A Prospect of Vengeance Read Online Free PDF Page B

any clients of ours without a cover story? You know me better than that. Not on something like this, that’s been in the papers. You’re not the only one with a sense of smell.’
    Ian caught Jenny’s eye, and her smile. The last time Reg Buller had worked for them he had also had a ‘cover’. And it had been so genuine that he had happily collected double expenses from it. But as he watched her, he observed that the smile was only on her lips, not in her eyes. And it faded quickly.
    ‘Your old acquaintances, Reg … what lines are they following, do you know?’ She sounded almost casual.
    ‘I don’t honestly know, Lady. I was too busy being not very interested in their business. But I doubt they’ve got much of value as yet, the way things are. Not until the inquest is resumed, they won’t have anything to get their teeth into. And you can bet they’ll be delayed as long as possible.’ Buller cocked an eye at Tully. ‘It’ll be the backroom boys digging out the old cuttings on Masson at the moment, in preparation for that. So you’d better watch your step there, Johnny, if you’re thinking of asking to have a look at him in your favourite newspaper library. Because they know you’ve worked for your present clients before.’
    Tully touched his tie. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Buller. That’s already all taken care of.’ He acknowledged Jenny and Ian in turn. ‘I have a very fair dossier on Philip Masson. And there won’t be any comeback.’
    That was going to cost them, thought Ian. Because, although Tully’s own highly-computerized filing system was pretty damn good in its own right (and expensive to get into, also), it still couldn’t match the better newspaper libraries. But newspaper librarians wouldn’t come cheap either, those of them who could be bought. Or their assistants. Or whoever had access, down the line. But more than that, and regardless of expense, Tully was very certain of himself today: certain, although this had been contractually no more than a quick reconnaissance of a possibility, that he had Fielding and Robinson as fullblown clients again.
    He examined them both with professional interest: the well-laundered, Winchester-tied Tully, very confident; and the crumpled, smelly old Buller, no less a pro, albeit in his own distinctive style. But now, although Buller had given him the gypsy’s warning, they were both equally excited at the prospect of profit and enjoyment.
    ‘Yes.’ Tully looked at him, and he realized that all three were looking at him, willing him to show enthusiasm. Even Buller, after what he’d said, was willing it. ‘I don’t think you need to worry too much about the newshounds at the moment, Mr Robinson.’
    ‘Why not?’ In a position of strength he could afford to be awkward.
    ‘Well … firstly, because of the timing, I rather think.’
    ‘The timing?’
    ‘Of Masson’s death. It occurred at the very end of the Wilson-Callaghan era, in 1978. So they can’t pin this on the Tories, in general—or on our present dear Prime Minister, in particular. If there was a cover-up, that is … ’ He smiled thinly. ‘That takes some of the fun out of it, you might say. And the urgency with it.’
    There was a flaw in that reasoning, thought Ian: pre-Thatcher shenanigans in British Intelligence could always be dressed up as ‘destabilization’, post-Spycatcher . But he didn’t know enough about Philip Masson yet to undress that possibility.
    ‘And none of them are on to Audley yet.’ Tully bowed slightly to Jenny. ‘Your ace in the hole is still safe, Miss Fielding. You’re way ahead of them all.’ Then he remembered Ian. ‘If you want to proceed, that is.’
    Ian was glad that he had resisted the temptation to look at Buller, whose buttocks were still firmly seated on that unpalatable information about the watchers outside, which would prick Tully’s bubble of complacency explosively. But that in turn presented him with an immediate dilemma: because