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Chapters (45)
  1. The Man With No Face
  2. Also by
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. INTRODUCTION
  9. CHAPTER ONE
  10. CHAPTER TWO
  11. CHAPTER THREE
  12. CHAPTER FOUR
  13. CHAPTER FIVE
  14. CHAPTER SIX
  15. CHAPTER SEVEN
  16. CHAPTER EIGHT
  17. CHAPTER NINE
  18. CHAPTER TEN
  19. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  20. CHAPTER TWELVE
  21. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  23. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  25. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  26. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  27. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Before stepping outside once more into the snow he glanced back towards the bar. Everyone in there knew something had passed between Bannerman and the Minister, though no one knew what. In the competitive world of newspapers, the cardinal sin was not knowing what the story was. None of those pressmen would enjoy their meal tonight. Nor would the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I

The stairwell seemed colder than it had on previous evenings, the landing lights more muted, the stairs darker. Outside the snow was falling ever more thickly. Winter seemed determined to tighten its grip on the city. As Bannerman trudged up the stairs someone coughed on the landing above. A man’s cough. A deep retching cough. Bannerman could smell cigarette smoke. Whoever was there was making no attempt to conceal his presence, and he must have heard Bannerman’s footsteps.

Bannerman climbed the next flight cautiously before he saw Platt’s face, round and fat, peering down at him. ‘Is that you, Bannerman? I’ve been hanging around here for more than half an hour. I’m bloody freezing.’

Platt’s face was blanched white and touched with blue around the eyes. He was wearing a thick coat, a scarf wrapped tightly round his neck. His battered checked hat was pulled down low over his forehead. He made an exaggerated show of stamping his feet for warmth.

‘What do you want?’ Bannerman asked. He turned his back on the other man to unlock the door to the apartment.

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ Platt said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘I’ve been knocking my pan in all afternoon trying to get background on Jansen and Lapointe and then most of the night trying to track you down . . .’

‘I told you tomorrow would do.’ Bannerman paused and looked at the pathetic figure on the landing and relented. ‘You’d better come in.’

Platt followed him down the hall to the living room slapping his hands together and blowing into them. Bannerman took a bottle wrapped in brown paper from his pocket and laid it on the table, then threw his coat over the back of the settee. He switched on the fire and saw Platt eyeing the bottle.

‘Malt,’ Bannerman said, but made no effort to open it. ‘Let’s see it.’

‘What?’ Platt looked confused.

‘Your stuff on Jansen and Lapointe.’