By the time they reached the bar on the Rue du Port, Charlie had walked off and drunk off most of the anger. ‘You’re wrong, you know. All of you,’ he insisted. ‘So you keep saying,’ reminded Levy. Like its name suggested it was a port workers’ bar, with no service, so the Israeli carried the brandies back from the counter. ‘And me, too,’ said Charlie, almost in private conversation with himself. ‘I’ve got a feeling I’ve done something wrong, too.’ ‘Like becoming obsessive?’ suggested Levy. Charlie came out of his reverie. ‘No,’ he said, ‘not that.’ ‘I’ve got to admit it, Charlie, that’s the impression you’re conveying. Certainly that’s what Blom thinks.’ ‘I don’t believe Blom is capable of thinking.’ ‘Charlie!’ pleaded Levy. ‘It hasn’t just been the Swiss. The CIA have pulled out all the stops and we’ve done the same. And you know what your own people in England have done. If one had missed something, another group would have picked it up.’ ‘He’s here!’ insisted Charlie.
