by Ken Follett
"His pilot. He'll be arriving by helicopter."
Kit frowned. "What will his flight plan say?"
"That he's taking off from Aberdeen and landing in London. No one will know that he made an unscheduled stop at the Inverburn Flying School."
"Good."
"I'm glad you approve," Nigel said with a touch of sarcasm. Kit constantly questioned him about his areas of responsibility, worried that Nigel, though experienced, was not as educated or as intelligent as he. Nigel answered his questions with an affectation of amusement, obviously feeling that Kit, as an amateur, ought to trust him.
Elton said, "Let's get dragged up, shall we?" He took from his bag four sets of overalls with "Hibernian Telecom" printed on the back. They all climbed into them.
Kit said to Daisy, "The gloves look odd with the overalls."
"Too bad," she said.
Kit stared at her for a few moments, then dropped his gaze. She was trouble, and he wished she were not coming tonight. He was scared of her, but he also hated her, and he was determined to put her down, both to establish his authority and by way of revenge for what she had done to him that morning. There was going to be a clash before long, and he both feared it and longed for it.
Next, Elton handed out faked identity cards that said "Hibernian Telecom Field Maintenance Team." Kit's card bore a photograph of an older man who looked nothing like him. The man in the picture had black hair that grew halfway over his ears in a style that had never been fashionable in Kit's lifetime, plus a heavy Zapata mustache and glasses.
Elton reached into his bag yet again and handed Kit a black wig, a black mustache, and a pair of heavy-framed glasses with tinted lenses. He also gave him a hand mirror and a small tube of glue. Kit glued the mustache to his upper lip and put on the wig. His own hair was mid-brown and cut fashionably short. Looking in the mirror, he was satisfied that the disguise altered his appearance radically. Elton had done a good job.
Kit trusted Elton. His humor covered a ruthless efficiency. He would do whatever was necessary to finish the job, Kit thought.
Tonight Kit planned to avoid anyone among the guards who had been employed at the Kremlin when he was there. However, if he had to speak to any of them, he felt confident they would not recognize him. He had taken off his distinctive jewelry, and he would change his voice.
Elton also had disguises for Nigel, Daisy, and himself. They were not known to anyone at the Kremlin, so they were in no danger of being recognized immediately; but later the security guards would describe the intruders to the police, and the disguises would ensure that those descriptions bore no relation to their actual faces.
Nigel also had a wig, Kit saw. Nigel's own hair was sandy-colored and short, but his wig was mid-gray and chin-length, making the casually elegant Londoner look like an aging Beatle. He also had glasses with unfashionably large frames.
Daisy had a long blond wig over her shaved head. Tinted contact lenses turned her eyes from brown to bright blue. She was even more hideous than usual. Kit had often wondered about her sex life. He had once met someone who claimed to have slept with her, but all the man would say about it was "I've still got the bruises." As Kit looked, she removed the steel rings that pierced her eyebrow, her nose, and her lower lip. She looked only a little less weird.
Elton's own disguise was the most subtle. All he had was a set of false teeth that gave him an overbite--but he looked completely different. The handsome dude had gone, and in his place was a nerd.
Finally, he gave them all baseball caps with "Hibernian Telecom" printed on them. "Most of those security cameras are placed high," he explained. "A cap with a long peak will make sure they don't get a good shot of your face."
They were ready. There was a moment of silence while they looked at one another. Then Nigel said, "Showtime."
They left the control tower and went down the stairs to the hangar. Elton got into the driving seat of the van. Daisy jumped in next to him. Nigel took the third seat. There was no more room in the front: Kit would have to sit on the floor in the back with the tools.
As he stared at them, wondering what to do, Daisy edged close to Elton and put a hand on his knee. "Do you fancy blondes?" she said.
He stared ahead expressionlessly. "I'm married."
She moved her hand up his thigh. "I bet you fancy a white girl, for a change, though, don't you?"
"I'm married to a white girl." He took hold of her wrist and moved her hand off his leg.
Kit decided this was the moment to deal with her. With his heart in his mouth, he said, "Daisy, get in the back of the van."
"Fuck off," she replied.
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Get in the back."
"Try and make me."
"Okay, I will."
"Go ahead," she said with a grin. "I'm looking forward to this."
"The operation is off," Kit said. He was breathing hard, out of fear, but he made his voice calm. "Sorry, Nigel. Good night, all." He walked away from the van on shaky legs.
He got into his own car, started the engine, turned on the headlights, and waited.
He could see into the front of the van. They were arguing. Daisy was waving her arms. After a minute, Nigel got out of the van and held the door. Still Daisy argued. Nigel went around to the back and opened the rear doors, then returned to the front.
At last, Daisy got out. She stood staring malevolently at Kit. Nigel spoke to her again. Finally she got in the back of the van and slammed the doors.
Kit returned to the van and got into the front. Elton pulled away, drove out of the garage, and stopped. Nigel closed the big hangar door and got into the van. Elton muttered, "I hope they're right about the weather forecast. Look at this fucking snow." They headed out through the gate.
Kit's mobile rang. He lifted the lid of his laptop. On the screen he read: "Toni calling Kremlin."
11:30 P.M.
TONI'S mother had fallen asleep the moment they pulled out of the petrol station. Toni had stopped the car, reclined the seat, and made a pillow with a scarf. Mother slept like a baby. Toni found it odd, to be looking after her mother the way she would take care of a child. It made her feel old.
But nothing could depress her spirits after her conversation with Stanley. In his characteristic restrained style, he had declared his feelings. She hugged the knowledge to herself as she drove through the snow, mile after slow mile, to Inverburn.
Mother was fast asleep when they reached the outskirts of the town. There were still revelers about. The traffic kept the town roads clear of snow, and Toni was able to drive without feeling that at any moment the car might slide out of control. She took the opportunity to call the Kremlin, just to check in.
The call was answered by Steve Tremlett. "Oxenford Medical."
"This is Toni. How are things?"
"Hi, Toni. We have a slight problem, but we're dealing with it."
Toni felt a chill. "What problem?"
"Most of the phones are out. Only this one works, at reception."
"How did that happen?"
"No idea. The snow, probably."
Toni shook her head, perplexed. "That phone system cost hundreds of thousands of pounds. It shouldn't break down because of bad weather. Can we get it fixed?"
"Yes. I've called out a crew from Hibernian Telecom. They should be here in the next few minutes."
"What about the alarms?"
"I don't know whether they're functional or not."
"Damn. Have you told the police?"
"Yes. A patrol car dropped in earlier. The officers had a bit of a look around, didn't see anything untoward. They've left now, gone to arrest Yuletide drunks in town."
A man staggered into the road in front of Toni's car, and she swerved to avoid him. "I can see why," she said.
There was a pause. "Where are you?"
"Inverburn."
"I thought you were going to a health farm."
"I was, but a family problem cropped up. Let me
know what the repairmen find, okay? Call me on the mobile number."
"Sure."
Toni hung up. "Hell," she said to herself. First Mother, now this.
She wound her way through the web of residential streets that climbed the hillside overlooking the harbor. When she reached her building, she parked, but did not get out.
She had to go to the Kremlin.
If she had been at the spa, there would have been no question of her coming back--it was too far away. But she was here in Inverburn. The journey would take a while, in this weather--an hour, at least, instead of the usual ten or fifteen minutes--but it was perfectly possible. The only problem was Mother.
Toni closed her eyes. Was it really necessary for her to go? Even if Michael Ross had been working with Animals Are Free, it seemed unlikely that they could be behind the failure of the phone system. It could not easily be sabotaged. On the other hand, she would have said yesterday that it was impossible to smuggle a rabbit out of BSL4.
She sighed. There was only one decision she could make. Bottom line, the security of the laboratories was her responsibility, and she could not stay at home and go to bed while something strange was going on at Oxenford Medical.
Mother could not be left alone, and Toni could not ask neighbors to look after her at this hour. Mother would just have to come along to the Kremlin.
As she put the gearshift into first, a man got out of a light-colored Jaguar sedan parked a few cars farther along the curb. There was something familiar about him, she thought, and she hesitated to pull away. He walked along the pavement toward her. By his gait she judged that he was slightly tipsy, but in control. He came to her window and she recognized Carl Osborne, the television reporter. He was carrying a small bundle.
She put the gearshift back into neutral and wound down the window. "Hello, Carl," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you. I was ready to give up."
Mother woke up and said, "Hello, is this your boyfriend?"
"This is Carl Osborne, and he's not my boyfriend."
With her usual tactless accuracy, Mother said, "Perhaps he'd like to be."
Toni turned to Carl, who was grinning. "This is my mother, Kathleen Gallo."
"A privilege to meet you, Mrs. Gallo."
"Why were you waiting for me?" Toni asked him.
"I brought you a present," he said, and he showed her what was in his hand. It was a puppy. "Merry Christmas," he said, and tipped it into her lap.
"Carl, for God's sake, don't be ridiculous!" She picked up the furry bundle and tried to give it back.
He stepped away and held up his hands. "He's yours!"
The little dog was soft and warm in her hands, and part of her wanted to hold it close, but she knew she had to get rid of it. She got out of the car. "I don't want a pet," she said firmly. "I'm a single woman with a demanding job and an elderly mother, and I can't give a dog the care and attention it needs."
"You'll find a way. What are you going to call him? Carl is a nice name."
She looked at the pup. It was an English sheepdog, white with gray patches, about eight weeks old. She could hold it in one hand, just. It licked her with a rough tongue and gave her an appealing look. She hardened her heart.
She walked to his car and put the puppy gently down on the front seat. "You name him," she said. "I've got too much on my plate."
"Well, think about it," he said, looking disappointed. "I'll keep him tonight, and call you tomorrow."
She got back into her car. "Don't call me, please." She put the stick into first.
"You're a hard woman," he said as she pulled away.
For some reason, that jibe got to her. I'm not hard, she thought. Unexpected tears came to her eyes. I've had to deal with the death of Michael Ross, and a rabid pack of reporters, and I've been called a bitch by Kit Oxenford, and my sister has let me down, and I've canceled the holiday I was looking forward to. I take responsibility for myself and for Mother and for the Kremlin, and I can't manage a puppy as well, and that's flat.
Then she remembered Stanley, and she realized she did not care a hoot what Carl Osborne said.
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and peered ahead into the swirling snowflakes. Turning out of her Victorian street, she headed for the main road out of town.
Mother said, "Carl seems nice."
"He's not very nice, actually, Mother. In fact he's shallow and dishonest."
"Nobody's perfect. There can't be many eligible men of your age."
"Almost none."
"You don't want to end up alone."
Toni smiled to herself. "Somehow I don't think I will."
The traffic thinned out as she left the town center, and the snow lay thick on the road. Maneuvering carefully through a series of roundabouts, she noticed a car close on her tail. Looking in the rearview mirror, she identified it as a light-colored Jaguar sedan.
Carl Osborne was following her.
She pulled over, and he stopped right behind her.
She got out and went to his window. "What now?"
"I'm a reporter, Toni," he said. "It's almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and you're looking after your elderly mother, yet you're in your car and you seem to be heading for the Kremlin. This has to be a story."
"Oh, shit," said Toni.
CHRISTMAS DAY
MIDNIGHT
THE Kremlin looked like something from a fairy tale, with snow falling thickly around its floodlit roofs and towers. As the van with "Hibernian Telecom" on its side approached the main gate, Kit had a momentary fancy that he was the Black Knight riding up to besiege the place.
He felt relieved to get here. The storm was turning into a full-scale blizzard, contrary to the forecast, and the journey from the airfield had taken longer than expected. The delay made him fearful. Every minute that passed made it more likely that snags would threaten his elaborate plan.
The phone call from Toni Gallo worried him. He had put her through to Steve Tremlett, fearing that if he played her a fault message she might drive to the Kremlin to find out what was going on. But, having listened in to the conversation, Kit thought she might do that anyway. It was lousy bad luck that she was in Inverburn, instead of at a spa fifty miles away.
The first of the two barriers lifted, and Elton moved the van forward and drew level with the gatehouse. There were two guards in the booth, as Kit expected. Elton wound down the window. A guard leaned out and said, "We're glad to see you laddies."
Kit did not know the man but, recalling his conversation with Hamish, he realized it must be Willie Crawford. Looking past him, Kit saw Hamish himself.
Willie said, "It's good of you to come out at Christmas."
"All part of the job," Elton said.
"Three of you, is it?"
"Plus Goldilocks in the back."
A low snarl came from behind. "Watch your mouth, shitface."
Kit suppressed a groan. How could they squabble at such a crucial moment?
Nigel murmured, "Knock it off, you two."
Willie did not appear to have heard the exchange. He said, "I need to see identification for everyone, please."
They all took out their faked cards. Elton had based them on Kit's recollection of what the Hibernian Telecom pass looked like. The phone system rarely broke down, so Kit had figured no guard was likely to remember what a genuine pass looked like. Now, with a security guard scrutinizing the cards as if they were dubious fifty-pound notes, Kit held his breath.
Willie wrote down the name from each card. Then he handed them all back without comment. Kit looked away and allowed himself to breathe again.
"Drive to the main entrance," Willie said. "You'll be all right if you stay between the lampposts." The road ahead was invisible, covered with snow. "At reception you'll find a Mr. Tremlett who can tell you where to go."
The second barrier lifted, and Elton pulled forward.
They were inside.
Kit felt sick with
fear. He had broken the law before, with the scam that got him fired, but that had not felt like crime, it was more like cheating at cards, something he had done since he was eleven years old. This was a straightforward burglary, and he could go to jail. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate. He thought of the enormous sum he owed Harry Mac. He remembered the blind terror he had felt this morning, when Daisy held his head under water and he thought he was dying. He had to go through with this.
Nigel said quietly to Elton, "Try not to aggravate Daisy."
"It was just a joke," Elton said defensively.
"She's got no sense of humor."
If Daisy heard, she did not respond.
Elton parked at the main entrance and they got out. Kit carried his laptop. Nigel and Daisy took tool boxes from the back of the van. Elton had an expensive-looking burgundy leather briefcase, very slim with a brass catch--typical of his taste, but a bit odd for a telephone repairman, Kit thought.
They passed between the stone lions of the porch and entered the Great Hall. Low security lights intensified the churchlike look of the Victorian architecture: the mullioned windows, the pointed arches, and the serried timbers of the roof. The dimness made no difference to the security cameras, which--Kit knew--worked by infrared light.
At the modern reception desk in the middle of the hall were two more guards. One was an attractive young woman Kit did not recognize, and the other was Steve Tremlett. Kit hung back, not wanting Steve to look at him too closely. "You'll want to access the central processing unit," Steve said.
Nigel answered. "That's the place to start."
Steve raised his eyebrows at the London accent, but made no comment. "Susan will show you the way--I need to stay by the phone."
Susan had short hair and a pierced eyebrow. She wore a shirt with epaulettes, a tie, dark serge uniform trousers, and black lace-up shoes. She gave them a friendly smile and led them along a corridor paneled in dark wood.
A weird calm seemed to descend on Kit. He was inside, being escorted by a security guard, about to rob the place. He felt fatalistic. The cards had been dealt, he had placed his bet, there was nothing to do now but play out his hand, win or lose.
They entered the control room.
The place was cleaner and tidier than Kit remembered, with all cables neatly stowed and logbooks in a row on a shelf. He presumed that was Toni's influence. Here also there were two guards instead of one. They sat at the long desk, watching the monitors. Susan introduced them as Don and Stu. Don was a dark-skinned south Indian with a thick Glasgow accent, and Stu was a freckled redhead. Kit did not recognize either one. An extra guard was no big deal, Kit told himself: just another pair of eyes to shield things from, another brain to be distracted, another person to be lulled into apathy.