“Adam, before you get us drunk, which I doubt is the wisest thing to do, can you tell us what is happening? I have told Miro what the cargo is, and I have told him of its vital importance to Poland, so you can speak freely.”
The Count shot a concerned look at Kowalski for a moment as if questioning his indiscretion then relaxed. “A very large truck will arrive here at between 3.30 and 4.30. Originally, I had arranged the transfer to take place under cover of darkness, but I have information suggesting that it might be more prudent to accelerate the process. The men you see are extremely reliable men employed by the Polish embassy. Patriots all who know the value of the cargo to their country. When the lorry arrives, all the sixty or so boxes will be assembled in the hallway and front reception room. The boxes will be moved onto the truck and down to the Polish Commonwealth Bank branch in the City where my banker has arranged for them to be deposited in the safety of the bank’s vault where the remainder of the gold is already held. It is all quite straightforward, but, as I told you, Jerzy, I felt it might be useful for you and a friend to be here, just in case.”
Kubicki had tired of looking at his second vodka and drank it, replacing the glass on the desk with a bang. “Forgive me, Count, but what do you mean by ‘just in case’? And what exactly is ‘information suggesting that it might be more prudent to accelerate the process’?”
The Count looked down at his feet for a moment, then winced as he felt a spasm of back pain. “Well, bluntly, it means that there are people who are interested in taking the gold off our hands.”
Kubicki used a finger to remove some of the tough beef they had had for lunch from between his teeth, then waggled it at the Count.“What sort of people?”
“Russians, Miro. Ruthless people.”
“Shit, Jerzy, what the hell have you got me into?”
*
“Christ! Of all the times to call a review meeting.” Merlin had just emerged from a two-hour meeting of senior officers convened at short notice by the A.C., the main purpose of which had been for the A.C. to let off steam about the harassment he had been receiving from the Metropolitan Commissioner and the Home Secretary about a variety of subjects. Gatehouse had taken it out on everyone, but had had a particular go at Merlin about the looting.
“Robinson’s back, sir.”
“Get her, Sergeant.”
Robinson appeared, a little paler in the face than usual.
“How is he then?”
“He seems to be doing alright, sir.”
“Good. Did the sergeant tell you about the address we got from Johnson, the one this fellow Evans gave us for the Russian Trubetskoi?”
“Yes, sir. And it matches the one I got for Voronov.”
Merlin looked up and stared hard at his print of Dr Gachet. “What are we to make of this? This Voronov fellow is popping up everywhere. Lunch with Kilinski. In cahoots with looters. What do you think, Sergeant?”
“I wonder if he has any links with Tarkowski?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. I think before we see Voronov, we should ask Tarkowski about him. And we have other things to ask the Count. Let’s get going. We’ll try him at home again.”
*
It was by pure chance that Grishin had decided to pay a visit to Platonov on this particular afternoon. His driver had the day off so he drove himself. He enjoyed driving in London. At least there was the challenge of some traffic to negotiate unlike in Moscow, where government vehicles had the central streets largely to themselves. He pulled up a block away from the target house and stiffly extracted himself from the car. He lit up a small cigar and sauntered down the pavement, past a crowd of workmen clearing the debris of a bombed terrace house, keeping an eye out for his man. After looking around unsuccessfully for ten minutes and mentally commending Platonov for his professional invisibility, he heard the word “Comrade” and Platonov emerged wearing his gabardine mac from behind a large refuse bin in the mews across the road from the back of Voronov’s house.