9

Palfrey and Andromovitch were driving towards Inverness later that morning, Palfrey at the wheel with his foot well down, the Russian behind him. Ahead was a motor-cyclist policeman, keeping the way clear. They were already out of sight of Scourie, and the horror of the floods; in a world which was still normal. At Inverness, they would pick up an aircraft and fly south with the precious specimens.

“I wonder if we shall ever see Woburn again,” the Russian said, in just the quiet tone that he had used the previous night. “And also – I wonder if any man could be relied on to do what we’ve asked of him.”

“We stand to lose nothing and gain a lot if he’s any good,” Palfrey said, almost flatly. “He might be very good, partly because he’s bitterly angry. That should help. He’d be going round beating the air in his rage if he weren’t doing this for us, so he’d be a target for the other side, anyhow.”

They went on for a while in silence. Then: “We shall soon know,” the Russian said at last. “What will you do, if he should not come out of the Castle alive? If they kill him there, or if they let him come out, and kill him on the road.”

Palfrey said: “I don’t know, Stefan, I simply don’t know.” He had to slow down behind a lorry and trailer, and he watched the big, turning wheels. “At least we’ve something to tell the Cabinet now,” he went on, “they’ll really believe us this time. And the lab can work on the new specimens, too. But if the octi spread from that loch—”

Andromovitch nodded; Palfrey passed the lorry and the Jaguar sped on.