The Tightrope Men / The Enemy. Desmond Bagley
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that, Carey proceeded to put Denison through the wringer. Fifteen minutes later Denison yelled, ‘I tell you I don’t know.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I’m tired.’
Carey stood up. ‘All right; you can go to bed. We’ll let you sleep, but I can’t answer for the local cops – they’ll want to see you again. Got your story ready?’
‘Just the truth.’
‘I’d leave out that bit about the decoder you invented,’ advised Carey. ‘It’s a bit too much.’ He jerked his head at McCready. ‘Come on, George.’
They left Denison to his bed. In the lift Carey passed his hand over his face. ‘I didn’t think this job would call for so many sleepless nights.’
‘Let’s find some coffee,’ proposed McCready. ‘There’s sure to be an early morning place open by now.’
They left the hotel in silence and walked along Manner-heimintie. The street was quiet with only the occasional taxi and the odd cyclist on his way to an early start at work. Carey said suddenly, ‘Denison worries me.’
‘You mean that stuff he came out with?’
‘What the hell else?’ The corners of Carey’s mouth turned down. ‘And more – but principally that. A man like Meyrick might design just such a contraption – but where did Denison get it from?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ said McCready. His voice was careful. ‘Have you considered the possibility of a double shuffle?’
Carey broke stride. ‘Speak plainly.’
‘Well, here we have a man whom we think is Denison. His past is blocked out and every time he tries to probe it he breaks into a muck sweat. You saw that.’
‘Well?’
‘But supposing he really is Meyrick – also with the past blocked out – who only thinks he’s Denison. Harding said it was possible. Then anything brought out of the past in an emergency would be pure Meyrick.’
Carey groaned. ‘What a bloody roundabout to be on.’ He shook his head decisively. ‘That won’t wear. Iredale said he wasn’t Meyrick.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ said McCready softly. ‘I can quote his exact words. Iredale said, “He’s not Meyrick – not unless Meyrick has had plastic surgery recently.”’
Carey thought that out. ‘Stop trying to confuse me. That would mean that the man we had in the hotel in Oslo for three weeks was not Meyrick – that the ringer was the other way round.’
He stopped dead on the pavement. ‘Look, George; let’s get one thing quite clear.’ He stabbed a finger back at the hotel. ‘That man there is not Meyrick. I know Meyrick – he fights with his tongue and uses sarcasm as a weapon, but if you put him in a real fight he’d collapse. Denison is a quiet-spoken, civil man who, in an emergency, seems to have the instincts of a born killer. He’s the antithesis of Meyrick. Ram that into your mind and hold on to it fast.’
McCready shrugged. ‘It leaves a lot to be explained.’
‘It will be explained. I want Giles Denison sorted out once and for all back in London. I want his life sifted day by day and minute by minute, if necessary, to find out how he knows that mathematical jargon. And I want Harding brought here tout de suite.’
‘He’ll like that,’ said McCready sardonically. ‘I’ll pass the word on.’
They walked for another hundred yards and McCready said, ‘Denison is quite a boy. Who else would think of handcuffs as a weapon?’ He chuckled. ‘I think he’s neither Meyrick nor Denison – I think he’s Clark Kent.’
Carey’s jaw dropped. ‘And who the blazes is that?’
‘Superman,’ said McCready blandly.
Denison slept, was interviewed by the police, and slept again. He got up at four, bathed and dressed, and went downstairs. Crossing the lobby he saw the receptionist stare at him, then turn and say something to the porter with a smile. Dr H. F. Meyrick was evidently the hotel celebrity.
He looked into the lounge, saw no one he knew, and then investigated the bar where he found Diana Hansen sitting at a table and reading a paperback. She looked up as he stood over her. ‘I was wondering when you’d show.’
‘I had to get some sleep. Yesterday was a bit wearing.’ He sat down and picked up the ashtray to inspect its underside.
Diana laughed. ‘No bugs – I checked.’
He put it down. ‘Where’s Lyn?’
‘Out.’ At his raised eyebrows she elaborated slightly. ‘Sightseeing.’
A waiter came up. ‘Mittö otatte?’
‘A olutta, olkaa hyvä,’ said Denison. He looked at Diana. ‘And you?’
‘Nothing for me,’ she said. ‘Your Finnish is improving.’
‘Only enough to order the necessities of life. Has Carey come to any conclusions about yesterday?’
‘Carey isn’t here,’ she said. ‘I’m to tell you to sit tight until he comes back.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s gone to Sweden.’
‘Sweden!’ His eyes were blank. ‘Why has he gone there?’
‘He didn’t tell me.’ She stood up and picked up her book. ‘Now that I’ve passed on the word I’ll get about my business.’ Her lips quirked. ‘Don’t take any wooden saunas.’
‘Never again,’ he said fervently. He bit his lip. ‘But they might take another crack at me.’
‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘You’re under Ian Armstrong’s eye, and he’s well named. He’s sitting at the bar now. Don’t acknowledge him – and don’t move so fast he can’t keep up with you.’
She went away as the waiter came up with his beer. He drank it moodily and ordered another bottle. Over at the bar Armstrong was making a single beer stretch a long way. Why Sweden? What could possibly have happened there to drag Carey away? No answer came.
He was half-way through the second bottle when Lyn entered the bar. She sat at his table and looked at his beer. ‘You look dissipated.’
He grinned at her. ‘I feel dissipated. I was up late.’
‘So I’m told,’ she said unsmilingly. ‘I heard a strange story this morning – about you.’
He regarded her warily and decided to riposte. ‘And I’ve heard something pretty odd about you. Why did you quarrel with Diana?’
Pink spots came into her cheeks. ‘So she told you.’
‘She didn’t say anything about it,’ said Denison truthfully.
Lyn flared up. ‘Then who did if she didn’t? We were alone.’ She tugged viciously at the strap of her bag and looked down at the table. ‘It doesn’t feel nice to be ashamed of one’s own father. I never really believed anything Mother said about you, but now I can see she was telling the truth.’
‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Have a drink. What will you have? A Coca-Cola?’
Her chin came up. ‘A dry Martini.’
He signalled to the waiter, suppressing a smile, and gave the order. When the waiter had gone, she said, ‘It was disgusting of you.’
‘What’s so disgusting about Diana Hansen?’
‘You