The Night Manager полностью

"Something like that," Jonathan agreed, more pleasantly still, but Tabby close beside him heard the undertow in his voice and placed a restraining hand discreetly on his arm.

Which was unwise of Tabby, because in doing so he enabled the close observer to relieve him of a wad of American dollars nestling in the side pocket of his bush jacket.

Yet even at this gratifying moment, Jonathan cast an uneasy glance after the two Americans in Roper's train. Disenchanted veterans? Settling a grudge with Uncle Sam? Then get yourselves a couple of disenchanted faces, he told them, and stop looking as if you ride first class and charge the company for your time.

* * *

Intercepted handwritten fax relayed to the Roper jet, marked MOST URGENT, from Sir Anthony Joyston Bradshaw in London, England, to Dicky Roper care of the SS Iron Pasha, Antigua, received 0920 hours and transmitted to the jet at 0928 hours by the Iron Pasha's skipper, with a covering note apologising if he had taken the wrong step. Sir Anthony's handwriting bulbous and illiterate, with misspellings, underlinings and the occasional eighteenth-century flourish. The style telegraphic.

Dear Dicky,

Re our conversation two days ago, have discussed matter with Thames Authority an hour ago and have assertained that offending information is documentary in your hand, and irrifutable. Am also led to beleive that the late Dr. Law was used by unfriendly elements to squeeze out previous signatory in favour present incumbant. Thames are taking evasive action, suggest you do same.

In view of this crucial assistance trust you will send another immediate ex gratia care of usual bank, to cover farther essential expenses your urgent interest.

Best, Tony.

This intercept, which had not been passed to Enforcement, was surreptitiously obtained by Rynn from a source in Pure Intelligence sympathetic to his cause. In his chagrin following the death of Apostoll, Rynn had difficulty overcoming his native mistrust of the English. But after a half-bottle of ten-year-old Bushmills single malt, he felt strong enough to slip the document into his pocket and, having driven pretty much by instinct to the operations centre, present it formally to Burr.

* * *

It was months since Jed had flown on a commercial flight, and at first she found the experience liberating, like riding on the top of a London bus after all those dreary taxi rides. I'm back in life, she thought; I've stepped out of the glass coach. But when she made a joke of this to Corkoran, who sat beside her as they headed for Miami, he sneered at her condescension. Which surprised as well as hurt her, because he had never been rude to her before.

And at Miami airport he was equally unpleasant, insisting that he pocket her passport while he went in search of a luggage trolley, then turning his back on her while he addressed two flaxen-haired men hanging around the departure desk for the onward flight to Antigua.

"Corky, who in heaven's name are they?" she asked him when he returned.

"Friends of friends, my dear. They will be joining us on the Pasha."

"Friends of whose friends?"

"Of the Chief's, actually."

"Corky, they can't possibly be! They're absolute bruisers!"

"They're additional protection, if you wish to know. The Chief has decided to raise the strength of the security to five."

"Corky, why on earth? He's always been perfectly content with three before."

Then she saw his eyes and was scared, because they were vindictive and triumphant. And she realised that this was a Corkoran she didn't know: a slighted courtier on his way back to favour, with long-held grievances to settle with interest.

And on the plane he didn't drink. The new protection were flying in the back, but Jed and Corkoran sat in first class, where he renounced all alcohol rather than drink himself into a stupor, which was what she expected him to do. Instead, he ordered himself mineral water with ice and a slice of lime, and slurped it while he admired his reflection in the window.

Jonathan was also a prisoner.

Perhaps he had always been one, as Sophie had suggested. Or perhaps he had been one ever since he had been spirited to Crystal. But an illusion of freedom had always been conceded him. Till now.