Defend or Die

by Tom Marcus

  Part of me wanted to see what happened next, but I knew a window of opportunity when I saw one. Riccardi was on his feet, obviously weighing up whether intervening would make things better or worse. His two heavies were cautiously approaching the booth, no doubt wondering the same thing.

  I walked smartly between the tables and out through the door. Alex would have to fend for herself. Hopefully no one would bother too much with a call girl who could plausibly claim she’d never met me before tonight and had no idea who I was. I marched past the brunette without making eye contact and yanked the street door open, then I was up the steps and quickly jogging down the street.

  It was only when I got to Berkeley Square and sat down on a bench that I realized how fast my heart was racing. Too fucking close, I thought.

  I waited ten minutes. I reckoned I’d give her twenty and then call it a night. If Alex hadn’t made it out of there by then, the plods had got hold of her and were giving her a grilling.

  Three minutes later Alex appeared, holding her stilettos in one hand and a wine glass in the other. She plonked herself down and started rubbing her feet with her free hand.

  ‘Fucking things.’

  ‘You made it out all right, then?’

  ‘There’s a reason they don’t wear high heels in the hundred metres, you know.’ She rubbed some more. ‘Yeah, no problem. I tagged along when a party of four got up and left. No one gave me a second look.’ She took a swig of her drink.

  ‘Good girl.’

  ‘You reckon you got some decent pics, then?’

  I shrugged. ‘I fucking hope so. If you want some more you can go back and get them yourself.’

  She tossed back the last of her drink and threw the glass into the bushes. ‘Right then, let’s go back to the office and see who it is that’s got Viktor so riled up.’

  18

  It turns out wearing a concealed camera is a little bit like firing a rifle from the hip. Instinctively you aim along your sight line, as if you’re looking down the barrel, without compensating for the fact that the camera is actually at a different angle to the target. I’d used a similar device before, but both times the target had been up close, and I couldn’t really miss. Looking at the images on Alan’s laptop, I realized I’d been trying too hard to see the guy Shlovsky was meeting for myself, and not thinking about where the camera was pointing. It looked like CCTV footage from a shopping centre, pictures of a fuzzy blob that could have been anyone.

  Jesus, what a fucking amateur.

  Thank fuck their shouting match eventually spilled out of the booth. It was almost as if he was posing for the camera. He even glanced towards Titov as he lumbered out of his chair.

  Alan pressed a key to freeze the footage. ‘Got him.’

  Alex squeezed my shoulder. ‘Good job, Logan.’

  ‘More by fucking luck than judgement,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘If they’d stayed nice and cosy in their booth, we would have got fuck all.’

  ‘So that’s Rabid Dog,’ Ryan said.

  Mrs Allenby leaned closer. ‘Well, he’s certainly very well groomed.’

  I had to admit I was impressed with the old bird. It was gone two in the morning, and she was bright as a button, making a pot of strong coffee for us all and bustling around with a lot more energy and enthusiasm than I felt, if I was honest. Maybe I’d been wrong to doubt her.

  ‘Anyone recognize him?’ she added.

  Head shakes all round.

  ‘Let me double-check the membership list again, just in case,’ Ryan said, going back to his work station and firing up his laptop.

  The rest of us carried on looking at the face on the screen, as if staring at him for long enough was going to tell us who he was.

  ‘I think if I was going to give him a nickname, it would be some sort of bird of prey, not a dog,’ Mrs Allenby mused. ‘That nose, those black eyes, the rather cruel mouth. He has the look of a predator.’

  ‘Does he look like a terrorist, though?’ I asked.

  Mrs Allenby frowned. ‘Well, that’s hard to tell, of course. As we know to our cost.’

  ‘Definitely not a member,’ Ryan called over. ‘Let me run him through the usual databases and see if we can get a hit.’

  That was definitely our best bet. But it depended on Rabid Dog already being on somebody’s watch list. What if he’d been under the radar until now? A minor Middle Eastern royal happily playing the part of a mega-rich playboy, just biding his time until the opportunity came to strike?

  But if that was the case, how did Shlovsky zero in on him?

  I rubbed my hand over my face. The truth was, it was all bollocks until we had a name.

  Mrs Allenby turned to Ryan. ‘How long do you think it might take?’

  Ryan pulled at his ponytail. ‘No way of knowing. Depends on how deep he’s buried. There are some databases I’m still trying to access, but it’s tricky.’

  Mrs Allenby gave him a thin smile. ‘It’s supposed to be tricky, Mr Oldfield. It’s what we call national security. We don’t want any Tom, Dick or Harry hacking into them. In fact, I think I will have rather mixed feelings if you do manage it.’

  Alex put an arm round Ryan’s broad shoulders as he worked. ‘It’s a good thing Ryan’s on our side, then, isn’t it?’

  I got up and put my hands behind my head, stretching out my neck muscles. There was no point just hanging around while Ryan went through the laborious process of putting Rabid Dog’s face through every terror suspect list he could get access to. And there was no way I was going to sleep; I was too wired for that, and Mrs Allenby’s killer coffee hadn’t helped. But I was too tired to make any sort of positive contribution to things. I needed to clear my head before I could get back in the game and help the team. What I really fancied was a good, hard run, preferably up a bastard of a mountain. But I’d settle for a long walk along the river.

  ‘I’m just going to get some air. Ping me if we get a name.’

  Mrs Allenby nodded.

  ‘Take care,’ Alex said, with a meaningful look.

  ‘Always.’

  Out on the street, I realized I still had my tie on. I pulled it off and put it in my pocket. I took a deep breath. The air was crisp and cool. I headed south, not really knowing where I was going. It was almost three in the morning and nobody was about, unless you counted the homeless people sleeping in doorways. I rummaged in my pockets for change and put a handful under the ratty-looking sleeping bag of one guy who was spark out in front of a shop full of wedding dresses. I hoped he’d find it before anyone else did.

  As I walked on, increasing my pace, I felt the last traces of adrenaline from our emergency exit from the club leaving my system. With a bit of luck, Mr Riccardi would have had his hands full smoothing things over with Shlovsky and Rabid Dog, and the mysterious Mr Schmidt would be forgotten. We’d got away with it. And we now had a better than even chance of identifying the man Shlovsky was so anxious about meeting.

  We were getting somewhere at last.

  I turned the corner at the end of the street and smelled the river. At this time of night you could imagine it like it must have been before Londoners started dumping all their crap into it, from used condoms to dead bodies. I leaned out over the embankment wall and looked down at the water. Over to my right, I could see the street lamps on Battersea Bridge. It seemed like as good a place to go as any.

  As I strolled along the Chelsea Embankment, I suppose I should have been more worried about being followed. But with the streets so empty, it would have been hard to tail me effectively, even for real pros, so I reckoned I could afford to take my eye off the ball a bit. There was also a part of me, to be honest, that was hoping they would have another crack. I was tired of trying to figure out what was going on. I wanted to see the bastards face to face.

  I stopped and looked at the water for a bit, then turned and surveyed the street. Plenty of cabs and Toyota Priuses on the prowl, but the traffic kept on flowing and nothing else caught my attention
. I went on and stepped onto the bridge. The breeze was stronger here and I started to shiver.

  On the other side a couple were walking unsteadily arm in arm, laughing and hanging on to each other to stay upright. I watched them to the end of the bridge, where they stopped to flag down a cab, then I turned back and kept walking.

  As I got to the middle of the bridge, I saw a figure looking out over the river. It was a woman: tall and pale with long black hair. But there was something odd about her. She wasn’t leaning against the wall; she was just standing a foot away, stock-still, arms by her sides, like a soldier on parade. I wondered what the hell she was doing, how long she’d been standing like that.

  As I got nearer I could see the breeze whipping her hair around her face. But she didn’t try to brush it away. It was like she was made of stone.

  I was six feet away now, and she must have clocked me in her peripheral vision, but she didn’t turn to look at me. She was focused very intently on something in front of her, something that only she could see.

  I held my breath. Something in the way she held herself struck a chord. Suddenly I knew exactly what she was about to do.

  Before I could move she’d reached forward and hoisted herself onto the top of the wall. She stood there for a moment, looking down into the water, then I sensed everything in her body going loose, letting everything go.

  I hurled myself forward and just managed to wrap my arms around her knees before she tipped forward. She cried out as we both tumbled back onto the walkway. I felt a lightning bolt of pain shoot up my arm as I took most of our weight on my elbow.

  Fuck.

  She picked herself up and I thought for a second she was going to have another go. If she did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop her. I felt her wavering. Then she saw me cradling my elbow.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Her voice was deeper than I’d expected.

  I couldn’t help grinning. ‘Am I all right? You’re the one that’s just tried to top herself.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking down at her feet.

  ‘Don’t be,’ I said. ‘I’m glad I was in the right place at the right time for once.’

  I looked at her. She seemed lost. I reckoned I knew how she must be feeling. All those hours and hours screwing up your courage to do it, then you finally close your eyes and pull the trigger and . . . you open your eyes and here you are again, back where you started.

  ‘Look, my name’s Logan.’

  She nodded. ‘Lucy.’

  ‘Hello, Lucy.’

  We stood looking at each other. What now?

  I started talking to fill the awkward silence, not really knowing what was about to come out of my mouth.

  ‘I had a go at it once. You know, trying to kill myself.’

  ‘Really? How did it go?’

  There was a pause, then we both started laughing.

  She put a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I smiled. ‘It’s fine. I totally cocked it up. As you can see.’

  She tried to smile, but I could see the moment had passed. The adrenaline was draining out of her body, the crazy rush of finally letting go was gone, and all the sadness and pain that had made her want to do it in the first place was seeping back.

  ‘What I meant was, I’ve been there. I know what it’s like.’

  ‘OK,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘So if you want to talk about it . . .’

  ‘You could help?’

  ‘I could try.’

  She smiled sadly. ‘You’ve saved my life. I can’t expect you to mend a broken heart, too.’

  I smiled back. ‘You’re right. That might be too much. In one evening, anyway.’

  She looked at me, searching for something in my eyes. ‘You don’t have to worry, you know.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘That I’ll do it again. Try to do it again, I mean.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, it took all I had to do it once. I think I’m just . . . I don’t know . . . too tired now.’

  I nodded. I knew how that felt, too. But eventually she’d find the strength again. I could see that in her eyes. And this time there might not be anyone on hand to stop her.

  ‘Look, can I give you my number? In case you want to talk.’

  She patted the pockets of her long cardigan and smiled. ‘I left my phone at home. Didn’t want it getting wet. How stupid is that?’

  I found a ballpoint in my jacket pocket. In my wallet was an old train ticket. I scribbled down my number and held it out.

  ‘Please.’

  As she took it our fingers touched. Hers were icy cold.

  Just then my phone pinged. She saw my expression as I looked at the message.

  ‘You need to go,’ she said.

  19

  I was looking at the face of the man Shlovsky called Rabid Dog, but my mind kept drifting back to the woman on the bridge.

  Lucy.

  I realized that was all I knew about her: her name. What had led her to that dark place where there’s no hope left? She’d said she had a broken heart, but I didn’t think she was the type to end it all over some bloke who’d ditched her. No, her heart was properly broken into bits, like mine had been, leaving nothing but a big hole where all the pain rushes in.

  I’d stopped her from killing herself, but I couldn’t help wondering if all I’d done was delay the inevitable. Maybe she was on her way home now, figuring out Plan B. Pills, maybe: something where some interfering bastard can’t put a spanner in the works.

  ‘Are you all right, Logan?’ Alex was giving me the once-over. ‘You look like you’ve been in a fight.’

  I looked down. I’d torn a hole in one knee of my trousers and my jacket was scuffed where I’d fallen on my elbow.

  ‘Walked into a lamp post. Just knackered, that’s all.’

  ‘Right . . .’ She gave me a look which meant, We’ll talk about this later.

  I turned to Ryan. ‘So, who’s our boy?’

  ‘Danilo Melnyk.’

  ‘Not a Saudi princeling, then,’ Mrs Allenby said.

  ‘Nope,’ Ryan said. ‘He’s Ukrainian. From Kiev.’

  ‘This looks like a booking photo,’ I said.

  Ryan nodded. ‘Top marks. Melnyk was arrested in Paris in 2007. Currency irregularities. Money-laundering to you and me. He’s a banker, basically. But it looked like some of the businesses he chose to invest in were not exactly kosher. Like drug smuggling, for instance.’

  ‘Did he do time?’

  ‘No, it looks like they didn’t have enough to charge him and the French cut him loose. He went back home for a couple of years, then pitched up in London in 2010.’

  ‘And since then?’

  ‘He’s been investing in various businesses, but it’s hard to see where his money’s been coming from. There’s chatter he’s still involved in drugs, and the NCA have an ongoing interest, but he’s managed to keep his nose clean up to now.’

  I rubbed my eyes. My arm was beginning to freeze up but I didn’t want to draw attention to it. I got up and walked over to the kitchen area, trying to think it all through. I filled the kettle and switched it on. I needed more coffee.

  I leaned on the counter and glanced over at the team. ‘He’s basically the bag man for a drug gang, then.’

  ‘Looks like it,’ Ryan agreed.

  ‘So how’s he going to organize a terror attack?’

  Ryan frowned. ‘Hard to figure that one.’

  ‘But they had a meeting about something. An urgent meeting, and they argued. What else could it have been about?’ Mrs Allenby asked. ‘Unless Shlovsky’s suddenly decided to get involved in the drugs trade.’

  Alex had been very quiet. She was looking at something she’d written on a notepad, rocking back and forth in her chair.

  ‘Shit.’

  Mrs Allenby looked at her over her glasses. ‘Miss Short?’

  ‘I think I might have an idea,’ Alex said. ‘Alan, can y
ou play the tape?’

  Alan switched on his laptop. ‘Sure. Give me a minute?’

  ‘What tape?’ I asked.

  ‘Alan picked up another conversation.’

  ‘From Shlovsky’s office?’

  ‘No, from Ekaterina’s dressing room.’

  I frowned. ‘How does that help us? You’re not telling us she’s the one trying to set up the terror attack, are you?’

  Alex ignored me. ‘Just have a listen.’

  We crowded round Alan’s laptop. ‘Sorry, that’s just her moving around. OK, now she’s hitting the speed dial. Here we go.’

  I folded my arms and listened. She had quite a nice voice, sort of musical. And she put a lot of emotion into it, in a Russian sort of way.

  But that was the point. She was speaking Russian. For all I could tell she was ordering a takeaway.

  I looked at Alex and shrugged my shoulders. She held a finger up. ‘Just wait.’

  Another minute of sing-song Russian and there it was.

  ‘Stasi.’

  I listened more closely.

  ‘OK, this next bit,’ Alex said.

  ‘Stasi, Stasi, Stasi . . .’

  ‘She says it thirteen times in three minutes.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, still not getting it. ‘Do we know who she’s talking to?’

  ‘I think so,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve managed to translate some of it. Nothing very earth-shattering, I’m afraid. It’s mostly just girly chit-chat. I think she’s talking to her daughter. Anastasia.’

  Mrs Allenby smiled and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Or Stasi for short.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘OK . . .’ I said slowly. ‘That makes sense. But where does it get us?’

  Mrs Allenby looked at me as if I was the class dunce. ‘Shlovsky used the word “Stasi” when he was setting up the meeting with Melnyk. He was quite irate, as I recall. Why do you think that might be?’