‘You look positively fit.’
Lomax looked at Sean. ‘You look how I feel.’
‘You didn’t see a doctor?’
Lomax waved his hand dismissively. ‘Nothing they can do for me. Anyway, I need a beer.’
Sean guided him towards the car, and drove to the Filey Brigg. When they were seated, he bought a pint for Lomax and a diet cola for himself. ‘I don’t suppose you want to talk about it.’
Lomax’s eyes told him the answer. ‘Not really. If you need to know the gory details, I can’t remember most of it.’ He took a big pull, wiped his mouth and set the glass down deliberately. ‘It’s strange. For days I dreamt of doing that - drinking a pint. And now that I’m here, with one in front of me, it isn’t as I expected it. It doesn’t taste as good as I imagined. It’s as if reality has faded into the background.’
‘You’re probably still in shock. I expect they put you through the mill.’
‘I didn’t get much sleep. I do remember that - and the pain.’ Lomax took a sip of beer. ‘They forced me into stress positions for long periods. Floodlit the cell; played loud Russian marches at random intervals so I couldn’t sleep. Every two hours or so they sent guards to drag me out into the interrogation room.’
‘And I thought the Russians were more sophisticated these days.’
Lomax eyed him warily. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear. They gave me the full treatment; beatings, electric shocks, and eventually water-boarding.’
‘I’m sorry Lomax, I didn’t mean to pry.’ Sean went to the bar for another round.
‘I don’t suppose you know who was behind the interrogations?’ he asked when he returned.
‘As a matter of fact, I do. It was Zlotnik.’
Sean slammed his glass onto the table. ‘Bastard!’
‘Steady on. I’m still alive.’
‘But my girlfriend isn’t.’
‘What? Natasha died?’
‘She was murdered. A professional job, four days ago. I’ve just got back from seeing her parents. I’m going to Italy again in a week for the funeral.’
‘Oh. I am sorry.’ Lomax leaned against the seat back. ‘Ah, I see what this is about. You imagine Zlotnik might be behind it. But why would he? She was a non-combatant.’
‘She was the only person in the world who was close to me.’
‘But why would he do that? She had nothing to do with business.’
Sean swung round to look at Lomax. ‘Because we stole the one person he wanted. We took Khostov from him, and as if that wasn’t good enough, we returned for his son.’
Lomax stared at Sean. ‘But how would he know about Natasha?’ He sipped his beer. ‘Oh God, I think I’m beginning to see.’ Slowly and carefully Lomax replaced the glass on the table. ‘You believe it was me. You think I gave him her name.’
‘Did you?’
Lomax massaged his temple. ‘I don’t know Sean. In the end I lost track of the questions they asked, and what I told them. They could have asked me to dance, and I would have tried to give them a tango. I was unconscious a lot of the time, but they wouldn’t let me be. They woke me at regular intervals by pushing my head into a bucket of water and holding it there. Then they would start with the questions again, over and over until I said something. Anything.’
‘So you could have told them?’
Lomax stared out of the window, trying to recall the harrowing details. ‘There were several times when I longed for death. I told him a lot of things. I could have told him about her.’
Sean got up abruptly.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to get one more drink. And when I return you and I are going to talk.’
‘What about?’
‘About going back to Russia.’
‘Before we go, would you come for a walk with me?’ Natasha’s father indicated a path.
Sean walked alongside Mr Moore, noticing their shadows beneath them. They were in the hills above Finale Ligure, with the sun high overhead. He caught glimpses of the sea and the town lower down the slopes as they wound their way through the graveyard.
Mr Moore took him gently by the arm. ‘You have been very quiet, Sean.’
‘Yes.’
‘You have hardly said anything to Adriana. I understand you are mourning, just as we are. Nevertheless, I think there is something else that makes you so quiet.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I know your wife - and you - need time to grieve.’
‘You wanted to leave us with our thoughts. It is kind, and may I say, very English.’
Sean smiled briefly.
‘Perhaps you also feel responsible?’
They stopped.
‘Why?’
‘Because you were unable to prevent what happened. Because you were not with her at the end.’
Sean sighed. ‘You are very perceptive. I did - I do feel guilty.’
They resumed the walk, and Mr Moore continued. ‘I am sorry for being so abrupt when we first met. I blamed you for the death of my daughter.’
‘You don’t blame me now?’
Mr Moore’s eyes flicked briefly to Sean. ‘No. Adriana made me see sense. She said a year ago you prevented some really bad men from having her murdered.’ He faced Sean. ‘You saved her life.’
Sean nodded, not wanting to elaborate.
‘We would not have seen her, except for you. She lived another year, thanks to you.’ He grasped Sean’s shoulders. ‘So I don’t blame you, and you should not feel guilty.’ His eyes began to water.
‘But I do, no matter what you say.’
Mr Moore sighed. ‘You know it was so lovely to see her. She spoke about how you first met in the States. I have to tell you, she was not especially impressed by you, at least, to start with.’
Sean halted and turned to Natasha’s father. ‘Mr Moore, I loved your daughter. I would have done anything for her. I just regret I wasn’t there to stop her being killed.’
‘I sense your anger, Sean.’
‘Mr Moore, I am not just angry. I intend to seek justice for the man responsible.’
A look of real concern passed over Mr Moore’s face. ‘I gathered from Natasha you are an exceedingly capable individual. Are you planning to bring him to justice, or to administer it yourself?’
Sean remained silent.
Mr Moore shook his head sorrowfully. ‘No-one but her father could want more. But justice administered by the courts. It’s not your job to dispense it.’
When Sean didn’t reply, Mr Moore gestured to the church, the town below and the sea. ‘See this lovely land Sean. Is it not beautiful? Yet this country has more blood spilt because of greed and revenge. Don’t become one of those people. Please.’
They stood for a moment in silence. Finally, Sean responded. 'Mr Moore, I want to thank you and Adriana for your hospitality. But I can’t promise anything.’ He turned and made his way back down the path to the graveside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘Beer?’
Lomax shook his head. ‘I’ve work to do.’
Sean appraised his Executive. He had lost the walking stick, and there was more colour to his complexion. ‘Really? We could talk here, or at the pub.’
Lomax was silent for a moment. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘Right, pub it is then. Your round, I think.’
Lomax drove, and Sean was pleased to find he had regained some of his old form. They found a table, and Lomax brought the drinks over. He set the glasses down, taking in Sean’s pale complexion and listless expression, not to mention the fingers of his left hand bound with splints. ‘You still look like shit.’
‘Cheers.’ Sean raised his pint. ‘You look even worse.’
Lomax sat. ‘Listen Sean. Whatever you’re planning, you need to reconsider. You want revenge; I understand that. But this kind of thing is never done in the Service. It is strictly business only. You’re trying to make it personal, but you don’t appr
eciate the consequences.’
‘The Section sanctioned me to take out Zlotnik when he was in Vienna. Why shouldn’t I do it now he’s back in Moscow?’
‘Come on, Sean. The Section might have given you the nod a few months ago, but even they had to call it off when oversight found out what they were up to.’
Sean lifted an eyebrow.
‘Just imagine.’ Lomax sounded exasperated. ‘What would happen if someone in the FSB, or the FSO decided to react and go after you? The thing would soon escalate into a private war that no-one could stop. That’s why you were always taught never to take things personally.’
‘You said yourself that Natasha was a non-combatant. How personal is that?’
‘I know. But that’s all the more reason why we shouldn’t get involved.’
‘I am involved, full stop.’
Lomax took a sip of his beer and tried a different tack. ‘What about your job in the Section?’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, you like working there? Once they find out what you’re up to, they’ll hang you from the rafters. You’ll be out of there so fast you’ll be lucky to leave with a pension.’
Sean sipped his larger. ‘I don’t care. I was leaving anyway.’
‘You don’t care? Then you bloody should!’
Sean took another sip of his drink. ‘I’m finished anyway.’
Lomax drew back. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I can’t cut it any longer, Lomax. I started to get the shakes.’
‘Jesus, Sean. What are you - iron man? We all get the jitters.’
‘Not during the middle of the action.’
Lomax sat back. ‘It can happen during the action - we all get it sometime or other.’
‘Not like this.’
‘Oh.’ Lomax regarded Sean. He had changed since he heard the news about Natasha. Lomax couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He had lost confidence, certainly. And he was more introverted and taciturn than usual. Obviously it had affected him much more than Lomax had first thought. That set him thinking. ‘When did you first notice?’
‘About six months ago.’
‘That would be about the time you and Natasha started to get serious.’
‘I guess so.’
‘Ah.’ Lomax hit his hand on the table with a sharp tap. ‘You silly bugger. Any amateur psychologist could tell you what’s been causing the tremors. I expect you thought it was fear - or worse, cowardice?’
‘Something like that.’
‘I’ll say it again, Sean Quinlan. You’re a daft bugger. You started to feel real fear only when you knew Natasha cared for you, and when you cared for her. It’s not cowardice, it’s just human bloody nature!’
Sean shrugged. ‘Doesn’t make a difference anyway, I’m still going.’
‘Listen Sean. It might be worse than you think. Suppose they send another team after you from Russia? They would hunt you down. And don’t believe for one minute the Section would protect you. They’d be more likely to support the Russians if they spotted a vendetta developing.’ He saw Sean wasn’t really listening; the bleak eyes were set in a pale determined face. He’d seen that look before; nothing would persuade him to change his mind.
‘I’ll need some help.’
‘Jesus, Sean. Do you want to get me into trouble too?’
‘Will you come?’
Lomax looked away. In truth he felt guilty since he had given the Russians the name of Sean’s girlfriend. But what Sean was asking might well cost him his newly acquired job at the Section. He took another swallow from the pint, wondering how to say no. That answer never came.
‘Very well, I’ll go with you.’
Sean slapped him on the back with his good hand. ‘Great!’
‘But remember, Sean. The only reason I’m going is to keep you out of trouble while you’re there.’
‘Call on line two. President Donahue for you.’ The secretary slipped out of the Prime Minister’s office, closing the door gently behind him.
The PM picked up the phone.
‘Terrance, good to speak to you again.’ President Donahue’s voice boomed down the connection.
‘Hello Robert. How’s the weather north of you?’
‘Ha ha. You always get straight to the point. The contamination is low, thank God. We’re monitoring the sea, the currents, the air, and high atmosphere. Radioactivity in the Arctic is just above background. The level in the ocean itself is higher, but nothing like what we were expecting.’
‘I’m glad to hear that Robert. Our own observation stations are reporting the same, so that is reassuring. One of our oceanographers tried to explain it to me – something about the Arctic Ocean being a basin, a sort of inland sea. It looks as if the pressure at the seabed contained the worst of the fallout, and the Ocean is keeping the radioactivity to itself, for now.’
‘Khostov certainly knew the best way to contain it.’
‘I agree.’
‘Speaking of Khostov, we were wondering how he was making out?’
‘Ah, I see. I know his son has started school here and he has begun to settle in. It seems that Alexei is enjoying work here too.’
‘He’s definitely an impressive character. We thought he might like an opportunity to get experience on some advanced projects we have going.’
‘You’re welcome to try Robert. I can’t speak for him, but he doesn’t seem to be the sort that would be easily persuaded by money.’
‘No? Maybe we could arrange a sabbatical at some point?’
‘Perhaps. How is progress with the treaty?’
‘Great. We’ve been meeting in secret with the rest of the council, and we’re pleasantly surprised by the level of consensus. Some of them are welcoming the initiative with open arms.’
‘So you are on track to complete by the deadline?’
‘Well, not so fast. We’re expecting a lot of resistance from the Eco-lobbyists.’
‘How much of a problem will that be?’
‘Not that much, really. Once we conclude the meetings with the council, we’ll open it up for a public debate. We’ll explain the benefits to everyone, and the Eco lobby will condemn it. The global warming groups will jump on the band waggon, and after they’ve had their say we’ll sign the accord. We’ve tabled meetings in six months’ time and we’re very hopeful that heads of agreement will be signed then.’
‘That’s excellent news, Robert. I’m really pleased.’
‘A great deal hinged on your late intervention. If you hadn’t exposed the evidence that the Russians were already planning to mine oil and gas at the North Pole, it could have all been for nothing.’
‘I have to thank you for playing your part too, Robert. If you hadn’t objected to the idea as strongly as you did, the Russian’s wouldn’t have fallen for it. You’d make a good actor.’
Ashdown caught the familiar sound of a chuckle down the line. ‘We’ve had enough actors in the White House. But I do want to remind you of one promise you made.’
‘Yes?’ Ashdown replied.
‘You promised never to put me in such a position again.’
‘Robert, you have my word as a politician.’ Smiling, the Prime Minister replaced the phone.
Sean placed his eye to the Dragunov’s scope. He could see Serge Zlotnik sitting alone in the restaurant by the window. He came here every evening at the same time and sat at the same table. Sean knew, because he had followed him for three days, establishing his patterns and routes.
Sean couldn’t help the feeling of déjà vu; but this time it was just a bit too simple. He had spotted the office block on the second day, and getting to the empty rooftop unseen was easy. He lay on a mat, with a cheap mobile phone alongside.
God knows where Lomax had acquired the rifle, but it was the best old fashioned long gun the Soviets ever made. Lomax had kept his promise to deliver him safely, and was staying in the background until he completed the shot. Whatever else Sean felt about him, at l
east he followed through when he said he would.
Sean gripped the curved magazine with the free fingers of his left hand. It held a total of ten rounds but with a range of less than one and a half kilometres, he knew he would only need one cartridge. Each contained a tungsten alloy at its centre, surrounded by a copper jacket. He would have to shoot through the window. The soft copper would disintegrate on contact with the glass, but the hardened centre would continue. If the slug so much as touched Zlotnik, he would die.
Arctic Firepath (Sean Quinlan Book 2) Page 29