The Hidden Man. Charles Cumming

he can come and go as he pleases.’

      Taploe reached the end of Aisle 14 and stopped.

      ‘I see.’ The news irritated him, though he maintained a level tone of voice. ‘Well, thank you for passing on that information. I’ll come in to see you after the weekend and we can discuss it further.’

      ‘Very well. Thank you, sir.’

      ‘And Katy?’

      ‘Yes, sir?’

      ‘I know full well what razborka is. There was no need to enlighten me.’

      ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

      ‘Goodbye.’

      As he replaced the phone in his pocket, the back wheel of Taploe’s trolley caught on a sticky ball of waxed paper. He had to bend down to free it and missed a slot in the queue. Duchev, he thought. We let men like that live here, let them enter and leave at will. The British, in the name of decency and fair play, wave their enemies through the gates without so much as a glance. Tends to make my job harder, he mused, pushing towards the tills.

      10

       From: [email protected]

       To: [email protected]

       Subject: Ben drink

      Mark sweetheart

      Very very busy here. On deadline. Yes, we talked about it last night. Basically he’s still very pissed off, obstinate, the usual thing, but I get the impression it’s not totally a lost cause. I mean how long can he keep going like this?

      It’s like he’s making a point not just to his father, but to you, to me, to anybody he comes across. And of course to your mum. You know what B’s like when he makes his mind up.

      If you think it’s a good idea then I would give it a try but I’m not sure how much luck you’ll have. I didn’t push it last night. I don’t want him to think I’m turning against him, and I didn’t say anything about you asking me, of course.

      We’ve already arranged to meet in the Scarsdale pub at the back of the cinema on Ken High St – the place you came to before we went to the Doves concert. Can you be there by maybe half-past seven? There might be some people from work so be warned.

      Lovely to see you the other night. Thanks for the vodka – weird bottle!

      lol

      Als

      x

       From: Mark Keen

       To: [email protected]

       Subject: Re: Ben drink

      That sounds good. I’ll be there at 7.30 at the latest. Don’t mention anything to him about it, OK? I don’t want him to feel like we’re setting a trap or something.

      Thanks for this Alice – I appreciate it a lot.

      Mark

      Mark hit ‘Send’ and wondered if this was a good idea; he doubted whether Alice would be able to keep their arrangement a secret. Sometimes, in fact, he couldn’t even remember why he was doing his father the favour.

      11

      Taploe waited for Keen in the downstairs seating area of a Baker Street coffee shop. American-owned, the chain was populated by a preppy clientele drinking foam-laden lattes at Internet terminals. Bewildered by the range of drinks on offer, it had taken Taploe more than three minutes to explain to the South African girl working behind the counter that he simply wanted a black coffee, nothing more, nothing less.

      ‘You want an espresso, then?’

      ‘No. Just a black coffee. A normal black coffee. In a mug.’

      ‘Do you want me to make it a double? That’s longer.’

      ‘No. I find espresso too strong. Look –’

      He scanned the menu board for the appropriate description. Latte. Mocha. Espresso. Ristretto. Mochaccino. Cappuccino. Iced Mochachino Latte …

      ‘It must be Americano,’ he said eventually. ‘That looks the closest.’

      ‘Americano!’ the girl shouted to her colleague and, given that there were four or five people queueing up behind him, Taploe felt that he could not now change his order.

      ‘Is that a shot of espresso with plenty of boiling water?’ he asked.

      ‘That’s right, sir,’ she said, pointing to the counter on her left. ‘Your order’ll be ready in a few minutes. Can I help anyone please?’

      Taploe had found a small round table at the rear of the basement where any conversation would be drowned out by the tapping of computer keyboards, the quack and beep of the World Wide Web. Twenty or thirty people, mostly students, were crowding up the seating area.

      Taploe sensed Keen before he saw him, a sudden intimation of good taste and disdain moving through the room. He was wearing a long, dark overcoat and carrying a small white cup of espresso in his right hand. Taploe was reminded of a Tory grandee.

      ‘Christopher,’ he said.

      ‘Stephen.’ Taploe’s view of his joe was already coloured by the basic antipathy that existed between the organizations to which both men had dedicated the bulk of their working lives. But the sense Keen gave off of living in an infallible bubble of privilege added a particular hostility to his contempt.

      ‘Did you find the place all right?’ he asked.

      ‘No problem at all. But it’s bloody cold outside. They say it might snow.’

      ‘Well, thank you for agreeing to the meeting at such short notice.’ Taploe sipped at his coffee but found that it was still too hot to drink. ‘I hope we didn’t put you out.’

      ‘Not at all. I have a dinner engagement in the West End at nine o’clock. The timing was rather convenient.’

      Slowly, Taploe drew the tips of his fingers across the wooden surface of the table. It was an unconscious manifestation of his anxiety, and he was irritated with himself for showing it.

      ‘Can I get you anything from upstairs?’

      Taploe could not think why he had asked the question. Keen simply lowered his eyes and indicated his espresso with a downward nod of the head.

      ‘Oh yes, of course.’

      There was an embarrassed silence that Taploe eventually broke.

      ‘This shouldn’t take long,’ he said. ‘It was just to find out about your enquiries.’

      Keen could see a Japanese student poring over notes held in a loose-leaf folder to the right of his chair. If Taploe considered this a secure environment in which to talk, he would take that on trust, but keep his remarks general to the point of being obtuse. Christian names. No specifics. Operational shorthands.

      ‘My view is very straightforward,’ he said. ‘If the lawyer is involved to any extent with the Russian organization then my son knows nothing about it. That would indicate to me that this is something that is happening only at the very highest level within the company. That is to say, only Thomas and perhaps Sebastian know anything about it.’

      ‘What makes you so sure?’

      ‘Body language. A certain openness about the way he answered my questions. No obvious nerves. As our American friends might put it, Mark is out of the loop.’

      By his expression, Taploe seemed unconvinced.

      ‘What did he say about the lawyer?’ he asked.

      ‘Nothing