Out of the Night

by Dan Latus

‘If only for your sake,’ Borovsky said equably, ‘I hope you are wrong. In any case, the world’s oceans are vast. There are many places for me to go.’

  After having heard that indisputable truth, Sasha and I were herded along corridors and down stairs, always going down. Our destination was in the cellars. A heavy timber door, studded with bolts, was opened and we were pushed inside. There, we joined Jac Picknett and a young man I took to be Misha. We had all of us arrived, together at last in one place, and so far in one piece.

  33

  Jac was sitting on a stone bench that might once have supported wine racks. Otherwise, the room was empty, painted white and empty, with a single light bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling. I went straight to her.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked, taking both her hands in mine.

  Startled by our arrival, she looked up and gave me a weary smile. ‘Not good, Frank. I’ve felt better.’

  She looked unharmed physically but shock had obviously taken its toll. I gave her a hug.

  ‘They didn’t knock you around?’

  She shook her head. Then she rallied. ‘And this is…?’

  ‘Sasha.’

  ‘Of course! Your mystery girl.’

  I turned to introduce them to each other. Sasha was still glowering at the door, as if sheer willpower could force it open. She gave Jac a perfunctory greeting.

  ‘And this is Misha,’ Jac said. ‘He’s Russian, too.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  Jac was in better heart than I could ever have expected. In her own English-rose way, she was beginning to seem a tough guy, too.

  I called to the man sitting on the floor in a corner. He nodded dolefully and struggled to his feet, to engage Sasha in a conversation in Russian. She responded without going overboard about it. It wasn’t the reunion of childhood sweethearts, I belatedly realized. More fool me.

  ‘So?’ Jac said, looking at me expectantly.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ I told her.

  ‘So I gather.’

  ‘Unfortunately, we got mixed up with Borovsky. Where did they pick you up?’

  ‘At Risky Point.’

  I nodded. She had arrived too late to come with us, and too early to be saved by Bill Peart.

  ‘Explanations are going to have to wait,’ I told her.

  She nodded.

  I turned to the young man across the cell. ‘Misha?’

  He came over to me. We shook hands. ‘He paints Picassos,’ I told Jac.

  She looked impressed for a moment. Then she gave a wry smile.

  ‘And Sasha,’ I added, ‘paints Rembrandts – original Rembrandts.’

  ‘Ah!’ Jac said, as if now she understood everything. Perhaps she did.

  They were colleagues, not the betrothed lovers Sasha had given me to understand. She had stood by Misha, and done what she could. But actually rescuing him had been a step too far for her. So she had focused on assassinating Borovsky. Completing their joint mission. Whatever. She still seemed amazing to me.

  By now, Sasha had calmed down. She turned and came over to us. ‘Miss Picknett?’

  ‘Jac, please.’

  Jac attempted a smile and got up from the stone bench where we were sitting.

  ‘No, no! Save your strength.’ Sasha looked at me and added, ‘You stopped me, Frank. You should have let me shoot him.’

  ‘You did,’ I pointed out.

  She shook her head impatiently. But she was quietly angry now, not angrily struggling to contain her emotions.

  ‘What good would it have done us?’ I said quietly. ‘If you had killed Borovsky, his men would have killed all of us instantly. It would have been an automatic response.’

  ‘But many lives would have been saved in my country.’

  She turned away, leaving me wondering what she meant.

  Misha explained. ‘You know about us?’ he asked, ‘Why we are here, as art students?’

  I nodded. Jac wandered off, seemingly unable to sit still and listen any more.

  ‘That is not all,’ Misha said. ‘It is not everything.’

  I felt like wandering off myself. This was no time for convoluted conversation about old paintings in pidgin English with someone I didn’t know. I wanted to concentrate on how we could get out of here.

  ‘He means we discovered something else,’ Sasha said. ‘It is not only art that Borovsky copies and smuggles.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It’s guns, as well.’

  Sasha was surprised for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Guns, bombs, bullets. How do you know?’

  ‘I’ve seen the crates they were loading onto the boat. Do you know where they are going?’

  ‘The North Caucasus,’ she said bitterly. ‘Chechnya, Ingushetia and those other republics – to kill ethnic Russians.’

  ‘We discovered this,’ Misha added, as if it had been his life’s work. Perhaps that’s what it was now. It didn’t look as if he was going to get the chance to discover much else.

  ‘We were told to stay with Borovsky,’ Sasha said. ‘Our mission was to find out how the weapons were sent – by what route, and who was involved.’

  That made sense. Discover the channels and then block them off. Sinking one cargo wouldn’t stop the supply.

  ‘But somehow Borovsky discovered our true identity,’ Sasha added. ‘So he knew what we were doing. And now he negotiates with Moscow, but it will do him no good. There will be no compromise, and no exchange.’

  Again, that didn’t seem to be a hopeful conclusion.

  ‘How did he discover who you were?’ I asked. ‘Any idea?’

  I was thinking betrayal. Money talks, and Borovsky was well able to come up with the money for bribery.

  Sasha just shook her head.

  ‘Maybe it was my fault,’ Misha said slowly.

  ‘No!’ Sasha said sharply.

  It didn’t matter anyway. It had happened. Now we were where we were. I began to search the room, looking for a way out. One didn’t immediately appear to me.

  It hadn’t appeared to Misha either. ‘There is no way out,’ he said, seeing what I was doing. ‘I have looked.’

  Sasha kicked the door. ‘Be careful,’ I told her. ‘They are my good boots.’

  She glowered at me. Then she changed her mind and grinned. That was better.

  ‘Your boots?’ Jac said, looking puzzled.

  So to fill in some time I gave her a slightly expanded version of my previously expurgated account of recent history.

  ‘I’m surprised you had time to consider my gallery’s security requirements,’ she said when I had finished.

  ‘If that’s a rebuke,’ I said bitterly, ‘forget it!’

  ‘No, no! I’m just recalling what Lydia said about you having such an interesting life.’

  I don’t know why but that started me smiling, and that led to us both chuckling and then laughing without restraint. Hysteria, probably. Sasha and Misha looked on in total bewilderment.

  We were in a stone box underground. It was a big cellar without windows or any opening other than the one filled by the heavy-duty timber door that looked as if it had been there since before the house was built. The floor was solid stone. So were the walls. The ceiling, too. All built with good, unweathered sandstone blocks. The only opening anywhere, apart from the door, was where the metal tube containing the cable for the electric light came through the ceiling. That was approximately half an inch in diameter.

  My mind was racing, but going round in ever-decreasing circles. And our situation was desperate. I said nothing of this to the others but I knew we had to get out of here soon, or we wouldn’t get out at all. Somehow we had to do it.

  Borovsky was wrapping things up. He was almost ready to go. The last of his stuff must be down at the quayside by now. There couldn’t be much more to be done up here at the house.

  And now he had us as hostages. Perhaps he really was engaged in negotiations with Moscow, despite what Sasha thought. It was even possible t
hat they might yield a result, but it couldn’t be one that included Jac and me.

  The two of us were very definitely surplus baggage. I didn’t believe for one moment that when Meridion left harbour, Jac and I would be on it. Sasha and Misha might be, God willing, but Moscow would have no interest at all in two Brits who had got themselves entangled in an unfortunate situation. Moreover, to protect their own interests, there was no way they were going to alert the UK authorities to our plight. To them, in that charming American phrase, Jac and I would simply be collateral damage.

  Misha said, ‘There is no way out. I have searched. It is impossible.’

  Sasha gave him a look of contempt that surprised me. She had risked a lot to keep her colleague alive. Did she really hold him in such low esteem?

  ‘Nothing is impossible, Misha,’ I said gently. ‘Did they not tell you that in agent training school?’

  ‘I didn’t spend long there,’ he said, ‘not like Sasha. Mostly I am an artist.’

  Sasha shut him up then with a torrent of what sounded like rebukes in Russian. I smiled, winked at Jac and continued with my detailed examination of the cellar.

  I studied the channel for the electric cable, and then I started wondering about the roof of the cellar. The ceiling was not arched. So it couldn’t be stone, I realized. It must be concrete. How thick was it? Not that that mattered. We had nothing we could use as tools to find out. Also, I didn’t want to interfere with the light in case something snapped or broke, and left us in complete darkness. That really would be the end.

  ‘You’re wondering if the ceiling is weak at that point?’ Jac said, breaking into my thoughts.

  I nodded. ‘Wondering is all I’m doing. I’m pretty sure the ceiling is concrete. Probably quite thick concrete. Not that it matters much. We have no tools anyway.’

  ‘Are we in danger, Frank? Serious danger?’

  That put me on the spot. I didn’t want to frighten her any more. And it was my fault that she was here. Not directly, perhaps, but through association. On the other hand, was there any point in lying?

  ‘I think we are,’ I said.

  She nodded and looked thoughtful. ‘So we really do have to find a way out.’

  There was nothing worth adding to that. So I didn’t even bother trying.

  ‘I think you are right about the ceiling,’ Jac said thoughtfully. ‘It is concrete.’

  I nodded weary agreement.

  ‘Everywhere except here in the corner.’

  I looked where she was pointing, and my heart started beating again. I wondered how I had missed what she’d seen.

  34

  Jac obviously had a better eye than me. A painter’s eye. Now I looked where she was pointing, I could see what she had seen. There was a patch in the corner that was a different texture to the rest of the ceiling. Smoother, and with an edge to it. It was about eighteen inches square.

  ‘I think it’s just plaster,’ she said.

  I could see what she meant. Originally, something had been protruding through the ceiling, perhaps a big pipe. For some reason it had become redundant and had been removed, leaving some patchwork to be done in the ceiling.

  On tip-toes I could just touch the patch with my finger ends. I scratched it. Paint flaked off, but nothing else.

  I unfastened my belt buckle and pulled the belt loose from the waistband of my trousers. I reached up again and rammed a corner of the buckle at the ceiling patch. It made an impression. No doubt about it now! That wasn’t concrete.

  I scratched and dug again. A small piece of material detached itself and fell to the floor. I picked it up and crumbled it between my finger and thumb.

  ‘You’re right,’ I told Jac. ‘It is plaster.’

  I turned to Misha, who was watching intently, as was Sasha.

  ‘I can’t reach very well, Misha. You’re lighter than me. If you go up on my shoulders—’

  He was on his feet before I had finished speaking. I stooped to let him on to my back. He took the belt and began clawing feverishly at the ceiling. A shower of plaster dust fell on me. I closed my eyes, ducked my head and concentrated on trying to stay steady.

  After a few minutes I let him down. When I looked up, I could see he had made a big impression. He had exposed a piece of mesh of some sort that the plaster had been layered on.

  ‘We should be able to just pull that down,’ I said.

  ‘Let me try,’ Sasha said.

  She climbed on to me and reached for the mesh. I felt her weight leave me as she clung on to the mesh and let herself drop full length.

  But what we wanted didn’t happen. Either it was more securely fixed than I had expected or she just wasn’t heavy enough.

  ‘Hang on!’ I told her.

  Then I caught hold of her round the waist and pulled down. That did it. In an avalanche of plaster and dust, the mesh and the entire plaster plug came out. I let go of Sasha and let her drop. Then we all stooped over, coughing our hearts out for a couple of minutes.

  When I recovered I glanced up and marvelled at what we had created: a hole! We had created a hole wide enough even for someone like me to squeeze through.

  Jac insisted that I lift her up first to see where the hole led. Why not? She deserved first go.

  ‘It’s a kitchen,’ she called down softly. ‘There’s no one here.’

  That was good enough for me. I hoisted Sasha next. Then Misha, who reached down to take my hand so that I could get up, too.

  We were in an old-style kitchen, perhaps a scullery. I could see now exactly why the corner had been patched. There was a big waste pipe coming down the wall. Originally it had gone straight down into the cellar, and then, perhaps, through the cellar floor to join a drain. For some reason that arrangement had not been satisfactory. Perhaps the drain, deep underground, hadn’t worked very well, causing flooding in the cellar. So the downpipe had been cut off and routed through the outside wall of the kitchen in which we now stood. Lucky for us.

  I glanced round at the others. Apart from our covering of white dust, we all seemed to be in good shape. Time to get out. I had released the hostages – all three of them – and now we could make good our escape.

  Wrong!

  I hadn’t reckoned with Sasha.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘We must go to the boat. Borovsky cannot be allowed to escape.’

  ‘What can you do?’ I said. ‘He has an army of men. Better to escape and tell the British authorities. The Royal Navy can stop him.’

  ‘We can stop him,’ she insisted. ‘Misha and me. It is why we are here. There is a way.’

  I had known she was a fanatic. She could never have survived her ordeal otherwise. But this seemed a step too far.

  ‘If we are lucky,’ I said slowly, carefully, to avoid any misunderstanding, ‘we can get out of here. If not, Borovsky will kill us all.’

  Sasha shook her head stubbornly.

  I looked at Misha. He seemed less gung-ho. He had been locked up for longer, and had had more time to consider his fate. Surely he knew that what Sasha was saying was madness? He spoke to her. She came back at him with an angry torrent. He backed down. That decided me.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘We go our separate ways. You two can do what you like. Jac and I will make our own way out of here.’

  I looked at Jac. She nodded agreement.

  ‘Good luck,’ I said, making for the door.

  But it wasn’t that easy. I should have known it wouldn’t be. I should have known better.

  35

  My strategy was to make our way upstairs and walk out of the front door. It was disappointing that Sasha wanted no part of such a difficult and dangerous plan, but there were limits to my powers of persuasion and clearly I had reached them. So we split up and I headed for a flight of stone stairs without looking back. Jac followed me. I guessed the other way led to the entrance to the tunnel, but I didn’t want to know any more about that. I’d had enough.

  But by the time we reached the top of the sta
irs Sasha and Misha had already run into trouble. I heard sounds of struggle and then a torrent of what sounded like abuse from Sasha. It ended abruptly. I stopped and stood still, Jac beside me, and waited. I heard nothing more.

  I looked at Jac and grimaced. ‘Wait here,’ I said. ‘If I’m not back in a couple of minutes, make your way to the front door and get out. Just get out. OK?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘Do it, Jac!’

  She sighed and nodded. I leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Take care, Frank,’ she whispered.

  Lights had been switched off down below. The basement was very dimly lit now. Emergency lighting only, and not much of that. I edged down the stairs, wondering what I would find.

  No sign of Sasha and Misha. They could have moved quickly along the corridor but I knew that wasn’t it. Something had happened to them right here. I stood still for a moment, listening. I couldn’t see much. Faint light from the kitchen we had just left, a yard or two along the corridor – that was about it. In the distance I could hear people doing things. Talking, the occasional shout. The screech of heavy items being pushed across a stone floor.

  I stepped off the bottom step and peered into the gloom along the corridor. That was when I realized I was not alone.

  A gloved hand and jacket cuff wrapped itself across my mouth and face, and pulled my head back. At the same time, something hard was jammed painfully into my back. I made no attempt to fight back. I stood still. Shocked as I was, I still had enough sense to know I was in no position to do anything but get myself shot or knifed by fighting back.

  A hood was put over my head and drawn tight. What light there had been was totally gone now. I waited for the next thing to happen.

  Pressure on my back started me walking. I counted my steps, all the way to thirty. Then I was made to stop. I heard a door creak open. I was pressed forward, still without a word being spoken. I heard the door close again and a key being turned.