A Matter of Honor Read online

  Romanov put the icon back in his pocket and looked down at the silent men.

  “Remember that Scott is good, but he’s not that good.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “YOU’RE NOT BAD, Scott, not bad at all,” said Robin, who had remained standing by the double bass throughout Adam’s story. “Either you’re one hell of a liar, or I’ve lost my touch.” Adam smiled up at the massive girl, who made the bow she was holding in her right hand look like a toothpick.

  “Am I permitted to see this icon, or am I supposed just to take your word for it?”

  Adam jumped off the bed and pulled out the package containing the Czar’s icon from the map pocket of his trench coat. Robin put her double bass up against the wall and, leaving the bow propped against it, lowered herself into the only chair in the room.

  Adam handed the icon over to her. For some time she stared at the face of Saint George without making any comment. “It’s magnificent,” she said at last, “and I can understand anyone wanting to possess it. But no painting could be worth the tragedy and trouble you’ve had to go through.”

  “I agree it’s inexplicable,” said Adam. “But Rosenbaum or whatever his real name is has been willing to kill twice to get his hands on the piece, and he’s already convinced me that as long as I am in possession of the icon I’ll be the next in line.”

  Robin continued to stare at the tiny pieces of gold, blue, and yellow that made up Saint George and the Dragon.

  “No other clues?” she asked, looking up.

  “Only the letter given to my father by Goering.”

  Robin turned the painting over. “What docs that mean?” she asked, pointing to the tiny silver crown embedded in the wood.

  “That proves it was once owned by a czar, according to the man from Sotheby’s. And greatly enhances its value, he assured me.”

  “Still, couldn’t be worth killing for,” said Robin. She handed the icon back to Adam. “So what other secret is Saint George keeping to himself?”

  Adam shrugged and frowned, having asked himself the same question again and again since Heidi’s death. He returned the silent saint to his trench coat.

  “What was to have been your plan if you had stayed awake?” asked Robin. “Other than making the bed?”

  Adam smiled. “I hoped to call Lawrence again once I could be sure he had returned home and check if he had any more news for me. If he wasn’t back or couldn’t help, I was going to hire a car and try to get across the Swiss border to France and then on to England. I felt sure that between Rosenbaum and his men and the Swiss police they would have had all the airports and stations fully covered.”

  “No doubt Rosenbaum will have also thought that much out as well, if he’s half as good as you claim,” said Robin. “So we’d better try and get in touch with your friend Lawrence and see if he’s come up with any bright ideas.” She pushed herself up out of the chair and walked across to the phone.

  “You don’t have to get yourself involved,” said Adam hesitantly.

  “I am involved,” said Robin. “And I can tell you it’s far more exciting than Schubert’s ‘Unfinished.’ Once I’ve got your friend on the line I’ll pass him over to you, and then no one will realize who’s phoning.” Adam told her the number of the flat, and she asked the girl on the switchboard to connect her.

  Adam checked his watch: eleven-forty. Surely Lawrence would be home by now? The phone didn’t complete its first two rings before Robin heard a man’s voice on the line. She immediately handed the receiver over.

  “Hello, who is that?” asked the voice. Adam was reminded how strange he always found it that Lawrence never announced his name.

  “Lawrence, it’s me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m still in Geneva.”

  “My clients were waiting for you at eleven o’clock this morning.”

  “So was Rosenbaum.”

  “Who is Rosenbaum?”

  “A six-foot, fair-haired, blue-eyed monster, who seems determined to kill me.”

  Lawrence did not speak for some time. “And are you still in possession of our patron saint?”

  “Yes, I am,” said Adam. “But what can be so important about—”

  “Put the phone down and ring me back again in three minutes.”

  The line went dead. Adam couldn’t fathom the sudden change in his old friend’s manner. What had he missed during those months he had lodged with him? He tried to recall details that he had previously considered unimportant and that Lawrence had so skillfully disguised.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Robin, breaking into his thoughts.

  “I think so,” said Adam, a little mystified “He wants me to ring back in three minutes. Will that be all right with you?”

  “This tour’s already lost eight thousand pounds of the taxpayers’ money, so what difference can a few international calls make?” she said.

  Three minutes later, Robin picked up the receiver and repeated the number. In one ring Lawrence was back on the line.

  “Only answer my questions,” said Lawrence.

  “No, I will not answer your questions,” said Adam, becoming increasingly annoyed with Lawrence’s manner. “I want one or two of my own answered before you get anything more out of me. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” said a more gentle-sounding Lawrence.

  “Who is Rosenbaum?”

  Lawrence didn’t immediately reply.

  “You’ll get nothing further from me until you start telling the truth,” said Adam.

  “From your description I have every reason to believe Rosenbaum is a Russian agent whose real name is Alex Romanov.”

  “A Russian agent? But why should a Russian agent want to get his hands on my icon?”

  “I don’t know,” said Lawrence. “We were rather hoping you might be able to tell us.”

  “Who’s we?”

  Another long silence.

  “Who’s we?” repeated Adam. “You can’t really expect me to go on believing you work for Barclays DCO.”

  “I work at the Foreign Office,” said Lawrence.

  “In what capacity?”

  “I am not at liberty”

  “Stop being so pompous, Lawrence. In what capacity?”

  “I’m the number two in a small section that deals in …” Lawrence hesitated.

  “Espionage I think is the current jargon we laymen are using,” said Adam, “and if you want my icon that badly you had better get me out of this mess alive because Romanov is willing to kill me for it, as I am sure you know.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The Richmond Hotel.”

  “In a public phone booth?” asked Lawrence, sounding incredulous.

  “No, in a private room.”

  “But not registered in your name?”

  “No, in the name of a friend. A girlfriend.”

  “Is she with you now?” asked Lawrence.

  “Yes,” said Adam.

  “Damn,” said Lawrence. “Right. Don’t leave that room until seven A.M., then phone on this number again. That will give me enough time to get everything in place.”

  “Is that the best you can do?” said Adam, but the phone had already gone dead. “It looks as if I’m stuck with you for the night,” he told Robin as he replaced the phone.

  “On the contrary, it is I who am stuck with you,” said Robin, and disappeared into the bathroom. Adam paced around the room several times before he tested the sofa. Either he had to rest his head on a cushion, balanced on the thin wooden arm, or he had to let his legs dangle over the far end. By the time Robin had come back out clad in a pair of sky-blue pajamas, he had selected the floor as his resting place.

  “Not much of a chair, is it?” said Robin. “But then British Intelligence didn’t warn me to book a double room.” She climbed into the bed and turned out the light. “Very comfortable,” were the last words she uttered.

  Adam lay down flat on the bedroom floo