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slightly under-staffed with foot-soldiers just at the moment. Lot of  flu about. Summer
holidays. Let s suppose that our foot-soldiers, owing to their depleted numbers, had
momentarily lost track of these two individuals.
Barnes cracked some knuckles and leaned forward over the desk.
 Well, I don t see how that could happen, Mr Solomon.
 I m not saying it s happened, I said.  I m offering it as a hypothesis.
 All the same, I don t agree with your premise. Seems to me that, if anything, you re over-
staffed just now.
 I m sorry, I m not with you.
 Seems to me you ve got staff all over the place, chasin your own tails.
The clock ticked.
 What do you mean, exactly?
 What I mean exactly is that if your department can afford to employ two David Solomons
to do the same job, then you got a budget I wouldn t mind having.
Whoops.
He got to his feet and started moving round the desk. Not threatening anything, just
stretching his legs.
 Maybe you got more? Maybe you got a whole division of David Solomons. Is that it? He
paused.  I put a call into O Neal. David Solomon is on a flight to Prague right now, and
O Neal seems to think that s the only David Solomon he s got. So maybe all you David
Solomons just share the one salary. He reached the door and opened it.  Mike, get an E team
up here. Now.
He turned and leaned against the jamb, arms folded, watching me.
 You got about forty seconds.
 All right, I said.  My name isn t Solomon.
The E team consisted of two Carts, one either side of my chair. Mike had taken the place at
the door and Barnes was back at his desk. I was playing the dejected loser.
 My name is Glass. Terence Glass. I tried to make it sound as dull as possible. So boring
that no one would ever think to make it up.  I run an art gallery in Cork Street. I dug into my
top pocket and found the card the well-brung-up blonde had given me. I handed it to Barnes.
 Here. Last one. Anyway, Sarah works for me. Used to work for me. I sighed and slumped a
little lower. A man who d gambled everything and lost.  The last few weeks, she s been
behaving . . . I don t know. She seemed worried. Frightened, even. She d started talking about
some strange things. Then one day, she just didn t show up. Disappeared. I rang round.
Nothing. I tried ringing her father a couple of times, but he seems to have disappeared too. I
went through some things in her desk, odds and ends, and I found a file.
Barnes stiffened very slightly at this, so I thought I d try stiffening him some more.
 Graduate Studies. On the cover. I thought to begin with it was History of Art stuff, but it
wasn t. I didn t really understand it, to be honest. Business. Manufacturing or whatever. She d
made some notes. Man called Solomon. And your name. American Embassy. I . . . Can I be
honest with you?
Barnes looked back at me. There was nothing on his face but scars and wrinkles.
 Don t tell her this, I said.  I mean, she doesn t know it, but . . . I m in love with her. Have
been for months. That s why I gave her the job, really. Didn t need anyone else working at the
gallery, but I wanted to be close to her. It s all I could think of. I know it sounds feeble, but . .
. do you know her? I mean have you seen her?
Barnes didn t answer. He just fingered the card I d given him, and looked up at Mike with
a raised eyebrow. I didn t turn round, but Mike must have been busy.
 Glass, said a voice.  It checks.
Barnes sucked his teeth for a moment and then looked out of the window. Apart from the
clock, the room was astonishingly quiet. No phones, no typewriters, no traffic noise. The
windows must have been quadruple-glazed.  O Neal?
I looked as defeated as I could.  What about him?
 Where d you get the stuff about O Neal?
 The file, I shrugged.  I told you, I read her file. I wanted to know what had happened to
her.
 Any reason why you didn t tell me this from the beginning? Why all this bullshit?
I laughed and glanced up at the Carts.
 You re not an easy man to see, Mr Barnes. I ve been trying to get you on the phone for
days. They kept putting me through to the Visa Section. I think they thought I was trying to
wangle a Green Card. Marrying an American.
There was a long pause.
It really was one of the silliest stories I ve ever told; but I was gambling - heavily, I have
to admit - on Barnes machismo. I read him as an arrogant man, trapped in a foreign country,
and I hoped that most of him would want to believe that everyone he dealt with was as silly as
my story. If not sillier.
 You try all this with O Neal?
 According to the Ministry of Defence, there is no one of that name working there, and I d
be better off making a missing persons report at my local police station.
 Which you did?
 Which I tried to do.
 Which station?
 Bayswater. I knew they wouldn t check that. He just wanted to see how quickly I could
answer.  The police told me to wait a few weeks. They seemed to think she might have found
another lover.
I was pleased with that. I knew he d go for it. " Another" lover?
 Well . . . I tried to blush.  All right. A lover.
Barnes chewed his lip. I was looking so pathetic he didn t have much choice but to believe
me. I would have believed me, and I m very hard to please.
He came to a decision.  Where s the file now?
I looked up, surprised that the file was of any interest to anybody.
 Still at the gallery. Why?
 Description?
 Well, it s just a sort of . . . gallery, really. Fine art.
Barnes took a deep breath. He was really hating having to deal with me. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]