“But does Sparrow know that?”
Lamb said, “Be interesting to find out,” and ground his cigarette underfoot. “Where’s Rasnokov now?”
“Halfway back to Moscow.”
“He came all this way just to pull your pigtail?”
“I’ve been wondering about that myself.” Wondering? She had half the hub working on Rasnokov’s secret itinerary, without even being sure he’d had one. Maybe that was all he’d been after: London Rules, rule one, para （b）。 After covering your arse, light a fire under someone else’s. She said, “He was here a day and a half before we knew about it.”
“Face the fucking strange, no wonder you’re twitchy. You’ve had your opposite number playing in your sand pit. And now you’re worried he had a quiet dump.”
“Sometimes I get sick of all the games.”
“Picked the wrong career then,” said Lamb. Then: “What’s bugging you most?”
“I don’t see why he stuck his head above the parapet. He must have known we’d clock him at the reception, but he’d already trailed his coat in the dust. He posed for a photo out shopping in Harrods.”
Lamb spent a moment watching an aeroplane pass overhead. Then said, “Leaving aside the possibility he was just snooking your cock, maybe it’s not you he was hiding from.”
“Meaning?”
“If he’d skipped the reception, he could have come and gone without you knowing. But he had to be at the reception, because as far as Moscow’s concerned, that’s why he was here. So when he fills in his timesheet, he’ll write, ‘Took the Park for a walk down Regent’s Street,’ and ‘Teased Taverner’s prick over blinis and vodka.’” He picked up his final coffee cup. “As far as they’re concerned, you’re his mission. But for him, you’re his alibi.”
She let that settle for a moment, then said, “If you’re right, the real reason for Rasnokov’s visit had nothing to do with de Greer.”
“Give that woman a banana.” Lamb drained the cup and tossed it over his shoulder. “Rasnokov’s like everybody else, he’s doing his job but looking out for himself. Baiting you in the embassy, that was work. Whatever else he was up to, that’s what we really want to know. What’s in the bag?”
“。 . . Excuse me?”
He nodded at her leather tote. “You’ve come from the Park, you’ve spent all morning on this. Don’t tell me you weren’t reading the output on your way here.”
Diana looked at him. “It’s Park product. You’re not cleared to see it.”
“Ha-de-fucking-ha.”
She reached into her bag and produced a block of paper, half an inch thick.
Arrival details from Heathrow, the luckless Pete Dean’s surveillance reports, interviews with cab drivers and paperwork from the Grosvenor, including itemised billing, room service orders, channels viewed （Sky Sports, CNN）， phone calls made （none）， newspapers required （Times, Telegraph）， and the contents of his bin post check-out.
“And there’s video on the laptop.”
“Haven’t seen a good movie since Sleeping Booty.”
Cigarette plugged into his mouth, he lowered his gaze.
It was as if he’d left the stage for the duration, becoming all function for the minutes it took him to digest the paperwork. Diana thought of the boys and girls on the hub, their faces lit by the glow of their screens as they absorbed information. Lamb’s light seemed to come from within, as if it were only at such moments that he burned real fuel. She wouldn’t want to disturb him. Couldn’t be sure who he’d be if he were startled out of his reverie without warning.
Instead, she watched the park enjoying this last burst of summer. It wouldn’t last. Autumn was bringing its weight to bear, and would have the usual effect—when autumn descends on the city, its adjectives drop away like leaves from a tree, until all that remain are the obvious: London is big, its roads are hard, its skies are grey, its noise is fierce. Months to go before that picture softened. She wondered if she’d still be in her job then. Lamb’s story had handed her a weapon, but Sparrow came well protected, and it was clear he viewed her as a threat. One he intended to deal with. My advice would be, spend your remaining time as First Desk concentrating on more important issues.
The rasp of Lamb’s lighter brought her back. He thrust the papers at her, and she pattycaked them into a neatish pile on her knees. “Well?”