We all stood there for a while, watching in something like awe. Then we turned away, and headed in for Montignac and a telephone.
*
I got the rest of the story next morning from Max in Focal House. Mackenzie had gone back to the talks arena to say there had been a temporary hitch and that was all, just a matter of detail that had needed his personal attention and was now sorted out. The signing could go ahead. All smiles and congratulations, it had done just that. There had been a lot of handshaking, and speeches. Kulachev was okay now, the hero of the Russian people; the Kremlin’s guns, or those of Kulachev’s enemies inside and outside the Kremlin, had been nicely spiked. The world was heaving a collective sigh of relief, Max said. The celebrations were still going on. There were going to be plenty of sore heads around later on: Kulachev had always enjoyed his drink, and Ross Mackenzie was in basis a Scot, known to be addicted in particular to the fine single malts produced by the Glenturret distillery in Perthshire.
And Max produced a bottle of twenty-one-year-old Glenturret. “Specially for the occasion,” he said, and poured drams into Caithness crystal glasses. We drank to Ross Mackenzie, to Kulachev, to glasnost and world accord. And then we drank to little James Jervolino, who’d been met by security men from the US Embassy in Paris as our helicopter from Montignac had touched down at Orly for transfer to an RAF jet. He had accompanied us to Heathrow. There, more security men had met us and James had been whisked away to the US Embassy in Grosvenor Square for onward flight to the USA and his grandparents.
“A brave young man,” Max said.
“Buoyed up by monsters,” I said.
Max lifted his eyebrows. “Buoyed up – by that bunch of bastards? What the devil do you mean, Shaw?”
I said, “There are different sorts of monsters, Max. Some are kindly, and drink whisky dropped to them by Haggis MacTavish.”
Max stared. Clearly, recent events had driven me past the point of no return, and he was alarmed. Felicity gave a giggle and explained. Max seemed to understand, more or less. He grunted and said all small boys were monsters in his opinion. He went on to tell us that the Zonguldak had been placed under arrest in the port of Bordeaux and her crew taken into custody for questioning. No one expected to learn anything of world-shaking importance; but there might be charges of complicity in the murders of Captain Kubat and his wife. In the meantime there was Louis Leclerc, safe in police custody. The cases of the five missing diplomats would be re-opened until Louis Leclerc’s part was known, and then maybe, along with Neskuke’s, they could be closed.
Max said, “You’d better take some leave, the two of you. I’ve nothing for you at the moment.”
We left the suite, went down in the lift and out into the street, into London’s over-used air and the petrol fumes and the crowds. It was God-awful but it was better than the house near Montignac, and I knew we’d been lucky enough to see it again, in freedom to moan about it.
Felicity took my arm and asked, “Where do we go from here, Commander Shaw?”
I said, “How do you fancy the West Country, Miss Mandrake?”
“Nice! And I know you have a reason.”
I nodded. I had to visit the parents of the girl who’d died in Shoreham Docks. I didn’t relish that. We got a taxi to my flat and got a meal together and then we both crashed out for a couple of hours that were terminated by the delivery of a 6D2 replacement car in which I drove fast out of London for Exeter and Okehampton and Lydford on the fringe of Dartmoor where those parents lived. It was a fraught visit and after it we walked down to Lydford Gorge and listened to the rushing water before making our way back to the Castle Inn where we were staying, rather than suffer the crowds of businessmen at the inevitable conferences that always seemed to fill the big, plush hotels. The inn was very comfortable and so was the bed. Nevertheless I was plagued with nightmares, nasty ones where conger-eels writhed in and out of rocks and holes and crevices and tormented a vast creature that bore a distinct resemblance to the Loch Ness Monster.
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The Boy Who Liked Monsters (Commander Shaw Book 19) Page 19