"I'm only joking," said Dee. "Where's your sense of humour?"

"I don't think colonic irrigation is funny," said Martin. "And I wish you wouldn't go on and on about it."

Dee defended herself. "I don't go on and on, as you put it. All that I'm saying is that when I had a look at your eyes that time, what I saw made me think that you'd benefit from colonic irrigation. I was just thinking about your toxins that's all." She paused. "But if you don't want me to care about your toxin levels, that's fine. Just don't blame me if you ..."

"If I what?"

"Nothing. Just don't blame me."

"Fine. I won't. So that's it. Don't talk to me about it again.'

She shrugged. "You wouldn't have to pay. I'd do it for you. I've been trained."

He said nothing, and it was at this point that the postman entered the shop with the post, including the letter from Richard Eadeston. Dee opened it, and read it quickly.

She was clearly pleased. "That's good news," she said. "Very good news."

Martin was relieved to be talking about something other than colonic irrigation. "What's good news?"

Dee told him about her meeting with the venture capitalist and his enthusiasm for her idea of marketing a Sudoku Remedy based on Gingko biloba. "He likes it,' she said. "Listen, this is what he says: 'I have discussed your proposal with my colleagues and they have agreed with me that this is a project that deserves backing. Obviously we shall need to see a proper business plan, but subject to that being put together satisfactorily, I think we shall be able to see our way to investing a small sum in your Sudoku Remedy. We are not prepared to fund the total cost, of course, and would want you, as matter of principle, to put up a certain amount. What disposable a.s.sets do you currently have? If you can raise ten thousand pounds, we shall match that sum in the first instance, with the possibility of a further tranche of between fifteen and twenty thousand pounds later in the year. We would expect such a quant.i.ty of shares to be issued to us as would reflect our level of risk: I suggest that seventy-five per cent of the equity should be vested in us, with twenty-five per cent remaining with you. You should, of course, seek independent advice, but I would recommend the arrangement to you and I look forward to working with you in the near future.'"

Martin's eyes narrowed. "Twenty-five per cent? But the whole idea was yours. You deserve more than that."

Dee told him that money was rarely a matter of desert. "That's what happens," she said. "If you need to raise money, you always lose control of your business. Cash has a price tag, you know."

"Well, it sounds unfair to me ... But then I don't know anything about it." He looked at her enquiringly. "Have you got ten thousand pounds, Dee?"

Dee was thoughtful. "Not as such,' she said. "No, I don't have ten thousand pounds as such. Not actual cash ... But I do have an a.s.set worth a bit more than that. Twelve thousand, or thereabouts."

"Shares?" asked Martin.

"No, not shares. It's an endowment policy I took out a few years ago. It's my pension or the beginnings of it. I could surrender it."

Martin drew in his breath sharply. "You mustn't, Dee, you mustn't do that. Not your pension!"

"I won't need my pension for ages and ages," said Dee. "I'll have time to get another one sorted out. No, I'll cash this one in and use it to fund the Sudoku Remedy."

Martin looked at her, the anxiety plain in his expression. 'I'd say that's very foolish. I really would. And anyway, can you trust this What's-his-name?"

"Richard Eadeston. Of course I can trust him."

Martin was not sure. "What if you give him the money and he just goes off with it. What then?"

She did not think this likely. Richard Eadeston was a graduate of the University of Suss.e.x; he had frequented the same Brighton pub as she had, the s.h.a.ggy Dump. That was not the profile of somebody who might be suspected of fraud or other sharp practices. "He's fine, Martin," she rea.s.sured him. "And I'm a big girl, I really am. I know how to look after myself."

Martin realised that he was not going to persuade Dee to think again about using her pension fund in this way, so he moved on to more practical considerations. How would she market the Sudoku Remedy once she had it bottled? And who would bottle it?

"What I think I'll do," said Dee, "is a trial run. I'll get in some wholesale Gingko tablets and then I'll get some labels printed. We that's you and I can stick these labels on to little bottles full of the Gingko. And that's it we'll put them in the window and see what happens."

"You don't need ten thousand pounds to do that," Martin pointed out. "You could do that for a few hundred, surely."

"Nice labels," said Dee. "And leaflets. We'll maybe even put an advertis.e.m.e.nt in one of the papers. You know those ads you see for booklets on how to talk to your cat that sort of thing. Those companies do terribly well, you know. Everybody loves mail order." She reached out and tickled Martin under the chin. "We're going to be rich, Martin or rather I'm going to be rich. But I'll pay you separately for the help you give me. Filling bottles and so on."

"I wish you wouldn't tickle me," he said. "It's really annoying." Tickling, and offers of colonic irrigation; it actually amounted to hara.s.sment, if one came to think of it. Dee should not a.s.sume she could treat him like that just because he was younger than she was, and her employee to boot. That kind of thing was no longer allowed, he believed, and Dee would have to learn that. How would she like to be tickled? How would she like it?

He sighed. My life is nothing, he thought. Nothing. Money that was the answer. If you had money, then you could do something, and you would not have to put up with all this: being Dee's employee; being tickled under the chin in a condescending way; being threatened with colonic irrigation. What he needed to do was to make money so that he could be somebody at last, not just a complete n.o.body.

He had five thousand pounds. It had been given to him by his G.o.dfather, who had a minicab firm in Ess.e.x. He had done nothing with it, merely left it in a deposit account in the bank. What he needed to do was to put it to work, and perhaps this was his chance.

"Dee," he said. "This Sudoku Remedy of yours, will it really take off?"

Dee looked completely confident. "Well, I think it will. And Richard thinks it will too."

"Could I come in on it?" said Martin. "I haven't got very much. Just five grand. But I could become a ... a partner."

Dee thought for a moment. Martin was so young. But ... "All right," she said. "As long as you're sure. I don't want to take your money unless you're sure."

Martin swallowed. "I'm sure," he said. It was spoken with conviction exactly that tone of conviction we use when we are profoundly unsure of what we are saying, but hope that our words alone will make things work, will make everything all right.

Chapter 56: Freddie de la Hay Goes Off Air.

The event that Tilly Curtain described to William so cursorily at their meeting in the restaurant the sudden fading into silence of Freddie de la Hay's transmitter had only come about by pure chance. It was certainly not the result of anything that Freddie had done; he had behaved impeccably from the moment he had been brought by Tilly Curtain to the flat next door. He had been puzzled by what seemed now to be a fairly constant process of being pa.s.sed from pillar to post, but he was not by nature a complainer, and he had accepted it.

Of course he did not like Anatoly Podgornin, the man to whom Tilly consigned him, but again he did not outwardly show this dislike apart from a slight drawing back when the Russian bent down to pat him on the head. Nor did he like the smell of this new flat, which was heavily dominated by stale tobacco smoke. There were other disagreeable scents too: from the kitchen there came an odd, vinegary smell that made the inside of Freddie's sensitive nose p.r.i.c.kle; there was a meaty odour there, too, which was more satisfactory, but he could tell that something had been done to the meat to make it rank in the canine olfactory spectrum.

On his arrival in Podgornin's flat, Freddie had been led into a sitting room. There was a woman there, and two other men, and they were engaged in some sort of meeting. When Podgornin entered with Freddie, one of the men gave a sarcastic cheer. "Country gentleman, now, Anatoly Michailovich?" he called out mockingly. "Going shooting? Off to the dacha?"

Podgornin cleared his throat. "My house," he said. "If I want a dog, it's up to me. And it's just for a week. I'm looking after him for that charming young lady on the other side of the landing."

"Fraternising with the locals?" asked the other man. "Or only with the female locals?"

Podgornin watched as Freddie went to lie down on a rug. "He's settling in. And as for this business about fraternising, how are we to make the necessary contacts unless we get out and meet people? Moscow made it clear: integrate, get on the inside track. You know that as well as I do."

The woman was clearly irritated by this conversation and began to show her impatience. "That's enough about dogs," she said. "Pointless creatures. I suggest we get back to the topic in hand, which is, if I may remind you, the issue of access to further information about energy acquisition strategy. I would like to know where you are with that young man in their liaison office. Coming along nicely?"

"Very," said Podgornin. "He is that very useful character the incorrigible gambler. At the moment he has very little debt he's been lucky but I'm a.s.sured by our friend in the casino that it won't be long before we shall have him right where we want him. We shall very generously offer to pay his debts once they're large enough-"

"And pressing enough," interjected the woman.

Podgornin laughed. "Exactly. And then he's ours." He hesitated. "Although frankly I don't see what they'll get from him."

The woman looked at him scornfully. "You don't get it, do you? If we know the real position of our rivals in energy negotiations how much they can really afford to pay, which officials they're bribing and so on then we can ... we can adjust our own offers ... and inducements accordingly."

"Oh, I know all that," snapped Podgornin. "What I was wondering was whether that particular man will have the information in his possession. I suspect we might be overestimating his importance in the office. The monkey doesn't always know what tune the organ grinder's going to play. That's all."

"I shall be the judge of that," said the woman coldly. "And my sources tell me that he has access to the lot. Complete."

Podgornin shrugged. "We'll see."

Freddie watched them from the rug. He did not like any of them, but he was developing a particular dislike for the woman. There was something about her that made the hairs on his back stand on end, and indeed that was now happening, giving him a slightly strange appearance, as if he had teased out his coat with hair gel.

The woman was looking at him intently. "There's something odd about that dog," she said. "Look at him. He's ill at ease."

"It's a new place," said Podgornin. "Dogs take a bit of time to get used to new surroundings. He'll settle."

"I had a dog once who looked a bit like this one," said one of the other men. "Went mad. The police came in and shot him."

"Did you need those rabies injections?" asked his colleague.

"Yes, but then they did the tests and they discovered that it wasn't rabies. He had just cracked. Stress, I suppose."

"Oh."

The woman was still staring at Freddie de la Hay, who returned her gaze cautiously, trying not to blink and thereby attract unwelcome attention. He felt distinctly uncomfortable now, and wondered how long his ordeal would last. Why was William letting this happen to him? Where was he? What had he done to bring this about this rejection, this abandonment?

"Look at him," said the woman. "There's definitely something odd going on. Do you know this young woman who owns him, Anatoly?"

Pordgornin lit another cigarette. "She lives next door. I already told you."

"That means nothing," said the woman. "You can live next door to people for years and know nothing about them. What do you know about her? What does she do?"

Podgornin looked sulky. "I don't know," he spat out. "In London you don't go round asking people what they do."

The woman now began to move very slowly towards Freddie de la Hay. She was staring at his collar. He eyed her watchfully, his nose twitching very slightly, his whiskers erect and receptive.

She was now standing directly above Freddie, who whimpered, almost inaudibly. "Nice dog," she said, reaching down to stroke him. He tensed, but allowed her to try to smooth down the hair on his back. He could not see her hand; he just felt her touch. Now the hand moved forward and was about his neck. She was fumbling with something.

The woman gave a cry, and Freddie felt his collar being stripped roughly from his neck. "What have we here?" she said triumphantly. And then turning to Podgornin, she waved the bulky collar in his direction, as if confronting a malefactor with the evidence.

She put a finger to her lips and mouthed the word "silence".

Podgornin looked flushed and confused. Freddie lay where he was. n.o.body moved.

Chapter 57: Freddie de la Hay's Fate is Determined.

Nor spoke. Lying motionless on the rug, Freddie de la Hay noticed that all human eyes in the room were fixed on him the worst of all possible situations for a dog. Embarra.s.sed by this attention, he closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, the unwelcome human interest would have pa.s.sed. But it did not, and was still there when he opened them again.

At first, Podgornin said nothing as the woman flourished Freddie's collar at him. But then he raised a hand to quieten her and observed laconically that all dogs have collars perhaps she did not know that.

"Yes, all dogs have collars," she whispered. "But do all dogs have collars as heavy as this one?"

He did not have time to answer the question before she reached for a letter opener on the table and started to unpick the st.i.tching in the leather of the collar. Within a very short time, the first of the wires started to be exposed. This was the signal for the other two men to turn and stare accusingly at Podgornin. For his part, he stubbed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray and tried to s.n.a.t.c.h the collar from the woman. She resisted.

"It's probably just one of those behavioural devices," he said, ignoring her gestures to silence him. "They put them in collars so that the dogs can be given an electric shock if they bark too much. Surely you've heard of those things."

She was still busy exposing the inner part of the collar. She found a battery, which she detached and waved in Podgornin's face, and then the transmitter itself, a small bundle of electronics that slipped out of its container and into the palm of her hand. Having detached the battery, she felt free to speak at normal volume.

"So, Anatoly, here is your behavioural device. Ha! And let's take a look at what this says." She peered at an inscription on the casing of the transmitter. Property of MI6.

"MI6!" she exclaimed. "What do you say to that, Anatoly? Our old friends right here in the flat, courtesy of you. Well done!"

"Show it to me," he said. "You can't be sure ..."

She pa.s.sed the transmitter to him. "See? There it is clear as daylight."

Podgornin examined the transmitter, and then looked reproachfully at Freddie de la Hay. "MI6? Why would they put their name on it? No organisation would be so stupid as to do that. This is a joke, something from one of those novelty stores."

"Don't underestimate the peculiarity of the British," said one of the men. "It's perfectly possible that their security people put their names on their transmitters. It's probably part of their perverse sense of play."

The other man agreed. "Yes. It's the same as using flies when you know that the real way to catch the fish is with a worm. Stupid people."

Podgornin looked at the ceiling. "Unless they want us to think they've been bugging us. That may be why they put Property of MI6 on the transmitter. They might have thought that we would discover it and then think that they-"

"Why?" snapped the woman. "Why would they want us to think that they have been bugging us, when they have?"

One of the men had an idea. "Perhaps they want us to think that they think that we think that they think that we think they're bugging us. That way we'll think that-"

"Quiet!" said the woman. "I think that you think-"

"I don't think anything," shouted Podgornin, interrupting her. "Except this: this is the thing I think ..."

He stopped, and they all stared at him, including Freddie de la Hay, who was relieved that attention seemed to have shifted from him.

"What do you think, Anatoly Mikhailovich?" asked one of the men.

Podgornin glared at the woman. "I think this," he began. "I think that we have been listened to. So I think, therefore, that we are compromised. Our entire effort all the work we've done has been compromised."

"And it's your fault," said the woman, glaring at him angrily.

"I do not think fault comes into it," said Podgornin. "Every one of us in this room and I mean everyone has at some point or other compromised security. Yes, I mean it. You, too. Which of us can hold our hand up and say that he or she has not at some point in his career or her career," this accompanied by a glance in the woman's direction, "committed some little act of carelessness that has compromised security? I cannot say that. Nor, I think, can any of you."

There was complete silence. One of the men looked briefly at the other, who averted his gaze. Each heart such as it was was laid bare by Podgornin's frank words.

"Very well," said the woman. "So what do we do now?"

"We disperse," said Podgornin. "We leave the country, as provided for in our dispersal plan. And we start now."