“Listen, I barely knew the guy. But I liked him.” He shook his head. “Ben’s in Georgia?”
He said it with disbelief but there was no reason to be surprised. It was a miracle he wasn’t at one of the poles.
“Ike, you’re sodden. Do you want to come in?”
He did, of course. This was the only place that offered him noise and laughter and the healthy purpose of family life—in short spells, maybe, and not regularly, but he loved it here nonetheless. In his mind it was always full of talk and warm light. His own house was old, quiet, beautiful, and in it he felt like a passing tenant; this was a home, and to be a part of it from time to time had given him a glimpse of a sort of happiness from which he feared being completely separated. Elsa it was, he was fairly sure, who had been acute enough to spot this lack in him and kind enough to try to fill it.
“No. Really. Better that I keep running.” He smiled. Tried his best, absurdly, to sound breezy. “I like the rain this time of year.”
“You’re sure? Is everything OK?”
“Everything’s fine. Just an old case that’s come alive again.”
No, he wanted to say. Everything is listing pretty badly and for once, after half a lifetime of being paid to be clever and decisive, I don’t really know what to do. I thought I did, but standing here I’m losing certainty.
“How are the kids?”
“They’re fine. I was reading to Nancy.”
“I’m sorry. You go.”
She gave him that reserved, searching look that meant she wasn’t fully persuaded.
“You look terrible. Come in. Really. You read to her. She’d love it.”
It seemed a scarcely imaginable pleasure, after the day he had had, to be in Nancy’s room, reading to his goddaughter from a story that had no mention of policemen or mining companies or hacking or prisons. And yet he couldn’t. To come and go and not tell Elsa why he was here was one thing; to be in her house and read to her daughter—to draw comfort from her family even as he prepared to fracture it—that was as repugnant to him as it would be to her.
Regret filling him, Hammer forced a final smile. Another thing Ben had fucked up.
“I’ll go. He won’t want me here when he gets back. Send her all my love.”
“If you’re sure.”
“It was good to see you.”
“You, too.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Should be.”
“Have him call me. First thing.”
There was regret in her smile, too, he thought, as he turned away to make the short run home.
NINE
Hammer was expecting to be marched from the cells into the nearest police car and driven directly to the airport, but instead he was taken back to the first room and left to wait. No cuffs, and an open door: a test, perhaps, or a trap. Much later he would wonder whether it had been a show.
A minute or two passed. He got up, stuck his head out of the door, smiled at the uniformed policeman standing guard. So he wasn’t free to leave.
“You speak English?”
The guard turned his head, uncomprehending.
“You fancy a nice watch?” Hammer pulled his cuff up, showed him the watch. “It’s a Rolex. Real. Worth real money.” He rubbed the fingers of one hand together then began to unbuckle the strap. The guard frowned but leaned in a little. Maybe, if this all worked out, he could come back and buy it back off the bastard.
Above the shouting and the doors opening and closing and the general hubbub he became aware of voices raised outside—a single voice, in fact, a woman’s, strong and keen. The guard stiffened and gruffly turned Hammer back toward the room he had just left, pushing him inside.
It was the first time Hammer had heard Georgian spoken by a woman and it took on a different quality, musical but piercing. Someone was getting a dressing-down, and between her controlled, angry questions Hammer heard a man grunting short apologies in reply.
After a minute or two of this, the policeman who had questioned him earlier appeared in the doorway, pushed forward by a woman in a black suit who was slight and full of fury.
“Mr. Hammer,” she said, “please listen.”
Hammer looked from her rigid face to the policeman, whose head was bowed, all the petty menace gone from his little black eyes.
“Sorry,” said the policeman, closing his eyes as the words came out.
The woman stiffened. “Look up,” she said, emphasis on each word. “Again.”
“Sorry,” he said, just meeting Hammer’s eye.
“That’s OK,” said Hammer, not sure what he was witnessing.
“Go,” said the woman.
Still stooping, the policeman left.
The woman came round to the side of the desk and offered Hammer her hand. Hammer rose to shake it.
“Mr. Hammer. It is an honor.”
The anger in her face had slipped into a smile as easily as snow melting in the sun.
“It is?”
“I am Elene Vekua. I work for the Foreign Ministry. I am sorry for all that has happened here.” She handed him his wallet and his phone. “These are yours, I think.”
At first sight her face had seemed angled and pointed, as if ruled rather than drawn: a sharp chin and precise cheekbones and an even brow, black hair pulled back from it and tied sleekly behind, thin lips pinched in so that they seemed to disappear. A handsome, unforgiving, symmetrical face, with something regal about it, and something wintry. Watching her force an apology from the policeman, Hammer found it easy to imagine her judging her subjects, and harshly at that.
With the smile everything changed. Austere became welcoming, warmth seemed to fill her pale gray eyes, and the creases of a frown across her brow were smoothed away. Hammer felt himself not judged but studied, as an ornithologist might appraise a rare bird.
“Our police are not so bad, but they are not international people. They have no idea who you are.”
“I’d be amazed if they did.”
“If they ever looked beyond Georgia they would. Your work is important. Come.”
She stood back and ushered him toward the door.
“We’re done?”
“I will take you to your hotel.”
“How do you know who I am?” said Hammer.
• • •
Whoever Elene Vekua was, she warranted a driver, and a Mercedes—not flash, but a Mercedes nevertheless. She sat down in the back with Hammer, turned slightly to him with her back straight, smoothed her skirt, and held her hands clasped in her lap. No jewelry, he noticed, no polish on her nails, no makeup at all, so that in every detail she suggested sufficiency, a great confidence in what she had. The cut of her suit was elegant, her posture correct, her whole manner that of someone who didn’t need to embellish to be understood, to speak loud to be heard.
Hammer was a careful watcher of people’s devices and tics. From the hard long stares, he had the policeman pinned as ambitious but incompetent; Ben, always circumspect with those he didn’t know, had a habit of absently buttoning and unbuttoning his cuffs. Hammer’s own custom was to place a hand on a person’s upper arm as he went to shake their hand, because it gave the impression that he really was pleased to see them. Most of the time he was.
Vekua was an engager. She held Hammer’s eye as if everything he said was wise and new, smiled just the right amount, asked questions that didn’t flatter him but required answers that did. After his hours in the cell—for which she apologized many times—he felt himself beginning to revive.
It was past one now, and the city was largely quiet, but further along the river they saw groups of police running after the last stubborn protesters, and fires still burned by the grand buildings on the opposite bank. Every so often the driver swerved to avoid pieces of wood and bits of destroyed bus stop and car bumper in the road.
“It always like this?” said Hammer.
“It can seem that way.”
“Looks like my friend picked a good time to come.”
“We are accustomed to it. You are not, I think.”
Hammer had underestimated the tension. Probably Ben had, too. Strange, how hard it was to see a situation until you were in it. He felt his nose, which moved uncertainly under his touch, and shrugged.
“I used to be.”
“The riots are not dangerous. What lies behind is dangerous.”
Hammer waited for her to explain.
“For ten years Georgia has been drunk on her freedom, like a wife who runs from her husband. Russia watches her dance and waits for her to come close enough to snatch back. This is that time. Quietly, through an election. The modern way. And the president knows this.”
“And the other guy? His opponent?”
“He is a friend of Russia. His money comes from men who owe their fortunes to Russia.”
“OK. I get it. So when the bomb goes off, everyone thinks it’s the Russians, because who else would do such a thing, and the president says how terrible, don’t vote for the other guy, he’s a Russian in disguise.”
“Except it went wrong. So now the president is finished.”
“You’re kidding me. That’s how things work around here? Really?”
“Logic gets twisted in Georgia. In the pursuit of survival.” She shook her head with a sort of thoughtful regret. “You more than anyone know that it is difficult to find the truth. In Georgia it is impossible. To be an investigator here you must be happy with half an answer. Or two answers. You must be happy with doubt.”
“What’s your half answer?”
She hesitated, thinking. “Most probably the president did not know. He is a vain man, he thinks he is the center of all things, but he would not do this. He is not evil. And not so crazy.”
“So who did it?”
“In my service there are evil men.”
“Your service?”
“I am a spy, Mr. Hammer. I work for our intelligence agency.”
“You’re very direct.”
“You would find out. Perhaps you know already.” She smiled. “A small group did this for the president. Many of my colleagues, they still hate the Russians.”
The car had slowed to let a convoy of police vans pass, sirens going.
“And Karlo Toreli?” he said.
Vekua held his eye.
“That is a very direct question. And sensitive.”
“I’m like you. I like things direct.”
She continued to watch him, making up her mind.
“You told the police that you have no client.”
“Just me. No oligarchs, no Russians, nothing sinister. On my word.”
“Why are you here, Mr. Hammer? Really?”
To save my hide, he thought. Had she spoken to London?
“To fulfill an obligation.”
With a brisk nod she decided.
“I want to suggest a deal. But it is also my best advice.”
“Please.”
“I will tell you what I know. But then you must leave it alone. Just find your friend. If you investigate the bomb, or Toreli, I cannot protect you.”
“I’m no spy.”
“I know this. I am not an idiot. But these people. They think you have been brought here to save the president before the election. Some think this. Others think you are here to destroy him. How? I asked them.” An incredulous smile. “What would he do? He is one man. But he is a spy, they tell me. There is a plot. The American. He works for the oligarchs who oppose democracy in our country.” She paused and held his eyes with hers. There was fire somewhere behind their level gray, he was sure. “This is a joke. They care nothing for democracy.”
“So I’m famous, huh?”
“At times like this everything has a meaning. Your arrival. Your departure.” Even in the dark of the car her eyes seemed to glow icily. “Do you accept my terms?”
“Go ahead.”
Vekua clasped her hands, utterly serious. This was more like the face he had seen berating the policeman.
“The bomb exploded in Gori, an hour from here. A normal town. Immediately people think of Russia because Gori is close to the border. The target was a normal apartment building, nothing special to it. People were sleeping. A large part of the building was destroyed.”
She paused to let Hammer consider the words. He did; it was hard not to.
“The bomb killed seventeen Georgians and two men who were running from the building. They were rebels, from Dagestan. They set the bomb. We knew them. Their group claimed responsibility.”
“Did they screw up? Or did someone blow it early?”
“The bomb was meant to kill them. Someone wanted them to be found.”
“They were set up.”
“Of course. Whoever was responsible, this is certain. They were running to their car, which was not destroyed. Inside the car were two telephones. Untraceable, clean. One of these phones had received calls from only one other number. We know from network data that all of these calls were made from inside my building. My headquarters. Inside, or near.”
“You’ve got a mole.”
Vekua didn’t respond.
“Do you know who it is?”
“I cannot say.”
She gave him a look that told him this track was closed.
“So this is how it went. Bear with me. Someone in your organization, some renegade group, they get these guys from Dagestan to do the dirty work, and then they send the journalists looking in the wrong direction, and everyone thinks it’s the Russians, because who else would pull a stunt like that. Yes? And then Karlo spills the beans that actually, it’s not your age-old enemy, it’s your government. So what did he find out? What gave the game away?”
“Probably he had a source.”
“No shit.”
Vekua shrugged and held his eye. That’s all I’m giving you. The car had crossed a bridge and turned onto cobbles that shone with the rain that had begun to fall. From inside her jacket she took a business card. The streets were narrow now and dark, but the sparsely set lamps gave just enough light. Colonel Elene Vekua. A colonel; he was flattered.
“This is not an easy country. Not today, certainly. If you need help you can call me.”
“Do you know where my friend is?”
“He has not been arrested. I have checked. There is nothing on our computers.”
The car slowed to a stop in a small courtyard of jumbled old buildings.
“How many hospitals are there in Tbilisi?”
“Not so many. But we would know if he was there.”
“I’m sure you would.” Hammer opened his door. “Why are you helping me?”
Here was the smile at its most deliberate.
“Because I want you to find your friend and leave, as soon as you can. Understand, you are an interesting person. Myself, I am pleased you are here. Georgia is not.”
TEN
One final run hard up the hill to Hampstead and then home. Wednesday was one of Mary’s nights off, and as Hammer turned the key in the lock he found himself hoping that she had decided to stay in, as she sometimes did. No. Even before he saw the oven light on and the usual note on the kitchen table he knew the house was empty.
Good evening, the note said. Will you ever get in at a reasonable hour? I’ll be at my sister’s tonight and will see you tomorrow. Hammer sat down at the kitchen table to read it, then simply sat for a while, gazing at the last light of the day over London, not thinking, until his wet clothes grew cold and clung to him.
When the kitchen grew dark he got up, showered, changed, ate. Sat by the unlit fire in his sitting room with a bottle of decent whiskey and tried one book
after another, failing to settle on any.
It was after midnight when the phone rang. The landline, which no one ever used; his sister, it might be. Or the police.
“Hello.”
“Ike.”
“Elsa. Hey.”
“Were you asleep?”
“Not even close. This is early. You OK?”
“Ike, I’m worried about him.”
Worried how? Hammer wanted to ask. Worried because he’s on the other side of the world causing trouble, as usual, or worried because when he gets back he won’t be allowed near any trouble for a long time? It was possible that the police had been to see her. He didn’t enjoy the thought, but for his own sake he rather hoped that they had.
“Why? What’s up?”
“It might be nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know where he is.”
“I thought you said he was in Georgia.”
“He was. He is. He was coming home yesterday, but he phoned me in the morning and told me he was staying an extra day, maybe two.”
Oh boy, thought Hammer. This was like him.
“I didn’t . . . We argued about it. He shouldn’t have been there at all, the way things are going for him. For us. I haven’t heard from him since.”
Hammer put his book down, closed his eyes, and leaned back in the chair.
“OK. It’s not even two days. And you know how he is.”
“Ike, he always calls. Or lets me know. Even when things aren’t good. We’ve never gone a day without speaking to each other.”
“Really?”
“Really. He hates having things on his precious conscience.”
Hammer shook his head and finished what was left in his glass. Elsa was not a woman who worried easily, and it would be like the bastard to get himself killed this week.
“You want me to come over?”
“Really?”
“Sure. You know where he was staying?”
The man’s capacity for chaos was phenomenal. First he destroys my company and now he’s doing his best to finish his family.
• • •
Elsa hadn’t been harassed earlier, he realized, so much as anxious. When she opened the door to him now she was smiling, but the shine had gone from her eyes, and the familiar sense of cool command was missing. He kissed her on the cheek and held her arms.
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