Just get into the back and wait. There will be another man in the back with you, and you will then be driven to the safety of our consulate. Do you need me to repeat any of that?”
“No,” said Adam, “but …”
“Good luck,” said Lawrence, and the phone went dead.
By seven he had showered and shaved, while Robin remained unrepentant in a deep sleep. He envied her; only a twig had to break outside and Adam was wide awake. Two years of living in the Malayan jungle, never knowing when the Chinese would strike, never being able to sleep for more than two or three hours at a time if one wanted to stay alive, still kept its hold on him.
Robin did not stir for another thirty minutes, during which time Adam sat on the sofa and went over Lawrence’s plan in his mind. At ten to eight she finally woke, even then taking several minutes before she was fully conscious. Robin blinked at Adam, and a large grin appeared on her face.
“So you didn’t murder me while I slept,” she said.
“I don’t think you’d have noticed if I had,” said Adam.
“When your father is a habitual drunk and comes home at all hours of the night, you learn to sleep through anything,” she explained, placing both feet firmly on the carpet. “Aren’t you meant to have phoned London by now?”
“I already have.”
“And what is the master plan to be?” she asked, rubbing her eyes on her way to the bathroom.
“I will be leaving with you,” said Adam.
“Most of my one-night stands don’t bother to stay that long,” she remarked as she closed the bathroom door behind her. He tried to read the paper while the bath was filling up.
“Does that mean we’re sharing a room in Frankfurt as well?” she asked a few minutes later when the bathroom door reopened, as if the conversation had never been interrupted.
“No, as soon as we’re clear of the hotel I leave you at the coach and make my own way to a car on the far side of the road.”
“That sounds more like the men in my life,” she said. “But at least we can have a farewell breakfast,” she added, picking up the phone. “I’m nuts about kippers. How about you?”
Adam didn’t answer. He had begun looking at his watch every few moments. The waiter arrived with breakfast about fifteen minutes later; Adam waited in the bathroom. When he reappeared he showed no interest in the food, so Robin ate four kippers and most of the toast. Nine o’clock passed; a porter took away the breakfast trolley, and Robin began to pack. The phone rang and Adam jumped nervously as Robin picked it up.
“Yes, Stephen,” she said. “No, I won’t need any help with my luggage. Not this time.” She put the phone down. “We depart for Frankfurt at ten.”
“I know,” said Adam.
“We ought to make Lawrence the orchestra manager. He seems to know everything even before it’s been decided.” Adam had been thinking the same thing. “Well, at least I’ve found someone to help with my luggage for a change,” added Robin cheerfully.
“I’ll carry the double bass for you if you like,” offered Adam.
“I’d like to see you try,” said Robin. Adam walked over to the large instrument that was propped up in its case against the wall. He tried the double bass from all angles but couldn’t manage to do better than hold it off the floor for a few moments. Robin joined him, and with one flick she had the stem on her shoulder and the instrument balanced perfectly. She walked up and down the bedroom demonstrating her prowess.
“It’s a matter of skill, my puny friend,” she said. “And to think I believed all those stories last night about your outrunning half the Swiss police force to spend a night with me.”
Adam tried to laugh. He picked up his trench coat, checking that the icon was secure. But he couldn’t stop himself shaking from a combination of fear and anticipation.
Robin looked at him. “Don’t worry,” she said gently. “It will be all over in a few minutes’ time.” Then she saw the paper on the floor. “I should sue them if I were you.”
“Why?” asked Adam.
“You’re a lot better-looking than that.” Adam smiled and just managed to get his arms around her to give her a hug.
“Thanks for everything,” he said. “But now we have to go.”
“You’re sounding more like one of my lovers all the time,” said Robin mournfully.
Adam picked up her suitcase while Robin jerked up the stem of the double bass onto her shoulder. She opened the door and checked the corridor. Two of her colleagues from the RPO were waiting by the lift; otherwise there
was nobody else in sight. Robin and Adam joined the two musicians and after “good mornings” no one spoke until the lift doors slid open. Once the doors were closed, Robin’s colleagues couldn’t resist taking a closer look at Adam. At first Adam was anxious they had recognized him from the newspaper. Then he realized that it was who Robin had spent the night with that fascinated them. Robin gave him a lewd wink, as if she fully intended to live off this one for a long time. For his part Adam ducked behind the double bass and remained in the corner breathing deeply as the lift trundled down toward the ground floor. The doors sprung open and Robin waited for her two colleagues to leave before she shielded Adam as best she could all the way across the foyer. His eyes were now fixed on the front door. He could see the bus taking up most of the road, and several members of the orchestra were already clambering on. One more minute, and he should be safely away. He watched as the drums were packed carefully in the large trunk.
“Oh, God, I forgot,” said Robin. “I meant to put this in the trunk at the back of the bus.”
“Do it later,” said Adam sharply. “Just keep going until you reach the coach door.” Then he saw the car on the far side of the road. He felt light with relief, almost dizzy. The car door was being held open for him. Another man was seated in the back, just as Lawrence had promised. Ten o’clock struck somewhere in the distance. The man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform, hat pulled down over his forehead, stood by the open door. He turned toward the hotel in anticipation. Adam stared toward him as the man’s eyes scanned the hotel entrance.
The uniform wasn’t a good fit.
“Into the bus,” hissed Adam.
“With this thing? They’ll kill me,” said Robin.
“If you don’t, he’ll kill me.”
Robin obeyed, despite the adverse comments as she lumbered down the aisle with her double bass screening Adam from the gaze of anyone on the far side of the road.
Adam slumped into the seat next to Robin with the double bass between them. He wanted to be sick.
A Matter of Honor Page 18