‘He was there.’

‘Good God. I wonder why?’

‘I got the feeling it wasn’t so much to do with Dreyfuss as it was to do with General Ben Esterhazy.’

‘So Esterhazy was there too?’

‘Yes, you were right about that. What’s more, he was looking fairly rattled.’

‘Oh? Any particular reason?’

‘Several, I shouldn’t wonder.’ Parfit finished his drink and took the empty glass back to the drinks cabinet. He left it there and walked to the window, from where he watched the remnants of another demo as they chanted something incoherent, their fingers pointing towards where he was standing. He gave them a wave, which seemed to anger them further. ‘Esterhazy’s up to no good, Johnnie. I can’t say yet quite what, but I’m getting closer.’ He returned to his seat.

‘Don’t tell me about it, Parfit. It would only make me an accessory. Just tell me what you need.’

‘Two things. Two names, to be precise. One is Cameron Devereux. He was a member of the ground control crew on Argos. I’d like to talk to him, face to face if possible.’

‘And the other?’

‘Is someone called Martin Hepton. He works on one of our own tracking stations back in England, somewhere in Lincolnshire.’

Gilchrist considered this. ‘Must be Binbrook then. What of it?’

‘Dreyfuss knows him vaguely, and wants to ask him about something.’

‘Martin Hepton, you say?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘I had a message from George Villiers in London. He phoned while I was asleep.’ Gilchrist picked up some sheets of paper from the tray on the corner of his desk, finding the one he needed. ‘Yes, here it is. It seems Hepton paid Villiers a visit, wanted to know how to reach Major Dreyfuss.’

Parfit sat back in his chair. ‘Now that is interesting.’

‘More than mere coincidence, you think?’

‘So Hepton’s in London?’

‘It would seem so. Right, I’ll get on to this Devereux character. Shouldn’t take long.’

Parfit was already standing, ready to leave. ‘Thanks, Johnnie.’

‘Parfit?’

‘Yes?’

‘How big is this thing? Should I be starting to make noises in the direction of our masters?’

‘I’d leave it for now,’ said Parfit confidently. ‘It might all blow over.’

Not that he believed it would. He just didn’t want more people than absolutely necessary knowing he was on to something. It was all down to trust in the end, and Parfit didn’t trust anyone. Not even Johnnie Gilchrist, not entirely.

20

Dreyfuss had been given a room containing a foldaway bed and not much else.

‘Not so different from the crate,’ he had commented on arrival. Not that he had minded the crate too much. He didn’t want anyone knowing he was in Washington with the climate the way it was right now.