‘Where am I, anyway?’ she asked.
‘You’re at Heath Hospital in Cardiff,’ the nurse said. ‘They got you here in a search and rescue helicopter. Your car was in a ravine.’
An elderly woman led by a nurse shuffled past the gap between the curtain panels. She peered in, making eye contact with Sara. Sara’s nurse followed her gaze, then rolled the panels closer together.
‘Where’s my car?’ Sara asked.
The nurse shook her head. ‘The police will have to tell you that. Chances are, it was recovered by a local garage and they’re holding it for you. When you’re able, dial 101 and ask for the Dyfed-Powys police headquarters.’ The nurse slid a plastic chair up to Sara’s bedside. ‘You’ll need to pay the towing charges, and authorise repairs. You’ll want to liaise with your insurance company.’
The nurse sat. She was lower than the mattress, and had to look up to see Sara. ‘But that can wait until you’re better,’ she concluded. Then her voice lowered. ‘Since we’re talking, though, do you want to tell me about your other bruises?’
Sara paused. She knew immediately what the nurse meant, but made sure to adopt a carefree tone. ‘I assume I have lots of them,’ she said. ‘After all, I was just in an accident.’
‘Dr Jones,’ the nurse said, ‘I think you know what I’m asking. Those older bruises. The ones that weren’t caused today. On your legs, and on your back, and your ribs. What happened there?’
Sara closed her eyes. ‘They’re not relevant,’ she said. ‘They have nothing to do with this.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ the nurse sighed, ‘but the police might ask about them when they question you.’
Sara nodded. She had expected as much. ‘Will they come here to the hospital?’
‘Probably not,’ the nurse said, ‘unless there just happens to be a constable free. They’ll let you get better first, and talk to you at home in London.’ She stood. ‘They’re willing to wait when it’s only an accident, rather than a criminal investigation.’
They don’t know I was run off the road deliberately, Sara thought.
‘In the meantime, if you’d like to chat with the chaplain –’
‘Who was driving?’ Sara interrupted.
The nurse’s forehead creased. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The other car. Who was the driver?’
‘I suppose I can have a look.’ She thumbed through her papers. ‘Let’s see … her name was Odera. Nicole Odera.’
Sara’s head seemed to grow lighter. Nicole? She thought. She pressed her skull more firmly into the pillow as though trying to ground her thoughts. Sara had never learned Vos’s partner’s last name … but could it have been Odera? Surely Nicole wouldn’t have run Sara off the road … would she?
‘What does she look like?’ Sara asked.
‘I’m afraid I didn’t see her,’ the nurse replied.
‘How old is she?’
The nurse reached up and laid a hand softly on Sara’s wrist, as if humouring a delirious patient. ‘You really shouldn’t get worked up about this right now.’
‘Please.’
‘Late twenties, I think. Why do you ask?’
‘And she’s here in the hospital, too?’
‘Well …’ The nurse hesitated. ‘I’m afraid the injuries Ms Odera suffered were far worse than yours,’ she said.
A pang of grief closed Sara’s eyes. ‘Is she …?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ the nurse said. ‘The poor woman died at the scene.’
Vos was taking ages to arrive, and with every minute the Green Street flat felt as though it were shrinking just a little bit more. Even the air seemed to grow denser as Jamie waited. It pressed in on him, making him sweat through his shirt into the fabric of his new suit. He paced the small floor, unable to stop thinking about how little he’d understood Sara. These thoughts had no progression, no rational order. Tiny vignettes twined around Jamie’s self-recrimination – Sara explaining how she had made the Eye-in-the-Pyramid pendant to dampen her grief, and telling him why she’d let her brother die. How could Jamie have walked out on her when she was staggering under such a weight? Of course he’d been blind to her true burden – but why hadn’t he seen?
He was insensitive.
Sara needed him.
He’d failed her.
He loved her.
A loop of thoughts, repeating.
Jamie was relieved he’d commissioned the jewellery from the shop down the street. It lay coiled in his pocket now. He planned to keep it there, like the talisman of a better future, until he gave it to Sara on Monday.
The white door swished open almost silently, and Jamie turned to see Vos standing in the doorframe, eyeing him narrowly. ‘I hope you feel better than you look,’ Vos said, ‘because you look like shit.’
Jamie blinked. ‘Come in,’ he said.
Vos closed the door and gestured to the sofa. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘What we do today is going to decide our futures. The stakes are incredibly fucking high.’
Vos was always blunt, but Jamie had never seen him this urgent. He moved to the sofa and sat. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
Vos dropped into the chair opposite and leant forward, elbows on his bony knees. ‘It’s Rootenberg,’ he replied solemnly. ‘I’ve just found out that our friend cannot be trusted.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s been playing both ends against the middle. He hasn’t only been trying to shill his Zimbabwean contacts to us. Turns out, he’s also been working on Strategic Ballistics – that Russian government firm.’
‘He's been in contact with the Russians?’ Jamie asked. He searched his memory for any clue Rootenberg might have offered in their meetings. ‘Since when?’
‘At least since the fall of Mugabe. Maybe longer.’
‘Before he came to Thorndike?’
Vos sneered. ‘I suppose the little shit finally realised the Russians already have plenty of contacts in Zimbabwe. That’s when he called on me. He’d have been better off starting here and sticking with Thorndike alone.’ Vos raised his eyebrows. ‘What can I say? The guy’s a greedy prick. And, let’s face it, he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.’
Vos looked so agitated, Jamie imagined he must feel torn apart by the betrayal. ‘It can be difficult when friendship and business collide,’ he said. ‘Why did you ever work with him?’
‘I owed him a favour,’ Vos replied.
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ Jamie said. ‘I take it you’ve cut ties with him? It’s likely for the best.’
Vos glared at Jamie as though he were an especially thick child. ‘You’re not hearing me,’ he snapped. ‘Russians are involved. What Rootenberg’s done has left us all in a shit-ton of trouble.’
‘How?’ Jamie asked.
‘They found out about his double-dealing, that’s how. A couple of days ago, Rootenberg was contacted by someone he thinks is an arms procurer. Now the idiot believes he's back in Moscow’s good books.’
‘I take it this guy isn’t what Rootenberg thinks he is,’ Jamie ventured.
‘Nope,’ Vos agreed grimly. ‘He’s an agent of Russian Foreign Intelligence. They’re called the SVR. Specifically, he's with the part that deals with illegal operations, known as Directorate S.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘Why would Russian Intelligence get involved? The sale of a few mortar shells isn’t high-level politics.’
Vos lolled his head onto the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling. ‘The answer is business,’ he replied. ‘It’s one of the things that keep the Russians spying. International espionage isn’t just about politics any more, it’s also about money. Trouble is, the Russians’ tactics have stayed the same since the Cold War. It doesn’t matter whether the motives are politics or business.’ He lifted his head and leaned forwards. ‘Listen, kiddo – Directorate S has two jobs. First, they conduct false flag operations, where they recruit stooges who never know they’re working for the Russians. Second, they kill people.’
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Jamie paused as he considered the implication of Vos’s intelligence. ‘But Rootenberg knew he was working with the Russian government,’ he pointed out.
Vos smiled grimly. ‘So we can rule out a false flag operation.’
‘You mean, they’re going to kill him?’
Vos angled his head equivocally. ‘On balance, my guess is not. You ask me, they’ll use him to do their bidding for the rest of his life.’ He raised his thin eyebrows. ‘But if I’m right,’ he went on, ‘they’re sure as shit going to kill somebody.’
‘Who?’
Vos stared at Jamie blankly. ‘You and me, chum,’ he said. ‘Maybe Sara and Nicole, too.’
‘What?’ Jamie cried.
‘It’s how these people operate,’ Vos said. ‘How better to get Rootenberg on side? They kill the Westerners he was trying to do business with and frighten him into cooperating with them for ever. A spineless shit like Rootenberg would do anything for them after that.’
‘Do they know who we are?’ Jamie stammered.
‘They’ll know the company,’ Vos replied.
‘But us as individuals?’
‘I’d say, not yet,’ Vos said, ‘but they will soon. My intelligence indicates an agent from Directorate S is due to land at Heathrow tonight. By tomorrow morning, he’ll have met with Rootenberg and extracted our names.’ Vos leaned back and stretched out his lanky legs. ‘They won’t do anything to us immediately. The Russians are careful in their planning. We’ll die soon enough, but at a time least likely to arouse suspicion.’
‘What can we do?’ Jamie stammered. ‘Have you called the police?’
‘You mean, your old alma mater?’ Vos sneered. ‘The Met will be of no help to us, matey,’ he said. ‘This is out of their league.’
‘MI6, then.’
Vos snorted. ‘Thorndike Aerospace has contacts, sure – but by the time anyone took us seriously, we’d most likely be dead.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Nope,’ he said, ‘you and I are going to have to deal with this problem tonight.’
‘How?’
Vos stared at Jamie levelly. After what seemed like minutes, he asked, ‘Are you ready to do the worst thing you’ve ever done in your life?’
TWENTY-ONE
Nicole is dead, Sara thought. Nicole tried to run me off the road and now she’s dead.
But, Sara reminded herself, she didn’t know that for a fact. It hadn’t been confirmed. All she had been given was a name. It might not be the same Nicole. Sara was not sure whether the Nicole she knew was named Odera or not. The grim suspicion that was causing her stomach to lurch might be completely unfounded.
But I know it’s not, she insisted to herself. I know it’s true.
But how exactly did Sara know that? Was her certainty founded on a mere premonition? And, if so, could she even trust it? I’ve been out of touch with my psychic side for too long, she thought. The bonds between Sara’s sense of self and her visions had been loosening for weeks. That dissolution had begun with those unsettling visions of the Kapadia family. Navid kicks Jamila and she's still; Navid tosses the petrol-soaked newspaper to Yusuf. Since then, Sara’s abilities had taken on a sour quality. Not long after her premonitions of Tim Wilson bludgeoning his lover to death, her confidence had been knocked sideways by those contradictory visions of Rachel Poole. Even after confirming all she’d suspected about Wilson and Berger, Sara’s relationship with her abilities had been uneasy. As it turned out, avoiding her visions had been as dangerous as having them. If Sara had allowed more of her second sight into her life recently, she might have foreseen this evening’s altercation on the Brecon Beacons. Maybe Nicole would still be alive.
Sara adjusted her head on the pillow and took a deep breath. She needed answers – and for that to happen, she had to trust herself. She turned her head gingerly, looking for her nurse.
‘Excuse me?’ she called.
The nurse popped her head between the panels. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I think I’ll rest for a while,’ Sara told her. ‘Is it possible not to be disturbed?’
The nurse’s eyes smiled. ‘I will have to check on you,’ she said, ‘but of course. You try to get some sleep.’
When the nurse had retreated and rearranged the panels, Sara closed her eyes and forced herself to think of Nicole. Nicole Odera. She pictured the woman’s thin, intelligent face, framed by hair plaited so perfectly into cornrows. Sara also thought of Vos, and Jamie, and Thorndike Aerospace, and South Africa.
And of danger; she couldn’t help but think of danger.
Then, from a corner of her mind, Sara could hear echoes of Eldon Carson’s voice. They bounced against her other thoughts, flooding her consciousness.
OK, Miss Sara, she heard Eldon say, here are your coordinates …
Immediately, fragments of colour and shape began to collect. Slowly, Sara made out the form of Gerrit Vos. She envisioned him strolling into some sort of public space. Outwardly, Vos’s set features, his sunken eyes, formed a mask of complete calm. But Sara could also feel his nerves jangling like the vibration of shrill music. Whatever she was witnessing, it was not an image from the past … this was about to happen, and soon.
And it felt wrong.
A figure walked at Vos’s side. Sara strained to tune into the image more clearly. She yearned for it to be Nicole. That would mean she’d been mistaken about her assailant, and that Nicole was still alive.
Sara forced herself deeper into the trance. As the images grew sharper, the sense of menace became even more palpable. These two people were walking into danger. Sara could almost make out the figure next to Vos now. She strained, focused … and her chest hollowed as she realised it was not Nicole.
It was Jamie.
Jamie could feel his pulse racing, his breath thickening. It was difficult to think, and the thoughts that wanted to push through were impossible. The situation seemed so unreal.
Jamie reminded himself that, unlike Vos, he did not have access to intelligence briefings. There might well be a bigger, deadlier picture that Jamie could not see. The only things he was able to focus on with certainty were his thoughts of Sara.
Sara – now driving blithely through her beloved hills to visit her oldest friend. So unaware of any danger.
‘How would we deal with the problem?’ Jamie asked.
Vos released a grunt of approval. He sat up straight and dug into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a small zip-lock bag of white powder and tossed it onto the coffee table.
‘This,’ he said, ‘is thallium sulphate. When it’s ingested, it mimics the effects of a viral infection – vomiting, convulsions, that kind of thing. Assuming you use enough – and by that, I only mean a quarter of a teaspoon full – its effects are fatal. And the cause of death will be listed as natural.’
Vos grinned. ‘You see, thallium is seldom tested for in autopsies. Now, there’s always a slim chance that it would be found. So let’s just say, for example, that Levi Rootenberg ingested this and died. If it were ever discovered in his body … well, two facts would soon emerge. One, that Rootenberg had been working with the Russians. And two, that thallium is known to be a poison much loved by the KGB. Put those two facts together, and the conclusion is obvious – Levi Rootenberg was assassinated by Russian intelligence.’
Jamie’s brow knitted closer together. He blinked. ‘Levi Rootenberg?’ he said.
Vos shrugged. ‘For example.’
‘No,’ Jamie breathed.
‘No what?’
Jamie shook his head so lightly it looked like a tremble. ‘You’re suggesting we commit murder,’ he whispered.
‘I’m suggesting we save our skins while we have the chance.’
Jamie threw himself back defiantly. ‘Not in that way,’ he said. He stared at the bag of white crystals on the coffee table, and added, ‘We can’t solve this problem like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘For all the reasons people don’t commit murder,’ Jamie shouted
. ‘I just won’t do it.’
Vos grimaced and suddenly kicked out, shoving the coffee table. ‘Matey,’ he bellowed, ‘what aren’t you understanding here? You don’t have a choice!’ His sunken eyes glared. ‘This situation is literally kill-or-be-killed. Maybe you want to be a martyr and take the ultimate hit for your morals, but remember, it’s not only you and me who’ll go down. It’s Nicole, too … and it’s Sara.’
Jamie couldn’t think. He could barely breathe. Vos sat straighter but lowered his gaze. ‘Rootenberg’s a piece of shit,’ he muttered. ‘For one, he’s a murderer. He killed people in South Africa. Don’t ask how I know that, but it’s an iron-clad fact. Do you think he deserves to live while all of us die?’
From the paralysis of Jamie’s thoughts, snippets of his conversation with Sara surfaced. How she had let her brother die, and still did not think what she’d done was wrong. Rhodri Jones hadn’t deserved to live. Jamie even thought of his father, and how he had risked his good name for the sake of his family’s comfort.
Sometimes you do the wrong thing for the right reasons, he’d told Jamie.
But this was different. This was murder. ‘I don’t want to spend my life in prison,’ he said, his voice trembling.
‘You won’t,’ Vos replied with conviction.
He reached out and picked up the bag of powder. ‘Think of the safeguards,’ he repeated. ‘This thallium is almost certain not to be detected. It’ll be logged as a death by natural causes. And even if the coroner does detect it, the government is going to blame the Russians.’
Jamie shut his eyes so hard they sparkled. Something behind his right eye twinged. His chest burned, and he could feel bile creeping up his throat. He silently apologised to Sara for not having heeded her warnings. Sara had told him to reject Vos from the very start. Sara hadn’t wanted him to have anything to do with Thorndike Aerospace. But Jamie had not listened and, now, here he was … in a Thorndike flat, discussing murder.
‘I shit you not,’ Vos said quietly. ‘We do it, or we all die.’
As Jamie opened his eyes, he noticed that his cheeks tickled. Tears were dribbling down them.
‘But how?’ he asked dully. ‘The thallium, I mean. How could we even get Rootenberg to take it?’
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