A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [84]
‘No. I’d better be off. Got work tomorrow.’
‘Sure. OK, I’ll see ya. Gimme a call in the next few days.’
‘Will do.’
And he ambles up the street, a lost, faintly dishevelled figure gradually moving out of focus. I have this sense that the evening ended oddly, too quickly, but it’s a barely registered concern.
I head up the hill as far as Holland Park Avenue, but there isn’t a taxi in sight. Passing the underground station, my mobile phone goes off and I take it out of my jacket.
‘Alec?’
‘Yes.’
It’s Cohen.
‘Harry. Hi. How are you?’
‘I’m at the office.’
I look at my watch.
‘But it’s past eleven.’
‘Do you think I’m not aware of that?’
‘No, I simply -‘
He interrupts me, his voice bullish and proud.
‘Look. When did you speak to Raymond Mackenzie?’
‘Off the top of my head I can’t remember. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?’
‘Given that he’s leaving for Turkmenistan in seven hours, no it can’t.’
‘I think I spoke to him yesterday. In the afternoon. I had everything he needs faxed over to him. He’s not going there with his trousers down.’
The connection falters here, dead noise and then broken words.
‘Harry, I can’t hear you.’
Cohen is raising his voice, but it’s impossible to make out what he is saying.
‘I can’t hear you. Harry? My battery’s dead. Listen, I’ll call you from a landline…’
He is cut off.
There is a phone booth near by, decorated with a patchwork quilt of whore cards. A man is standing inside, a worn-out husband wearing a raincoat and trainers. I look straight at him and our eyes briefly meet, but with no regard for this he just rocks back on his heels and has a good look at what’s on offer. He pans left and right, studying the cards, taking his time. Traffic sweeps by and I feel suddenly cold.
After a minute or so he makes up his mind, scribbling a number down on a pad which is resting on the thin metal shelf to the right of the phone. Then he drops a ten-pence piece into the slot.
I don’t want to be doing this. I don’t want to be waiting to make a phone call to Cohen at half past eleven at night. I tap on the glass, fast with the hard edge of my knuckle, but the man just ignores me, turning his back.
A cab drives past and I flag it down, riding back to Uxbridge Road. But when I try Cohen’s number from home, there is no reply. Just the smug disdain of his voicemail and a low-pitched beep.
I hang up.
19
Seize the Day
The keypad on my telephone at home has four preprogrammed numbers: 1 is Mum; 2 is Saul; 3 is Katharine and Fortner; 0 is Abnex. The rest are blank.
I push Memory 3 and listen to the tone-dial symphony of their number ringing out.
She answers.
Here we go.
‘Hello. Katharine Lanchester.’
‘I don’t fucking believe it.’
‘Alec. Is that you?’
‘I don’t fucking believe it.’
‘Alec, what is it?’
‘Abnex have told me they’re not satisfied with what I’m doing. With my work. They’re not convinced I’m doing the best I can.’
‘Slow down, honey. Slow down.’
‘I don’t fucking believe it.’
‘What did they say?’
‘That if I don’t start pulling my weight they won’t give me a contract when my trial period is over.’
‘When did they say this?’
She whispers ‘It’s Alec’ to Fortner. He’s there in the room with her.
‘Today. Murray called me into his office and we both went upstairs and I was given a dressing down by David Caccia, the fucking guy who hired me in the first place. Obviously Murray’s been on to him about me. It was totally humiliating.’
‘Just you? Was anyone else criticized?’
I have to think about this before answering. It’s all lies.
‘Only Piers. But his job is safe, he’s on contract. He’s not in the same position as I am.’
‘It’s possible they’re just giving everybody a scare. Management likes to do that from time to time.’
‘Well then fuck them for doing that, Kathy. I’ve worked my arse off for that company, learning my trade, doing overtime, making up for the fact that I came in through the back door. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to…’
‘To