very top of the
unremarkable building. Its panoramic
views of the river, its Persian rug upon the parquet, its gleaming, mahogany
furniture. The oil painting of our young
Queen. Hutch’s kingdom was a world away
from the scuffed linoleum and the nicotine-yellow net curtains, the regulation
issue typewriters, overflowing in-trays and general squalor of the floors
beneath. It was little wonder that he
didn’t know where the girls’ powder-room was.
Hutch shut the door of his office securely behind us
and went and sat down behind his desk.
“What have you done with the Stone girl,
Upshott?” He asked.
I glanced at the river, snaking past like a fat, black
mambo.
“She’s out there somewhere, sir. It’s my belief that she’s with a friend. As yet, I can’t say which one, but I’m pretty
sure that her disappearance is unconnected to Operation Crystal Clear.”
“Are you?” He
furrowed his brow, a tad peeved. “It’s
messy, Upshott; all of this. I’d say
you’ve been flailing about like a pig in mud today. Am I right?” All expressed in the mildest of tones, so that one almost forgot to
listen to him. That was the ‘Hutch
effect’ and one couldn’t say whether it was a drawback in a mandarin of his
status, or bloody clever.
I encountered her Majesty’s serene, royal-blue gaze
and pulled myself together.
“I’d have to agree, sir. Our cover’s been blown wide open.”
“Mmm, and in record time. A Geiger counter would have confirmed the
glass was innocent of uranium, of course. But . . two sessions of target
practice? In the space of, what, three
hours? That pre-supposes resources and
an impressive communications network. I
wouldn’t rule it out, you know.”
“Sorry, sir? Rule what out?”
“That they’ve bagged the Stone girl.”
I breathed, slow and hard, into the uneasy silence
that followed.
“But . .” I did
my best to catch his eye, “. . we’ll be
throwing everything we’ve got at trying to find her, won’t we, sir”
“Mmm,” he murmured, seemingly transfixed by the space
above my head; sounding as weak as water.
“Right,” he
pushed his chair back and stood up, patently relieved that our meeting was at
an end. “Try not to balls anything else
up, will you?”
He strolled over to the door and held it open for me
to be on my way.
“I say . .” his
bland features had a shot at animation, “ . . nice to meet your wife after all
these years, Upshott. I thought she was
far and away the best thing in ‘The Furies from Venus’.”
There was another uneasy silence while he contemplated
that little masterpiece and I waited to be dismissed.
“Load of old codswallop, of course,” he decided (one
of the very few times we were in accord). “Off you go then, man. See if you
can do some semblance of a decent job.”
“Oh . . incidentally . .” I’d almost got away, when he
added, “ . . she killed that gunman. We
scraped him up, of course. Disposed of
the bits. But . . well . . just so’s you
know, Upshott old boy.” His eyes held
mine for an infinitesimal fraction of time and then he shut the door in my face.
I took the stairs back to the ground floor - it wasn’t
done to travel in Hutch’s lift Hutch-less - and tried to shuffle my thoughts
into a decent hand. I’d put two women in
jeopardy and I’d miscalculated the extent of Arko’s intelligence network. It hadn’t been my best day’s work. I must find Rosa and I must get Kathleen home
safely. If at all possible, before the
night was done. Plus, in the days to
come, I might need to find a safe house for both of them (assuming that Rosa
could be persuaded to stay in it). Hutch
had made it as plain as Hutch ever did, that HQ weren’t going to do any of this
for me. I also badly needed to write up
my report and alert my handler to Magnus Arkonnen, before proceeding
unremarkable building. Its panoramic
views of the river, its Persian rug upon the parquet, its gleaming, mahogany
furniture. The oil painting of our young
Queen. Hutch’s kingdom was a world away
from the scuffed linoleum and the nicotine-yellow net curtains, the regulation
issue typewriters, overflowing in-trays and general squalor of the floors
beneath. It was little wonder that he
didn’t know where the girls’ powder-room was.
Hutch shut the door of his office securely behind us
and went and sat down behind his desk.
“What have you done with the Stone girl,
Upshott?” He asked.
I glanced at the river, snaking past like a fat, black
mambo.
“She’s out there somewhere, sir. It’s my belief that she’s with a friend. As yet, I can’t say which one, but I’m pretty
sure that her disappearance is unconnected to Operation Crystal Clear.”
“Are you?” He
furrowed his brow, a tad peeved. “It’s
messy, Upshott; all of this. I’d say
you’ve been flailing about like a pig in mud today. Am I right?” All expressed in the mildest of tones, so that one almost forgot to
listen to him. That was the ‘Hutch
effect’ and one couldn’t say whether it was a drawback in a mandarin of his
status, or bloody clever.
I encountered her Majesty’s serene, royal-blue gaze
and pulled myself together.
“I’d have to agree, sir. Our cover’s been blown wide open.”
“Mmm, and in record time. A Geiger counter would have confirmed the
glass was innocent of uranium, of course. But . . two sessions of target
practice? In the space of, what, three
hours? That pre-supposes resources and
an impressive communications network. I
wouldn’t rule it out, you know.”
“Sorry, sir? Rule what out?”
“That they’ve bagged the Stone girl.”
I breathed, slow and hard, into the uneasy silence
that followed.
“But . .” I did
my best to catch his eye, “. . we’ll be
throwing everything we’ve got at trying to find her, won’t we, sir”
“Mmm,” he murmured, seemingly transfixed by the space
above my head; sounding as weak as water.
“Right,” he
pushed his chair back and stood up, patently relieved that our meeting was at
an end. “Try not to balls anything else
up, will you?”
He strolled over to the door and held it open for me
to be on my way.
“I say . .” his
bland features had a shot at animation, “ . . nice to meet your wife after all
these years, Upshott. I thought she was
far and away the best thing in ‘The Furies from Venus’.”
There was another uneasy silence while he contemplated
that little masterpiece and I waited to be dismissed.
“Load of old codswallop, of course,” he decided (one
of the very few times we were in accord). “Off you go then, man. See if you
can do some semblance of a decent job.”
“Oh . . incidentally . .” I’d almost got away, when he
added, “ . . she killed that gunman. We
scraped him up, of course. Disposed of
the bits. But . . well . . just so’s you
know, Upshott old boy.” His eyes held
mine for an infinitesimal fraction of time and then he shut the door in my face.
I took the stairs back to the ground floor - it wasn’t
done to travel in Hutch’s lift Hutch-less - and tried to shuffle my thoughts
into a decent hand. I’d put two women in
jeopardy and I’d miscalculated the extent of Arko’s intelligence network. It hadn’t been my best day’s work. I must find Rosa and I must get Kathleen home
safely. If at all possible, before the
night was done. Plus, in the days to
come, I might need to find a safe house for both of them (assuming that Rosa
could be persuaded to stay in it). Hutch
had made it as plain as Hutch ever did, that HQ weren’t going to do any of this
for me. I also badly needed to write up
my report and alert my handler to Magnus Arkonnen, before proceeding
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