Mark of the Devil_a gripping thriller that will have you hooked

by Tana Collins

  ‘You, too?’ she asked.

  ‘’Fraid so.’ He felt a moment of sadness but then it passed as quickly as it had arrived.

  ‘Forgive me for asking such a personal question,’ she said, ‘but are you over it, the relationship?’

  ‘As long as I don’t see a sunset.’

  She laughed again. ‘Sorry. I don’t understand.’

  He laughed, too. ‘My wife used to love sunsets. Well, I’m pretty sure she still does. We used to watch them together. That’s one of the things I miss most about her, about us as a couple, watching sunsets together. I’m afraid our splitting up has killed my love of sunsets.’

  ‘You’re a romantic. I like that.’

  Carruthers smiled. He retraced the steps he had taken that morning with Aare. They cut across the road and into the Old Town. He turned to her. ‘To be honest, you probably know the Old Town better than me. I’ve only been once and that was this morning to a café down Vana Viru.’

  ‘Then let me show you around. The Old Town is very compact. It won’t take long. How long can you spare?’

  ‘I shouldn’t really be more away more than an hour,’ said Carruthers, thinking of the paperwork he would need to be doing back at his room. Instead of taking a right at Vana Viru the woman kept walking and took the second right instead onto another cobbled road, Muurivahe.

  ‘If you haven’t been down this street, you really must. It leads, in my opinion, to what is the most beautiful street in Tallinn,’ she said. ‘As you can see it’s right next to the old city walls.’ Carruthers gazed up at the ancient walls. ‘Ah, here it is. My favourite street. We can get something to eat in one of the lovely cafés down here.’ They took a left and turned into the beautiful narrow medieval street of Katarinna Kaik.

  There was a table for two free on one of the outside tables of a traditional looking restaurant so they sat down. Carruthers looked at the menu. He liked the look of the wild boar in red wine but, knowing he’d be out for supper too that evening, plumped instead for the lighter pancake with minced beef. He looked longingly at the beer selection, ordering a diet coke instead. Carruthers watched this beautiful blonde order a coffee and traditional Russian dumplings.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I hadn’t realised this was a traditional Russian restaurant.’

  She looked at him. ‘Does it matter?’ she asked.

  ‘No, not at all. I’m just surprised.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, don’t be. There are plenty of Russian restaurants in Estonia. After all, 300,000 Russian-speaking people live in Estonia.’

  Carruthers realised that the more he found out about this fascinating country the more he had to learn.

  ‘Sorry, I’m completely forgetting my manners. I haven’t introduced myself yet.’ She thrust her hand out. ‘Sadie. Sadie Andrews.’

  He shook her hand, liking the feel of it in his. ‘Jim Carruthers.’

  ‘It’s interesting,’ said Sadie. ‘One of the organisers of my work trip is Estonian. It’s rumoured she won’t take us to a Russian restaurant.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The older people in particular have long memories. They suffered greatly under Soviet rule.’

  A couple of hours later, after a most enjoyable lunch, Carruthers was lying on his side in bed next to the naked Englishwoman. It had seemed such a natural progression to invite her back to his room. She was lying on her back half-wrapped in the crumpled white bedsheet. Her tousled blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, a sheen of perspiration on her lightly tanned body. He traced her collarbone with his finger. She tilted her oval face towards him, mischief and laughter in her eyes. He felt sexually relaxed in a way he hadn’t been for a long time. His right hand trailed lazily over her shoulder and down her arm. Cautiously at first he started caressing her again, squeezing her buttock. He was surprised to find himself starting to get another erection. He edged closer so she could feel his body next to her skin. Her cool breath was on his face as she spoke.

  ‘Have you got time?’ she asked in between kisses. They never lost eye contact as they spoke.

  ‘No,’ he said, looking into her blue eyes, and shifted over her welcoming body.

  After Sadie left, Carruthers got up and sat on the edge of his bed with his mobile. He would like to savour the memory of what, for him, had been perfect sex but he didn’t have time now. Later. He called Fletcher. He could still smell Sadie’s perfume on his body.

  ‘How’s Cuthbert?’ he asked, feeling sleepy, trying to force the image of Sadie naked out of his mind. He had slipped on his underpants and jeans. He didn’t feel right talking to Fletcher naked.

  ‘It’s good news. He’s been brought out of his medically-induced coma. As you know, it’s a slow process, but he may be out of hospital within a week. How’s Tallinn this afternoon? Found out anything useful?’

  ‘I have some more information on Hanna Mets. According to Aare, Voller wasn’t just running her as a prostitute. Aare thinks they were sleeping together.’ Again, images of Sadie’s slim body slipped into his mind. He forced them out. ‘He’s confirmed she was an undercover police officer.’

  Fletcher whistled. ‘So was the dead girl on the beach definitely Hanna Mets?’

  ‘We’ve exchanged photographs and I’m more positive about it being Mets. Aare told me Voller killed Hanna Mets’ sister so for Mets this was personal. It all fits.’

  ‘I’m meeting Aare later,’ continued Carruthers, thinking about how that bit of unexpected exercise would be sure to increase his appetite. ‘I hope to find out more information about Hanna Mets then. Did you get the safe house sorted?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Cuthbert’s going to stay with one of our contacts. We’ve used them before.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Well, keep me posted.’

  Carruthers finished the call and threw the mobile down on his bed. But before it had even hit the bed sheets it started to ring. Carruthers leant across and grabbed it. Aare.

  ‘I’ve made a reservation. It’s called the Restaurant Leib and it’s on a street called Uus close to the Old Town. I thought you might enjoy it as the Scottish Club has a room inside the restaurant. It’s also excellent food.’

  Carruthers was touched. Grabbed a pen and took a note of the name. Promised to meet Aare at the restaurant at seven.

  He sat at the small desk by the window in his room and made notes of his conversation with the man. He was still only half-dressed, even his feet were bare. It was warm in the room so it felt liberating to be without his shirt. Any thoughts or impressions he had about the man or Tallinn he wrote down, too. There was something bothering him but he couldn’t work out what it was. It was a niggle, a doubt, but it wasn’t a fully-formed thought and every time he tried to think about it, it evaporated back into being nothing more than a vague concern. He still couldn’t understand what concrete help he could give Aare aside from an exchange of information and brainstorming with his Estonian counterpart. He was starting to feel anxious at being away from Scotland for too long. And he’d already had almost one full day in Tallinn. What had he actually learnt in that time? He went over his conversation with Aare once more, referring to his notes as he did.

  That the Russians had their grip on neighbouring little Estonia. That cheap drugs had flooded in from Russia. That corruption at the highest level was a worry, as witnessed by the concerns Aare had over the allegiances of some of his fellow police officers. He knew a sizeable number of people living in Estonia were Russian or of Russian descent. Had the Estonian police been infiltrated by members of the Russian Mafia who in turn used to be part of the KGB?

  Barry Cuthbert used his connections to target acquaintances for their works of art. Especially if the artwork was British. Cuthbert’s point of contact was Aleks Voller. Somehow the art was being smuggled out of the country, back to Estonia then on to Russia, most likely to be sold on the black market. But why wasn’t it just smuggled direct from Britain to Russia? Surely it would be much simpler. There had to be contacts in
Estonia. So who were they, apart from Voller’s brother, Marek? Aare had been vague. Did he really not know or was it just that he was not saying? And if so, was that for Carruthers’ benefit or for his own? Carruthers stroked his chin, feeling the spiky bristles. He needed to have a think about how to make the meeting that evening most profitable for himself.

  His thoughts turned to what Aare had got out of the earlier meeting with him. Had he given the man too much information? He ran through the information now at Aare’s disposal. Aare knew Cuthbert was in hospital, days from being transferred to a safe house. He also now knew Cuthbert was being offered police protection for turning informant.

  Carruthers thought ahead to his meeting with Aare over supper. Carruthers could start by finding out what had happened to Marika Paju. If she was a prostitute it was possible she was also a junkie. Was it just another sad junkie’s death? Or was her death more sinister?

  He glanced at his watch. Standing up, he put his hands behind his head and stretched. Striding over to his bed he stripped off what he was wearing. Leaving his jeans and pants in a heap on the floor he walked into the bathroom naked. He jumped into the shower examining his arm under the hot jets. Was pleased to notice it was less painful when he prodded it, the bruises fading to green. The swelling and bruising around his knee had gone down too.

  By six o’clock he was fully dressed and ready for supper, so decided to have a drink in the hotel bar before the fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant. As he went down the stairs he glanced into the dining room. It was now a Tex-Mex restaurant. Ashtrays were long gone, of course, but Carruthers looked suspiciously at the salt and pepper pots on each table. Since his visit to the KGB Museum he knew he wouldn’t view the hotel in the same light. He walked into the bar. There were a few guests at various tables talking softly over quiet music. Noticing there was no dark beer he ordered a lager and sat on a bar stool drinking it. He wondered if he would run into Sadie and was disappointed that she didn’t make an appearance. He hadn’t asked her how long she was staying. Hoped he’d get a chance to see her again.

  At 6.40pm he stood up, grabbed his jacket off the bar stool, paid his bill and set out into the evening. He knew, looking at a map he’d picked up from reception, that there was a quicker way to the restaurant, but being a creature of habit, he decided to go the way he knew.

  The oppressive heat hit him as soon as he stepped outside. He strolled down the Vana Viru and after a few minutes’ walk took a right onto Uus. He paused to admire a brick church behind high railings. Sadie had been right. The centre of Tallinn was pretty compact, everything within easy reach. He enjoyed walking down this new street seeing different sights. The street appeared to be quieter than others, more residential. Music filled the air and he passed a Moldovan restaurant then an embassy on the right. Tried to make out the red, yellow and green flag but failed. The signage said Lietuvos Republikos Ambasada. He supposed it was the embassy of Latvia. He heard a distant roll of thunder. He looked up at the sky. Thunderclouds like lead weights were rolling in. The wind had picked up since he’d last been out, buffeting him as he walked. The first fat drops of warm rain hit. He cursed at not bringing an umbrella. The drops became heavier and, before long, rain was bouncing off the concrete pavements.

  Swearing, Carruthers slipped into the doorway of a smart block of flats to sit out what he hoped was the worst of the storm. A couple of umbrella-carrying Estonians hurried past, their faces cast down, but otherwise the street was empty. Carruthers looked up and down the street. He was suddenly aware that another man had stopped in another doorway thirty metres behind him. The man was wearing black trousers and a beige jacket. He watched the man shake out his umbrella and turn to look at something that had caught his eye through a window.

  Suddenly Carruthers felt anxious, tension pulling at every fibre. He didn’t know why. Once again he experienced a sharp twinge in his chest. He glanced down the street once more. The man in the doorway was still there, this time lighting a cigarette. There was something about the man that made him uneasy. Some sixth sense made all the hairs on the back of Carruthers’ neck rise. The man was still studiously looking at something in the window. The first impression he had of him was that he too was trying to get out of the rain. But then why would he need to since he had an umbrella?

  Carruthers put his jacket on, turning up the collar and made a dash for it. He ran almost three hundred yards then took shelter in the doorway of another residence. He turned round sharply to look over his shoulder and saw a flash of movement behind him. The man in the beige jacket was also on the move. Carruthers felt fear prickling his scalp. He looked at the weather-beaten face of an old woman as she hurried past, then at a couple of young men with their hands shoved in their pockets. Suddenly everywhere he saw potential enemies. He glanced to his left. The man in the beige jacket had stopped again, too. This couldn’t be coincidence. He was being followed. Probably since he’d left the hotel. Was the man former KGB?

  Adrenaline flooded his body, his breathing harsher. His mind was going into overdrive trying to decide what to do. Should he stay put and see if the man moved first or should he make another run for it? His hands felt cold and clammy. He smoothed his forehead and found he was sweating. He put his hand into his trouser pocket and felt for his mobile. It wasn’t there. He cursed. He’d left it lying on the bed. Now he was truly on his own. On his own in a strange country where he knew nobody but a single policeman. And how well did he even know the policeman?

  The rain eased off, leaving pools of water glistening on the pavements. The flash flood had caused rivulets of water to run down the street. Carruthers made a decision. He came out of his doorway and walked quickly towards his destination. He wasn’t sure if the man behind him was still following or not and didn’t want to draw attention to the fact he knew he was being followed by turning round. After walking five minutes he came to a fork in the road. He took the left fork that took him away from his restaurant. Wondered if there was somewhere he could hide. He was in luck. There was a large white delivery van parked by an unlocked black gate that gave access through an arch to a courtyard. Carruthers slipped inside the gate and hid in the shadows. A few moments later he saw the man hurrying past.

  There was another rumble of thunder. Carruthers came out of his hiding place, glancing ominously up at the sky. He retraced his steps to the end of the street and then took a left, back onto the main street. The restaurant couldn’t be too far away now, could it? He glanced back over his shoulder but there was no sign of the man. He must have shaken him off. Finally and with relief he came across the red-fronted weather boarding of the restaurant. He opened the door.

  Carruthers spotted Aare sitting at a table towards the back of the restaurant. He got to his feet when Carruthers entered the room.

  ‘It’s terrible weather out there,’ Aare said. ‘We get bad summer storms here, I’m afraid. Sometimes flash floods.’ Frowning, he looked Carruthers over. ‘Are you OK?’

  Carruthers shook his head. He wiped his wet face. ‘I think I’ve been followed from the hotel. I managed to shake them off. This is why I’m late.’

  ‘Followed?’ said Aare, eyes widening in shock. ‘But nobody knows you’re here. We’ve been so careful. But this is terrible.’ He glanced around the restaurant with suspicious eyes. He grasped Carruthers’ arm. ‘Perhaps we should leave.’

  ‘No, I’ve shaken them off. Did you tell anyone we were eating here tonight?’

  ‘Only my wife, and I trust her with my life.’

  ‘Then we’re safe. Maybe it’s in my head.’ Carruthers laughed but it sounded hollow even to his ears. ‘Perhaps, given everything, an outing to the KGB Museum was a mistake.’

  The waitress arrived at the table and gave Carruthers a menu. ‘What would you like to drink?’ she asked.

  ‘A glass of red wine,’ he said, without giving it much thought. He opened the menu but found he couldn’t concentrate on it.

  Aare leant in closer and spoke
in a whisper. ‘How sure are you that you were followed?’

  Carruthers mirrored the man’s movements and leant forward. At some point he must have picked up his napkin. Found he’d shredded it before he knew what he was doing. His hands felt damp. He was still perspiring. ‘I’m certain. Are you sure the rooms aren’t still bugged in the Viru?’

  ‘We’re not back in the bad old days yet, my friend, although I’m sure Putin would love to get his hands on little Estonia.’

  Carruthers watched Aare as he lifted his glass and took a sip of his beer. With Russia walking into Ukraine, he wouldn’t blame former Eastern Bloc countries for being a little nervous.

  At the end of the meal, Aare said, ‘Do you feel safe going back to your hotel? Would you rather come stay with me and my wife?’

  Carruthers thought this over for a few seconds. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary.’

  ‘Well, let me escort you back, if nothing else,’ said Aare. ‘In fact, we’ll get a taxi and I’ll drop you off at the hotel. I live on the edge of town so I’d have to take one anyway.’

  After saying goodbye to Aare, Carruthers walked through the deserted and dimly lit foyer of the Viru. He thought back to his conversation with Aare. He was now convinced that the body on the beach had been that of Hanna Mets. The way Aare had described her she had sounded a maverick, a loner. And, sadly, a woman out for revenge which had ultimately cost her her life. He had also discovered how porous the border was between Estonia and Russia, which had answered his question of why the smuggling wasn’t done directly between the UK and Russia.

  Sighing, he pressed the button to take the lift up to his floor. As he waited, he glanced around nervously. His senses were in overdrive. He squinted at the shadows, imagining enemies at every turn. Wondered how many people over the years had been followed in and out of this former KGB hotel. How many conversations had been heard by the men on the twenty-third floor? And, more to the point, what had the KGB done about them? No doubt there would be a basement somewhere where some had been tortured, their screams unheard by passers-by thanks to soundproofing and windows of concrete.