The Chief accompanied the President back to his limousine and the motorcade sped out of the prison gates even before the coffin lid had been nailed down. Four prisoners lifted the heavy casket onto their shoulders and headed towards the graveyard. Sergei walked by their side, out of the yard to a patch of rough ground at the back of the prison. Even the dead were not allowed to escape from the Crucifix.
If Sergei had looked back, he would have seen the rest of the crowd running out through the prison gates before they were slammed shut and the vast wooden bolts pushed back in place.
The pallbearers stopped by the side of an unmarked grave that other prisoners had just finished digging. They dropped the casket unceremoniously into the gaping hole and then, without a prayer or even a moment’s pause, shovelled the recently dug sods of earth on top of it.
The boy didn’t move until they had completed their task. A few minutes later, the guards herded the prisoners back to their cells. Sergei fell on his knees, wondering how long they would allow him to remain by the grave.
A moment later a hand was placed on the boy’s shoulder. He looked up and saw the Chief standing above him. A fair man, he’d once told Jackson.
‘Did you know him well?’ the Chief asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sergei. ‘He was my partner.’
The Chief nodded. ‘I knew the man he gave his life for,’ he said. ‘I only wish I had such a friend.’
23
‘MRS FITZGERALD is not quite as clever as she thinks she is,’ said Gutenburg.
‘Amateurs rarely are,’ said Helen Dexter. ‘Does that mean you’ve got hold of the video?’
‘No, although I have got a pretty good idea where it is,’ said Gutenburg. He paused. ‘But not exactly where.’
‘Stop being a smartass,’ said Dexter, ‘and get to the point. You don’t need to prove to me how clever you are.’
Gutenburg knew that this was about as near as he would ever get to receiving a compliment from the Director.
‘Mrs Fitzgerald doesn’t realise that her home and office have been bugged for the past month, and that we’ve had agents watching her since the day her husband flew out of Dulles three weeks ago.’
‘So what have you found out?’
‘Not a lot when the individual bits of information are taken in isolation. But if you piece them together, they start making a picture.’ He pushed a file and a tape recorder across the table.
The Director ignored them. ‘Talk me through it,’ she said, beginning to sound a little irritated.
‘During Mrs Fitzgerald’s lunch with Joan Bennett at the Cafe Milano, the conversation was inconsequential until just before she left to return to work. It was then that she asked Bennett a question.’
‘And what was that question?’
‘Perhaps you’d like to hear for yourself.’ The Deputy Director pressed the ‘Play’ button on the tape recorder and sat back.
‘Me too. Black, no sugar.‘ Footsteps could be heard walking away. ‘Joan, I’ve never asked you to break a confidence before, but there’s something I have to know.’
‘I hope I can help, but as I’ve already explained, if it concerns Connor, I’m probably as much in the dark as you are.’
‘Then I need the name of someone who isn’t in the dark.’
There followed a long silence before Joan said, ‘I suggest you look at the guest-list for Connor’s farewell party.’
‘Chris Jackson?’
‘No. Unfortunately, he’s no longer employed by the Company.’
There was another long silence.
‘That smooth little man who left without saying goodbye? The one who said he worked in loss adjustment?’
Gutenburg flicked off the tape.