Maestro

by John Gardner

  “Bex,” he said quietly, leaning over to whisper in her ear. “I know who killed Gus.”

  “You do? Who?”

  “Not now. Later. We’re going to the States.”

  “Both of us?”

  “Very necessary. We can book tickets when we deal with Hisham’s bookings after lunch. Also we have to talk to Carole.”

  “And someone else, I think,” she said pointedly as Bitsy came in carrying a tray with three bowls and a tureen of what looked like pea soup.

  “Potage Longchamp.” Bitsy smiled, serving them.

  “Pea soup.” Herb grinned. “Nothing like a good pea soup, eh, Bits?”

  “I like it. Made it from the ham stock. That piece of ham we had the other evening.”

  “I like a good slice of ham as well.” Herbie continued to grin at her. “You like a little cut off the joint, Bits?”

  “Oh, I …What do you mean?”

  “Question time, Bits.”

  “Question ti—?”

  “Don’t worry Bitsy. No names, no pack drill, as we Brits say. Just need the truth, whole truth, nothing but truth. We won’t say a word if we get the truth.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Questions. Bitsy, you ever work with Gus?”

  “I did safe houses. Did some for him, of course. I also handled visiting firemen from time to time.”

  “What you mean by ‘handled’?”

  “Just the usual. Made sure the cars were at the airport. Booked the rooms, if that was necessary.”

  “Ever keep any of them happy, Bits?”

  “Keep any of them …? what do you mean, exactly, Mr. Kruger.”

  “What I mean is, did old Gus come to you one day—1983, maybe ’84, but who’s counting? Did he ever come to you and say, ‘Look, Bitsy, I’ve got this Arab asset in that safe house in New Cavendish Street, just off Marylebone High Street. He needs a bit of classy nooky. Will you provide?’ Gus ever say that to you, Bits?”

  24

  “THAT’S ONE OF THE most insulting suggestions I’ve …” Bitsy Williams could not seem to find the right words, her face turned beet red, and her eyes had that glint of rage one can just catch in the eye of a doomed bull ready to charge during a corrida.

  “Not as insulting as hearing it in an open court of law, Bitsy.” A stillness came over Herbie, and his voice, while not unfriendly, assumed a hard, rocky quality—the voice of a man with whom you did not trifle. “That’s where it’ll all come out if you don’t cooperate. Understand?”

  Kruger the unstoppable, Bex thought. She also realized why this big, seemingly uncoordinated man was so attractive. It was not his looks or manner, but his dependability; his gift of being able to focus on a situation, cut though the dross and lance straight to the heart of the business in hand.

  When she had first met him, Bex Olesker had little idea of how the man operated. The brass at Vauxhall Cross had painted a picture of a man who was a legend, a cerebral giant.

  “If Herbie can’t solve the problem, nobody can,” one of the senior members of the SIS had told her. “He works, like God, in mysterious ways. This business is one of ninety percent boredom and ten percent action and fear. Don’t believe what you’ve read in the novels, because it just isn’t true. Most of the time you’re a laboratory assistant, working to rule. Don’t blame the novelists, they have to spice it up a little. They have to please their readers. Old Herb may be almost over the hill, but he has the ability to see through the jumble of life’s follies and cut straight to the center. That brain may seem slow, but it’s blessed with a kind of logic that’s ideal for this sort of job. He also has incredible intuition, which is, of course, born of experience.”

  She had detected none of this when she first met him, but slowly it had dawned on her that Kruger had a tenaciousness coupled with a comprehension unrivaled in this kind of work.

  “Come on, Bits,” he said now. “No harm’s done, except one terrorist girl got herself killed. I’m trying to help. Look, I knew from the start that you wanted to be in on the Gus investigation, that you were desperate to stay attached to the op. I guessed you had some reason, maybe—I thought—you were a shade concerned that you might figure as a walk-on in Gus’s book. Well, you don’t appear in the book, Bitsy. I be honest, I don’t think old Gus ever wanted the book published. I couldn’t work out why you’d take a job like chief cook and bottle washer here. Then I got it. You needed to be on hand. You …” He stopped.

  Bitsy was hunched in her chair, miserable, tears just visible. “He talked me into it. I was between boyfriends, needed some kind of reassurance, so I whored for Gus. The bastard could charm snakes from baskets and birds off trees. I whored for him, Herb.”

  “No, you did something that was needed.”

  “It wasn’t even a honey trap. I could feel better if I had done it for my country …”

  “You did, Bits. Did it for country and helped keep an asset sane. Now I need you to identify him. Sorry, but is necessary.”

  She nodded, sniffed and then nodded again.

  “And while we’re at it, Bitsy, I suggest you give us the full story. Sure, you opened your legs for an asset Gus was burning. Then it became a little more than that.”

  Bitsy looked down. Looked at her plate. A lock of hair fell across her forehead. When she spoke, her voice was so soft that they both had to strain to hear her. “Yes. It became something more.”

  “Like what?” Herb’s question cracked like a revolver shot. She stayed silent. “Like what, I asked, you dumb bitch?”

  “Herbie, I—”

  “Cut the Herbie. I’m Mr. Kruger to you. Strictly, you’re a fucking traitor, Bitsy Williams.”

  “But he was working for us. On our side. I didn’t think—”

  “You didn’t think nothing, you silly, stupid, limp-brained idiot.”

  “He did work for us. I was there. Was there when Gus was turning him. I heard so much of it.”

  Kruger let out a long sigh, as though he were somehow deflating. “Look, Bitsy,” his voice kinder now. “Look, tell you what I’ll do. I’ll bury the evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  “The telephone logs.”

  “I only used the house phone twice. Two calls, lasted about a minute each.”

  “I know that, but you should’ve known better. They’re logged and we’ve got the number you called. I’ll bury it for you. Keep you out of court.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “You’ve been led by the charms between your legs. You know what they say about the guys we sprang honey traps on? They say that they get led by their gentiles—”

  “Genitals, Herb.”

  “Sure, Bex. I know. Only they don’t use such a polite term.” He leaned towards Bitsy. “You were also led in the same way. I don’t for a minute think you meant to betray, get me killed, get anyone killed; but you very nearly did. How did you work it? That damn telephone box down on the corner, near the army camp?”

  She nodded, lips quivering.

  “Okay. Just tell me, true or false. You gave sexual comfort a long time ago to someone Gus turned. Then things got out of hand. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You told him you loved him. He said he loved you. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You pleaded with him to come back to London as often as he could. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And every time he came back, you saw him, met him, screwed him and talked to him on the telephone. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How often did he come back?”

  “Couple of times a year. Sometimes for two months. One year he came back for three months. Summer of ’88.”

  “Then, bingo, he came back and said you must be quiet. Only telephone him at certain times. You realized it had something to do with Gus. That it?”

  “I didn’t think he had killed Gus, but I wanted to be around the investigation. Just to keep an eye on thi
ngs.”

  “He ask you to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you knew his crypto.”

  She nodded. “Ishmael.”

  Herbie nodded. “Bitsy, is this true? Were you in so deep with him that you gave him information about the comings and goings here because you thought, with Gus dead, he might not have a friend in the world—our world?”

  “That’s it exactly.”

  “So you let him know when I was going somewhere, or when Young Worboys was coming down here. You gave him a chart, a flight plan, every time anyone moved. That it?”

  “It’s what I did, yes.”

  “Because you thought he might be out on a limb?”

  “That, and the fact that I loved him.” Then, quickly: “Not anymore, Herb. I couldn’t care less. In fact, I’m mixed up. Can hate be so close to love?”

  “Hate is very close to love, Bitsy. I know. I’ve been through all that.”

  “Will they charge me with …?”

  “I don’t think they’ll charge you with anything, Bits. I think you should leave the Service. Early retirement. I’ll put in a good word, even though you nearly got me killed. Okay?”

  “Whatever you say, Her—Mr. Kruger.”

  “Good, we’ll get it over with, then you can get on with your life. Let me make a call, set it up …”

  “He won’t see me?”

  “’Course he won’t. We do a through-the-looking-glass game, which is good because the guy still really doesn’t know which side he’s on.” He bit down on a piece of French bread, took two large spoonfuls of soup and was away, lurching out of the room.

  In Gus’s study he called the main house and just caught Worboys as he was about to leave. Five minutes later, they were both behind Gus’s locked door and Herbie was laying out a plan of campaign.

  Worboys listened to the theory, asked a couple of questions, tested two of Herb’s statements, then listened again as Kruger outlined all that needed doing immediately.

  “Need it all now, Tony. Have to move like a force ten gale. Lot to do.”

  “And I carry the can if anything goes wrong. You realize that?”

  “Sure, but it won’t go wrong. When I ever let you down, Tony? You know me. I taught you to swim in these shark-infested waters. Now you’ve got to show some trust.”

  A very long minute passed, then Worboys nodded. “It all makes sense. Okay, I’ll back you. Let me use this telephone.”

  “Take all the time you need, as long as it’s bloody quick.” He went back to the dining room, where Bex was talking to Bitsy, calming her, reassuring. As Herb said later, “Like a Dutch Aunt.”

  He finished the soup, which had cooled off, then demolished a huge plate of smoked salmon, talking Bitsy down as he chewed.

  Worboys stuck his head around the door. “All set, if you have a minute, Herb.”

  “Sure.”

  “And they have him up in the viewing room.” Worboys looked pointedly at Bex, who rose, put a calming hand on Bitsy’s shoulder and spoke softly to her.

  “That DCI’s worth her weight in gold,” the Deputy Chief said as they reached Gus’s study door.

  “‘Her price is beyond rubies,’” Herb quoted. Again it shook Worboys that he had quoted from the Bible, and he just stopped himself from automatically doing the old schoolboy joke about what was Ruby’s price?

  Seated in the study, he went over each step, made Herb repeat telephone numbers, told him about the deal he had made with the American agencies, and the big cut they had demanded in return for Herbie and Bex operating on United States territory. “You’re still not really their flavor of the month.” He chuckled. “The last time you ran an op there it wasn’t a completely spectacular success for them. They have long memories, but this thing’s so important they really can’t say no.”

  “You bet they can’t. I have to see Carole, as we agreed, then do the final session with friend Ishmael, and time’s running out.”

  “Go, then, Herb. And good luck.”

  “Is not luck I need, Tony, it’s solid facts and making the right pieces fit. I don’ even know if all the pieces are in the box. If they’re not, then we won’t solve the puzzle.”

  “Knowing you, Herb, you’ve some extra pieces hidden on your person.”

  Kruger smiled. “How you guess that, Young Worboys? Hope I see you when I get back—if I get back. Maybe, this time, I run out of road.”

  “Don’t even think it.”

  Bex and Bitsy were coming back through the front door as the two men emerged from Gus’s study. Bitsy, red-eyed, quickly made for the staircase.

  “It’s him. No doubts now. She feels unclean.” Bex jerked her head in the direction of the stairs.

  “Then she shouldn’t. She’s not the first person who had to screw for Queen and Country and she won’t be the last. Bex, we’re out of here within the hour. I have one more thing to do, then throw some clothes into a case. You got enough stuff for an extended trip to the U.S.A.?”

  “Just about. Do I need to report in to the Yard?”

  “Been taken care of, Bex,” from Worboys.

  “Go pack, Bex. See you in half an hour.” Herbie was gone, his hands swinging the wrong way, left to left leg and right to right. He was whistling The British Grenadiers as he lumbered from the house, heading for the guest facilities.

  “When’s this farce going to be over, Herb?” Carole did not even stand up when Big Herbie came bulldozing into her room.

  “For you, Carole, my dear, it’s over. I come personal to give you the news.”

  “Then you know who did for Gus?”

  “We think we know, Carole. We certainly know that it wasn’t you.”

  Her cheeks flared with anger. “You didn’t think for a minute it was …?”

  Herb’s giant shoulders moved almost to his ears in an overstated shrug. “Who knows what evil lurks in the minds of men and women? The Shadow knows.”

  “Don’t try the funny papers on me, Herb. You didn’t really …?”

  “People are guilty until proved innocent.”

  “It’s the other way around.”

  “So they tell me, but that’s in the real world, little one. Seriously, Carole. You are greatly loved, and we’re all devastated about Gus. We think we know exactly what happened and we’re going after the bastards, though I fear they’ve flown the coupé.”

  “Coop, Herb, as in hen coop.”

  “Oh, really? Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re free to go. You get your passport back, and you can return to your house because we’re leaving.”

  “Really? It’s true? I can really go?”

  “You think I’d lie to you, sweetie? Who knows what—”

  “You just did that one, Herb, but you’re a darling.” The smile faded. “Be honest with me, Herbie. Are you not going to get them?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether any of them are still around to be got. I do my best for you, eh?”

  There were tears in her eyes and she gave Kruger a massive hug, which was rather like trying to hug a bear. “I can really go?” she asked again.

  “Really. I should take a holiday if I were you.”

  “Maybe I will. Maybe that’s what I need.”

  Even as they talked, people like Ginger, Kenny Boyden and Micky were packing papers into boxes in Gus’s study. Later, a security van would take them to London and they would be deposited at Vauxhall Cross to await the tender mercies of the analysts.

  They caught American Airlines 107 out of Heathrow at six o’clock. Hisham would be on the British Airways flight 179 leaving at six-thirty. Ginger, in the guise of a taxi driver, was taking him to the airport and there had been many confidential telephone calls from Vauxhall Cross and Warminster to make certain that Bex and Herbie did not bump into Hisham in the terminal.

  The aim was to get Herbie Kruger and DCI Olesker into JFK before Hisham. The way had been smoothed at that end also
.

  Before leaving Warminster, Herb sat down opposite Hisham and put matters to him in an unfriendly, austere and brutal manner.

  “If we could use someone else, we would, and you’d be dead and buried without anyone being the wiser,” he began. “Hisham, don’t doubt for a moment that you’ll be watched all the way. If you deviate or fail to report to us, then we’ll close you down permanently. You understand that?”

  Hisham made it very plain that he understood. He was a terrified man, and Herbie bothered him almost more than the thought of being thrown to the Amn-al-Amm in Iraq. Herb detected the fear, like a wild beast scenting terror from a human. He warned Hisham that he should—as he put it—“Act as normal. Be yourself. Don’t hint to any of those clowns you’ll be working with. Just keep it light! Do as you’re told by them, and also do it right for us. I tell you, Mr. Silwani, that the slightest deviation will mean you’re out of the loop forever.”

  On the flight over, they talked for about two hours, Bex Olesker went to sleep, her head dropping sideways on Big Herbie’s shoulder. At one point she almost came awake, but grunted, made a mmmmming sound and snuggled closer.

  Herbie did not get any sleep, but vastly enjoyed the time he spent with Bex’s head in close proximity. She smells of wild violets, he thought. But what the hell, he told himself; what do I know about wild violets?

  In England, while all three players were rumbling across the Atlantic, a team of SAS soldiers arrived on the outskirts of the village of Crowley in rural Oxfordshire. They were backed up by police and four members of the Security Service, plus Tony Worboys, who was kept well back out of sight.

  A trace on the telephone number given to them by Ramsi and confirmed by Hisham had pinpointed an old farmhouse, recently renovated, on the outskirts of the village.

  They went in at nine o’clock, just when the three men who were Yussif had been taking their evening meal. Only one of the men was stupid enough to go for an Uzi that was lying on a chair a few feet from the table. He died instantly, and his body was removed quietly in an unmarked van.

  The SAS stayed on to act as guards, while two of the MI5 officers, both women, remained behind to interrogate the two men who were left. The inquisitors were exceptionally good and had read both Arabic and Hebrew at Cambridge. They began by completely breaking down the pair of Yussif men, telling them all the information they had on the Intiqam teams in both the U.K. and the U.S.A.