Troy declined to say more without a representative from the embassy. But it was eight in the morning before Gus appeared.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Freddie. They called me less than twenty minutes ago. I think, to use police jargon, they were trying to sweat you.”
“Pointless. They have both my passport and my warrant card. They know I’m a copper so they know I can’t be sweated.”
“What have you told them?”
“About Blaine? Nothing. I can hardly just tell them Blaine was MI5, can I?”
“No. I suppose not. The ambassador wouldn’t think much of that.”
“Get on to London and find out what their cover story for Blaine is going to be. We’ll have to tell them something sooner rather than later. And if Jordan says he has to run ‘Upstairs’ with this one, tell him to make it quick.”
Gus sighed.
“It’s a mess.”
“I’m the one in jail, Gus.”
“And I’m the one trying to get you out. But … but …”
“For God’s sake, Gus!”
“But you were caught holding a smoking gun.”
“A delightful cliché, and so rarely does anyone get to use it, but it’s not true. It wasn’t smoking. And the gun was Blaine’s. I think I must have picked it up after he drew it. I don’t honestly remember. His prints will be on it as well as mine.”
Gus sighed again.
“I wonder. Are we being set up?”
“Maybe. If so, it’s a bloody clumsy attempt. No, Gus. Speaking professionally, I think they’re just incompetent. Their idea of procedure is a joke. I’m all they’ve got. I was at the scene of the crime. I’m a suspect. If I were them, I wouldn’t be turning me loose without answers to questions. But they’re not asking. They just leave me here to cool my heels. They’re pinning it all on ballistics—and if they think I shot Blaine with his own gun, well, ballistics will produce two rifle bullets that won’t match Blaine’s pistol. And, lest there be any doubt, if I’d just shot him, what was I doing with the gun in my right hand when they found me?”
“Eh?”
“I’m left-handed, Gus. You know that. I might have picked up the gun with my right, but if I wanted to shoot him it would be with my left. I couldn’t hit a barn door right-handed.”
“Oh, of course. The old left-handed solution. Pure Perry Mason. Hamilton Burger gets it wrong yet again. No, I meant are we being set up by … by our friends in the east, by …?”
“Just say it, Gus.”
“OK. By Burgess. Has it all been a set-up from start to finish? From the moment Burgess approached you … a set-up. Did Burgess exploit a friendship with you to lure poor old Blaine out here and facilitate a KGB hit?”
“Well … we’ll all be asking ourselves that, won’t we? I imagine it’ll be the first thing they think of when Jordan runs ‘Upstairs.’”
“Y’know … I hate being made to feel like an idiot.”
“And I hate being in a fucking cell. Get me out. Pull every diplomatic string you have.”