Free India Black by Carol K. Carr Page B

for Latham to emerge from what I understand was his usual appointment at your, er, estab—”
    “Lotus House,” I interjected, weary of this infernal dithering about my, er, establishment.
    Endicott looked shocked that I’d interrupted the prime minister, but Dizzy didn’t falter and ploughed on. “Er, quite. We further assume that when Latham did not reappear at his customary time, the agent was alerted that something unusual had occurred. He must have entered your premises, discovered Latham’s body and purloined the case. We have sources within the Russian embassy who have notified us that the case has been delivered to Major Ivanov. Ivanov has deposited it into the embassy safe to await the return of Count Yusopov.”
    “How do you know that Ivanov hasn’t already opened the case and inspected the contents?” I’d have wasted no time in doing so, and I assumed most of my fellow human beings would do the same, especially if they were Russian spies who’d just gotten their mitts on some secret papers.
    “It would be more than his life is worth to look at those documents before Count Yusopov sees them. The count is the tsar’s cousin and enjoys a rather close relationship with him. His subordinate, Ivanov, would not dare usurp Yusopov’s right to deliver the information contained in those documents directly to the tsar.”
    “If you have sources in the embassy,” I said, “why not have one of them recover the case for you?”
    Dizzy sighed. “Alas, they are neither skilled enough nor in any position to do so without being compromised. We did, however, attempt to penetrate the security at the embassy last night. Unfortunately, our effort was detected and rebuffed, resulting in increased security measures that have made it impossible to make another attempt.”
    Tough luck, old boy, I thought to myself, but what I said was, “I don’t quite see how this concerns me.”
    “We must try a new approach, Miss Black. We find ourselves in the unique position of having to ask for your assistance.” Dizzy gave me a smile calculated to charm me out of my garters.
    “How could I possibly be of service to you?” I asked.
    Dizzy pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. Endicott peered into his glass and scrupulously avoided my eyes. It didn’t take any Gypsy blood to predict my fortunes were about to change. French, predictably, looked cool as dammit.
    I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Go ahead, French. What can a whore do to extricate the British government from this embarrassing scandal? And won’t there be an even bigger scandal when the story gets out that you had to ask a bint for help? Not very statesmanlike, that.”
    “It won’t get out, India. Not from us, and certainly not from you,” said French.
    “You seem rather confident of that fact. What’s to prevent me from selling my story to the papers?”
    He smiled blandly. “You’ve a great deal invested in Lotus House. It would be a shame if you were to lose it.”
    A whore learns early how to run a bluff. It comes in useful when you’re haggling over the price or the services, or when the bloke you’re with has turned nasty and you have to talk your way out of the situation. Which, come to think of it, was exactly what had just happened with French.
    “Put me out of business,” I said, very coolly, “and I’ll pay a visit to every journalist between London and St. Petersburg.”
    Dizzy had turned pale (no small feat, with that complexion) and was gnawing a fingernail. “Please don’t be so hasty, Miss Black. You’ve no idea what is at stake here.”
    “Then why don’t you tell me?”
    Endicott raised an eyebrow and uttered a contemptuous cough. “Really, I hardly think the prime minister need bother to explain affairs of state to the likes of you.”
    “If the prime minister wants the assistance of the likes of me, he will.” I sauntered over to the sideboard and freshened my drink, taking care not to let the decanter of whisky rattle