He could feel a pendulum swinging overhead. Time getting ready to crush him. “I’ve been retired for over a decade. And I was out to grass long before then. How could I be of use to you?”
So she had explained.
And here was his car, third time of looking, exactly where he’d parked it.
The keys were in his pocket. While he fumbled around, fishing them out, the gun he’d taken from Al’s case banged against his ribs like an extra heartbeat, arrhythmical and heavy.
“Well, boil a bloody frog,” Lamb said. “Here’s me thinking you’re beavering away like centrefolds, and instead there’s a party in full swing. My invitation’s in the post, I presume?”
He had appeared in the doorway with his customary stealth, which is to say, the stealth he adopted when he wasn’t lumbering like a rheumatic armadillo. Catherine, behind him, raised an eyebrow in River’s direction: welcome, apology, warning, resignation.
“So who’s going to give me a rundown of the playlist?”
Louisa said, “Taverner’s had Sid recruit an old network.”
“CC Stamoran,” River said. “Who found something in my grandfather’s library.”
“And his crew.”
“The Brains Trust.” River read their names from the palm of his hand.
Lech said, “They probably worked in Ulster with CC. So they’re not desk drones.”
“Ulster’s in Ireland,” said Roddy.
“And that was a brainstorm, was it? If brains were actual weather, none of you’d get wet.”
“Just bringing you up to speed,” River said.
“Yeah, right. You realise I have to decelerate when you do that?” Lamb looked round sourly. “Yes, Taverner, or this Stamoran creature, or both, found something somewhere that David Cartwright squirrelled away, possibly before but maybe after he developed runny brain, as a result of which a bunch of past-their-sell-by spooks may well be doing cartwheels at Taverner’s bidding. Just another day at the spy factory. And yes, we’re maybe early doors for another monumental balls-in-a-mousetrap situation courtesy of First Desk’s never-ending desire to prove herself queen of fucking everywhere, but you know what? I don’t care. Which means, in case you’re all too hopped up, dumbed down or just plain thick to notice, that you don’t care either. So back to work. Except you.” He pointed at River. “You can fuck off home. Your plug’s been pulled.”
River said, “Taverner used Sid as a sock puppet. Me too.”
“Well that’s better than using you as a toilet brush, which would have been my choice. And guess what? Baker’s fine and you’re—I don’t care what you are. But nobody got hurt, which means I don’t have to listen to Standish moaning about staff shortages or stay late while she finds forms for me to sign. That’s a positive outcome, which, if you’d ever had managerial experience, you’d know is like a wet dream after a free beer. Doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you don’t spend time worrying who’s doing the laundry.”
“Taverner’s up to something,” Louisa said.
“Have recent years taught you nothing? She’s always up to something.”
“Right,” said River, “and whatever she’s found to use as a weapon, who do you think she’s aiming it at?”
“Taylor Swift?”
“You’ve been a thorn in her side forever.”
Lamb looked sideways at Ash. “It’s young Baker I feel sorry for. This one doesn’t know foreplay when he sees it.”
“You know what?” River said. “I’m not bothered either. If Lady Di’s primed a geriatric hit squad to clean your clock, I think I’ll just buy a big bag of popcorn and find a comfortable chair.”
Catherine said, “Let’s everyone cool down, shall we?”
“Don’t look at me,” said Shirley. “I lost track five minutes ago.”
“We just wanted to know about Louisa’s new job,” Ash explained.
“Since when did my life become everyone’s business?”
“They wanted me to crash your inbox,” Roddy said. “I told them private’s private, ya feel me?”
“. . . Thank you.”
“Also, I blocked that randomer who’s sending you dick pics.”
“Taverner isn’t coming after me,” Lamb said. “If she wanted to do that, she’d make damn sure not to involve you lot. Even tangentially.”
“You’re pretty sure we’d have your back,” muttered Lech.
“No, I’m pretty sure you’d fuck things up,” said Lamb. “She’d use someone efficient. Is Ronnie Corbett still alive?”
“So who’s her target?” River asked.
“Christ,” said Lamb, turning to leave. “It’s days like this I miss that psycho we used to have. At least he could think straight.”
“Shoot straight too,” Shirley said, remembering.
Lamb had gone. River shook his head. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to find Sid.”
“Not sure you’ll have to,” Catherine said, as the door downstairs groaned another welcome.
