The Russian Doll (Ben Sign Book 3)

by Matthew Dunn

  Elizabeth ate her food. “I loved the peace and quiet in Godalming. But, I missed the vibrancy of London.”

  Archer poured them wine. “I’ve taken tomorrow off to help you settle in. Is there anything you’d like to do?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Nothing special. I just want to get orientated. Depending on the weather I might take myself out on the scooter. How’s your new job?”

  “It’s going okay. It’s high pressure though.”

  “Any news on Susan?”

  “Not yet. My team are still digging.”

  Elizabeth drank her wine. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you about her.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t. But you did and I understand why. If she’s alive, I’ll find her and bring her here.” She added a few drops of Worcester Sauce to her meal. “What do I need to do to help you in the house?”

  “Nothing. I can use the bathroom on my own; the bed is perfect; you’ve got a tumble dryer, so I don’t need to worry about hanging up wet clothes; I’ll get the measure of the local shops and if they’re not up to scratch I’ll order online; and I’m not stupid – I know my capabilities and limitations. I won’t do anything that puts me at risk.” She smiled. “Actually, there is one thing you can do to help – you can teach me how to use your TV. From what I’ve seen you’ve got three remote controllers and beneath the TV are electrical boxes of this that and the other. I don’t know where to start.”

  “I’ll write you a list of instructions.” Archer was proud of the meal she’d cooked. “You know, mum, there are times I’m required to work odd hours. I don’t travel so much these days, but there will still be times when I’ll need to go away for a bit.”

  “I have two sets of spare keys. I won’t be housebound when you’re away.”

  “I know. But what I wanted to say is that most of the time I work during the day and come home in the evening. When I get home I have a bit of a routine. I cook or order a takeaway, have a bath or shower, pour myself a glass of wine or make a cup of tea, and watch something on Netflix or Sky. I don’t tend to read because I spend a chunk of my day reading intelligence reports. I like to decompress by doing relaxing things.”

  “And you like to do so alone.” Elizabeth fully understood. “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t get in your way. I get tired between seven and eight in the evening. Either the medication does that or it’s just an age thing. Or it’s a combination. Regardless, when I’m tired I go to bed. I won’t be in your way and you won’t be in my way.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like…”

  “I know. It’ll be fine.” She placed her knife and fork down. “You know I don’t have long in this world. This is just a temporary arrangement.”

  “Don’t speak like that.”

  “Face facts, Jayne. Soon – maybe months or maybe a year or so – I’ll die in this house or while driving my scooter alongside the river. I’m just happy to be here for my closing chapter. By the way – tomorrow I’m going to cook us a lovely lasagne with some French beans on the side.”

  Archer smiled. “That will be lovely. Do you want me to buy the ingredients?”

  “Don’t you dare.” Elizabeth finished her wine and smiled. “It will be liberating to A-Z prepare and cook a meal. I don’t need fussing over.” She yawned. “I’ll load the dishwasher and head to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  Archer squeezed her mother’s hand. “It’s good to have you home.”

  CHAPTER 10

  At six AM the following morning, Sign, Knutsen, Gregor, and Natalia were outside of the house. Yuri backed his car towards them, stopped, and loaded the travellers’ luggage into the boot of the vehicle. The air was crisp; there was frost on the ground; the lake was calm.

  Knutsen crouched, gently wrapped his arms around Lenin’s head, and held him against his chest. “I’ve got to go now, fella. Remember the training. You’ll do fine when it’s time for you to leave.” He stepped back.

  Lenin looked at him.

  Knutsen nodded.

  Lenin arched his back and howled at the sky.

  Gregor walked up to Knutsen. “He knows you’re going. It makes him sad, but also stronger. Now, more than ever, he wants his mate. He’s just called to her and he will continue doing so for days, weeks, and months until she comes. If she doesn’t come, he will leave to find her. I will let him.” He held out his hand. “Goodbye Mr. Tank Engine. The journey isn’t over just because you have sight of a port. You understand?”

  Knutsen understood. “I’ll look after her until the job’s done.” He shook his hand. “Thank you for being such a good host.”

  Gregor walked to Natalia and placed his hands on her arms. “You are British now.” He smiled. “Learn to say please and thank you. Avoid black pudding and haggis.” He kissed her on both cheeks.

  Natalia and Knutsen got into the car.

  Gregor walked to Sign.

  Both men stared at the lake.

  Gregor said, “When it happens, show no mercy.”

  “There’ll be no mercy.”

  Gregor breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled. “You’ll come back one day?”

  “Of course.” Sign turned to him. “My brother.” He hugged him.

  The two men didn’t need to say anything else.

  Sign got into the car.

  Yuri drove them out of the farmstead.

  Gregor watched them until the car was no longer visible. Then he whistled to Lenin. “Come on boy. It’s just you and me for the day, until Yuri gets back tonight. I’m thinking we should go for a long walk. Maybe we could bag ourselves a couple of rabbits.” When Lenin was by his side, Gregor looked at the empty lane and quietly said, “Keep moving; steady as she goes.”

  Five hours later the letter arrived.

  It was addressed to Archer.

  Her name and address were handwritten on the white envelope. Archer didn’t like that. This wasn’t a utility bill and she never received personal letters. She held it for a moment at her front door before going into the kitchen, sitting at the table, swigging her coffee, and opening the letter. She stared at in disbelief. Aside from the letter, there was a photo. The letter said:

  Dear Miss Jayne Archer

  I am writing on behalf of interested parties who live east of you.

  You may or may not know that you have a twin sister, Susan Archer. I am happy to report that she is alive and well. She has just been made aware of your existence. She is unmarried, has no children, and works as a clerical assistant. I’m sure you’d like to meet her and return with her to your family home – either for a visit or for a permanent reunion. This can happen on one condition. You will be required to help me and my colleagues with a major problem. Your task will not be arduous. All I require is for you to give me a name. If you do that, your sister will be placed in your care. If you don’t, the consequences for Susan will be dire.

  You and I will meet tomorrow at midnight in the centre of Quaibrücke Bridge, Zurich, Switzerland. Susan will be close by. If you bring police or covert operatives, Susan will be instantly shot in the back of the head.

  We know who you work for and we know your position within your organisation.

  If you give me the name we desire, you and Susan will never hear from us again. If you give me a false name, you and Susan will have the Sword of Damocles hanging over you. One day that sword will fall with unforgiving accuracy.

  Take a look at the photo. She looks just like you.

  Travel under your own passport. Susan will be carrying her passport. It has a valid visa to travel to the UK. She will also be carrying one thousand dollars for flight and associated costs to get to your home. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.

  Archer looked at the photo and ran in to the lounge. Her mother was in there, reading a newspaper. “Is this her, mum? Do you think this could be Susan?” Her hand trembled as she handed the photo to Elizabeth.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Archer lied. “My team.”
/>   Elizabeth was unblinking as she examined the shot. “It’s Susan.”

  “I know she looks like me but how can you be sure?!”

  Elizabeth placed a finger on the photo. “It’s not just the resemblance. She has a half-moon birthmark on her chin. Susan was born with the exact same birthmark.” She looked up at Archer. Her eyes were watering. “Jayne – this is your sister.”

  Archer’s heart was pounding.

  Elizabeth asked, “Where is she?”

  “Overseas. I can’t yet tell you where. I can’t tell anyone about this. But, I’m going to try to bring her here.”

  “Will there be a price to pay for getting her here?”

  Archer slumped into a chair and held her head in her hands. “Yes.”

  “Is the price reasonable?”

  Archer didn’t respond.

  In a sterner voice, Elizabeth repeated, “Is the price reasonable?”

  Archer looked at her. “I don’t know what the price is. But, whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

  It was late evening when Sign, Knutsen, and Natalia were told by the ship’s captain that it was safe to leave the on-board container that was one of eighty five on the boat. The vessel had left Russian waters and the three of them were now free to move around the ship. They’d been given a three-bed cabin, close to the engine room; had access to a tiny bathroom that was shared by eight other sailors; and would eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the galley canteen. Sign had told the skipper that they must work their passage. Sign would help out in the galley, Knutsen would work in the engine room, and Natalia would help with any required repairs and maintenance. They’d start their chores tomorrow. The other sailors were a mixed bunch of Russian, Chinese, Indians, and Albanians. They didn’t care about the presence of three strangers on their boat. They were used to smuggling people, drugs, exotic animals, cash, and precious metals. It’s why they were loyal to their skipper. He paid them four times more than the normal salary for a sailor.

  Knutsen, and Natalia were on the starboard side of the deck. It was dark, the only lights coming from the ship’s electric bulbs. Russia wasn’t visible. They were in open waters.

  But, Natalia looked in the direction of Russia and said, “The divorce has come through. Sad really, isn’t it?”

  Knutsen replied, “Not when one of the parties in the marriage is a cunt.”

  “That’s sort of true. But there are always two people to blame. I’m not some idiot woman who repeatedly mentally abuses her husband and goads him in to slapping her, then raises her voice three octaves when the cops arrive and pretends to be the victim so that they can arrest him and take him away. I betrayed my country. I’m anything but a victim. But, then there’s the cooling down period. Husband and wife might have a moment to work out what went wrong.” She raised her eyebrows. “It’s too late now. No cooling down period. No reconciliation.”

  Knutsen nodded as he looked out to sea and felt the salty air on his face. “Where do you think you’ll live in Britain?”

  “I don’t know. I like the countryside but I may be too exposed there. Maybe a big town or city. You can be more anonymous there. Do you have any recommendations?”

  “Maybe Bristol, Bath, or Exeter. I grew up around there. It’s a nice part of the country.”

  “Maybe.” Natalia looked at him. “What will you do when you get back to England?”

  Knutsen leaned against the ship’s rail. “I’ll help Ben close this job. After that, we’ll shift to the next thing.” He looked over his shoulder at Natalia. “It’s funny when I hear myself using the word job. It sounds so impersonal, doesn’t it?”

  Natalia walked to his side and placed her hands on the rail. “Do you have a wife?”

  Knutsen smiled but not because he was happy. “In my head, yes. In reality no. The woman I loved died.”

  “Ben told me the same about his partner. My brother killed himself. My parents are dead.” She breathed in deeply. “The hardest part about grief is when grief no longer features.”

  “Yeah. We move on. It sucks.” Knutsen turned and rested against the rail. “How do you fall out of love with a dead woman? Self-preservation, I guess. The memories become too painful.”

  Natalia touched his hand.

  Knutsen looked at her. He wrapped his fingers around hers.

  “I’m cold.” She placed her body against his. “You smell of Lenin.”

  Knutsen laughed, placed his arms around her, and held her firm. “At some point in the next year or so, I’ll go back and see the wolf. If he’s in the wild, I’ll find him. He’ll recognise me. I hope he has a mate and cubs. And I hope he’ll introduce me to his family.”

  “He will. He loves and respects you. You’re his father. Or his big brother. Or his mentor. Certainly you’re his pack leader.” Natalia rested her head against his chest. “Very few men can achieve that with a highly intelligent savage beast. Lenin’s frame of reference is not dissimilar to that of humans. When we left, he howled because he missed you and wanted love from a female wolf.”

  Knutsen was stock still, just holding her. “He’s persistent. He’ll find love.”

  “And you, pack leader?”

  “I was an undercover cop. I lived for months, and sometimes years at a time, in the most godawful environments. The movies portray men like me as living on their nerves. It’s not like that in reality. We become other personalities. We’ll do anything to prove ourselves to the scumbags we have to mix with. We become a scumbag. That’s how we survive the darkness and the fucking blood. There were no nerves, nor any room for love.”

  She touched his face. “But you are not that now, da? You are Thomas.”

  He looked at her. “No one calls me Thomas. My name’s Tom Knutsen.”

  “Tom. Yes, that’s a good name. Knutsen? You are Scandinavian?”

  “In DNA only. I don’t know. In fact I don’t know much shit about any of my family background. Fucking orphanages will do that to a kid.”

  She stared at him.

  He held her gaze.

  They both smiled.

  Then they walked inside.

  Archer called the deputy head of the Russia Department and told him that she was urgently needed in Europe tomorrow to meet one of her agents. She instructed him to hold the fort while she was away and that she’d most likely be back in the office mid-afternoon the day after. After she ended the call she poured herself a glass of wine. There was nothing more that could be done today. Earlier she’d booked a hotel in Zurich and a flight, and packed an overnight bag. She’d be arriving in Switzerland at 1500hrs tomorrow.

  She took her wine into the lounge and sat on the sofa. Her mother was sleeping in her room. Archer was glad. She wanted solitude so that she could collect her thoughts. What secret did the sender of the letter want from her? It had to be significant, given they were willing to exchange Susan for the information. And the letter used the word name. That could refer to a building or facility. More likely it was the name of a person. She was in no doubt that the letter was sent from the Russians; more specifically, SVR, FSB, or GRU. Her value in the Zurich meeting was because she had access to MI6 secrets about Russia. But, what secret did they want? Something that was hurting them the most. The name of a Russian traitor who was working for the British, Europeans, or Americans and selling out Russian assets.

  Archer sipped her wine. She’d not heard from Sign during his trip to Moscow; ditto Natalia. But that wasn’t unusual. They were only supposed to contact her if there was an emergency. Even then, Sign would deal with the emergency, rather than involve MI6. She was certain Sign had made no progress in tracking her sister. Now, that was a good thing. Another chess move was in play and it was to her advantage. She had to make her move with her unknown opponent. All that mattered was getting her sister to London. She’d lie about how she found her. It would be easy. If asked by the chief of MI6, she’d say some of her Russian agents – who couldn’t be named – found Susan and got her out of Russia. It woul
d be hushed up. She’d get a pat on the back from the chief. Susan would be given the right to abode in the United Kingdom. The matter would be closed.

  Sign and Knutsen had failed, she decided. They were no longer of use to her.

  Natalia’s value to MI6 was now irrelevant. .

  After all, she was the traitor who the Russians wanted to identify.

  Forget trying to help her regain her courage.

  Archer now had a wholly different use for Natalia Asina.

  Archer had only become her case officer when she’d been recently promoted to run the department. And that’s when Natalia had stalled. MI6 peers had acted sympathetic to Archer. These things happen, they’d told her. Try your best to get her back on track. But if you can’t, no one will think of you as a failure. It was that word – failure. Everyone who’d spoken to Archer, and was cleared to know about Natalia, had dropped that word into their conversations with her. It was not only embarrassing. Her colleagues were very deliberately giving her a subliminal message.

  We’re judging you on the Natalia case.

  Archer had spent a lifetime getting to where she was in MI6. And she didn’t want her career to peak now. She wanted much more.

  Natalia could be disposed of in a way that made Archer happy and everyone else happy. Archer would get her sister back. And, because Natalia was caught out by the Russians, the headache Natalia had created would vanish and no one would bandy around the word failure anymore. On the contrary, Archer would be branded a hero within MI6 and Whitehall because she’d inherited a lost cause but had still tried her best to give Natalia courage.