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A BOX OF BISCUITS STOOD on Orlov’s desk, next to the PC. He reached in, ate one and passed it to Bronstein. By coincidence, the two men had arrived at work in roughly the same clothes: polo-necked jumpers and dark trousers. Bronstein thought they looked like a couple of U-boat commanders. He resolved to stick with turtle or V-necks from now on.
He took a biscuit and tut-tutted. “What’s espionage coming to when the main villain gets you a present?”
“I don’t think he’s the ‘main villain’. I’m not sure he’s a villain at all.”
“Aren’t you worried they might be poisoned?”
“If he’d wanted to kill me he had the opportunity.”
“They’re in the shape of hearts, for God’s sake.”
Orlov shrugged. Bronstein took another and turned to the notice board behind him, where paired portrait photos of celebrities with their names beneath were pinned. Stallone Laine and Nichole Moore, Connie Glaser and Rick Teal, Beth Corea and David Pike. If he looked often enough, something would come to him, it had happened before.
Orlov pushed his chair back and pulled his coat on.
“Off to meet Tebloev’s secretary?” Bronstein said.
“I need to know who invited Slope to that party.”
“Slope’s a red herring. Unless he’s not really dead after all. But you’ve seen his grave. You’ve spoken to people who knew him, who were there at his funeral. It wouldn’t be so bad if he had some kind of successor.”
“We don’t know he hasn’t yet.”
“If he has, we don’t really know what he or she’s successor to. Not in terms of the investigation.”
Orlov went to the door. “Feel free to have another biscuit.”
Bronstein’s phone rang. Gavin. He put on his sports jacket and took the lift to the conference room on the fourth floor. Gavin stood adjusting the audio visual equipment. He switched out the lights, pulled the blinds down and turned the projector on. Bronstein sat down.
“It’s quite rare for us to be asked to do lip-reading, Mr Bronstein - ”
“Call me David.”
“David. But it’s an excellent idea. You must have been very patient.”
“I’m a man of many virtues, Gavin. And I used to work for the NYPD so I’ve done my fair share of stake outs. I know how to cope with boredom.”
“What sort of camera did you use, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“You’d have to ask the technical department. All I know is that it’s a video camera with a telescopic lens. Nothing fancy. They told me just to point and press the red button.”
“If you want me to pause it, please say. I’ve added subtitles so you can watch each film again later. Of course, the subjects are facing away from us a fair bit of the time, so we’ve only snippets of what they say. It’s interesting that they all choose the same park to come to.”
“Probably implies that I’m not the only one watching them.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Well, that’s NYU one, Oxford nil. It’s partly what I’m looking out for. Press play.”
Gavin obliged. The screen showed Stallone Laine towering over Nichole Moore, jabbing his finger at her. The subtitle said, “LAINE: I don’t believe any of that astrology shit. What do mean, ‘What star sign?’”
Bronstein waved his hands. “Stop, stop. Press pause.”
“Is there a problem?” Gavin asked.
“I didn’t mean to diss your university back then. I was only teasing. Obviously Oxford’s very good, otherwise I wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Press play again.”
“Is it okay for me to do a little paperwork in the background while you watch? You probably won’t have many questions. I don’t think there’s very much that’s suspicious in there, although I’m not an expert. But I’ll still be here.”
“Sit next to the window. Pull the blind up a touch so you don’t ruin your eyes.” Bronstein realised he’d become his mother.
Gavin pressed play again. The subtitle said, “MOORE: ‘There’s no need to be so prissy. I heard you were a Pisces and if you are, that explains a lot’.”
LAINE: Yeah, like what?
MOORE: Because of your tattoos.
LAINE: What do you know about my tattoos?
MOORE: Like you’ve got one of a man carrying water.
LAINE: That’s not a man carrying water. Anyway, Pisces is a fish.
MOORE: No, way. You’re thinking of Aquarium.
An hour later, Bronstein was still watching, taking the occasional note on a pad. Gavin had pulled the blind up a little more and put reading glasses on.
GLASER: You don’t like it when it’s happening, no one does, but I wouldn’t change it. I had rows with my parents. I wouldn’t change it now for anything.
TEAL: It may be too late for me, though.
GLASER: It’s never too late for orthodontic treatment.
TEAL: Do they do, like, part-time braces? Like only put them on at night?
GLASER: Yeah, they do that.
The film came to an end.
“That was the last of them I’m afraid,” Gavin said.
“Right, okay. I need you to go back to Laine-Moore episode one. Four minutes thirty-three seconds.”
Gavin double-clicked on the film. He dragged the button along the play bar and hit pause. Stallone Laine’s hands were spread. Nichole Moore was reaching in her bag. The caption: “LAINE: ‘I don’t like chocolate but I once dreamed I was working in a Twix factory’.”
“See that guy in the background?” Bronstein said. “Twenty paces behind Moore?”
“Do you recognise him?”
“Never seen him before. But, to begin with, he’s in all the films. And in every one, he’s doing what he’s doing here. Looking straight at me.”
“Shit.”
“Steady, Gavin.”
“Sorry, sir. I meant, what’s it mean?”
“It means they’re playing with me.”
“What for? Do you think they’re going to try and kill you?”
“They could have done that already. This is still quite a small investigation, despite Jonathan. But you kill two agents, suddenly you’ve got a war on your hands. No, I think they’re just trying to waste my time, giving me lots of lovely lips to film. But they’re also curious about me. Hence, the mystery man.”
“Presumably, you’d like me to print off the stills and distribute them.”
“We might salvage something yet. Get to it, boy.”
Orlov came back later that day to find Bronstein at his desk eating an apple and drawing a flow chart. He took the personnel file from the cabinet and sat down.
“How did you get on with Tebloev’s secretary?” Bronstein said.
“It’s Edgeware. Edgeware’s the one who invited Slope.”
“Not Tebloev, then. You sure Tebloev didn’t tell her to say that?”
“The secretary? What makes you think it’s a ‘her’?”
“Is it?”
Orlov smiled. “No.”
“Could I have another biscuit?”
“The problem is, now I have to interview Edgeware. Or someone does.”
“I see what you’re thinking. You’re a Russian. He’s never going to swallow the idea that you’re from the English police.”
Orlov glowered. “I met him at Tebloev’s party. That’s why he won’t ‘swallow’ the idea.”
“And not that you’ve got a Russian accent.”
“I spent three years perfecting my English accent at the Russian Ministry of Defence. You hardly notice it unless you’re looking for it. Do you?”
Bronstein laughed. “The Brits are experts at spotting accents. They’ve built an entire social system on it.”
“Maybe we should send you.”
“No, thank you. I know my limitations.”
“This is where Jonathan would have come in very useful.”
“What about Gavin?” Bronstein said.
“Projector Gavin?”
“The only Gavin we know.”
“You can’t just pick a name out of a hat. MI7 probably has protocols. I’m guessing you look in a file, select x, then submit a written request.”
“Then you wait till x becomes available. How long do you think that’s going to take? Time is of the essence.”
“I can’t believe it would drag out.”
Bronstein stood up. “Don’t bet on it. Wait there.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to ask Ruby Parker. Relax. I’ll just say, ‘What form do we fill in to get someone to interview someone like Edgeware?’”
“Don’t mention Gavin. I don’t want her to think we’re dilettantes.”
Bronstein walked the ten paces along the corridor that separated Ruby Parker’s office from theirs. He knocked and heard ‘come in’.
“Close the door behind you,” she said, looking hard at him. “We need to talk.”
“We’d like to borrow Gavin. Orlov and I. To interview Edgeware.”
“Sit down.”
He sat down with his legs apart and leaned forward. He adjusted his glasses. “Is something the matter?”
“Presumably, you’ve heard of Kyrgyzstan.”
“Central Asia, right?”
“There’s a potential genocide out there. Kyrgyzs are killing Uzbeks – only a hundred and thirty eight so far, but rising, and it’s got the potential to become a new Rwanda or a Goražde. Moscow hasn’t ruled out sending in peacekeeping troops, but it’s reluctant to act unilaterally. The Kremlin’s asked for our help and the US is keen to get involved because it has military bases there acting as stopover points to Afghanistan. Can you see where this is going?”
“You’re folding us.”
“Absolutely not, no. But we’re going to have to reassess our budgetary priorities. No more lip reading technology, for example.”
Bronstein shrugged. “Seems more than fair. Certainly if we’re talking about genocide.”
“There’s also the possibility that Colonel Orlov might get to go home.”
“What?”
“If we cooperate with the Russians, they’re willing to consider pardoning him.”
“And you believe that?”
“There would be very serious consequences for them if they gave us their word at the highest diplomatic levels – which is what this is – and then they were to renege. They wouldn’t risk that, believe me.”
“If that’s what he wants.”
“It’s important you realise, Lieutenant Bronstein, that I’ve been very impressed with you since you started here. You’ve hardly made a wrong move, and you’ve made lots of right ones. Orlov too. I’ll be very sorry to lose him, but you’re right: it’s what he desires. First and foremost, he sees himself as a Russian.”
“I guess you’re going to tell me I mustn’t let on to him.”
“If that’s okay.”
“Mum’s the word.”
And David?”
“Yeah?”
She held out a wadge of photos. “Firstly, yes to Gavin. It’ll be good experience for him and he needs an airing. And this man you identified in the stills this morning. Well done. We didn’t recognise him, so we got through to the Russian embassy. Valdim Yakinterev, an ex-field officer from Irkutsk. They sent us fingerprints, DNA profile, mug shots, the works.”
“Connection to Kramski?”
“Same line of work.”
“Any notion how he entered the country?”
She smiled. “We’re working on it.”
“The Russians must have a view on this. What do they think’s going on?”
“They think it’s Russian mafia.”
“And what do you think?”
“They’re a long way from home if it is. And they haven’t announced themselves in any previous enterprises. At the same time, I’ve dealt with the Russian embassy on several other occasions and my feeling is that they’re not up to anything. I think they’re as baffled and perturbed by this as we are.”
Bronstein returned to find Orlov reading The Stage.
“Any jobs?” he said facetiously.
Orlov turned it round and put it on Bronstein’s desk. “Essential reading for anyone involved with celebrities.”
Bronstein picked it up. Under the banner, ‘Celebrities in “Unprecedented” Rush to Political Parties’, it ran:
In what one media commentator last night dubbed a “cultural sea-change of major significance”, this general election sees an unprecedented number of A-list celebrities signing up to campaign for the main political parties.
Among the raft of names, the Conservatives boast Rick Teal, 2009 BAFTA award winner for best actor, the Bling Bling Bubbly Gum singer, Connie Glaser, and Christopher Temple-Main, last month’s winner of the X Factor. Leading the charge for Labour are, among others, Ted Vallania (Super Coolkidz in Dumpsters), Soraya Snow (Fully Magic Coal Tar Lounge) and Ronald Wakehurst (Death on the Golden Fireplace, Ten Inches of my Girlfriend). The Liberal Democrats are also significant beneficiaries.
Celebrities have always been involved in general elections in all countries. In the UK, Joan Collins, Antony Worrall Thompson and Delia Smith declared allegiances in 2005, while Geri Halliwell famously served tea to pensioners in a party political broadcast in 2001.
But according to Tim Cloipes, lecturer in Modern British Politics at the London School of Economics, the current phenomenon is unparalleled. “The difference is not just of scale, it’s that many of the celebrities are seen as role models by the young - of the sort ‘your parents would tend to disapprove of’. And of course party politics in this country has traditionally been something with which young people fail to engage.”
Asked what he thought had brought about the change, he declared himself at a loss, adding, “The evidence is that celebrity involvement does little or nothing to change people’s voting habits, but it definitely makes for a more colourful spectacle.”
Underneath there were portrait photos of over a hundred celebrities, arranged into groups with blue, orange and red frames.
Bronstein hm-hmmed. “The whole gang. Why isn’t it in any of the other papers?”
“You would expect The Stage to join the dots first. It’s in their job description. The others will carry it tomorrow.”
“What do you think’s going on?”
“At a guess? Assuming they’re all being remote-controlled by whoever Kramski works for, it’s obvious.”
Bronstein spread his hands. “I don’t do obvious. What’s your theory?”
“One or more of them is primed to assassinate one or more politician. The more senior, the better.”
“To what end, pray tell?”
“Do we need to know that now? We know Kramski’s collaborating with them. Have you a better theory?”
Bronstein clicked his tongue three times like a kangaroo. “Not yet, I admit. But I’m going to work on the assumption your theory’s wrong if that’s okay.”
“It’s more than that. It’s what I expect. There’s no point in putting all our eggs in one basket.”
“I’ve got Gavin, by the way.”
“You didn’t ask for him by name, though, did you?”
“No, it was her idea.”
“You’re not making eye contact with me.”
“She said he needed ‘an airing’. Her exact words.”
“We might as well start now then. Let’s go and get him.”
The lifts were out of order but they intercepted Gavin in the stairwell on the third floor on his way to meet them, carrying a briefcase with a dossier under his arm. He smiled and nodded a greeting.
“I’ve got an updated report on Constantine Slope for you, sir,” he told Bronstein. “Courtesy of Gabriella in Research and Reports. She says she’s dug a little deeper, but she doesn’t think there’s anything obviously suspicious there.”
“How come the elevators aren’t working?” Bronstein said.
“Oh, that happens every afternoon – and morning - at about four. The lifts and shuttles close down for ten minutes while the Black Maiden leaves the building. I believe it can be overridden in an emergency.”
“How does he or she get out of the building if all the elevators are shut down?” Bronstein said.
“No one knows. At least not on our floor.”
“Could I have a word with you?” Orlov asked Gavin.
“I was just on my way home, sir, but I’m happy to stay behind for a while if it’s what I think it is. My train doesn’t leave for an hour. It’s about Edgeware, isn’t it?”
“I promise it won’t take any more than thirty minutes,” Orlov said.
“And I’ll meet you on the way to work tomorrow morning, Gavin,” Bronstein said. “You’ve just set me thinking. There are a few things I’d like to ask.”
