The Tightrope Men. Desmond Bagley
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Denison was preoccupied with a problem. How did McCready know to address him as ‘Doctor’? The designation on his passport was just plain ‘Mister’. He stirred and said, ‘If we’re going to the hotel I’d like to have my passport. I don’t like to be separated from it.’
‘You’re not going to the hotel,’ said McCready. ‘That was for the benefit of the copper. I’m taking you to the Embassy. Carey flew in from London this morning and he wants to see you.’ He laughed shortly. ‘How he wants to see you.’
Denison felt the water deepening. ‘Carey,’ he said in a neutral tone, hoping to stimulate conversation along those lines. McCready had dropped Carey’s name casually as though Meyrick was supposed to know him. Who the devil was Carey?
McCready did not bite. ‘That explanation of yours wasn’t quite candid, was it?’ He waited for a reaction but Denison kept his mouth shut. ‘There’s a witness – a waitress from the Spiraltoppen – who said something about a fight up there. It seems there was a man with a gun. The police are properly suspicious.’
When Denison would not be drawn McCready glanced sideways at him, and laughed. ‘Never mind, you did the right thing under the circumstances. Never talk about guns to a copper – it makes them nervous. Mind you, the circumstances should never have arisen. Carey’s bloody wild about that.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t say that I blame him.’
It was gibberish to Denison and he judged that the less he said the better. He leaned back, favouring his injured side, and said, ‘I’m tired.’
‘Yes,’ said McCready. ‘I suppose you must be.’
Denison was kept kicking his heels in an ante-room in the Embassy while McCready went off, presumably to report. After fifteen minutes he came back. ‘This way, Dr Meyrick.’
Denison followed him along a corridor until McCready stopped and politely held open a door for him. ‘You’ve already met Mr Carey, of course.’
The man sitting behind the desk could only be described as square. He was a big, chunky man with a square, head topped with close-cut grizzled grey hair. He was broad-chested and squared off at the shoulders, and his hands were big with blunt fingers. ‘Come in, Dr Meyrick.’ He nodded at McCready. ‘All right, George; be about your business.’
McCready closed the door. ‘Sit down, Doctor,’ said Carey. It was an invitation, not a command. Denison sat in the chair on the other side of the desk and waited for a long time while Carey inspected him with an inscrutable face.
After a long time Carey sighed. ‘Dr Meyrick, you were asked not to stray too far from your hotel and to keep strictly to central Oslo. If you wanted to go farther afield you were asked to let us know so that we could make the necessary arrangements. You see, our manpower isn’t infinite.’
His voice rose. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have been asked; maybe you should have been told.’ He seemed to hold himself in with an effort, and lowered his voice again. ‘So I fly in this morning to hear that you’re missing, and then I’m told that you isolated yourself on a mountain top – for what reason only you know.’
He raised his hand to intercept interruption. Denison did not mind; he was not going to say anything, anyway.
‘All right,’ said Carey. ‘I know the story you told the local coppers. It was a good improvisation and maybe they’ll buy it and maybe they won’t.’ He put his hands flat on the desk. ‘Now what really happened?’
‘I was up there walking through the woods,’ said Denison, ‘when suddenly a man attacked me.’
‘Description?’
‘Tall. Broad. Not unlike you in build, but younger. He had black hair. His nose was broken. He had something in his hand – he was going to hit me with it. Some sort of cosh, I suppose.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I laid him out,’ said Denison.
‘You laid him out,’ said Carey in a flat voice. There was disbelief in his eye.
‘I laid him out,’ said Denison evenly. He paused. ‘I was a useful boxer at one time.’
Carey frowned and drummed his fingers. ‘Then what happened?’
‘Another man was coming at me from behind, so I ran for it.’
‘Wise man – some of the time, anyway. And…?’
‘Another man intercepted me from the front.’
‘Describe him.’
‘Shortish – about five foot seven – with a rat-face and a long nose. Dressed in jeans and a blue jersey. He had a knife.’
‘He had a knife, did he?’ said Carey. ‘So what did you do about that?’
‘Well, the other chap was coming up behind fast – I didn’t have much time to think – so I charged the joker with the knife and sold him the dummy at the last moment’
‘You what?’
‘I sold him the dummy. It’s a rugby expression meaning …’
‘I know what it means,’ snapped Carey. ‘I suppose you were a useful rugby player at one time, too.’
‘That’s right,’ said Denison.
Carey bent his head and put his hand to his brow so that his face was hidden. He seemed to be suppressing some strong emotion. ‘What happened next?’ he asked in a muffled voice.
‘By that time I’d got back to the car park – and there was another man.’
‘Another man,’ said Carey tiredly. ‘Description.’
‘Not much. I think he wore a grey suit He had a gun.’
‘Escalating on you, weren’t they?’ said Carey. His voice was savage. ‘So what did you do then?’
‘I was in the car by the time I saw the gun and I got out of there fast and …’
‘And did a Steve McQueen through the Spiralen, roared through Drammen like an express train and butted a copper in the arse.’
‘Yes,’ said Denison simply. ‘That about wraps it up.’
‘I should think it does,’ said Carey. He was silent for a while, then he said, ‘Regardless of the improbability of all this, I’d still like to know why you went to Drammen in the first place, and why you took the trouble to shake off any followers before leaving Oslo.’
‘Shake off followers,’ said Denison blankly. ‘I didn’t know I was being followed.’
‘You know now. It was for your own protection. But my man says he’s never seen such an expert job of shaking a tail in his life. You were up to all the tricks. You nearly succeeded twice, and you did succeed the third time.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Denison. ‘I lost my way a couple of times, that’s all.’
Carey took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. ‘You lost your way,’ he breathed. His voice became deep and solemn. ‘Dr Meyrick: can you tell me why you lost your way when you know this area better than your own county of Buckinghamshire? You showed no signs of losing your way when you went to Drammen last week.’
Denison took the plunge. ‘Perhaps it’s because I’m not Dr Meyrick.’
Carey whispered, ‘What did you say?’