Free Dead End by Brian Freemantle

out in a second by email.’
    â€˜We know who she spoke to in Paris? What was said?’
    Newton humped his thin shoulders. ‘Just the phone log, recording the outgoing call. It lasted six and a half minutes.’
    â€˜Long time to sort out a simple transmission misprint,’ judged Grant.
    â€˜Too long,’ agreed Newton. ‘You think we should get Saby or Mendaille to find out who she spoke to – what was discussed?’
    â€˜We need to know,’ said Grant. ‘But I don’t want any more curiosity in Paris than might already have been aroused by my bringing Saby and Mendaille back.’
    Not my problem or my decision, thought Newton, thankfully. ‘I think we’ve got to assume Rebecca will have told Parnell.’
    â€˜Told him what ?’ seized Grant, at once. ‘Is there any way she could have seen anything other than that one misdirected message?’
    Newton didn’t answer at once, trying to assess the commitment being forced from him. Then he said: ‘No. No, I’m sure she couldn’t.’
    â€˜And what could she infer from what she did see?’
    â€˜Only that there was an out-of-the-ordinary exchange going on at the highest level between Paris and Washington.’ You were the guy who mentioned France publicly at the seminar, thought Newton.
    Grant pulled a sheet of paper from another folder, gazing down at it for several moments before reading aloud: ‘ Welcome your assessment of our detailed security proposal . And it’s signed Mendaille.’ He didn’t speak for several more moments, and Newton remained silent, too. ‘No,’ the bulky, white-haired man abruptly decided. ‘By itself it wouldn’t mean anything.’
    â€˜I think I’ll keep security on to things – ensure that she does as she’s been told. Warn Showcross that I want to be told if she shows any more curiosity.’
    â€˜Do that!’ agreed Grant, who’d already given the order to the security chief. ‘What about Showcross? He likely to become too curious?’
    Newton shook his head, positively. ‘Showcross knows where his salary cheque comes from.’
    â€˜Keep the security check on Parnell, too. Let’s watch for any interest there shouldn’t be from him.’ There was another pat on the Washington dossier. ‘I really do think you handled that website business very well, too. What I find unbelievable is that the son of a bitch actually suggested it in the first place.’
    â€˜He’s got a lot of adjustments still to make to living in the commercial world. But I’m knocking him into shape. I’ve set up some other things,’ openly boasted Newton.
    â€˜Keep on the job, Dwight.’
    â€˜I always do.’
    â€˜And I’m always grateful.’ There was a too obvious look at his watch. ‘Sorry I can’t offer you lunch …’ Grant put a hand tight beneath his chin. ‘I’m up to here.’
    It would have risked his New York visit becoming too publicly known, acknowledged Newton. ‘I need to get back anyway.’
    â€˜We’ll keep in close touch – the closest,’ insisted the president. ‘I don’t want to lose control of this.’ Control, of everything and every one and every cent, was Edward C. Grant’s watchword.
    â€˜I’m not clear on one thing,’ said Newton, briefly refusing the dismissal. ‘Are we going to go ahead with the French idea?’
    Grant gave himself time to compose the reply. ‘Commercially it makes very good sense. But the medical decision has got to be yours, Dwight. If it is medically safe, as the French insist, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t do it. But we can’t, obviously, risk being caught out.’ Which is why you’re being given the total responsibility, thought Grant.
    It put his name very firmly – and provably – on the proposal, Newton