On the bridge, from the Embankment end, Brodski was watching the meeting with binoculars. He saw the sudden change. He saw the paint on the handrail flake up into the air. They spoke in Russian, ignoring the tourist crowds all round them.
“It’s a set up. They double-crossed us!”
“The contact was infiltrated. Let’s move or she’s dead already.”
There was no choice but to inflict maximum damage. The woman was a professional killer. She went over and landed on her hands to break the fall. The gun with the silencer and the unusual sight clattered out of her hand. Dan seized it, and hurled the thing far and long into the river before she could use it again. When he looked around she was up on her feet and on the attack.
Dan threw a jab to fend her off, but she chopped it aside and landed a solid punch through Dan’s jaw. It was a head shaker, and sent him dull. He stayed on his feet, and blocked a shot to the guts.
“Call the police!” shouted some idiot. The shout woke him a little. Dan managed to parry another punch, but a kick slammed into the side of his knee, and he folded downwards. In public she was going to try and kill him. Fight! Fight! He told himself. Pure anger kept him in the game, blocking. Then he saw his chance. She dipped her hand into her coat for another weapon. Her right side was exposed. Dan threw one punch left through her jaw, and stood up, pushing his weight and momentum into a haymaker. It should have taken her head off, but it lolled on her shoulders, and she fell back. Dan looked across at Trevor. Where there had been two men there was a new dark hill lying on the concrete, and Trevor was walking along the beginning of the footbridge. Trevor was a one man roadblock. But now he was nursing his arm. The man had been hurt. Before he could consider anything more, the woman was up on her feet and running at him again. This time, he saw the smallest blade protruding from her fist. Dan surged forward with his fists up. The blade came and sliced past his arms and through his new favourite rain coat. That made him angry. Enough was enough. Dan saw her face in profile exposed, beginning to turn towards him, full of seething hate. One punch. He threw it with all his weight, everything he had. His fist travelled through her head and kept going. She went back and over like a chopped tree, but instead of landing unconscious she rolled over onto her knees and wiped her bleeding mouth.
Her broken sunglasses fell to the floor. Her eyes were wild. “You will die,” she said. Ignoring her fallen friend she turned and ran back toward the crowds. There was no time for an inquest. Dan sucked in all the air he could and ran to the bridge.
Eva expected the man to try and kill her himself. But instead he kept looking back to the South Bank before his mouth dropped open, speechless. He turned away towards Embankment and began to run.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you, Jameson?” Eva called, staying low to avoid the next bullet. It never came. “You’re a murderer and a traitor.”
He didn’t look back. Eva watched him stop running as the Russian boys drew up in front of him. Jameson turned back to check his chances of escape just as Trevor pulled up beside Eva.
“It’s over now,” said the big Traveller. He offered Eva his massive hand and she took it.
“The assassin..?”
“She’s escaped. The accomplice is down back there.”
“I’m still alive. Thank you.”
It was a morning of mixed blessings. Eva was relieved to be breathing, but the killer had gotten away again. Eva knew that with every missed chance the killer was going to become more desperate because Eva’s death was fast becoming a matter of survival for her too. Jameson walked slowly with the Russians behind his back. He arrived before Eva Roberts and looked at her calmly.
“Let me guess. Your name is Henry,” said Eva.
“I’m quite safe, Miss Roberts, but I can’t promise the same for you, of course.”
“In this life, Jameson, I’ve learned that safety is just an illusion. One which can be stripped away all too easily. Besides, when the real MI6 learn about you…”
“It’s a fantasy, Miss Roberts. In two days you’ll be dead. This is bigger than you, it’s bigger than me, it’s bigger than all of us. And it can’t be stopped.”
“I hope that comforts you later, Jameson. Trevor here works for Brian Gillespie. After MI6 have finished with you I think we should call his boss, don’t you think?”
Trevor grinned. Jameson went pale and Eva took a second to look back at South Bank. Dan was there standing alone, hands on hips watching the crowds in the distance. This wasn’t just messy. This was diabolical. If Jameson was right Eva only had a maximum of two days left before her murder was used to start a gang war. Eva smiled weakly to herself. If she ever needed an excuse to stay alive, stopping a war was a pretty good one. If she had any chance of staying alive, she needed to find a genuine MI6 contact… before it was too late.
Fifteen
No later than lunch time Eva, Dan, Trevor, Brodski, Georgiev and a man named Quinn were sitting in a functional whitewashed office with no company logo or branding in sight. The office was one of the rooms in a spacious flat, which must had been hastily arranged after Brodski’s call to the very first British agent he’d ever met – the man who helped arrange his defection to Britain. Brodski had never called on Quinn until now. They called Quinn because his department existed inside another space entirely from the one that harboured the double-agent Jameson. They had no choice but to assume Quinn could be trusted. If not, then the whole of the British security services had already gone down the swanny. So far Quinn seemed stand up. He’d arranged the meeting in the flat-come-office above the cafés and shops just beyond Southwark Bridge, and he’d come armed and with a direct line back to his government office where his superiors were waiting with bated breath. There was a sense of relief in the air, smiles which can only come from having survived deadly danger. Dan knew the feeling well. They were now like old soldiers between battles, laughing only because the muck and bullets had ceased for a time. But it would come again soon, because this was a war. Jameson wasn’t smiling. He stood in a corner like a naughty schoolboy waiting for his punishment. He looked at the floor, or through them when they were near. He was the kind of man Dan despised. Dan was not particularly for or against the United Kingdom. Patriotism, like supporting a football club, was for people who wanted to end up disappointed. But Dan hated lying and disloyalty. Jameson represented the highest form of both black arts. Jameson found Dan looking at him and returned the glare. “What?”
“You know exactly what I think of you.”
Jameson’s pale face flushed and he looked away. Dan looked across at Eva who was talking animatedly to Quinn, the man from MI6. The only thing that mattered in all this was her. He had to save her, and in time he would help her restore her business, her reputation and her self-belief. He would help her overcome everything, but first he had to help save her life. This meeting, Dan hoped, was the first step in the long game towards his dream. He didn’t want to desert the people at The Refuge, the downtrodden, the lost and the broken. They needed his help because there was no one else with his skills to look out for them. Dan reckoned he would be able to do both. He had to, because Eva was lost and broken too. She needed him, he saw that now, and he would never leave her again.
“Jameson’s office and the staff in direct contact with Jameson have been quarantined. His administration unit and the officers who have connection with him have been suspended from duty and are being interviewed and investigated. If Jameson was operating a foreign cell within the British security service, it has now been closed for business. What do you think of that, Jameson, old chum?”
Jameson lifted his eyes towards Quinn. They were different generations, probably different expertise and rank. Jameson looked in his late forties, Quinn in his thirties. They didn’t seem to know each other well. The disdain and mockery in Quinn’s deep voice was clear to all.
“You do know British agents could have died because of you. Maybe not here in London. But you’ve certainly risked live
s. Your life is going to be hell from now on.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Then you are a fool. You know what we’re capable of.”
“Like I said. I’m not worried. What will happen, will happen. You can’t stop it, Quinn.”
“You are a cancer, Jameson. We’ve cut you out. When we have the information we need, we’ll intercept whatever was planned.”
Jameson grinned in derision and shook his head.
“What happened since you closed the cell – if it was a cell…?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge, but it seems there is some panic noise coming out of White Star Gazet’s headquarters, and inside The Daily offices, which is also owned by Dobcek. Low level panic. We have sources based there, and the mood is different. The senior staff are conducting meetings behind closed doors.”
“Is that not normal?” said Eva.
“Like I said, this is different. We have them on the back foot.”
“That makes a change. I’ve been dodging bullets for weeks now,” said Eva.
“But there are other signals too. We already had a line on Pyotr Dobcek. With someone of his standing within Russia, it was prudent for us to monitor some of his movements and conversations. Prior to 2005 we left the Russians alone. They were viewed as benign… but now, with bombers buzzing our airspace in Cornwall, and Russian war games in the North Pole and missiles in Kaliningrad, we have had to take precautions.”
“Then you must know about Anna Kropotkin, the woman who means to kill me.”
“The woman is regarded as dangerous. We know of her affair with Dobcek, but we have not been privy to their conversations… until this situation unfolded. Now we have more information than in a long time, so as a thank you, you need to hear this. Shortly after the incident at Jubilee Bridge this morning, we picked up a call from Dobcek to a London mobile number. The conversation was entirely in Russian and we had it translated. The bottom line is this – Dobcek has been ordered to step things up. He was told to deliver on an agreement, or risk consequences. That is an ultimatum if ever there was one. Our surveillance team had no idea what they were referring to until you put forward your recent problems and the theory about setting up Gillespie. If you are right then Dobcek’s superiors have ordered him to speed up your demise, Miss Roberts. You are under an increasing risk.”
“That’s nothing new,” said Eva.
Dan looked at her and Quinn. “We can’t be glib about this, Eva. Quinn is telling us - even this bastard Jameson is telling us - that this is going to be a hell of a fight. It’s like they’re obsessed. Quinn, can you give Eva some advice on how to stay off the radar for a while?” said Dan. “I need to make some calls.” If we’ve got a fight on our hands, we’ll need an army, Dan thought.
“It’s just common-sense, really. It’s the only thing which works.”
“Then tell her, Quinn. Look at us. Common-sense is in short supply round here.”
Quinn looked around and nodded. “Okay.”
Dan was already on the phone. He walked out of the room into the hallway, guessing this whitewashed apartment was bugged all over. He had to make the calls nonetheless. He started with the few remaining ex-Soviets he knew. Only a couple were around to answer their calls. He asked them if they would help, as they knew the enemy better than anyone. After that, he walked back into the main room and nodded at Trevor. Trevor heaved his weight up onto his feet and followed Dan into the hallway. “What?”
“You heard the man. This is going to turn into a war, Trevor. You people are fighters.”
“You mean Travellers or Gillespie’s boys?”
“I mean both. This is going to get serious. Your boss is a target in all this, remember.”
Trevor nodded. He looked sweaty, and occasionally his face flicked with discomfort.
“You okay?”
“That sack of shit at the bridge could fight better than I guessed.”
“Your arm?”
“No. My ribs. But I’m good.”
Dan nodded. “Will Gillespie send people?”
Trevor nodded. “If I tell him to, he will.”
“So?”
“I’ll tell him.”
They walked back into the room with the others. The chatting had finished and Quinn was on his feet, standing close to Jameson and his hand on the tall man’s upper arm.
“Before you go, Quinn. You told us it’s going to be tough. How tough?”
“I don’t know. We’re guessing here, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then my gut says they are going to throw everything at this, no holds barred. They’ve already executed half their plan in killing Maggie Gillespie. To set up all the ducks in a row, they just need to kill Eva here, and when they’ve done that, Gillespie will look like a psycho.”
“But now the state knows different, right? I mean you know the truth. The Russian plan is meaningless without the government pursuing Gillespie, right? Won’t they just abort their mission now?”
“That’s wishful thinking. Besides, just because we know about it doesn’t mean Downing Street will care. Downing Street cares more about spin and presentation than reality. If Gillespie is made to look like he killed two women in cold blood, the press and the government will see it that way. Gillespie will be guilty no matter what happens.”
“Then what are you going to do to help us?”
“Help you? That’s what I just did. I just helped you clean up that mess you left in South Bank. The media won’t report it. It never happened. And I just supplied you with a safe house to sit it out. Remember to keep out of this now, Miss Roberts.”
“Safe house? Jameson’s been in for the whole tour? This is some safe house, Quinn.”
“Jameson’s going directly to isolation. He won’t be seeing anyone for a while, don’t worry about him.”
Quinn pushed Jameson into the hallway, then walking down the stairs, he pulled the man down after him by his collar.
“Quinn. You can’t be serious. We need protection from the state. We are involved in an international incident. Surely that means something!” said Dan.
“It means I’ll see what I can do. The secret services have to keep a low profile, Mr Bradley. If this is an international incident, Britain can’t be seen as the instigator. Things like that can start wars.”
“Your being naïve, Quinn,” said Dan. “We just told you a war has been started already.”
Quinn already had the door open to the street. He shoved Jameson towards a waiting car.
“Like I said,” he called up. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The door slammed and Trevor, Eva, Brodski, Dan and Georgiev looked at one another.
“We’re on our own, then,” said Dan.
“No, we’re not on our own,” said Brodski. He got a chair, stood on it, and picked a small hidden object off a curtain rail. He handed it to Dan. It was a tiny camera lens.
“When you deal with spies you are never alone. You just hope you are.”
“Will they help us, Brodski?”
“No. Quinn’s response said it all. Thank you for the information. Thanks and good luck.”
“Then why the cameras?” asked Eva.
“Two possibilities. Firstly, they want to know if we are lying or holding back. Worse, they want to use us as bait.”
Eva looked at Dan. He saw the tension and despair slowly eating away at her. This couldn’t go on much longer. When he looked across at Trevor, the big man was watching him. Trevor gave him a silent nod which spoke volumes. It was time to get their act together.
Sixteen
For the most part Eva liked life and had enjoyed it to date, but the prospect of living beyond Friday seemed strangely remote. The scale of the situation ranged against her meant she had little reason to be optimistic. The ruthless machinery of Russia’s secret services and its criminal elements had determined she should be killed. The British secret service seemed content to watch from the side lines. Th
is left her with Dan, some sketchy Russian dissidents and a mob of Travellers to call upon. The odds against her looked pretty strong. It wasn’t a nice feeling, knowing you were going to die. But Eva Roberts had ever been the pragmatic, the cynical and the logical. Today was a day to plan for every eventuality, including her own murder. But even as she planned for it, she was plotting a way to survive. Following Dan’s example, the best way was to go for the jugular of the one who intended to kill you. So here they were, back in the pristine streets of Shad Thames, a stone’s throw from the South Bank, Quinn’s apartment already abandoned as a loss. And there was another problem. As if there needed to be. Georgiev had received word that Obstov’s body had been recovered from the River Lee, an East London tributary of the Thames. Obstov had died from a single gunshot wound to the head. It had to be the shot they saw and heard back at the A13 Eurotel. Wildly theorising dissidents were bad enough, but now she saw them in mourning Eva selfishly longed for the optimistic energetic versions to return.
On Borrowed Time Page 10