‘It’s wrecked and it’s making a terrible racket. If we try to drive it through London we’ll be stopped by the police.’
‘The Knightsbridge tube station’s quite close,’ Annushka panted. ‘They’d never find us down there.’
‘The underground’s full of surveillance cameras. We’ll take a taxi.’
Traffic noise grew louder as they ran past the end of the last row of houses, rounded a small park and merged with the shoppers on Sloane Street. The bright afternoon sun, the sweltering heat, the traffic fumes, made their cheap shoes and second-hand clothes feel even more uncomfortable and out of place. Annushka had lost her headscarf; her young face was deathly pale, her eyes were haunted. The silencer on the gun in Samantha’s raincoat pocket was chafing against her thigh.
This was the street of a thousand fashion houses. They’d already struggled past Chanel, Emilio Pucci, Yves Saint Laurent and Valentino. Up ahead lay others of equal fame. All had minimalist window displays, some of which involved mirrors. Samantha glanced at their reflections: two bedraggled women carrying plastic sacks and looking like a couple of fleeing shoplifters. She began to fear the taxi drivers might not stop when they beckoned.
A black cab veered out of the traffic and pulled up fifty yards ahead. The passenger, a tall elegantly dressed woman carrying a tiny dog, climbed out. ‘Run,’ Samantha urged. Annushka rallied, and they began to dash along the crowded pavement. Under the surprised gaze of the woman with the dog, they clambered into the back, heaved the bags in beside them and slammed the door.
‘Where to, ladies?’
‘Lewisham.’
‘Where to in Lewisham?’
Samantha tried to clear her mind of the events of the afternoon, recall the location of the place where they’d left the car. Suddenly it came to her. ‘Sydenham Road,’ she said. ‘The junction with Gurton Road.’
‘I know it. It’s near Crystal Palace.’ Brightening at the prospect of a decent fare, he swung out into the traffic, then kept glancing at them in the rear-view mirror, intrigued by their unkempt appearance, their plastic sacks. ‘It looks as if you’ve had a busy afternoon, ladies.’
The twilight had deepened into a sultry darkness; lightning flickered and thunder rumbled as rain fell steadily over the city. Annushka, clad in green silk pyjamas, was curled up on the tiny sofa, head and shoulders in a circle of light cast by a table lamp. She was studying the documents she’d taken from the safe.
Samantha abandoned her vigil by the window, let the curtains fall back and settled in an armchair. ‘Mind if I switch the television to the security cameras?’
‘Go ahead. I wasn’t watching anything.’
Samantha keyed the remote control. Black and white images appeared: the opening on to the road, the cobbled mews, the tiny enclosed yard behind the flat. They were all deserted. It would seem that no one had followed them. There’d been no mention in news broadcasts of a disturbance in Belgravia, no talk of a dead body. It must have been found. The Met, the Counter Terrorism Unit, the Security Services: one or other of them had seen them arrive at the house and tried to prevent them leaving. The flat would have been searched after they’d escaped.
‘You never stop watching,’ Annushka murmured.
‘Our lives could depend on it.’
The girl laid the papers on her lap, gazed across at Samantha and said softly, ‘I’m sorry.’ She sounded contrite and somewhat forlorn. The bravado, the youthful arrogance, seemed to be deserting her.
‘Sorry? Why are you sorry?’
‘For refusing to tell you where the phones are, for not believing you when you said they’d be watching the flat. And I still can’t think why Grigori tried to kill me. I teased and tormented him, badmouthed him sometimes, but you don’t kill someone for that.’
‘You tormented him?’
‘Let him see me in my underwear or draped in a bath towel. Sometimes I’d let the towel slip.’ She laughed. ‘He really lusted after me.’
‘Didn’t your mother tell you that wasn’t the way to behave? That it wasn’t fair to Grigori?’
‘Wasn’t fair? I was doing him a favour; he liked to look. And I didn’t have a mother because she was dead, and by that time my stupid first stepmother was too busy complaining to me about my father to pay any attention to what I was doing.’
‘You deliberately aroused the man. It was like waving a piece of meat in front of a chained dog, raising appetites he couldn’t satisfy.’ Samantha glanced back at the images on the television screen. A man and a woman had emerged from a house further along the mews. She watched the man unfurl a large black umbrella and draw the woman beneath it. For an instant they disappeared from the screen as they moved past, then flicked back into view when another camera picked them up. The man’s hand moved slowly down the woman’s back and caressed her thigh through tight blue jeans. The woman snuggled closer, then they turned out of the mews and faded into the rain and the night.
Samantha glanced at Annushka. ‘Have you learned anything from the papers you took from the safe?’
‘Things in the pre-nuptial agreement seem to be duplicated in the will, and they’re both dated a month before the marriage. In the event of my father’s death, Tatiana gets the flat in Moscow, a house in Switzerland and three million US dollars a year, index linked. If she remarries, the payments stop. I inherit everything else, held in trust until I’m twenty-one. Four trustees are listed: an accountant and a lawyer, they’re both British with offices in London, and two senior members of the board of CT and T, they’re based in Moscow. If I die before attaining the age of twenty-one, everything goes to Tatiana. There’s stuff about a pension for Babushka, what would happen if I die without issue, whatever that means, and if they’d divorced. I’m pretty sure I’ve got it right, but I wouldn’t mind if you’d read it through.’
‘Now you know why Grigori tried to kill you: Tatiana sent him.’
‘But he’d known me since I was a child. He’d have refused to harm me.’
‘And since you were little more than a child, you tormented him and verbally abused him. Your father’s dead, Tatiana was his new employer; presumably she treated him with some respect. He would have wanted to ingratiate himself with her, do her bidding, stay on the payroll.’
‘And the men watching the flat, what did they want?’
‘You, so they could question you, find out how much you know about the murder at Darnel Hall and the mobile phones that went missing. And I think it’s time you told me where the phones are.’
‘When you have the phones you might abandon me. You might even kill me, like you killed Grigori.’
Samantha sighed, summoned her last reserves of patience, made her voice gentle, as she said softly, ‘We’ve talked about this before, Annushka. I’ve been sent to protect you because two things have put you in danger. First, you witnessed and videoed the sons of powerful men murder a girl. You also stole phones that hold images they wouldn’t want exposing to public gaze. Secondly, you’ve had sexual encounters, some when you were below the age of consent, with Britain’s Foreign Secretary. That, by itself, might not have put you in danger, but it does increase the pressures on them to deal with you. You’ve become a thorn in the establishment’s side. When I’ve recovered the mobile phones, I can make you safe.’
‘How do I know you’re not in the employ of these people? Grigori was supposed to protect me, but he tried to kill me. And when you killed him, you didn’t seem to give a damn about it.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘It was just like that. Maybe you wouldn’t have a second thought about killing me.’ She fixed Samantha in a baleful stare. ‘Have you killed many people?’
‘A number of men. I’ve never killed a woman.’
‘Five, six?’
‘More than a hundred.’
Annushka’s face paled; her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘More than a hundred?’
‘Probably many more. I no longer bother to count.’
‘It doesn’t seem to affect y
ou.’
‘It affects me deeply. Often, when I’m drifting off to sleep, I see their faces, like the flickering images cast by an old black and white film: fair skinned, dark skinned, old, young, bearded, clean shaven. See the light fading from their eyes as death claims their bodies.’
‘That’s awesome,’ Annushka whispered, in a shocked little voice.
‘You must get it into you head that I’ve been sent to protect you.’
‘Who sent you? Was it my father?’
‘It was someone who believes in the universal rule of law; someone who’s not prepared to allow you to be silenced by powerful men so they can go on enjoying lives of privilege and influence.’
Annushka frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged and said, ‘Why should I put up with this? I have money, I have my passport. I could fly to Athens, board the Ocean Empress, and just sail away.’
‘And confront the woman who’s tried to have you killed?’
‘OK, so I’ll take a flight to Moscow and stay with Babushka for a while.’
‘You’d be arrested at the airport. They wouldn’t let you out of the country. And if you managed to get to Moscow, how would a little old lady protect you from your stepmother, Tatania, and the killers she controls?’
The girl’s shoulders sagged. Bottom lip trembling, eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears, she lowered her gaze and began to toy with the hem of her pyjama jacket. Presently, a tremulous little voice asked, ‘And will you abandon me when you have the phones?’
‘I’ve been sent to protect you. I won’t leave you until you’re safe. Getting my hands on the phones is part of making you safe, nothing more, and I think you’d better stop shilly-shallying around and tell me where you’ve hidden the things.’
Annushka sniffed. Blue eyes swept up and held Samantha’s gaze for a moment, then she said, ‘A girl called Rebecca has them.’
‘Rebecca who? What’s her surname?’
‘I can’t remember her second name. I probably never knew it. The girls don’t bother with surnames. The boys do. They all address one another by their surnames. It’s a silly public-school affectation.’
‘And where is this Rebecca?’
‘She lives and works in Cheltenham. When Vincent told me some of the boys had been taking pictures of people having sex I—’
‘Vincent? Presumably that was Vincent Fairchild, the son of the man you’re having an affair with?’
‘That’s right. Anyway, when he told me, I ran out into the corridor, saw Rebecca and told her. We went into bedrooms, gathering up mobile phones. We had to put them in a pillowcase because we’d collected quite a few. While Rebecca went off to search the bathrooms, I went out on the landing where all the commotion was.’
‘Commotion?’
‘One of the boys had pictures on his mobile of a girl having sex with him. She was begging him to give it to her. He was holding it above her head and she kept trying to jump up and grab it. She was frantic. The other boys were jostling around them, laughing and jeering. Nicole was very upset.’
‘Nicole?’
‘The girl who was trying to get the phone; the girl who died.’
‘I take it they were all in a state of undress?’
‘Nicole wasn’t wearing any clothes, nor were most of the boys. They’d all left bedrooms and come out on the landing to join in the fun. In the end, the boys grabbed her, hoisted her up and started throwing her in the air and catching her. She was absolutely terrified – they were completely out of control. I don’t really know why I did it, but I got my own phone out and videoed what was happening, right up to her going over the balustrade and falling down into the hall. I was really scared then, so I ran back down the passageway and found Rebecca. They lock all the doors before the party starts, so we got out through a kitchen window and drove away in Vincent’s car. I took her to Cheltenham and left her at her front door.’
‘She kept the phones?’
‘I persuaded her to. She lives alone, in her own home, so there’s no one snooping around. If I’d taken them to Underhill, the housekeeper or one of the security guards might have found them. And I couldn’t have hidden them at the flat. The housekeeper drives up once a month with one of the security men. He makes sure the place is OK, and she checks on the cleaners. She’s always looking through my things. I think Father told her to spy on me because he thought I might be doing drugs.’
‘This Rebecca; you have her address?’
‘No, but I could take you to the house. And she told me she works for Volmack Financial Services, at their head office in Cheltenham.’
‘We’ll go tomorrow, arrive early, before she leaves for work.’
‘Will we come back here?’
‘I don’t think so. When you’re being hunted it’s wise to keep moving.’
Samantha watched the deserted scenes from the security cameras for a while, then joined Annushka in the bedroom. She was in bed, asleep, oblivious to the flicker of lightning beyond the curtains, the thunder rolling over the city, the rain pelting down on the slates above their heads. The slender leather case and velvet bag she’d been holding had slid from her grasp. Samantha picked up the bag and shook the contents into her hand: a wedding ring, an engagement ring, a diamond brooch and matching earrings, a string of pearls. She slid them back and tugged a cord to close the bag. The case opened to reveal a photograph of a man and woman on their wedding day. The man was youthful, stockily built, not much taller than his bride. He stood very erect, his large masculine features confident and self-assured. The woman was beautiful, exceptionally so, but her eyes were apprehensive, her body stiff and tense. Annushka’s mother hadn’t radiated any happiness on her wedding day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
With every shrill ring, Tatiana Dvoskin’s irritation mounted. Who could be calling at this hour, and why didn’t Vladimir answer the phone? It was on his side of the bed; the calls were always for him. She turned, reached out to shake his shoulder, but felt nothing. Her eyes fluttered open. She was alone. Sleep had erased the memory of her husband’s death. His body, lifeless and cold, was lying in a mortuary in the basement of the Alexander Hospital. He would never lie beside her again. She slid into the coolness on what had been his side of the bed, and groped for the phone.
‘Maxim here, Mrs Dvoskin. I’m sorry to—’
‘Maxim?’
‘Maxim Gaidar, your radio operator, your communications officer.’
‘Maxim . . . Maxim,’ Tatiana mumbled, struggling to clear her mind.
‘Maxim Gaidar, ma’am. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour but I have messages I think you would consider urgent.’
‘Messages?’
‘Messages, ma’am.’
‘Go ahead.’
Gaidar’s voice lowered. ‘I think it would be best if I gave them to you on the red phone.’
‘The red phone?’
‘On the desk in your study. It’s connected directly to the bridge and my radio room. It’s not linked to the ship’s telephone system. Shall I wait five minutes, then call you on the red phone?’
‘Please.’
Tatiana crawled from the bed, drew on her robe, then yawned her way to the study at the far end of the suite of rooms. She lowered herself into Vladimir’s chair then gazed through the observation windows while she waited. Dawn was breaking over Piraeus. The first rays of watery sunlight were gleaming on the white walls of the hotels and flats and offices that crowded the harbour; infusing some colour into the drab greyness of the surrounding hills. Frightened and lonely, she found herself missing Vladimir. The coarseness, the insensitivity of his lovemaking had repelled her, but he’d been a strong protector, someone who’d made decisions, relieved her of all the nagging worries. And he’d been incredibly sweet to her that last day they’d spent together. Perhaps he’d sensed that something bad—
The red phone began to bleep. Tatiana swung round to face the desk and picked it up.
‘Mrs Dvoskin?’
‘I’ve had a message from the housekeeper at Underhill Grange. The police called, late yesterday evening, showed her photographs of a dead man and asked if she could identify him. It was Grigori. They told her his body had been discovered in your Belgravia flat following an incident at the rear of the premises involving two women. They asked her if she could throw any light on the matter. She said the only women who would have been at the flat were women sent by the cleaning company, usually in pairs. Other than that, she knew nothing. They asked her if your stepdaughter had returned home. She told them she hadn’t. They said they were investigating the death, and they’d probably want to talk to her again.’
Tatiana slumped back in the chair. Wide awake now, she was struggling to grasp the implications of what she’d been told.
A deferential, almost timid voice interrupted the silence. ‘Ma’am? Are you still there, ma’am?’
‘I’m here, Maxim. Please go on.’
‘I presumed you would wish me to report the communication directly to you rather than enter it on a yellow slip for your secretary to deliver.’
‘You presumed correctly. Thank you, Maxim. I think you said there was another message . . .’
‘Your father wishes to speak with you. Would you like me to make the connection now?’
‘Would it be secure?’
‘Completely. I’ll activate the encryption.’
‘Surely that would make it unintelligible to my father.’
‘He has the encryption algorithms. He is able to decode our communications. Shall I make the connection?’
‘Please. How long will it take you?’
‘Just a few moments. I will try to be quick.’
The line went dead. Tatiana replaced the handset and sat back, pondering on the duplicity of men. Who had killed Grigori, and who had given her father the means to decode Vladimir’s communications? Was there anyone she could trust? The phone began to bleep. She snatched it up.
‘Tatiana?’
‘Daddy.’
‘How is my beautiful daughter?’
‘Frightened. Vladimir’s death was a great shock. You said it would be a while before you ordered the killing, but you acted so quickly.’
Dark Powers Page 11