As he did so the iron-shod doors in the blank stone wall beneath the lights opened with a clang, framing a white-coated manservant beyond whom Boselli could see a fountain playing in a green-fringed courtyard, like something out of the Arabian Nights.
"Signore." The servant bowed deferentially to Audley. Boselli hurried round the car to take charge.
"I am Signor Boselli," he snapped. "Signor Narva is expecting me."
The servant eyed him coolly, then inclined his head forward in what was little better than a nod.
"Signore—signori—if you will please follow me."
They passed under the arched doorway, through a short passage and into the courtyard Boselli had glimpsed earlier.
Cascades of bright flowers tumbled down the walls out of the night sky, half obscuring the gaps between the slender columns on three sides of the square. The jet of the fountain in its centre sprang from a shell held aloft in the hands of a beautiful bronze nyrtjph whose breasts glistened wetly through the sparkling droplets of water. It was deliciously cool, almost cold, and Boselli had the impression that it would always be cool here, even on the hottest and brightest dummy2
day.
This was what wealth was all about, this privacy, this secret elegance designed to sustain no one but its master. The opulence of the scene pressed down on him, overawing him against his will, for although he was here as the representative of the State, with theoretical powers far beyond that of any individual, he had too often seen the way wealth and influence, wielded with more single-minded determination than the servant of some distant bureaucratic agency would dare to exert, could nullify those powers.
Nullify them—and maybe ruin the career of the servant in the process. Even as it was, Narva would be angered by the intrusion of policemen into his privacy, so it would be prudent for Boselli to maintain a low, apologetic profile, letting the Englishmen do the talking.
The servant led the way through a gap in the colonnade, down a broad stone stairway, and, turning sharply to the right at the foot of it, along another broad stone-flagged walk. On their right the house— the castle, Boselli supposed—
rose up sheer; on the left, beyond a low parapet, was more of that black emptiness from which he had cringed in the car, with the smell of the sea rising up from below.
The walk continued into a vine-covered loggia, set with wrought-iron chairs sharply picked out in the light which shone through wide-open French windows. Here the servant halted, gesturing them into the light. Boselli paused momentarily, gathered his courage, and then followed the dummy2
gesture into the room, screwing up his eyes against the brightness.
Eugenio Narva was like, and yet unlike, his picture in the files.
Like, because the big, aggressive nose and strong mouth, the high forehead and the thick iron-grey hair were all a matter of pictorial record.
But unlike, because when you'd documented everything and recorded everything, you still only had a two-dimensional portrait. Over the years Boselli, who lived in the midst of thousands of such facts and figures, had learnt that in the end. Partly it had come from his own observation, but most of all from his attendance on the General, who always seemed to set greater store by what men didn't say, or wouldn't say—or couldn't bring themselves to say—about others.
He had sometimes felt that the General expected his operatives to have the eye of an artist and the tongue of a poet in addition to their other attributes. Certainly, the compiler of the Narva file had not dared to describe how the man stood, squarely and solidly, as though he had roots in the rock under his feet . . . and that consequently anything made of flesh and blood which collided with him would very likely come off a poor second.
"Signor Boselli?"
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Boselli started, gulped, bowed.
"I am—Boselli, Signor Narva."
Narva's dark eyes shifted towards the Englishmen.
"May I present Professore Audley and Cap—and Signor Richardson, of the British Ministry of Defence."
"Gentlemen—" This time Narva inclined his head. "You are not from the Embassy, then?"
"From England," said Audley.
"To see me?"
"To see you, Signor Narva."
"Then you have come a long way just to see me." Narva turned back to Boselli, and back into Italian. "And for this reason I have policemen on my grounds?"
"Indirectly, signore—for your protection."
"So it was said. But it was not said from whom I am being protected. And I would like to know, Signor Boselli."
"From the Communists, signore."
A small frown creased Narva's forehead. "I have the most cordial relations with the local Communists. And with the Communist Party. I certainly do not need protecting from them."
"The Russian Communists, signore."
"Indeed?" The frown was replaced by raised eyebrows and bland disbelief. "That is surprising, since I have never had any dealings with them."
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"Not directly, perhaps," said Audley.
"Nor indirectly, professore."
"You don't think the late Richard von Hotzendorff qualifies as a middleman, then?"
It was the opening move, and an attacking one even though it was mildly executed. Almost imperceptibly the big Englishman had come forward until he stood beside Boselli, while Richardson had drifted to the left.
"Richard—" Narva paused, "—von Hotzendorff."
"Your little bird from East Berlin, Signor Narva."
"And our little bird, too," murmured Richardson lazily. "Our busy little bird flying from tree to tree!"
Narva regarded Audley steadily. "I was acquainted with Richard von Hotzendorff, that is true."
"Acquainted?"
"He once advised me on certain business matters."
"Her Majesty's Government is very interested in those business matters."
Narva's lips tightened. "They were private transactions, professore —transactions made in Italy between an Italian subject and an East German citizen."
"Who happened to be one of our agents in the Soviet Union."
This time Richardson's voice was curt.
"That was of no concern to me, signore."
"But the information he gave you is of very great concern to dummy2
us, Signor Narva," said Audley heavily.
"I find that surprising—in view of the fact that I last saw von Hotzendorff in ... 1968, it was. More than three years ago, in fact."
"Nevertheless it still concerns us."
"And it concerns the Russians too, signore," added Richardson. "Which is why Boselli's merry men are in your shrubbery. You should be grateful we got here ahead of the KGB, you know. They seem to be in a rather disinheriting mood."
Narva stared at Richardson coldly. "Whereas you intend to say 'please' before you ask the same questions?"
Richardson shrugged. "We like to think there is a slight difference, you know. But if you're in doubt I suggest you ask Signor Boselli."
"I shall do better than that." The cold eye settled on Boselli.
"Under which of our innumerable ministries do you come, Signor Boselli?"
Boselli quailed at the thought of the Minister on the telephone to the General. Anything was preferable to that, even the most shameless falsehoods.
"This—mission has been cleared at the very highest level."
"I don't doubt it."
"We have promised the British Government our fullest cooperation."
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"You have, perhaps. But I haven't."
Boselli cleared his throat. "Signor Narva, I assure you—I will take full responsibility—"
Full responsibility! The very words stopped him in his tracks. He had heard them before—the General happily bulldozed through his subordinates' doubts with them—but never, never from his own lips. Indeed, he had risen from nowhere to what had been until this awful day a comfortable and satisfying position by the judicious avoidance
of those dangerous words, against which his instinct had always warned him—the same instinct which now groaned in anguish.
"Responsibility for the discretion of two foreign agents?"
Narva dismissed the grand gesture with contempt. "My dear Boselli, oblige me by not treating me as a fool!"
"But I assure you—"
"No! It is I who will assure you, signore! It is of no consequence that you will not tell me to whom you are responsible—of no consequence to me that is. I know the man I want well enough."
Boselli stared helplessly as Narva hooked the ivory and gold receiver from the telephone on the table beside him. Of course he knew the man he wanted; someone like Narva would be on more than nodding terms with half the government. What was surprising was not that he knew exactly where to bring pressure to bear, only that he had not dummy2
acted the moment the security men had invaded his privacy.
But then he had the reputation for being a careful man never given to precipitate actions, a man who waited until he had the exact measure of every danger, every opportunity. It had been an assessment which hadn't fitted Boselli's conception of an industrialist—one more appropriate to a peasant than a man of great affairs. But looking at this granite personality now he understood it at last, and despaired.
"Salvatore—" Narva commanded the receiver, "—get me—"
"It won't do," exclaimed Audley.
Narva paused. "Professore?"
"I said—it won't do."
"One moment, Salvatore." Narva lowered the receiver to his chest. "What will not do, professore?"
"Foreigners."
Narva looked at him quizzically. "You are not foreigners?"
Audley considered him in silence for five seconds. "We are all foreigners somewhere. Here, in this house—in this country, I am a foreigner, certainly."
Narva matched the five seconds before replying. "Go on."
"Do I need to?"
"No . . . not if I take your meaning accurately," Narva spoke slowly. "In England I am the foreigner, eh?"
"We are all foreigners somewhere, as I said."
"But I am a bad man to threaten anywhere."
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"But I am not threatening you—I am asking you for help . . .
just as you may need help in Britain." Audley smiled. "You had better get used to calling it 'Britain,' signore—to call it
'England' only offends the Scots and the Welsh and the Irish.
If you want to, make your fortune out of us then you must get used to our little ways. And there has to be a measure of mutual trust."
Narva replaced the receiver.
"You are trusted in your business transactions, Signor Narva," continued Audley more gently. "Your word is always enough, I have been told. . . . And tonight you are keeping faith with a dead man."
Narva inclined his head fractionally. "You honour me, professore."
"No. Trust is part of your stock-in-trade."
The Italian's face hardened. "But not, I would think, any part of yours."
"You'd be surprised how many people trust me," said Audley evenly. "And not with money, either."
Boselli examined each face in turn, fascinated. So the threat to telephone Rome, though real enough, had been also calculated to draw the Englishman. And the Englishman, in accepting this, was nevertheless taking the initiative.
"I was generalising, naturally, professore."
"Naturally. Because we both know that trust brings in information. ... In fact it was trust that brought you Richard dummy2
von Hotzendorff."
"You think so?"
"I'm certain of it."
"I think you would find that difficult to prove."
"I'm certain of that, too. But proving it is really not important."
"Because I will break whatever confidence—whatever business confidence—I had with Herr Hotzendorff of my own free will?"
"I wouldn't put it quite like that."
"Indeed? Then I would be most interested to know how you would put it."
Audley considered the question for a moment. "Well ... I suppose I would say that unforeseen circumstances might cause you to break the letter of your agreement in order to adhere to its spirit."
"My agreement?" Narva echoed the word with obstinate indifference.
"Hotzendorff sold you information about the discovery of oil in the North Sea, Signor Narva. Are you denying that?"
Narva shook his head. "I am neither denying it nor admitting it, professore. Neither do I deny or admit this agreement of yours—the words are all yours so far."
"Not quite all. You have admitted meeting him."
"I meet a great many people in the way of business. But I do dummy2
not make agreements with them all."
They were back to square one, thought Boselli; the Englishman seemed to be losing the initiative.
"Nevertheless, there was an agreement," said Audley patiently. "And it didn't simply concern money."
It was a statement, not a question, and this time Narva did not reply to it. So the initiative hadn't been lost after all—
"Hotzendorff had a family in East Germany, Signor Narva,"
Audley continued in a matter-of-fact voice. "A wife and three young children. After he died they came to the West."
Still Narva said nothing.
"It isn't easy to get out of East Germany. Especially with three young children. Not for a widow—and not for a widow in a hurry. And especially not for a widow named Hotzendorff, I'd say— wouldn't you?"
Silence.
Narva shrugged. "But not impossible, evidently."
"No, not impossible. The West German Government could manage it. So could the Americans, and so could we, with a bit of extra effort."
"But you didn't?"
"None of us did, no. ... But there are four private groups who would try it if the price was right—two in East Germany and two in West. When Frau Hotzendorff came out we reckoned it had to be one of the East German groups. At the time it dummy2
hardly mattered, anyway."
"Professore—"
"But later on we got curious, signore. And in the end I—we—
found it was one of the West German teams that did the job.
To be precise it was the Westphal Bureau."
"West—" Richardson bit off the name so quickly that his sudden reaction almost passed unnoticed. And yet in that instant Boselli gained an equally sudden insight into the younger man's relationship with the older. A moment earlier he had been reflecting bitterly that he was the mere onlooker here, but now he knew that he was not alone; much of this was going above Richardson's head too.
"You know Joachim Westphal?" Audley cocked his head, knowingly. "A Gehlen graduate before he went private—and Gehlen never had a better man. Very good—very reliable—
and very expensive. . . . And very choosy about his clients, so don't tell me that Hotzendorff had this all set up in advance, Signor Narva. Westphal wouldn't have touched Hotzendorff even if Hotzendorff had his sort of money, which he hadn't."
"No . . ." Narva nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "No, I will not insult you by arguing with you, Professore Audley. You are telling me that I arranged for the escape of Herr Hotzendorff's family from East Germany after his death?"
"Exactly that, yes."
"But you have no proof of this, of course?"
"Westphal never reveals a client's name, as you well know—
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that's part of the deal. But I'm not concerned to prove anything, as I said before. Knowing is quite enough."
"Knowing." Narva chewed on the word. "And this was my
'agreement'—Herr Hotzendorff would trade information in exchange for safety?"
"And money—and secrecy."
"But naturally!" Narva nodded again. "The one would be of no use to him without the others. Not with the risks he proposed to take."
There was no argument about that, thought Bose
lli grimly, watching the two poker faces. By indulging in such a private deal the East German was not simply double-crossing his British paymasters by passing valuable information to a third party, but was also jeopardising their operations behind the Iron Curtain by taking on additional risks of his own.
General Montuori's sphere of activity did not extend beyond the curtain, but in broadly similar situations Boselli knew how incensed he became. And vengeful too, for his punishment, when the moment for it finally came, invariably fitted the crime. Which of course was never very difficult with double-crossers, once their original master had tumbled to them and their usefulness had ceased to protect them.
"Perhaps it is fortunate for him that he is beyond your reach," Narva said blandly, "if that is what you think occurred."
Beyond everyone else's reach too. And that, no doubt, was dummy2
why Narva felt so strong: he had paid his money and had his money's worth, and the one man who might have compromised him with the British Government was safely out of the way.
Safely and conveniently. If it had been anyone else but Eugenio Narva one might be tempted to suspect that so convenient a conclusion to a politically dangerous business deal had been a little too convenient. But Narva's reputation for honourable dealing was as rock-firm as the man himself—
there Boselli disagreed with the big Englishman's character assessment even while accepting his version of the alleged
"agreement"; trust was not simply part of his stock-in-trade.
Much more simply he was a man of honour. It might be a dying breed, and it might already be dead in the Englishman's decaying island, but it was not yet extinct in Italy.
Indeed (Boselli warmed to the thought) the very fact that Narva had spared no expense to extricate Hotzendorff's family after the man's death—
The man's death! That was the point, the whole point that made the agreement doubly binding in honour for a man like Narva if it had been in getting that information for him that the German had died. Information so valuable that even after three years both the British and the Russians were desperate to trace its source.
That was it. He felt the conviction of it blossom inside his brain. That was it.
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