Lamb removed his cigarette from its nest and eyed it quizzically, as if hoping to find printed instructions. “Now, canning Cartwright’s not a bad idea. He’ll last longer. But what you were after was putting him in a position where he’d be inclined to prick his ears up when you threw a task his way, because we both know he’s still stupid enough to think that if he does you a favour you’ll do him one in return.”
“Instead of telling me what you think we both know, why don’t you tell me something I already don’t? Anything to make me feel this isn’t a colossal waste of my time.”
“How’s this? I’ve just heard Sid Baker’s missing. Which reminded me of something I shouldn’t have forgotten in the first place.”
“And what’s that?”
“That you’re a world-class mind-fucker.” He opened a drawer and scrabbled around in it with his free hand, which emerged with one of those pincer-like gadgets that remove staples. He clicked it a few times between finger and thumb, then, when it failed to produce a flame, tossed it over his shoulder. It missed Catherine by a good eighteen inches.
“How kind,” Taverner said. “You’re going to have to elucidate.”
“It’s Baker you had doing whatever it is you wanted doing. Putting the screws to Cartwright was your way of making sure she’d dance to your drum.” His hand was rummaging again. It found a pencil sharpener, of all things, which followed the staple remover. “And whatever that was, it’s gone banana-shaped, because I’ve just had your kennel-boss on the dog and bone. See what I did there? Seems those angry dogs you mentioned are off the leash in Oxford.”
“Funnily enough, the world is full of people who report to me before they report to you. So if that was your idea of telling me something I don’t know, try harder.”
“No, that was me filling in the background. Now you tell me something I don’t know. What Baker’s been doing and where she is now.”
“And why should I tell you that?”
Lamb said, “Because she was working out of Slough House when she got shot in the head, and at no time since has she been reassigned. Which means she’s one of mine, Diana. You want me to go into detail?”
After a pause, Taverner said, “She was running an errand. Nothing complicated. If any harm’s come to her, it’s because she’s tripped over her own laces or walked into a door. You don’t really expect me to check an agent’s apron strings every time she leaves the premises, do you?”
“That depends what you’ve tied the other end to. It wouldn’t be the first time you used a tiger as a tethering post.” His hand was back in the drawer, and this time came out with a matchbox. He opened it one-handed, his thumb pushing the cardboard tray free. “And I’m—what the fuck is this?”
“What’s what?”
“A tooth. Why is there a tooth in a matchbox? In my own desk drawer? I’m going to sack somebody one of these days.” He tossed the matchbox over his shoulder. “Call the Dogs off, Diana. And whatever your errand is, wrap it up.”
Taverner said, “I’ll call mine off if you call yours home. I’m trying to keep the nation safe, Jackson. That’s my job. Yours is keeping your bunch of retreads off the streets and out of sight, where the rest of us can be reasonably sure they’re not pissing in the well.”
She disconnected.
Lamb looked at Catherine, who was collecting something from the floor in the far corner. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. People can be so rude.”
“I’ll survive.” She straightened up. “Is Sid really missing?”
“Well, our finest minds seem to think so. So she’s likely at home reading the paper. On the other hand, Cartwright and Guy breaking into that safe house has flown a kite.” He regarded his unlit cigarette bitterly. “Mind you, they’ve probably trodden shit into the carpet. I should really just let them take a kicking.”
Back by his side, Catherine held her hand out and he extended a palm. She dropped four lighters into it. “Did you really just threaten First Desk?” she said.
“Me? Course not, I’m housetrained. Everyone knows that.”
“Who was it made the complaint about her?”
“Her PA.”
“Roddy found that out?”
“Nah, but it’s obvious. I was her PA, I’d dob her in just as a change from spitting in her coffee.” He lit his cigarette at last, coughed madly, stubbed it out, stood, stretched, and farted again almost inaudibly. “I’m off for a dump. You were so close, by the way.” He nodded towards the free-standing bookcase under which a tattered rug had rucked, before inserting a hand into the waistband of his trousers and scratching vigorously as he left the room.
Catherine found her final missing document under the rug.
