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He was stranded somewhere between high exhilaration and deep shock. The cab had dropped them at the airport and two small carry-ons had been produced from the boot. Labied had passports and the necessary paperwork for them both. Grindley still had a lot of questions but they could wait until he’d drunk his second glass of champagne.

  The men sat together, seats One A and B with lots of legroom and plenty of comfort. The staff were attentive but not intrusive. They had eschewed the curry and gone for Chateau Briand. Grindley’s opinion of field operatives had certainly risen in the last few days. The champagne and an excellent claret had eroded his natural reserve. He looked at his companion with something approaching real affection. “You’re a wonder Frank,” he said, “you have saved my life and my career and I won’t forget it.” He looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “How you managed to wangle the police thing, I just don’t know.”

  Labied realised his companion might be a little drunk. He wanted to shut him up and he certainly didn’t want him to start getting maudlin. “The less you know the better Jonathan,” he cautioned. But Grindley came back at once; asking questions and making uninspired guesses. It was obvious that, in his current state, he wasn’t going to leave it alone.  Labied gave him a potted account.

  “I got word that you were in trouble soon after our boys had gone in and disposed of the laundry,” Grindley looked puzzled. “Cross, when they recovered Cross’s body” Labied spelled it out. Grindley caught on. “The local police had a tip off. A chambermaid or someone must have stumbled in on our late friends. Anyway, piece of bad luck number one was that the cab driver who took us to the Marriott was parked outside the Azad when the balloon went up. Piece of good luck number one was that Delhi Central must have been swamped with business at the time because the call was diverted to Fara Gunge, hence the involvement of our little inspector in his backwater sub-station. My sources alerted me as soon as you were taken in. I had to work fast before the big boys got hold of you. It was potentially embarrassing for everyone.”

  He looked at Grindley and smiled disarmingly. “Nothing against you old chap but it was odds on that once the professionals got to work, they would get pretty much all you knew.” Grindley felt a shiver go down his spine. “Anyway, it had to be quick and drastic. “Piece of good luck number two was that my old pal Aram Singh was in the district. Our late inspector had been giving him a hard time and Mr Singh was only too happy to mount an operation to deal with the situation once and for all.”

  “Who is Aram Singh?” Grindley queried.

  “A pretty successful gangster. He and his cronies make their living from robbery, kidnapping and extortion. These guys usually come to an accommodation with the local police but Ram Chand was being a particular pain in the ass.”

  “And this Aram Singh is a friend of yours?”

   “Don’t knock it pal. You’re on a plane out of the place aren’t you?” Grindley conceded the point. Labied went on. “Aram went into the station and gave himself up. They stuck him into the cell next to you.”

  “Wasn’t that an enormous risk?”

  “Yes and no. I needed someone on the inside.”

  “But what good was he likely to be locked in a cell?”

  “Before they locked him up they took his belt and shoes and knocked him about a bit but it was India so naturally, they didn’t take the religious amulet around his neck.” Grindley looked askance. “Plastic explosive.” Labied explained. “At the right moment Aram blew his cell door and his boys attacked the place. They rest you know.”

  Grindley whistled softly. It was like something from ‘Boy’s Own’.

  “It was important to get rid of any evidence that might compromise the department so we left Aram Singh and the lads to turn over the place and then burn it down.”

  “But it happened in broad daylight.”

  “In that part of town the police are only slightly more unpopular than the gangsters.”

  “And they did all this for friendship and to get Ram Chand off their back?”

  “Yes ……. and for fifty thousand US and some loose change.”

  Grindley sat back in his seat. “If I hadn’t lived through it all I’d never believe any of it. You really are the most remarkable man I have ever known. How the hell we lost the empire with you around I’ll never know.” Labied rolled his eyes. They fell silent. After a while Grindley noticed his companion seemed to be asleep. He was dog-tired himself but his mind wouldn’t let him rest.

  After all he been through his resolve to leave Susan and go away with Gloria was stronger than ever. It was just that telling Susan and getting into the whole sordid business of dividing up the house and their possessions filled him with horror. Almost the same horror as he had felt when he had lost the money to the Afghans.  The same terror he had experienced on realising that Cross’s death might herald the end of his hopes and dreams. The same desperation that had come over him as he sat in an Indian jail and realised the hopelessness of his situation. But he had come though unscathed. He owed everything to Frank Labied. For a few moments Grindley fantasised that Labied might come up with some scheme for conveniently disposing of his wife. Could it be that he might persuade Frank to help him one last time? He had after all, in his possession, almost two million, untraceable dollars. Had he not at first-hand witnessed Labied’s apparent lack of moral compunction as he had gone about his business? What was another bullet one way or another? They had lost a hundred thousand of the two million, half of it probably back to the treasury after they searched Cross’s body, so why not two hundred or even three hundred thousand. Who was to know what Merouze and his boys had taken from the book before it had been recovered? Surely Frank, ruthless, efficient Frank could find use for a few hundred thousand dollars. Grindley glanced across at his companion asleep beside him. He wouldn’t wake Frank with the proposition just yet he thought.

     Superintendent Andy Morgan looked around at the others in the room. Margo Morrison, acting Operations Controller Asia had introduced everyone. This was not an enquiry merely an informal session of interested parties, she had informed them. Note taking was permitted but before anyone took anything away it would have to be vetted by operations security. Morgan wanted to stop proceedings and remind them that he was a very senior, Special Branch police officer, very senior indeed, but he kept his counsel.

  She was still going on about procedures. Margo Morrison, he put her in her late forties, trim figure under a shapeless business suite, not a trace of make-up, her hair a mess and big, ugly glasses. Probably not a bad looking woman but doing everything to make herself unattractive. He imagined she was hoping to be confirmed as the new Control.

  The Director General, always referred to as the Chief, had graced them with his presence so it was obviously an important meeting. Donald Broadbent, probably in his early sixties but he looked older. He obviously wasn’t one for sartorial elegance; an open shirt with frayed collar and a sloppy cardigan. Morgan would not have been surprised if he had been wearing carpet slippers. The old man seemed content for Margo to run things. He sat very still, head bent, eyes under drooping lids.

  The policeman had taken an instant dislike to Barrington-Smith the moment they met. His “Call me Barry,” had, to Morgan’s discriminating ear, categorised him as a flake. Now he sat fidgeting on the Chief’s right. In the stuffy atmosphere of the little, airless room he expected that ‘Barry’ might be regretting his tight collar, guards tie and heavy, dark suit.

  Jeremy Grace was Treasury liaison. Aloof, displaying a somewhat haughty air, he was tall, slim and manifestly upper class. Not someone with whom Morgan would choose to drink after work.

  Margo had introduced Jasper Norris as secretary of the meeting. Small, balding and into early middle age, probably before his time, he sat nervously examining his notes while she concluded her exposition.