The park was barely that: a scrap of green space wedged between housing estates east of Aldersgate Street. There was a children’s play area, a wooden shelter for drug dealers, and a gate onto a sidestreet where the ice cream van was parked, milking what custom it could from summer’s last flourish—a strictly nine-to-five deal. The jacket you wore in the morning would leave you shivering on your way home. Though Lamb’s jacket would make Diana shiver wherever she was heading: a spongy blue mess a charity shop would spurn.
As she watched, he added to the allure by allowing a dollop of ice cream to land on his lapel, leaving a spatter-trace unnervingly like birdshit. Holding both cones in one hand, he scraped at this with a finger he then licked and rubbed dry on his trousers. Then, mouth full, he yawned magnificently and said:
“We’re old friends, so you won’t mind me saying, but you look rough as fuck. Like you were up half the night being gang-banged and the rest writing thank-you notes.”
“As always, I’m touched by your concern.”
“Yeah, well, you want any other part touching you, you’ll need to smarten your act up.” He belched. “A man my age is coming into his prime. But a woman of yours, it’s pretty much over. So a little effort, you know?”
Resisting several urges, she said, “It’s been a long week.”
“Yeah, I heard about the genius on the security detail.”
Diana stifled a groan. The genius in question had left his gun and the PM’s passport in an aeroplane toilet, where it had been found by cabin crew on a flight home from Geneva. These things were usually hushed up, but the attendant doing the finding had been French.
“I assumed he was putting out to tender,” Lamb said. He pushed the remains of his first cone into his mouth, and went on: “Picture of the target, tool to do the job.” He made a gun of finger and thumb, and squeezed an imaginary trigger. “I’m surprised a queue didn’t form.”
“You can laugh. But if he doesn’t get fired, you’ll be finding desk space for him.”
“Up your bum. I’ve barely room for the moody tossers I’m saddled with now.”
“What about Cartwright’s desk?”
“I’ve converted it into a shrine.”
“You’re missing him.”
“I’ve had kidney stones I miss more. And as for your latest reject, No Khan Do? If it wasn’t against the rules, I’d give her back.” He looked at what was left of his second cone, grimaced, tossed it over his shoulder and visibly ran a tongue round his gums. “She’s trouble.”
“What’s she done?”
“Passive-aggressive shit mostly. But I can read the signs. It’s like when pets start disappearing, and you know a serial killer’s moved into the area. Or a Korean takeaway.”
She shook her head. “Normally, there’s nothing I like better than listening to you philosophise, but in case you hadn’t noticed it’s the middle of the morning, and we’ve both got jobs to do.” She paused, reconsidered. “
Lamb scratched his head, and when his hand reappeared it was holding a cigarette. “Yeah, funny how that works out. Because when you
“If you’re after an apology, sod off. Claude was being a pest and you’ve got all the time in the world. If I annoyed just one of you, I call that a result.”
“So it had nothing to do with your jolly at the Ivans’ HQ yesterday evening?”
“. . . With my what?”
“Which you left at 8:05.”
“You were
“Well, not personally. But I like to keep an eye on my crew’s work-life balance. And if it looks like life’s winning, I put my thumb on the scales.”
He showed her the thumb he meant. It was visibly sticky.
She shuddered, and said, “So you had them watch the embassy coverage.”
“Well. I only had to get one of them do it, and the rest stuck around in case they missed anything. MOFO, they call it.”
“FOMO.”
He shrugged. “Either way, it’d be what they also call sad, if it wasn’t so fucking hilarious.”
“Jackson—”
“And how was Vassily? I met him once. Long time back. He’d just graduated to Spook Street after working as a gangster’s blunt instrument. I could tell he was destined for greatness.”
“How did you know he was there?”
“I didn’t,” said Lamb. “But I do now.”
He rummaged around in his pockets and produced a plastic lighter.
“What’s going on?” said Diana.
“Well, that’s a long story. And it requires a flashback, a voiceover, and all sorts of technical shit.”
“What on earth are you—?”
“Not to mention a gallon of coffee. There’s a kiosk down the alley.” He gestured with his cigarette in that direction. “Fair’s fair. I bought the ice creams.”
