Читать книгу The Spoilers - Desmond Bagley, Desmond Bagley - Страница 14

Warren did not have to go out to find Mike Abbot because Mike Abbot came to him. He was leaving his rooms after a particularly hard day when he found Abbot on his doorstep. ‘Anything to tell me, Doctor?’ asked Abbot.

‘Not particularly,’ said Warren. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘Just the usual – all the dirt on the drug scene.’ Abbot fell into step beside Warren. ‘For instance, what about Hellier’s girl?’

‘Whose girl?’ said Warren with a blank face.

‘Sir Robert Hellier, the film mogul – and don’t go all pofaced. You know who I mean. The inquest was bloody uninformative – the old boy had slammed down the lid and screwed it tight. It’s amazing what you can do if you have a few million quid. Was it accidental or suicide – or was she pushed?’

‘Why ask me?’ said Warren. ‘You’re the hotshot reporter.’

Abbot grinned. ‘All I know is what I write for the papers – but I have to get it from somewhere or someone. This time the someone is you.’

‘Sorry, Mike – no comment.’

‘Oh well; I tried,’ said Abbot philosophically. ‘Why are we passing this pub? Come in and I’ll buy you a drink.’

‘All right,’ said Warren. ‘I could do with one. I’ve had a hard day.’

As they pushed open the door Abbot said, ‘All your days seem to be hard ones, judging by the way you’ve been knocking it back lately.’ They reached the counter, and he said, ‘What’ll you have?’

‘I’ll have a Scotch,’ said Warren. ‘And what the devil do you mean by that crack?’

‘No harm meant,’ said Abbot, raising his hands in mock fright. ‘Just one of my feebler non-laughter-making jokes. It’s just that I’ve seen you around inhaling quite a bit of the stuff. In a pub in Soho and a couple of nights later in the Howard Club.’

‘Have you been following me?’ demanded Warren.

‘Christ, no!’ said Abbot. ‘It was just coincidental.’ He ordered the drinks. ‘All the same, you seem to move in rum company. I ask myself – what is the connection between a doctor of medicine, a professional gambler and a mercenary soldier? And you know what? I get no answer at all.’

‘One of these days that long nose of yours will get chopped off at the roots.’ Warren diluted his whisky with Malvern water.

‘Not as bad as losing face,’ said Abbot. ‘I make my reputation by asking the right questions. For instance, why should the highly respected Dr Warren have a flaming row with Johnny Follet? It was pretty obvious, you know.’

‘You know how it is,’ said Warren tiredly. ‘Some of my patients had been cutting up ructions at the Howard Club. Johnny didn’t like it.’

‘And you had to take your own private army to back you up?’ queried Abbot. ‘Tell me another fairy tale.’ The barman was looking at him expectantly so Abbot paid him, and said, ‘We’ll have another round.’ He turned back to Warren, and said, ‘It’s all right, Doctor; it’s on the expense account – I’m working.’

‘So I see,’ said Warren drily. Even now he had not made up his mind about Hellier’s proposition. All the moves he had made so far had been tentative and merely to ensure that he could assemble a team if he had to. Mike Abbot was a putative member of the team – Warren’s choice – but it seemed that he was dealing himself in, anyway.

‘I know this is a damnfool question to ask a pressman,’ he said. ‘But how far can you keep a secret?’

Abbot cocked an eyebrow. ‘Not very far. Not so far as to allow someone to beat me to a story. You know how cutthroat Fleet Street is.’

Warren nodded. ‘But how independent are you? I mean, do you have to report on your investigations to anyone on your paper? Your editor, perhaps?’

‘Usually,’ said Abbot. ‘After all, that’s where my pay cheque comes from.’ Wise in the way of interviews, he waited for Warren to make the running.

Warren refused to play the game. ‘That’s a pity,’ he said, and fell silent.

‘Oh, come now,’ said Abbot. ‘You can’t just leave it at that. What’s on your mind?’

‘I’d like you to help me – but not if it’s going to be noised about the newspaper offices. You know what a rumour factory your crowd is. You’ll know what the score is, but no one else must – or we’ll come a cropper.’

‘I can’t see my editor buying that,’ observed Abbot. ‘It’s too much like that character in the South Sea Bubble who was selling shares in a company – “but nobody to know what it is.” I suppose it’s something to do with drugs?’

‘That’s right,’ said Warren. ‘It will involve a trip to the Middle East.’

Abbot brightened. ‘That sounds interesting.’ He drummed his fingers on the counter. ‘Is there a real story in it?’

‘There’s a story. It might be a very big one indeed,’

‘And I get an exclusive?’

‘It’ll be yours,’ said Warren. ‘Full right.’

‘How long will it take?’

‘That is something I don’t know.’ Warren looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t even know if it’s going to start. There’s a lot of uncertainty. Say, three months.’

‘A hell of a long time,’ commented Abbot, and brooded for a while. Eventually he said, ‘I’ve got a holiday coming up. Supposing I talk to my editor and tell him that I’m doing a bit of private enterprise in my own time. If I think it’s good enough I’ll stay on the job when my holiday is up. He might accept that.’

‘Keep my name out of it,’ warned Warren.

‘Sure.’ Abbot drained his glass. ‘Yes, I think he’ll fall for it. The shock of my wanting to work on my holiday ought to be enough.’ He put down the glass on the counter. ‘But I’ll need convincing first.’

Warren ordered two more drinks. ‘Let’s sit at a table, and I’ll tell you enough to whet your appetite.’