‘He ran when he realised I’d clocked him,’ said Louisa. ‘It was no coincidence.’
Lamb shifted his feet to the floor, carefully enough that only a few things were knocked from his desk. ‘No. Because if it was it would be two coincidences, on account of it happening at the same time as we’ve been rubbed out of the Service database.’ He looked at Lech. ‘Rubbed out in the technical sense, that is. Not your area of expertise.’
Lech’s look, his posture, his reddening neck; everything bar his actual voice invited Lamb to go fuck himself.
‘Have you raised this with the Park yet?’ Catherine said. ‘Dare I ask?’
‘Our refugee status? No, I haven’t. On account of I prefer to know what Taverner’s up to before I ask her about it, and I haven’t worked out what that is yet. Too busy. Some of us have lives outside the workplace, you know.’
‘Comforting gay American dwarfs,’ said Shirley.
‘Glad someone’s paying attention.’
‘Or is it dwarves?’
‘There was only one of them,’ said Lamb. ‘His friend’s dead.’ He farted in a brisk, businesslike fashion. ‘Anything else? God, look at you all, lined up like a choir at a hobo funeral. About as confidence-inspiring as a Spanish motorway.’
‘Nothing like rallying the troops,’ said Catherine.
‘I have something,’ said Ho.
Lamb glared. ‘Pubic lice? That would explain the fidgeting.’
‘I know when our records were removed.’
‘Well, fuck me merrily on high. Actual information.’ He leaned back. ‘Come on then. Amaze us.’
‘First week of January. The fifth.’
‘How do you know?’ said River. ‘If the records aren’t there, they can’t tell you when they were deleted.’
Ho adopted the superior look cats give mortals. ‘I checked for when the personnel database was updated, outside the regular back-ups. Then looked to find each time an update happened with no new material added.’
‘How can you—’
‘It gets smaller.’
‘Which meant something was deleted,’ Louisa said.
‘Yeah, duh.’ Ho interlaced his fingers importantly. ‘Administrator activity’s logged. But you have to know where to look.’
‘And that’s why we keep you,’ said Lamb. ‘I’d known there was a reason, beyond my famously charitable nature.’ He beamed round at the rest of them. ‘See? Being a dickless no-mates pays off in the long run. Okay, Austin Powers, as a reward, you can keep your shirt on. I’d been going to make you eat it.’
‘And what use is that?’ said Shirley. ‘Knowing the date it happened?’
‘Difficult as this will be for you to understand,’ said Lamb, ‘knowing things is better than not knowing things. Think of it as the difference between having a cocaine baggie in your pocket and not. I hope this helps.’
Shirley managed not to check her pockets, but it was a close-run thing.
‘All righty,’ said Lamb. ‘I’ve had as much as I can stand for one lifetime. Piss off and do some work. And remember, all of us are lying in the gutter. But some of you are circling the drain.’
‘Thanks.’
‘But it could be worse. You could be a hotshot squad of international assassins. Then you’d really be in trouble.’
Nobody dared ask, and they all trooped out.
On the way downstairs, Shirley said, ‘Have you gone off reservation lately?’
‘Me?’ said Louisa. ‘No.’
‘Then why would the Park be tailing you?’
‘They don’t need a reason,’ said Louisa. ‘We’re Slough House. They can do what they want with us.’
She left it until after lunch before heading into River’s room. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. His computer was on, its screen reflected in the windowpane behind him: rows of columns, probably an electoral register. So much of what they did involved scrolling through the surface details of civic existence, looking for bumps that weren’t there. But River’s hands weren’t on his keyboard or his mouse. They were holding something he dropped in a drawer as she entered.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘You okay?’
‘Just peachy.’
She perched on the corner of his desk and raised an eyebrow. ‘An Aston Martini?’
‘It’s actually a Renault Crisis.’
‘Yeah, that sounds more you.’ She leaned forward, and he pushed the drawer shut. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘It’s nothing. Tell me about this guy who was following you.’
‘He was a guy,’ said Louisa, ‘and he was following me. That’s a barrette, isn’t it?’
‘A barrette’s a kind of gun, right? I haven’t got a gun, no.’
‘That’s a Beretta.’
‘Or a bishop’s hat? Haven’t got one of those, either.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about now,’ said Louisa, ‘but we both know what you’re not talking about.’
River said, ‘I was clearing my drawers out, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, ’cause you’re big on spring-cleaning. I’ve noticed that in the past. That was Sid’s barrette, wasn’t it? Okay,
‘Why would I have—’
‘Because you found it on her desk after – afterwards. Come on, River, this is me. What’s the matter? Why’s she on your mind?’
His face was set in a familiar obstinate scowl.
‘Because that call you got, the one you thought was her. It could have been anyone. A wrong number, a glitch on the line. Whoever it was didn’t say anything, did they? You can’t recognise a silence.’
