by Jaye Rothman
CJ answered. “I’ve asked one of the fishermen to keep an eye out, so if any boat comes through the harbour from Norton on the Marsh, he’ll let me know.”
Manning looked pleased. “Excellent initiative, CJ.”
So that’s what she had been doing when she had given the fisherman a wad of notes.
“Our first priority is the Reynolds. Our orders are to eliminate them. The second are the toxins and formulas: we must secure them.”
Manning lit a cigarette. “Sinclair, do you think Bryant’s KGB?”
“No, but he’s heavily under the influence of the Professor. So I wouldn’t like to guess what he would do.”
CJ asked, “Sir, what about the Professor?”
Manning frowned. “The Professor is a fool, and the KGB have used him very effectively, but whether he’s aware of this, time will tell.”
Lonnie chipped in. “So we need him alive.”
Manning paused and looked at us. “No. Too many questions will be asked in the media and in Parliament. He has to be taken out. It will be reported that KGB spies murdered him.”
CJ looked shocked. “But he hasn’t killed anyone.”
“Not directly, but the Professor had a hand in killing Mester and Maksimov. If it wasn’t for his stupidity in insisting that everyone speak bloody Russian in a top secret British establishment, they could be alive today. No, he has to be eliminated.” Manning gave Lonnie a hard stare. “Lonnie, you do the deed.”
“Yes, sir.”
This was what we were trained to do. Carry out orders and eliminate our enemies, or people we were told were our enemies. I couldn’t help thinking that it was very convenient that all the key players in this case would be neutralised.
“We need Horaknova alive,” Manning continued. “She’ll be a good asset. After the failed attempt on your life, Sinclair, I think the Reynolds might be heading east tonight. We’re going in. We need to keep this operation tight, so it’s just going to be us, OK? Get changed into black clothing, all of you. We leave at 7.30 p.m. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” we answered as one.
As we changed, CJ looked apprehensive and grasped my hand. “Will we be OK after this?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“I mean, will you date me?”
“Yes.”
“I meant exclusively. I only want to sleep with you. Nobody else but you, Nikki.”
She looked hopefully at me. I didn’t think it was wise to discuss our relationship status now, so I whispered in her ear, “Yes, so do I.”
CJ shot me a dazzling smile.
“Disable but don’t kill” were Manning’s very clear orders if we ran into any trouble.
None of us made a sound as we left through the back door of The Snug. The owners had been handsomely compensated and were now staying in a four-star hotel in Chichester. I led the way, as I knew the route.
The sea fog had encroached into the harbour and onto the land. I could taste the brine in the air as we silently climbed the gentle incline that led into the woods and Norton on the Marsh. The path was muddy underfoot and from behind me I heard a soft curse. It sounded as if Lonnie had slipped. We crept onwards; the fog was enveloping everything in its path. Visibility had decreased so much that I couldn’t see more than two yards in front of me. I concentrated on keeping my balance in the treacherous, slippery mud.
Manning was directly behind me. I could hear his steady breathing. He hadn’t been in the field in years but he hadn’t hesitated to come with us. Then came CJ, who I guessed might be feeling anxious but would trust my instincts. Last came Lonnie, who had been my partner in several dangerous missions into enemy territory.
The path where I had been attacked was now in sight. The branches and leaves of the trees hung down with moisture, dripping onto the sodden ground. This was the path that would lead us into the village, and finally to the back of Squirrel and Larch Cottages.
Once we were in position, I looked at Lonnie. He signalled with his arm that he would be breaking away from us. I watched as he crept along, keeping to the shadows of Squirrel Cottage. If all went according to plan he would find the Professor sitting in his study at Norton House, unaware that his life was about to be ended with a bullet.
I hoped that Eva wasn’t sitting at her kitchen table. By now she would be wondering what had happened to me, as I had arranged to have dinner with her. I hoped that I wouldn’t be the one to interrogate her; as I didn’t want to hear her responses.
The chill and the dampness had started to worm itself under my skin and I shivered involuntarily. Perhaps it was partly due to being so close to Eva. I didn’t know. The Reynolds’ home was six houses down on the left from Squirrel Cottage. We padded past Eva’s house in single file. I couldn’t resist peeping in. There she was, in the kitchen pacing the floor. Was she worried about me? I doubted that. She was probably more concerned about whether the Reynolds were going to escape safely. I must have stopped, because Manning gave me a nudge. I carried on creeping forward. The fog was getting thicker and obscuring the landmarks so that I now could barely see the backs of the houses.
Here it was: Oak House. I recognized it by the centuries-old English oak tree at the back of the garden. I looked up and felt that its massive sturdy branches were sheltering us – the calm before the storm.
The windows at the back of the house were ablaze with lights. Thick smoke was belching forth from the chimney; they were probably burning all the incriminating evidence that they had accumulated over three years. It looked as if they were planning to depart tonight.
The Reynolds had secured their property by installing a six-foot fence around the boundary. As there was no other entry point, we had to scale it. I was the first one to go over. The fence was slippery and it was hard to find anywhere to grip, but I managed to find a foothold. I levered my way over the top and jumped to the ground. A large evergreen shrub broke my landing. Next over was CJ, and then Manning. He was halfway over when he lost his balance and fell with a loud crash into the bush.
“Get down!” I hissed.
The back door opened and a shaft of light fell over the garden, softened slightly by the fog. A large man with a torch, and a gun with a silencer, stepped out onto the patio. He shone the light in an arc around the garden. The only sound was moisture dripping from the vegetation onto the earth, but the man wasn’t satisfied. He walked purposefully to the edge of the paving and unhurriedly directed the beam of his torch onto each bush. He was too far away for a good clean shot. I heard someone calling him from inside the house and he hastily went back indoors.
“That’s the Professor,” I whispered.
Manning said, “Shit, I think I’ve sprained my ankle.”
“How bad is it?”
Manning put his weight on it and winced. Damn. It would be down to CJ and me.
“We can’t wait for Lonnie, sir.”
“Sorry, Sinclair, but I don’t think I’m going to be much good.”
“You can create a diversion. When they investigate we can take them out. OK, CJ?”
“Sure.” She was already screwing her silencer onto her Beretta.
“We need to get closer to the back door. CJ, you take the right side and I’ll take the left. Look – there’s a dustbin at the end of the patio. Sir, we’ll help you get over there, and then I want you to kick it as hard as you can, sir.”
The fog had become denser, and the air was colder. I shivered again. My headache had returned; there was a dull throb above my left eye. I checked my watch. It was 8.15 p.m. I was hoping that Lonnie would make it back. I didn’t like the odds, as I didn’t know how experienced a shot CJ was.
I spoke softly to her. “Are you OK, darling?”
CJ flashed me a grateful smile. “As long as I’m with you I’ll be fine.”
I squeezed her arm. “On my count of five we’re going to run to the back door. Sir, put your arms around our necks.”
I counted to five as we half carried Manning across
the wet lawn and into the dark shadows of the shrubbery. I could only hope that the Professor was too busy to search the garden again because he would see the imprints of our boots on the wet grass.
We left Manning to his task and took up our positions on either side of the kitchen door. I loaded my Beretta, snapped the silencer on and flicked the safety catch off. Manning kicked the dustbin. It made a deafening crash that probably woke the entire village.
Immediately, the kitchen door flew open. The Professor charged out waving his gun, but he was an amateur. He hadn’t thought of covering his back. I couldn’t have asked for a better target, and I let off two shots, one after the other. He stood for a moment, then fell forward and hit the concrete hard. Blood bubbled out of the two holes in the back of his head.
One down and two to go! I gave a sign to CJ, indicating that I would enter the kitchen. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent light inside. I scanned the room. Damn. I hadn’t realised that there were two entrances to the kitchen, one from the dining room and the other from the lounge. I signalled for CJ to wait behind the door that led to the lounge.
A voice came from the dining room. “Professor? Where are you?” It was Miss Reynolds. I heard heels clicking on a tiled floor.
Miss Reynolds rushed into the kitchen and saw the open door, the Professor lying on the patio. She was about to scream but CJ was too fast for her. She rushed forward, clamped her hand over Miss Reynolds’ mouth and shoved the Beretta against her neck.
“If you scream, I’ll put a bullet in your spine. Nod if you understand.”
Miss Reynolds frantically nodded her head up and down.
“Now I want you to call for Polakoff, OK?” She removed her hand from Miss Reynolds’ mouth.
That was the biggest mistake we both made.
“Dmitry, Dmitry!” Miss Reynolds said. “Come here.”
He didn’t come.
“Call again,” hissed CJ.
“Dmitry…” That was the last word she spoke. I heard a whiz of a bullet near my ear and threw myself to the left, landing near the dining room door.
“CJ, get down!” I screamed. “Get down!” But it was too late. The bullet hit Miss Reynolds in the centre of her forehead. The force propelled her back onto CJ, who fell under her weight and lay trapped under Miss Reynolds’ lifeless body. Polakoff let off another shot.
“No, no!” I screamed as the bullet slammed into CJ. I turned and saw the grotesque face of Polakoff wearing the makeup of Mrs Reynolds. He didn’t stop to fire another shot at me, but ran back through the kitchen door and sprinted out through the garden. He probably assessed – correctly – that I wouldn’t be chasing him.
I jumped up and raced over to CJ. I threw the limp body of Miss Reynolds to one side.
“CJ! Fuck, CJ.” I checked her carotid pulse. It was thready. She was bleeding from a severe wound to her right shoulder, but she was alive. I grabbed some tea towels from the sink and pressed down hard.
Then I heard footsteps running. I aimed my Beretta towards the door. It was Lonnie!
I shouted to him, “Call for an ambulance or she’ll bleed out!”
He ran into the dining room and I heard him phoning for assistance. Then he made another call. I heard him swear.
“Where’s Manning?”
“I think...” I didn’t get any further. A very pale Manning was hobbling into the kitchen with blood running down the back of his head.
“Where’s Polakoff?” he demanded.
“He’s heading towards the facility.”
“Get after him, both of you! I’ll stay with CJ. Now go. Now!”
Lonnie and I tore down the path. The headlights of a car and a motorbike were speeding towards us.
Lonnie was quicker than I. He seized the motorbike from the man from Special Branch, hopped on and revved it hard.
“Get on, Nikki!”
I jumped on the back and shouted in his ear, “He’s not going to the facility. He’s making for the jetty. It’s behind the labs.”
Gravel and stones flew in our wake as Lonnie accelerated up the road to the facility. The fog had turned to a soaking drizzle that made it even harder to see. Then I saw a brief glimpse of a silhouette fleeing through the woods. It was Polakoff!
“Lonnie, he’s over there, in the trees to the left.”
“Hang on.”
We skidded and slid across the grass, leaving huge ruts in the Professor’s beautifully manicured lawn, but Lonnie somehow managed to keep us upright.
Whoosh! Whoosh! I could feel the bullets whistle past us. The bike skidded as Lonnie ducked down. He tried to right it, but it was too late. He braked and I had just enough time to throw myself clear of the bike. I rolled off onto the soft ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Lonnie’s foot was trapped under the bike. It was down to me. I had to stop Polakoff!
We were sitting targets out here, as the floodlights from the facility had come on automatically. There was no place to hide. The lawn was lit up like a Super Bowl stadium.
Damn. Polakoff had reached the jetty, and I was over fifty yards away. I could see small inflatable dinghy tied up, bobbing up and down. Polakoff now had one foot on the shore and the other precariously balanced in the boat. Could I take him from here?
I had to try. There were no other craft on the jetty, and we wouldn’t be able to track him on foot, as bulrushes and reeds were growing in abundance at the water’s edge. I raced forward another few yards, stopped and steadied my breathing. I had one chance to stop Polakoff: I must take my shot now! I took a deep breath and let off four shots in quick succession. As if in slow motion, Polakoff’s body fell backwards into the water. There was a huge splash and waves of water hit the jetty and the bank.
I shouted to Lonnie, who was running towards me. “Lonnie, Lonnie – did I hit him?”
He ran past me, dashed out onto the jetty and leapt into the freezing water. There was a brief silence, and then “Target neutralised.” There was another silence and the sound of splashing; Lonnie was searching the body. He shouted again. “The toxin and the formula are not on him.”
I was shaking, probably from the adrenaline rush but also, I suspected, from the shock of having seen CJ shot. On wobbly legs, I walked toward the jetty. Lonnie had pushed Polakoff’s body inland, and I crouched down and inspected it as it floated between the water lilies and the pond weeds. I had hit him twice in the chest. The wig had fallen off and was drifting lazily away. His eyes were open. The heavy theatrical makeup that he had used to cover the stubble of his beard made his face look surreal. The thick scarf that he had wound round this neck to conceal his Adam’s apple reminded me of a boa constrictor.
Lonnie stood next to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Good shooting. You’re a real contender for the section cup this year.”
“Thanks, Lonnie.” I smiled weakly.
Chris Hogan, the senior Special Branch officer, made his way gingerly across the grass. “Sinclair, Marks, are you OK?” He didn’t wait for us to respond. “The ambulance has taken Manning and CJ to the military hospital in Chichester. A Doctor Buchanan who works at the facility has accompanied them.”
My eyes were still riveted on Polakoff’s body. What a fiendish and cruel man. He had willingly sacrificed Martha Reynolds to ensure that he could escape. Polakoff had spent three years living with her and yet he hadn’t hesitated to kill her. I doubted if we would ever find out the exact nature of their relationship. For all we knew, they could be husband and wife and, for a few seconds, I felt sorry for Martha. She had given her life so that Polakoff could flee. My mistake had been assuming that she had called him Dmitry at home. Their cover had been so deep and all-consuming. Perhaps, at times, Martha had believed that he actually was dear Mother. Well, I would never know.
Lonnie handed me a welcome cup of tea from a thermos flask that had magically appeared. I took a sip and lit a Rothmans. I knew I was postponing my next task.
I looked at Lonnie and shoo
k my head. He took my arm and led me out of earshot, away from a number of Special Branch officers who had arrived and were busily taking photographs. Already, two men in waders were lifting Polakoff’s body out of its watery grave.
We walked across the churned-up lawn; the Professor’s pride and joy now resembled a rugby field after a game between the All Blacks and the Lions. I explained my plan to Lonnie, and he nodded his agreement.
Eva was sitting at the kitchen table lost in thought when I knocked, with some trepidation, on the back door. Her beautiful face lit up with excitement and I could see no trace of disappointment on her features.
She flung the door open and threw herself into my arms, pressing into my body, and kissed me passionately.
She spoke in Czech. “Nikki, I thought you’d left me. I didn’t know what had happened. This morning you were in my bed, and then I didn’t know what to think.”
I looked at her, and my heart broke at our mutual deceit. There would be no chance of a future; she was the enemy now.
“What’s the matter, Nikki? You look so cold. What have I done?”
I sat down heavily on the kitchen chair. The room that had looked cheerful and bright two days ago now seemed foreboding and ominous. Neither one of us would come out of here unscathed.
“The Professor and the Reynolds are dead. As you know, they were working for the KGB.”
Eva paled and looked uncertain. “What do you mean?”
“Eva, I know that you’re working for them.”
“Nikki, have you gone mad? I’d never work for them. I couldn’t.”
The first rule of spycraft is to deny.
“Why? Were you blackmailed, entrapped?”
“No, I told you why I defected on the first night we were together. Don’t do this, Nikki. Please, darling.” She took my hand in hers and kissed it.
“Eva, I know. Are you working for the KGB or the StB?” That was the Czech Secret Service, but all the Eastern Bloc secret services liaised closely with the KGB.
A shadow passed over her eyes; I was on the right track. “No, I’m not. Why are you accusing me? I didn’t know you could be so cruel.”