by Matthew Dunn
“You don’t love him anymore?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then why wouldn’t you want to see him again?”
“When did I say . . . ?” Her expression became hostile again. “I don’t know where he is, I haven’t heard from him, and I’ve no desire to help a British stranger.” She spat, “You haven’t even told me your name.”
“Even if I did, would it be of any value to you?”
“It would be a lie.”
“Exactly.”
She breathed deeply while staring at him, her hand falling to the tatty sofa arm. “You’ve wasted your time.”
Will looked at the clock again and saw that next to it were three books containing the works of the Russian poets Nikolay Gumilyov, Osip Mandelstam, and Ivan Krylov. Clad in leather binding, they looked as though they’d been professionally restored. They were wrapped with silk ties that had been knotted in bows. He smiled. “He bought you things, didn’t he?”
Alina frowned.
“Expensive things.”
She said nothing.
“Clothes, French makeup, real diamond jewelry, a timepiece, books, no doubt other things.” His smile vanished as he looked at her. “I wonder how he got the money to pay for them.”
Silence.
“Because I can’t imagine that his government salary was that good.” He nodded toward the little bedroom. “Is she his?”
Alina’s face flushed, her eyes looked venomous. “None of your damn business.”
“Or is your Yevtushenko but one of many lovers and she is the result?”
“How dare you!” Alina rose quickly. “Get out!”
But Will remained seated. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the gifts have come from many men.”
“I am not that type of woman!”
“Then what type of woman are you?”
Alina’s breathing was fast, her anger vivid.
“Sit down.”
She did not do so.
“Sit down!” Will kept his voice quiet though his tone was now stern. “I came here to help you and your man. I know the Russians have been here. It would have been one of the first things they did after Lenka’s disappearing act. Do you think they have your interests at heart? If they get their hands on him, they’ll throw him in prison. And the men he’s with now—once his value to them is over, they’ll do far worse. Almost certainly, they’ll butcher him.”
Alina’s eyes widened.
“There are three organizations who want what Yevtushenko’s got. None of us are friends.”
“Good! Then you’ll tear yourselves apart.”
Will nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He looked at one of the books, thought for a moment, and said:
Whene’er companions don’t agree,
They work without accord;
And naught but trouble doth result,
Although they all work hard.
One day a Swan, a Pike, a Crab,
Resolved a load to haul.
All three were harnessed to the cart,
And pulled together all.
But though they pulled with all their might,
That cart-load on the bank stuck tight.
The Swan pulled upward to the skies,
The Crab did backward crawl,
The Pike made for the water straight:
This proved no use at all.
Now, which of them was most to blame,
’Tis not for me to say,
But this I know—the load is there,
Unto this very day.
Alina stared at him, her expression different. Her baby’s crying grew softer. “Ivan Krylov’s ‘A Swan, a Pike, and a Crab.’ ” She turned toward the books and frowned. “I’m surprised you . . .” She smiled, though when she spoke there was not attempt to hide the sarcasm in her tone. “You think I’ll help you just because you can recite some poetry?”
“No. But you know that Yevtushenko’s the load. A dead load if nothing is done to help him. You choose: swan, pike, or crab?”
She stared at him, for the first time the tiniest hint of confusion on her face.
“Please. Do sit down Miss Petrova.”
She sat. “Which are you?”
“It’s irrelevant. We’re all stupid without cohesive direction. Your direction.”
“My direction?”
“Yes. I want you to choose to work with one of us and tell us what to do.” Will wondered how Alina was going to respond.
She said nothing for ten seconds. Then, “How can I trust you?”
“I can’t persuade you to trust me. Use your judgment. Judge me alongside the Russians you met, and the men who now have Lenka.”
“Who are those men?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do the Russians know?”
“I’m not sure, but I think they might.”
“Then the choice is clear. I should work with the Russians!”
“Perhaps you should. Providing you trust them.”
Alina’s eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down. She seemed to make some kind of decision. “Our child is called Maria. We named her after Lenka’s grandmother.” She leaned forward, her expression stern. “Lenka was delighted when I told him that I was bearing his child. I’ve never been with another man since I’ve known him.”
Will nodded, and for the briefest of moments wondered how it would feel to hear a woman declare that she was pregnant with his child. “Tell me about the Russians who came here.”
Alina drummed fingers on the sofa, seemed deep in thought, and also looked scared.
“It’s vital that you tell me everything.”
She stopped drumming. “There was only one of them.”
“Man or woman?”
“A man.”
“Name? Appearance?”
“Mikhail. He didn’t give me a surname.” She smiled, though her fear remained evident. “Mid-thirties, I’d guess. Tall, short hair, muscular build. Immaculately dressed. Other than the fact that his hair was blond, he looked a lot like you.”
And a lot like the man Will had seen firing a big handgun on the bridge in Gdansk.
Will felt a moment of unease. “What did he say to you?”
Her smile vanished. “He asked me if I knew the identity of the man who’d told Lenka to abscond. I told him the truth: that I didn’t.”
“Was that the truth?”
“Yes.” Alina frowned. “Lenka was always a private man. Whenever he was with me, he’d prefer to talk about anything other than his work. I think his job sometimes embarrassed him.”
“You knew he was an intelligence officer?”
She answered in a whisper, “He wasn’t supposed to tell me, but he said he didn’t want there to be secrets between us.”
“Do you think he was cut out for the job?”
“I don’t think so.” She exhaled slowly. “We made plans. He was going to leave and come here to live with us. He said he’d apply for a job at the university.”
“What else did Mikhail say?”
Alina lowered her head. “He asked me the same thing you did—if I’d been in contact with Lenka during the last few days. I told him that I hadn’t.”
“And was that the truth?”
She was motionless, silent.
“What else?”
“He noticed the things you’d observed; the things Lenka had bought for me. He said that Lenka must have had another source of income, that no doubt he was being paid by the man who’d got him out of Russia.” She shook her head, and a tear ran down her cheek. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. Mikhail said that Lenka willingly absconded from Russia. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
She was now visibly upset. “But why? It’s so unlike him to do something like that. And he’s left a mess.” She swept an arm through the air. “As well as buying me things, during the last few years he’s also been contributing to the rent on this place and to the upbringing of Maria.
He’s always been a good man. Always putting himself second, us first. But now he’s gone, and there’s no money.” She shook her head, her posture and expression strengthening. “Don’t misinterpret what I’ve just said. I’d rather have him back with no money than the opposite.”
Will leaned closer to her, and spoke with genuine sympathy. “I don’t doubt that. It’s obvious to me that you love him. Don’t be hard on him. He’s done something stupid, and though I don’t know why he’s done that, I’m sure it was for honorable reasons. Reasons to do with you and Maria.”
Alina seemed to be digesting Will’s observation. “I believe you’re right.” She glanced in the direction of Maria’s bedroom. The child was no longer crying and instead was emitting unintelligible words in between giggles. “She’s not frightened of you anymore.” Returning her attention to Will, she said, “The swan, the pike, or the crab.”
Will was silent. He had to let her come to her own conclusions.
“The Russian man. He scared me at first. But then I saw kindness. And you’re right. When I asked him what the Russians would do to Lenka if they found him, Mikhail said that he couldn’t lie to me, that Lenka would face imprisonment, but that incarceration would be a better fate than death by the hands of the men he’s with.” She nodded. “He seemed a good man. What differentiates the two of you is that he has no choice other than to deliver Lenka to jail, but you seem to have no such ambitions.” She frowned. “What has Lenka done?”
“He’s stolen a piece of paper from the SVR. I don’t know anything about the paper, other than it is of immense value and is extremely dangerous. Does that mean anything to you?”
Quietly, she answered, “No. Nothing.” She suddenly placed her head in her hands, rocked back and forth, and muttered, “Shit, shit.”
Will frowned.
“I wish you’d come earlier.”
She continued rocking, then removed her hands and looked up with an expression of exasperation. “There’s not just three of you involved.”
“What?”
Placing her nails to her teeth, she said, “Yesterday, I was approached on the street by a man. He gave me a note and asked me to read it and relay its message to Lenka. I took the note home and did precisely what the man asked me to do.”
Will’s mind raced. “Nationality of the man?”
“I could tell from his accent that he was foreign, but other than that I don’t know. He spoke to me in Belarusian. Looked European.”
“How did you communicate the message to Lenka?”
More tears rolled down Alina’s face. “He has a cell phone that only I know about. I sent an SMS to it.”
“Has he replied?”
“No.”
“Are you convinced he has the phone with him?”
“Yes. He told me that if he called me or messaged me from that number, then I could be sure that no one was listening or intercepting the message. He called it his ‘safe phone.’ It was his lifeline to me. He’ll have it.”
“And the note?”
Alina momentarily closed her eyes. “Does the name Will Cochrane mean anything to you?”
Will’s stomach knotted.
She opened her eyes. “Are you Will Cochrane?”
Will was motionless, determined not to betray any emotion, though confusion overwhelmed him.
“If you want to see the note, I have to know.”
Still, Will said nothing.
“I think I have made my decision, based on my judgment of you. But I can’t be sure unless you answer me.”
Oh dear God. Will had no idea what to say or do.
“It’s time for you to make a judgment about me and to choose.”
He stared at Alina. She seemed imploring, earnest, scared, confused. She seemed to be speaking honestly.
Finally, he answered, “Very few people call me by that name.”
She held his gaze for several seconds, nodded once, and said, “But some people do.” She stood up, disappeared out of the room, and reemerged a minute later holding a small piece of paper. She hesitated before handing it to Will.
Will examined both sides of the paper. It had been folded into quarters. One side was plain, the other contained printed black lines of text that looked as though they’d been written on a typewriter rather than anything more modern.
As Will read the note, he fought back every instinct to vomit.
To Miss Alina Petrova
Please forgive the rather crude manner in which this note was passed to you. The man who delivered it does not represent us, though we paid him to place it in your hands. We are desperate to reach out to our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Lenka Yevtushenko, because we believe he is in danger. Perhaps you have a means to forward the contents of this communication to him? We hope you do, and if so we implore you to get in touch with him with the greatest haste. The message you must relay to Mr. Yevtushenko is as follows:
We are sorry that in our business dealings with you, we misled you as to our real identities. We did that to protect you and when the time was right it was our intention to tell you the truth. That time never came due to unforeseen circumstances. No doubt you have since been told who we really are. That matters not. What does matter is that we continue to look out for your welfare and are concerned that you may now be in a vulnerable position. Be very careful because men are coming for you. The most dangerous of them is a British intelligence officer. He lives in West Square, Southwark, London.
His name is Will Cochrane.
Nine
The Lufthansa A321 Airbus touched down at Berlin’s Tegel Airport at 0920 hours. Will was sitting in business class, staring out the window at the dark clouds hanging over the airport and the rain that was pouring down from them. The men and women around him—Austrians, Germans, a Czech, two Englishmen, a Ukrainian, and three Italians—were all dressed in suits and were looking not at the airport but at the seat belt sign, waiting for it to switch off so they could stand, grab their cases, and make a dash toward whatever business beckoned them to the city.
Will had flown from Minsk to Frankfurt during the early hours. During the seventy-minute journey from Frankfurt to Berlin, he’d briefly analyzed every passenger around him. None of them were operatives. Will was glad of that because he’d needed to be alone, and he was never more alone than when he was surrounded by normal people.
As the plane taxied along the runway, he rubbed his temples. The note to Alina had confused and deeply unsettled him and had bolstered Alistair’s view that Will had too little to go on and was out of his depth. He wondered if he was doing the right thing by continuing to pursue the operation, whether the stolen SVR paper was less important than he’d thought, whether it was the right thing to do to follow his instincts and at the same time jeopardize the existence of the Spartan Section, whether he’d offered false hope to Alina, and whether the message to Alina meant he would be killed before he had a chance to get an inch closer to the truth of what was happening.
But these emotions and thoughts were also matched by anger. Knowledge of his existence within MI6 was limited to a small number of people. His home address was known to even fewer.
Someone had betrayed him.
That afternoon, Will was leaning against the wall of a short, stone-covered tunnel. Parkland was visible at either end of the tunnel, though he could see no one within the place. The heavy rainfall had driven every sensible person inside.
After checking into the five-star Steigenberger Hotel, Will had walked here, arriving nearly thirty minutes ahead of schedule, and waited.
A tall man came into view at one end of the tunnel. He stopped for six seconds, then strode quickly up to Will.
Roger Koenig was wearing a waterproof jacket, jeans, hiking boots, and a skin-colored earpiece and cord that was barely visible on one side of his face. Leaning against the wall opposite to Will, he ran fingers through his sodden hair, rubbed his hands to aid circulation, and asked, “How was Belarus?”
“Blood
y freezing.” Will forced a smile.
“Did Alina talk?”
“Yes.”
“Anything of substance?”
“Difficult to know.”
Roger produced a mock frown. “Let me help. Was she a bit more effusive than you’re being right now?”
Will laughed. “Much more.” His expression became neutral. “Tell me about the Russian team.”
Roger drummed his hands against the wall. “They’re in the Grand Hyatt and they ain’t moving.”
“Sightings?”
“We’ve seen two of them but only briefly. They’re ordering room service and the two we spotted have only been down to the lobby twice.”
“Who saw them?”
“Laith and Mark.”
“What do they think?”
“They’re sure we’re looking at a team. Doesn’t mean they’re the right team though.”
“I know.”
Roger was silent for a moment before saying, “Mark has the same level of team leader experience as me. Did you put him in the section so that he could learn the ropes and then take over if I get shot?”
Will smiled, and this time it was genuine. “Exactly. I’m just waiting for you to take a bullet. Trouble is, every time you do, you recover.”
“Yeah. I’m odd like that.”
“You are.” Will became serious. “I put him and Adam in because they fit. Do you foresee a problem?”
Roger seemed to consider this. “No. Mark doesn’t seem concerned about status. He just wants to get on with the job. He’ll be fine. Plus, since when did we have any hierarchy in the section?”
“We don’t. It’s better that way.”
Roger nodded. “How long do you want us to stay on the Russian team?”
“As long as it takes. Do you mind?”
“Not in the slightest.” Roger swept an arm through the air. “Germany’s home from home for me.”
“Your fatherland . . .”
Roger chuckled. “Stop that.” His expression changed. “Base of operation’s the Auguststrasse apartment.”
A modern, luxury vacation home located in Mitte, the heart of Berlin’s old city. Capable of sleeping six, more if the couches were used as beds. Peter had paid for the apartment in cash and told the owner that he and his business colleagues would need the place for at least three weeks while they were in town to close a major financial deal.