A Darker Place

by Jack Higgins

  “Well, you’ve rolled out all the canopies you can. They can stand out under those, enjoying their drinks, when it gets too crowded inside.”

  Down below on the approach to the pier, limousines were delivering guests and umbrellas were everywhere, as people pressed toward the pier, hurrying to get out of the rain.

  “I must see how my boys are getting on,” Colonel Henry said, and left.

  “Big day, Captain,” Billy said. “My uncle takes it very seriously.”

  “So do we all, Mr. Salter.”

  Billy led the way, Dillon followed, and they arrived at the deck lounge and bar. There was music playing, a jazz quartet set up on a dais in one corner, plenty of roving waiters on hand in white monkey jackets already offering champagne to early arrivals. Monica came toward them.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Tight as a drum.” Dillon took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and handed her one. “Here’s to smooth sailing.”

  “Here’s to the Big Four producing an accord that’s really going to make things better in Gaza,” Monica said.

  “Well, it would be nice to think so.” Dillon managed a diplomatic smile. “Here’s to us, anyway.”

  Harry arrived, and he was agitated. “Look at it, the bleeding weather, and where are we going to put them all?”

  “Don’t worry, that’s why we have deck canopies,” Billy told him. “They can stand outside.”

  Harry reached for a champagne himself. “I suppose so, if worse comes to worst.” He looked thoughtful. “I was wondering,” he said, “do you think I ought to put up one of those plaques commemorating today?”

  Dillon laughed out loud, and Monica reached over and kissed Harry on the forehead. “I’ve said it before, Harry-you are a one-off.”

  AT CHAMBER COURT, Katya and Svetlana sat in the conservatory discussing the Kurbsky situation.

  “Do you really think he will return to us tonight?” Svetlana asked.

  “I desperately hope so.”

  “A new beginning for him perhaps?” Svetlana nodded. “Or should I say another new beginning. When you consider his life, his childhood, his time with Kelly and me here in Belsize must have been a special experience for him, a release from the Communist regime that had damned his life.”

  Katya sighed. “All snatched away by his father’s wickedness.”

  “No, my dear, that’s too simple. Yes, my brother was corrupted by his political beliefs, and his position in the KGB was more important to him than his children, but everything in this sorry business stemmed from Tania’s behavior. She was a wild child who was indulged by her father, and became even wilder as a student. The consequences we know. If she hadn’t involved herself in the student uprising of ’eighty-nine, had stayed home, Alexander would have carried on here, would never have found the military and undergone the appalling experiences of Afghanistan and Chechnya.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  “But enough, I think. Let’s turn on the television and see what’s happening with the Big Four.”

  KURBSKY FOUND India Wharf with no trouble, in a decaying area of dockland just twenty minutes downriver from Wapping. He braked on the edge of the basin, taking in the situation quickly-the barge, the motorboats, and the Running Dog berthed inside the archway.

  He already had a Walther in the right-hand pocket of his coat. He quickly opened the secret compartment in his bag and found the.25 Colt. He couldn’t put on an ankle holster, the French paratroop boots were too high, and he had the gutting knife hidden in the right one. He slipped the Colt into the belt at the small of his back and got out.

  There was the roar of an engine and the Running Dog reversed out of the archway, a man standing at the wheel. He smiled. “Hello there, what can I do for you?”

  This had to be Ali Selim. Kurbsky knew that because Bounine had mentioned the orange boat and its strange name.

  “I seem to be lost-it’s like a maze back there.”

  The Running Dog taxied in beside the barge, and Ali Selim cut the engine and looped a line on a stanchion. He stepped across to the rear deck of the barge, and from there to the wharf.

  “Where were you looking for?”

  Kurbsky couldn’t think of a thing to say except Wapping High Street.

  Ali had taken a pack of cigarettes out and was lighting one. “Hah, you couldn’t be more out of the way, man.” He walked forward two steps very fast and pushed Kurbsky off the wharf into the water.

  HE WENT DOWN maybe ten feet, struggling, his left arm clumsy, and rose, pulling with his right, and surfaced to find Ali Selim squatting on his haunches, holding the Beretta and pointing it straight at him.

  “Do exactly as I say or I’ll blow your fucking head off. Do you follow me?”

  Half choking, Kurbsky nodded. “Yes.”

  “Just come up those few steps and join me.”

  The ladder was ancient and rusting, and stretched from the water three or four feet to the wharf. “I can’t,” Kurbsky said. “My left arm is injured.”

  “Hmm. All right, you look like a serious man. I’ll believe you.” Ali tossed the end of a line down. “Loop it round and I’ll pull.”

  Which he did, demonstrating his enormous strength, and Kurbsky ended up on his knees, spewing up water. Ali stood him up and did a quick search and discovered the Walther. “You’ve got taste, my friend, but a man like you would always have an ace in the hole. Ankle holder maybe?” He bent down and patted. “No? Let’s have a look at your waistband at the rear.” He found the Colt.25. “I approve, especially with hollow-point cartridges. I take care, my friend, I take care.”

  “I can see that,” Kurbsky told him, thinking of the two mobile phones Ali had missed in his shirt breast pocket.

  Ali said, “So your arm’s fucked? Take off your coat and prove it.”

  Kurbsky did awkwardly, disclosing his heavily bandaged left arm minus a shirtsleeve. Ali nodded. “I see what you mean. What was the problem?”

  “I didn’t duck fast enough. It was a knife.”

  “I knew I was right about you. You can tell a fellow pro instantly-at least I can. A man like you would only be here on business.” He shrugged. “So I suppose I’d better put you back in the water permanently.” He raised the Beretta and paused, because Kurbsky’s woolen cap had come off in the water. “There’s something funny about your skull. You look like one of those Buddhist monks. Are you into Zen or something?”

  Kurbsky saved his life, at least for the moment. “No, I’m into the death business. Chemotherapy.”

  “You’ve got cancer?”

  “Of the lung.” He started to shake from the bitter cold, standing there in the pouring rain, the visibility so bad on the Thames that you couldn’t see the other side, confronting this dangerous madman, and he knew that his life dangled from a thread.

  “Lung cancer?” Ali Selim said. “That’s a bad deal. I’ve got cancer too.” He paused, looking at Kurbsky. “Oh, hell, let’s get you below and find you something warm to wear. If I’m going to shoot you, at least you’ll be comfortable. Right? Right?” And he started to laugh.

  I was right, Kurbsky thought, he’s crazy as a loon. He took his time going below, clutching the banister with his right hand. There was still the gutting knife in his paratrooper’s boot and the two mobiles in his shirt pockets. Any attempt to use one of those would lead to instant death; he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

  Ali Selim followed close behind, shooed him down to the end of the table, went behind the bar, and found a towel, which he tossed to him. “Go on, dry yourself a little,” which Kurbsky did. “When I’m hurting, I find cognac helps. What about you?”

  “Vodka.”

  “Ah, so you’re another Russkie? I might have known, with that bastard Luzhkov involved.” He put a bottle of vodka on the table and three glasses. “Help yourself.”

  “Three glasses?” Kurbsky said.

  “We’re expecting company, are
n’t we? Come on, you wouldn’t kid a kidder.” Kurbsky had a large one and poured another. “Were you an army man?”

  “That’s right, Afghanistan and Chechnya.”

  “Heh, I’m half Afghanistan and half Cockney-isn’t that a hell of a mixture?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  Ali Selim opened a long cupboard in the corner by the bar and rummaged, his eyes not leaving Kurbsky for a moment. He produced a navy blue linen sailing smock with wide sleeves. “Help yourself.”

  Kurbsky said, “Thank you, I will.”

  He pulled it on, then poured another large vodka and swallowed it down and it started to burn, and it suddenly occurred to him that there was absolutely nothing he could do about his situation.

  Ali Selim said, “That Major Bounine who was with Luzhkov-is he a friend of yours?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I thought so, but I don’t think he likes Luzhkov.” He poured a touch more cognac in his glass. “They are coming, aren’t they?”

  It would have been pointless for Kurbsky to deny it. “Yes, that was the general idea, Luzhkov is coming.”

  “Well, he would be, because he wants something from me, something very important.”

  “So I believe.”

  Ali nodded. “You interest me. I’m not sure how you fit in.”

  “Just helping a friend out.”

  “Bounine. I can’t see a man like you finding much to interest him in a worm like Luzhkov.”

  There was the sound of a car engine outside. “So here they are.” He poured vodka into Kurbsky’s glass and cognac in his own. “Here’s to you, my friend.” He emptied his glass. “In the end, all roads lead to hell.”

  “You could be right.” Kurbsky swallowed the vodka. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Up on deck and we’ll greet them properly. You first.” And Ali Selim pushed him to the door of the companionway.

  15

  At Belsize, Katya and Svetlana sat watching the television, and the weather was even more disastrous than ever. The Thames was totally shrouded. The congestion to the Cadogan Pier had been reinforced by the rain and the motor cavalcade bearing the Big Four had arrived a little while ago. The cameras were covering the boat, but also roamed over the river, and as the commentators kept saying, it was impossible to see a thing.

  “It’s a washout, if you ask me,” Katya said.

  “It would appear so. I’m glad we’re not there.”

  Roper was glad too, high and dry as he viewed everything on his screen. He spoke to Billy, who was wearing an earpiece.

  “All the world and his wife there.”

  “And all putting the booze away like it’s no tomorrow. The Vice President just made an announcement that everything’s been worthwhile and we look to the future with hope.”

  “Where have I heard that before?” Roper said.

  “And he remembered to thank the Prime Minister for the use of the hall and his warm support.”

  “Did he remember to thank Harry for the use of the Garden of Eden?”

  “Piss off, Roper. We’ll be leaving downriver in half an hour. See you later.”

  TH E MERCEDES WAS parked at the end of the wharf. Bounine got out and stood looking at them. Kurbsky said, “I can’t help, Yuri, he’s already had me in the water.”

  Ali Selim said, “Don’t stand there looking at me as if this is the Gunfight at the OK Corral, or I just might shoot you.”

  “He means it, Yuri. I’d do as he says,” Kurbsky called.

  “Get your boss out,” Ali Selim said. “And keep in front of the Mercedes so I can see you and watch your hands.”

  Yuri opened the passenger door and Luzhkov got out. He stood there looking terrified, and Ali walked to the other side of the wharf, paused for a moment, as if daring someone to shoot him in the back, then turned.

  “So you don’t want me to blow up the Garden of Eden. Have you spoken about it to anyone?”

  “Before God, I have not, I swear it,” Luzhkov said.

  “I can vouch for that,” Bounine said. “He couldn’t care less about the boat and the people on it, he told me so. It’s his future he’s worried about, both here and in Moscow. That tape could destroy him.”

  “What tape?” Ali Selim turned to face Luzhkov and barked that harsh laugh. “There is no tape, you maggot. If there were, it would have me on it condemning myself. Do I look stupid?”

  His arm swung up and he shot Luzhkov between the eyes, hurling him back over the edge of the wharf into the water. It was so instant, so brutal, that it took the breath away. Bounine didn’t make a move.

  Ali Selim said, “If you’d pulled a pistol, old son, you’d have been swimming with him now, but I’ll keep you a bit longer because you could be useful. Ease your piece out and throw it in the water, and use your left hand.”

  Bounine did exactly as he was told. “Now what?”

  “Back down to the cabin. Walk in front of your friend.” Bounine led the way, and they paused at the end of the table. Selim said, “Sit down for a minute.”

  They did, and Kurbsky said, “What happens now?”

  Ali Selim opened another wardrobe and pulled out three yellow and black fluorescent jackets. “Each of you put one on, and help him with his arm,” he told Bounine.

  He retreated and put one on himself quickly. Then he found a life jacket, pulled it over his head, and tied the tapes at his waist. They had done as they were told, and now he took some plastic ties from a drawer.

  “Wrists, both of you, behind the back. Do your friend,” he told Bounine again.

  Bounine struggled, but Kurbsky’s left arm wouldn’t bend. “It won’t work.”

  “Then tie them in front of him and I’ll do you.”

  It was finished and they stood looking at him, and he produced the holdall from behind the bar, put it on the table, and opened it. He leaned over and sniffed. “I love that smell, Semtex. I’ve blown up parts of Belfast in my day with this stuff, and the IRA got the blame. Mind you, it’s no use without these.” He took out the tin box and opened it. “Pencil timers. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen?”

  He went to work, quickly and deftly, to do what needed to be done, and finally zipped up the bag. “I’m going to blow them all to hell, so let’s get on with it.”

  Bounine led the way, followed by Kurbsky, who said as they went up to the stern deck, “Tell me one thing. Why the lifejacket-you won’t need that in hell.”

  “But it’s what some nosy River Police patrol boat would expect me to wear, a legal requirement.”

  “You think of everything. What are you going to do with my friend?”

  “I could shoot him, but I wouldn’t like him down there in the same water as Luzhkov. You and I want to go all the way, and together.” He turned to Bounine. “He’s got cancer like me. It’s better this way.”

  “He hasn’t got cancer,” Bounine said. “You’re crazy.”

  “Don’t say that. And he does have cancer, he told me. You only have to look at him, anyway.”

  Kurbsky said, “Of course I’ve got cancer, Selim, but he hasn’t. Let him go.”

  “That’s perfectly correct, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Just before we turn to run into the Garden of Eden, I’ll roll him over the side.”

  “With his bloody hands tied?”

  “Who knows? If he kicks and struggles enough, he might float. It’s all in the hands of God, though I’m not sure which one. Now, down the steps and sit side by side in the stern. Go on, do it.”

  Bounine went first and Kurbsky followed gingerly, and they got themselves settled. Ali Selim followed, put the bag containing the Semtex close to the prow, and cast off. They drifted out a little, the body of Luzhkov in the water a few feet away. Ali Selim crouched down.

  “This is it, the big moment. The Running Dog does forty knots tops, so when I turn it up, we fly. It’s all going to happen very quickly, do you understand? I’ll be at Cadogan Pier in fifteen minutes. You�
��d better believe it.”

  “I think by now you’ve made your point,” Kurbsky said. “No Russian flag?”

  “Fuck the hammer and sickle. Attempt anything out of order and I’ll just give you each a bullet in the head.” He stood up, the rain pouring, and said cheerfully, “What a terrible day to die on.”

  He went and sat behind the wheel, switched on the engine, and moved out into the Thames and turned upriver.

  AND FLY Running Dog did, at an incredible speed, particularly considering the weather, the rain like a lace curtain obscuring everything. The Garden of Eden had cast off and was moving out into the channel to proceed downriver toward the House of Commons, when Captain Henderson, on the bridge beside the helmsman, saw the moving dot on the radar screen.

  Ferguson, Harry Salter, Dillon, and Monica were below, but Billy, who didn’t drink and found most social gatherings boring, had joined the Captain.

  Henderson said, “What the hell is that?”

  The helmsman said, “By God, it’s shifting. I’ve never known such a speed on the river.”

  Billy reached for a pair of glasses and focused them. “It’s one of those orange jobs like the police and customs use. I think it could be the police. They’re wearing the right jackets. There’s one guy at the wheel and two in the stern. It’s difficult to work out what’s happening. It’s bouncing about, and with all that spray and the rain, you can’t see much.”

  “I don’t like it,” Henderson said. “It’s already veering off center. I’ll try the hooter.”

  The warning blast echoed in the rain, and Ali Selim laughed. “There they are. Already working out, ready to proceed downriver. Too late. He won’t have time to maneuver.”

  On the boat itself, there was no alarm, no panic as the music played and people enjoyed themselves and the Vice President of the United States glad-handed his way through the crowd, followed by Blake Johnson, but on Roper’s screens it was different.

  “What in hell is that?” he said to Sergeant Doyle, who was standing beside him. He tried for a close-up, but the curtain of rain and spray defeated him.