‘No,’ said Diana. ‘I didn’t want any of them broken.’
Lamb nodded, as if that went without saying. Then said, ‘I heard about Kazan. I’m guessing the Whitehall crowd creamed themselves then backed away.’
‘Nothing I’m not used to.’
‘What about Number Ten?’
‘Doesn’t officially know. That way, his spad doesn’t have to decide what the PM thinks.’
They were silent. Way overhead, in the dark starless sky, nothing happened.
Then Lamb said, ‘I’ve stood on bridges in my time. You watch one of your own come back to your side, watch one of theirs walk the opposite way. And that’s the end of the story. They’re off the board. Untouchable. This shit doesn’t get written down, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a rule. Otherwise it’s just joe country. Welcome to the badlands.’ He tipped his bottle in her direction. ‘Putin pissed all over that rule. You did the right thing.’
‘Thanks.’
‘He’s probably declared war, though. You realise that.’
‘No, I think he’ll get the message.’
‘Because I heard a rumour.’
‘And you pay attention to that sort of thing?’
‘Of course I fucking do. I’m a spy.’ He added his cigarette end to the pile by his feet. ‘Apparently we have a crack assassination squad.’
‘That was the rumour?’
‘No, the rumour is they’ve been targeted. Tit for tat. You took out one of their featured artists, now they’re coming for yours. Should make for an interesting summer.’
Diana said, ‘We used freelance talent for Kazan.’
‘I figured.’
‘Because it’s not as straightforward as it used to be. Not with half the agencies in Europe thinking it’s funny to put our people on their watch lists. No more courtesy access, no more blind eyes turned to low-key incursions. No more shortcuts through friendly states. Cooperation strictly according to the book, which suddenly has a lot more small print than we’d thought.’ She contemplated her wineglass, manoeuvring which was less complicated now it held half as much. ‘The many blessings of You-Know-What.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Lamb. ‘I voted Lib Dem.’
‘Very funny. But my point was, we have tactical teams, sure, and we have operatives who could take even you down bare-handed, though I’m sure they’d prefer rubber gloves. But we don’t, as such, have an actual department. Where’d this rumour come from?’
‘A little man at Old Miles’s.’
‘And he, what, saw it on Twitter?’
‘His partner was a journo, writing a book on Putin.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And died.’
‘Killed?’
Lamb shrugged.
‘Where?’
‘Moscow.’
‘This little man,’ Diana said. ‘American?’
‘Full-blooded Munchkin.’
‘And his partner was a Russian citizen.’ She made to inhale again, and thought better of it. ‘He’s been writing to the minister. Local reports called it natural causes.’
‘And annoying Putin doesn’t count?’
Diana said, ‘Well, he wouldn’t be the first Russian journalist to walk into a bear trap.’ She drank some wine. ‘If bodies start turning up, I’ll know we’ve got a problem. To add to my ever-growing list. In the meantime, I’m tired. Would you mind pissing off back wherever you call home?’
Lamb heaved himself up. When he stretched, she thought about bear traps again. He found another cigarette somewhere, and said, ‘Pretty impressive, though. Bankrolling a hit on a Moscow heavy without sanction from upstairs.’
‘Maybe I’ve got a fairy godfather.’
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t make an offer you can’t refuse.’
Foreboding washed over her, and the words were out before she could stop them. ‘I may have made a mistake, Jackson.’
He waited.
But she shook her head. ‘Ah, screw it. It is what it is. Isn’t that the current wisdom?’
‘London rules, Taverner. If you’re big enough to admit you’ve made an error, you’re stupid enough to make another one.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And don’t fuck with my joes.’
‘They’re not joes.’
‘That wasn’t the important bit. The important bit was, do not fuck.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘Can I come through the house?’
‘No. You can leave the way you came.’
‘I came through the house.’
‘No you didn’t.’
She locked the sliding door behind her, and went up to the toilet. When she came back down the intruder light was off, and the garden empty.
‘May we come in and look around?’
If it had been just her, no question.
The man said, ‘Jim and Jane. By the way.’
‘He’s Jim,’ the woman added. ‘I’m Jane.’
‘We’re what you might call interested parties.’
‘Interested in the concept, that is.’
‘Shipping containers,’ said Jim. ‘Residential. Brilliant.’
‘Just brilliant.’
‘And we’re very keen on exploring the potential further.’
‘Possibly as a franchised opportunity,’ said Jane.
‘By which we mean, we would shoulder the design burden. And production costs, of course.’
‘While you would retain the vision and the trademark rights.’
‘We’d not ask you to sell your dream.’
‘Who in their right mind would offer their dream for sale?’
‘But we hope you’ll be interested in leasing it,’ said Jim.
It was like being washed by gentle hands, thought Struan Loy. Like being oiled and towelled and given a happy ending. ‘Jim and Jane,’ he said. Then he said, ‘Okay, Jim and Jane. Come in. Bring your bottles.’
