A Darker Place

by Jack Higgins

  AT THE ÉLYSÉE PALACE, they were checked at the main gate and passed through to the courtyard and parking area. Kurbsky and Ivanov left the others and joined a sizable crowd of people pushing toward the main doors of the Palace.

  All life was there, a mixture of uniforms and civilian attire, and the Palace guards in their gorgeous outfits. There was a great hubbub as they went in, chandeliers sparkling over the incredible opulence of it all. A colonel in the dress uniform of the Foreign Legion standing at the entrance to a cordoned-off section of the crowd saw Kurbsky and beckoned.

  When Kurbsky approached, he said in English, “Mr. Kurbsky, this is an honor. We’ve been worried-your embassy was supposed to be in touch an hour ago to confirm you were on the way. It’s a good thing I saw you. Is this your aide?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Ivanov.”

  “Right, he’ll be seated in one of the three back rows. You’ll be in the front row, of course.” He offered Kurbsky an embossed card. “Give this to the usher up there.”

  Ivanov said, “Good luck, Comrade.”

  Kurbsky went along the aisle and offered the card to some sort of majordomo, who examined it and led him to his seat, which was at the very end of the front row on the right. It meant that Kurbsky only had the person on his left to make small talk with. The man was very old and wrinkled, with a shock of white hair.

  He smiled when the man looked sideways at him and spoke in German, which unfortunately was not one of Kurbsky’s languages. He said something unintelligible, so Kurbsky said, “Hello, how are you?” in Russian.

  He seemed alarmed, and Kurbsky tried English. The old man immediately looked wise and said, “Who are you?” very slowly, taking his time with each word.

  “Alexander Kurbsky.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “To receive the Legion of Honor.”

  “What for? What do you do?”

  “I write books. I’m a novelist.”

  There was a nod of puzzlement. “I have never heard of you.”

  Kurbsky laughed out loud, and people turned to look. “What about you?” he asked. “Why are you here?”

  “For the Legion of Honor. My name is Hans Kruger.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “I’m a nuclear physicist.”

  “Well, that’s all right. I haven’t heard of you either.”

  And then voices hushed, there was a fanfare of trumpets, and the proceedings began.

  IT TOOK a long time, and there were speeches and more speeches that numbed the mind as well as the backside, as the whole thing dragged on. Recipients were called in turn, and it all began to be slightly reminiscent of a conveyor belt, and Kurbsky wasn’t even aware of the magic moment. He certainly was there when the President pinned on the insignia of the Legion of Honor and words were said, but what they were he could never be sure.

  And then it was all over. The President moved on and Kurbsky went with the flow, the crowd of people searching for the food. Ivanov was tugging his sleeve. “Wonderful. Great stuff.”

  “You know something, I’m not certain you and I have experienced the same affair. What’s the time?” He glanced at his watch. “Good God, it’s half past nine already. Where have I been?” He shook his head. “Where’s the buffet?”

  Ivanov had it all worked out and led the way. At that point, Kurbsky realized he was clutching a box of Moroccan leather in his right hand and had been for some time. He looked at it, puzzled, then realized what it was and opened it, unpinned the Legion of Honor from his lapel, and put it inside.

  “You shouldn’t take it off, you should wear it with pride,” Ivanov said, but Kurbsky put it in his pocket and they pushed through the crowds, got plates at the buffet, and took their turn. It was hardly worth it, for people, as people do in crowds, were tending to become difficult. He managed a few sausage rolls, then said to Ivanov, “I’ve had enough. Let’s have a drink.”

  They found the champagne bar and had a glass, and the Foreign Legion colonel found them. “Where is it-you haven’t lost it already?”

  “No, it’s in my pocket.”

  The colonel took a glass of champagne himself. “Mind you, I suppose it’s just another gong to you. You must have earned plenty.”

  “And you,” Kurbsky said politely.

  “Do you ever wonder what it’s all about?”

  “Every day of my life.” Kurbsky emptied the second glass of champagne Ivanov had handed him and said, “Good night, it’s been a sincere sensation.” He patted the colonel on the shoulder and turned to Ivanov. “Let’s go.”

  THEY FOUND THE Mercedes and the others and left, reaching the Ritz at ten-thirty. He dismissed the driver and went inside. Ivanov said, “A drink, perhaps?”

  “No, I’ve had enough. To be frank, I want my bed. If two of you lads want to have something, feel free, but I’m going to the suite. Who’s coming with me?”

  Ivanov helped things along, impatient for the joys of Olga to come. “It’s been a big night and one I’ll always remember, but I’m ready for bed now too.”

  Kokonin said, “Well, in the circumstances, I’ll take the first half of the night, if that’s all right with you,” he told Kurbsky.

  “Fine by me. We’ll go up, then.” They all got in the elevator and went up together.

  In the suite, Kurbsky went to his bedroom and left Kokonin to settle himself in the sitting room. He decided against locking the double door leading into Ivanov’s room, because if Ivanov wanted to see him for some reason, finding the door locked might give him pause for thought.

  The television was on in the sitting room, he was aware of that, and he opened the door of the bedroom a crack to listen. He was all worked up and impatient. He checked his watch and saw it was ten forty-five. If he was early at the station, what did it matter? It was a waste of time and opportunity to wait like this. He took his jacket off and put the bathrobe on and walked out into the sitting room. Kokonin had a movie on and glanced up in surprise.

  He started to move, and Kurbsky said, “Don’t get up, I just want something from the room bar.”

  Kokonin eased down again. Kurbsky passed behind him, turned and delivered a rabbit punch to the neck with extended knuckles, then, as Kokonin moaned, held him with one hand and squeezed his thumb into the carotid artery, until Kokonin slouched over the arm of the big easy chair.

  Kurbsky darted into the bedroom, tearing off the bathrobe, revealing a silenced Walther in a belt clip at the small of his back. He pulled on his jacket, took his leather coat out of the wardrobe, went to the door of the suite, and opened it. The corridor was quiet. He moved out, locked the door, and in seconds was at the door opening to the stairway. Four flights down, and he’d never descended stairs so quickly in his life. He emerged into the foyer and walked straight out of the hotel door. It was raining hard now, but there was the taxi rank.

  At that moment, Olga, with thoughts of her split shift starting at eleven and Ivanov waiting, was hurrying to the staff door. Seeing Kurbsky, she paused in the shadows, felt puzzled. The doorman offered him his umbrella.

  “Taxi, sir, where to?” They walked to the first cab.

  “Gare du Nord,” Kurbsky said.

  “And which gate, sir?”

  “Midnight express to Brest.”

  “That would be gate three,” the porter told the driver, opening the door for Kurbsky and accepting the tip he gave him.

  The taxi drove away and Olga, still puzzled, went in through the staff entrance and clocked in for her shift.

  In the taxi, Kurbsky took out his mobile and called Monica. She was already on the train, sitting in one of the private compartments with Dillon and Billy.

  “Alex, where are you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m on my way in a taxi. Everything’s worked like a charm. I know I’m early, but I couldn’t wait.”

  “I don’t think that matters. We’ll see you soon.”

  She clicked off, smiling hugely at Dillon and Billy. “He’s on his w
ay.”

  “Well, that’s great,” Dillon said. “We’ll go and meet him together. Let’s get moving.”

  THE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS

  7

  At the Ritz, Olga clocked in, then went to the women’s staff room, opened her locker, undressed, and changed into staff uniform. She reported to the supervisor and then went up to her station on the fourth floor. It was just after eleven when she went into the linen room, still puzzled about Kurbsky. Then she wondered about Ivanov. Was he even there? There was one way to find out. She went and knocked on his door lightly, then used her passkey.

  He was lying on the bed, jacket off, propped up against pillows, watching television, and sat up with a smile, swinging his feet to the floor.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.” He took a quick step, enfolded her in his arms, and kissed her passionately. She pulled away. “When I saw your boss leave the hotel, I wondered what was going on. I wasn’t even sure you’d be here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Kurbsky. I saw him getting a taxi downstairs on my way in.”

  He shook his head. “But that’s impossible.”

  “It was him, all right. Ask the doorman. He got him the taxi. It was to the Gare du Nord. I heard quite clearly. The porter asked which gate, and your boss said he wanted the midnight express to Brest, and the porter said gate three.”

  Ivanov turned, ran to the interconnecting door to the suite, opened it, and rushed in. Kokonin was leaning over in the chair, holding his head in his hands and groaning. Ivanov pulled his hands away and shook him.

  “What happened?”

  “I was watching television. He came in, said he wanted a drink from the room bar, and passed behind me. He must have punched me or something. I just blacked out. I only opened my eyes a minute or so ago. Where is he?”

  “Gone. Cleared off. Olga here saw him leaving the hotel and getting a taxi.” He turned to Olga, who stood in the doorway. “Get my friend from his room. If he’s undressed, tell him to get his clothes on again and come and join us.”

  “What is it?” she demanded. “What in the hell has happened?”

  “My boss has decided to defect, that’s what’s happened, and if he gets away with it, me and my friends might as well defect too, because if we go back to Moscow without him, we’ll end up in some gulag in Siberia. Go and get the other guy.”

  She went, and Ivanov pushed Kokonin into the bathroom. “Take your shirt off quickly. Come on, I’ll give you one of my shirts. You haven’t got time for a full shower, but a few minutes with your head under the cold spray will help.” He opened the shower door and turned it on ice cold. Kokonin did as he was told, leaning in and then withdrawing and toweling himself dry. Ivanov went and got a fresh shirt for him, and as he was pulling it on, Olga came back.

  “Your other pal was in his pajamas, but he’s dressing as fast as he can. Is this bad for you?”

  “Not if we can get him back.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Eleven-fifteen and the train leaves at midnight. How long does it take to reach the Gare du Nord?”

  “I think maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “We could make it, then.” There was a knock at the door and Burlaka appeared. “Could someone explain what the hell is going on?”

  Kokonin came out of the bathroom. “I’m okay now.”

  Ivanov said to Burlaka, “Get your raincoats and meet me at the elevator.” They went out obediently. He pulled Olga over. “I suppose we’ll always have the linen room to remember.” He kissed her, then went into his bedroom and found his coat and old slouch hat. She followed him, and he said, “We’ll leave everything in our rooms. The Embassy will see to them, and if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut.”

  She followed him out into the corridor. “You don’t have to tell me. Do you really think you can get him back?”

  “I’m not sure, but if we can get close enough to kill the bastard, that would be just as good.”

  He turned and ran to the elevator, where Kokonin was holding the door, and it closed on him. Olga stood there, thinking about him. A nice boy and she’d liked him, but so what? Life could be cruel sometimes, but the last thing she needed was any kind of trouble with Russian intelligence. She turned and went into the linen cupboard and got on with her work.

  KURBSKY FOUND THEM waiting outside the gate, the sight of Monica like an old friend. She came toward him, glowing, hands reaching out. “Alex, this is wonderful.” She kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him fiercely. “Are you all right?”

  “Never better. Introduce me to your friends.”

  Which she did. Dillon said, “We have plenty of time, forty minutes. Let’s have you straight on board and we’ll get you a drink. I think you’ve earned it. Was it difficult?”

  “Not at all. Astonishingly simple.”

  They walked along the platform, station noises echoing, people’s voices sounding strangely distorted, a whistle in the distance, a train across the platform starting up and moving forward.

  “Everybody seems to be going somewhere,” Kurbsky said.

  “Well, you certainly are. Just follow me.” She got in the coach, and he went after her.

  Billy paused as Dillon made a call on his mobile, which Roper received in Holland Park. “Our package has arrived safely. Just under half an hour or so, and we’ll be off.”

  “Did he kill anybody?” Roper asked.

  “Not that he mentioned.”

  IVANOV HAD PROMISED the taxi driver double fare, which worked in spite of the night and rain. They reached Gare du Nord with fifteen minutes to spare, and Ivanov led the way to the nearest ticket window and slapped his credit card down.

  “The train is quite full, gentlemen,” the young woman said. “All first class has gone.”

  “That’s okay,” Ivanov told her. “Anything will do.”

  “I can manage three club car seats, so you can at least have refreshments, but you’ll have to sit up for the night.”

  Within five minutes, they were passing through the gate and starting along the platform. Ivanov pulled his black hat down over his eyes. “You two keep to the other side of the platform, I’ll scan the windows of the train. I’ll join you farther along.”

  It was actually easier than he thought it would be. The three first-class coaches were at the front behind the engine, with a fourth that was a bar and restaurant. Walking past, his head slightly averted, Ivanov found Kurbsky sitting opposite a good-looking woman, two men on the other side of them at a bar table. It was enough. He hurried back along the platform to Kokonin and Burlaka at the rear of the train.

  “He’s there, sitting with a woman and two men in the bar in first class. We’ll board, find our seats, and think this thing out.”

  OVER THE CHAMPAGNE, Kurbsky went over the events of the evening with the others. He even found the Legion of Honor in its box and offered it to Monica for a look.

  “A remarkable souvenir of today,” she said. “What was it like, the award ceremony?”

  “Crowded and noisy and bizarre. A very old white-haired nuclear physicist sitting next to me asked me what I did, and when I told him, he said he’d never heard of me, which brought me down to earth considerably. So much so that I found myself asking what in the hell was I doing there.”

  “What about the Ritz?” Dillon asked. “You said it was astonishingly simple.”

  “Well, I didn’t have to kill anyone. I had young Kokonin sitting on guard. I knocked him cold, an old unarmed combat trick, grabbed my coat, and quite simply ran for it. I was being handed into a taxi by the doorman about four minutes later.” He smiled. “The rest you know.”

  The train was moving, gliding along, picking up a little speed as it left the station, a melancholy whistle echoing into the gloom.

  “I love trains, especially at night,” Kurbsky said. “I once did the Trans-Siberian all the way to Vladivostok. An amazing experience. I got
some interesting poetry out of it.”

  “I didn’t know you wrote poetry,” Monica said.

  “Bad poetry, I think, so I don’t advertise it.” As if to prevent any further discussion of the matter, he said, “I’d like to freshen up. Can we return to the compartment?”

  “Of course,” Monica said. “It has a pull-down basin to wash your face or shave, but no toilet. Those are at each end of the corridor.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get by.”

  Dillon and Billy went first, Monica next, and Kurbsky followed, and Ivanov and his friends watched through the glass door at the other end. “Back to our seats now,” Ivanov said, and led the way to the club car at the rear of the train.

  They had the end table, four chairs grouped around it, but the fourth was vacant. When the steward came with a drinks cart, they ordered half a bottle of vodka and ice. Ivanov heavily overtipped the man.

  “We prefer privacy, my friends and I.”

  “I take your point, Monsieur.” The steward produced a “Reserved” notice, smiled, and moved on with his cart.

  “What are we going to do?” Kokonin demanded.

  “Let’s assess the situation. We’ve no idea who these three people with Kurbsky are,” Ivanov said. “But they don’t know who we are. Only Kurbsky does.”

  Kokonin said, “I don’t see how we could do anything much on the train anyway. As long as Kurbsky stays up there in first class and we stay down here, we’ll get by. We’re armed, all three of us. That’s in our favor. We can wait until they get off.”

  Ivanov held up a timetable. “I’ve found this in the seat pocket. The train doesn’t go nonstop to Brest, it drops off at several places. Rennes, for example. They could get off anywhere.”

  “Exactly, and maybe we wait for that,” Ivanov said. “But I’m going to speak to Colonel Luzhkov and discuss it with him. He gave me his mobile number. I’ll go in the toilet so no one can hear.”