Dark Powers

by Raymond Haigh

  ‘And to discover what she’s done with the mobile phones,’ the Prime Minister added. ‘But you’re right, Alex.’ He turned towards Loretta. She raised an eyebrow and gave him an encouraging smile. ‘The rather low-key response you’ve taken to the situation hasn’t produced a successful outcome, Miss Fallon. All we have are injured operatives, wrecked cars, and questions being asked about a disturbance in Belgravia. The girl’s become involved with a woman who seems to be on the rampage: threatening officials with guns, killing foreign nationals, ramming cars to escape arrest. One could reasonably say these are acts of terrorism. One could—’

  ‘Criminal acts, Prime Minister, not terrorism,’ the Home Secretary interrupted. His right eye was twitching noticeably now. He’d become quite agitated.

  ‘As I was saying,’ the Prime Minister went on, ‘these could be taken to be acts of terrorism, and I’m handing responsibility for the problem to Sir Nigel to be dealt with by his Counter Terrorism Unit.’

  ‘One could hardly describe that as a measured response,’ Markham protested.

  ‘The terrorism legislation will free Sir Nigel to act in a more robust way.’

  ‘She’s a young girl, Edward.’ Alexander Fairchild’s tone was pleading, almost fearful. ‘She’s probably innocent of any wrong-doing. She was just caught up in events, like the other young people at the party. They may have been behaving rather stupidly, but that’s in the nature of the young.’

  ‘And I’ll say it again,’ the Home Secretary insisted, ‘using counter terrorism legislation can’t be regarded as a measured response; it’s going to make us even more vulnerable to legal challenge.’

  ‘I heard you the first time,’ the Prime Minister snapped. ‘And I’m sure Nigel’s taken Alexander’s comments about the girl on board. But just remember this: if anyone knows the whereabouts of those wretched mobile phones, she does.’ Turning towards Dillon, he snapped, ‘Deal with it, Nigel. Deal with it robustly and deal with it quickly.’ He rose to his feet. ‘That’s it, everyone. Thank you for attending. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ve another meeting I’m already late for.’ He pushed back his chair.

  ‘Prime Minister . . .’ Loretta called him back. ‘I have information I must give you. Now. For your eyes only.’

  ‘Surely it’s not that urgent?’

  ‘I think you’ll agree that it is.’

  ‘A risk to national security?’

  ‘And to the government.’

  He turned to his Home Secretary. ‘Would you stop by Cynthia’s office before you leave, Bernard. Ask her to give my apologies to James Walton, tell him I’ve been unavoidably delayed and arrange another meeting.’

  Loretta waited while the room cleared and the door closed. She was in a dilemma. What she was about to do would put Quest and the girl in even greater peril. She clicked open her briefcase, drew out a glossy ten-by-eight, and slid it across the table to the Prime Minister.

  When he glanced down at it his face registered surprise, then became grave. When he finally looked up, the flesh around his mouth was white. ‘Where was this taken?’

  ‘At some big country house. A tennis party.’ She slid a second photograph over the table.

  He snatched it up. ‘And this?’

  ‘They’re in the bedroom of his Mayfair flat.’

  ‘Does anyone else know about this?’

  ‘Not as far as I’m aware. They’ve been very discreet.’

  ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Almost a year. When the first photographs were taken, she was below the age of consent.’

  ‘You’ve waited some time to tell me.’

  ‘These things often burn themselves out and they’re forgotten.’

  ‘Then why tell me now?’

  ‘I understand there’s to be a meeting of European Foreign Ministers in Moscow next week. Would it be appropriate for a man who’s been having an affair with the underage daughter of a recently murdered Russian oligarch, a girl who’s being hunted by the police, to attend?’

  ‘Of course it wouldn’t be appropriate.’ He studied the first photograph again. ‘The fool,’ he muttered. ‘The bloody fool.’ He glanced up. ‘But she is very lovely, Miss Fallon. If it was on offer, any man would find it difficult to refuse. I’m loath to stand in judgment.’

  ‘She was a child, Prime Minister.’

  ‘She doesn’t look like a child.’

  ‘He has an extremely beautiful wife, and two teenage sons.’

  ‘And I refuse to stand in judgment on the man,’ the Prime Minister repeated, then his voice lowered as he went on, ‘Nevertheless, he won’t be going to Moscow, and he may not be in office much longer. But that’s strictly between us.’ He passed the photographs over the table. Loretta returned them to her briefcase.

  ‘Have they tried to contact one another since she went missing?’

  ‘They appear to use dedicated mobile phones to arrange their little trysts. We’ve monitored the activity, round the clock, but no calls have been made since she disappeared.’ Loretta rose to her feet. ‘When you tell him he’s not going to Moscow, will you tell him why?’

  ‘I’ll have to.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t reveal the source of your information?’

  ‘I won’t, but he’s no fool. He’ll have a good idea where it’s come from.’

  ‘I’ll take my leave of you, Prime Minister.’

  ‘You’ll liaise with Dillon?’

  Smiling broadly, she said, ‘We’ll give him every possible assistance,’ then muttered under her breath, ‘short of any actual help.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Samantha took her eyes off the fast-moving traffic and glanced at the girl in the passenger seat. ‘You’re unusually quiet this morning.’

  Annushka bristled. ‘You never have very much to say.’

  ‘I enjoy listening to you.’

  ‘No, you don’t. You just sit there, watching me, letting me talk, hoping I’ll tell you my secrets. How long will it be before you realize you already know all of my secrets? I don’t have any more.’

  Samantha smiled. The girl was very perceptive.

  ‘And you’ve missed the turn-off,’ Annushka added. ‘Cheltenham’s junction 15. You’ve driven past it.’

  ‘We’re being followed and the last thing I want to do is lead whoever it is to the place where the phones are being kept. I’ll stay on the motorway for a few more miles.’

  ‘Followed?’ Annushka turned and peered between the seats. ‘By that great big truck?’

  ‘By a silver Vauxhall Vectra and a white Audi. The Vauxhall’s behind the lorry; the Audi’s a few cars ahead. They’ve been taking it in turns to tail us.’

  Annushka hunched her shoulders and huddled lower in her seat. ‘I simply can’t bear any more of this,’ she moaned. ‘I’m scared. I’m really, really scared. Everyone’s trying to kill me.’

  Samantha risked another glance. The girl’s face was pale, her body beneath the flowered silk dress rigid with fear. The last thing she needed right now was a hysterical girl. She had to distract her, to calm her. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said softly. ‘I won’t let anyone harm you. Trust me.’

  ‘Why should I trust you? Why should I trust anyone?’

  Ignoring her questions, Samantha went on, ‘You’re very fragrant, and that’s a beautiful dress.’

  ‘Yves Saint Laurent, Rive Gauche; Alexander gave it to me. And this is the dress I was wearing when he kissed me for the very first time.’

  ‘And where were you when he gave you that first kiss?’

  ‘At a wedding reception. I was bored, so I began to wander around the house. I bumped into him in one of the sitting rooms. He was looking at some Russell Flint watercolours: nudes mostly. He turned, gave me a fabulous smile and said, “It’s you! I couldn’t take my eyes off you at the reception.” So I said, “You seem to have found something else to focus your eyes on now.” He laughed and said, “They’re just daubs of colour, but you’re here, in this r
oom, and you’re real and you’re unbelievably lovely.” Then he kissed me. It was the sweetest, tenderest kiss. Then he sat me on the edge of a table and kissed me again, and while he was kissing me I could feel his hand, caressing my leg. I didn’t stop him because I really, really wanted him to.’ She began to weep. ‘And I miss him. I do miss him so very much. If he knew about the awful mess I’m in he’d do something about it. He’s incredibly important. He’d stop all these people hunting me.’ Prompted by a sudden thought, she sniffed back tears and frowned at Samantha. ‘Did Alexander send you to protect me?’

  Samantha reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘It wasn’t Alexander Fairchild. But try not to be afraid. Everything’s going to be OK. I’m going to take the next turn off and lead them down country lanes.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then I’ll deal with them.’

  ‘Kill them, you mean?’

  Samantha gave her a grim smile.

  ‘I can’t take any more of this,’ Annushka moaned. ‘They might kill you before you can kill them. And there could be lots of them.’

  ‘There are four men, two in each car.’ Samantha squeezed the girl’s hand again. ‘Trust me. Just do as I say and you’ll be fine.’ She slowed, flicked the indicators then turned up a slip road, took the exit for Malmesbury and followed a sign that listed Rodbourne, Corston, Little Somerford, Lea and Cleverton. It all sounded very rural and remote. She glanced in the mirrors. The silver Vauxhall was following at a discreet distance.

  After half a mile the road narrowed as it wound up a hill. Bordered by overgrown verges and tangled hedges, it was deserted; so far the only traffic they’d encountered was a cattle truck and a tractor, both heading in the opposite direction. Samantha reached into the pocket in the door, lifted out the gun and laid it on her lap. She glanced at Annushka. ‘Push your seat back as far as it will go, unfasten your safety belt and slide down into the footwell. Press your shoulders hard against the seat and your feet against the bulkhead. Crouch down as low as you can. Whatever you do, don’t lift your head.’

  Samantha braked and bounced the car on to the verge. When the silver Vauxhall had swept past, she lurched back on to the road, accelerated hard and lowered the passenger window. The buffeting of the slipstream, the whine of the revving engine, were loud in the car. With her left hand gripping the wheel, she steadied her gun hand in the crook of her arm and waited for the cars to draw level. Startled eyes glanced across at her, then flicked back to the road. She squeezed the trigger. The Vauxhall’s side-light shattered, its driver jerked and slid out of sight, exposing the silhouette of his passenger. She loosed another two shots, then stood on the brakes. Tyres screamed. The silver car surged on, drifting, driverless, in a gentle curve that took it crashing through the hedge and into a field. Samantha glanced through the gap as they cruised past. The Vauxhall had come to rest at the end of a ribbon of flattened corn.

  The men in the white Audi would probably turn back at the next junction and follow their friends. She had to check the car in the cornfield before they arrived, make sure the driver and his passenger were dead, then hide and wait. A place had to be found where Annushka could be concealed. She glanced down at the girl, crouching in the footwell. ‘You can get back in your seat now. Everything’s OK.’

  Annushka scrambled up and groped for her seatbelt. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I shot the driver. I think I hit the other man, too. The car crashed through the hedge.’

  ‘Go faster,’ Annushka urged. ‘Let’s get away from here before—’

  ‘We can’t, not yet. I have to find somewhere to hide you, then I’ll go back, make sure they’re dead and get their documents.’

  The hedge merged with a copse of stunted trees that concealed the gateway into the field. There was no gate now, just a pair of massive stone posts. Samantha let the car roll to a stop, then reversed back along the road and down into the sunken opening. The long grass on the verge, the adjoining trees, made it an effective hiding place.

  ‘I’m going to leave you here while I go back and check things.’ Samantha was rummaging amongst the clutter in her bag, searching for ammunition. She picked out half a dozen rounds, ejected the clip from the gun, fed them in, then slammed the loaded magazine back with the flat of her hand.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Annushka moaned. ‘You said there were two cars. ‘What if the men in the other one come while you’re gone?’

  ‘Just sit here and keep your head down. No one can see you from the road.’ Samantha slid the keys from the ignition, dropped them in her shoulder bag and pushed open the door.

  ‘Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.’ The words spilled out on a wail of panic.

  ‘I have to. Just sit tight until I come back.’

  Samantha made her way back along the field side of the hedge, the skirt of her cream linen dress brushing through ripening corn. As she neared the Vauxhall she could see the passenger slumped over the dash, his head pressed against the windscreen. When she rounded the car and wrenched open the driver’s door, a blood-streaked head and shoulders rolled out and sightless eyes stared up at her. She searched the man’s pockets, found a wallet, a passport in a tattered envelope, a mobile phone. As an afterthought, she rested her fingers on his throat. There was no pulse.

  Blood was splattered over the passenger side-light and the glass was crazed around a bullet exit hole. Samantha heaved open the sticking door, then twitched the skirt of her dress clear of dripping blood. Torn flesh marked a massive wound above the man’s ear. He was heavy, slumped forward, awkwardly placed. She grabbed his collar, pulled him across the seat and emptied his jacket pockets. A mobile phone began to jangle out a tune: probably one of his accomplices calling to check where they were. She switched it off, crammed it, along with the other items she’d taken, into her bag, then began to run back through the corn .

  The sound of a car approaching up the hill was becoming louder. She ducked down behind the hedge until the Audi swept past, a white blur beyond the tangle of twigs and leaves. Seconds later she heard tyres screech, doors open, running feet and men shouting. She glanced over the hedge. A petrified Annushka was standing in the middle of the road, about twenty yards from where the white car had stopped. The girl suddenly turned and began to run back up the hill, the skirt of her dress billowing, her long hair streaming. The men began to chase her, calling her name, calling out to her to stop.

  Samantha ran on behind the hedge until she found a gap, then clambered through and crossed over to the white Audi. The driver’s door was hanging open, the engine was running. She slid behind the wheel, pushed the gear stick over and moved off up the rise. The men were middle-aged, overweight, out of condition. One was trailing behind the other; both were so consumed by their efforts to capture the fleeing girl they hadn’t heard the approaching car. She surged forward. The man in the rear glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widened, there was a sickening crunch and his body arched back over the bonnet before being dragged beneath the car.

  Annushka was lissom, long-legged, young. She was drawing away from her remaining pursuer when she stumbled. She picked herself up and limped on, but the man caught her, slid an arm around her waist and held her, kicking and struggling.

  Out of the car now, Samantha ran towards them, holding the gun. The man spun round, Annushka broke free, staggered on for a few paces then turned and looked on, gasping for breath.

  ‘Put your hands behind your head and go through that gap in the hedge.’

  The man stared back at her, his expression uncomprehending. When she repeated the command in Russian, he obeyed.

  As she followed him across the verge, she glanced at Annushka. ‘Stay here, watch the road. If you see anything coming, give me a shout.’ The girl’s hair was tousled, her face deathly pale. She was bending forward, gasping for breath, her hands pressed against her thighs.

  The man eyed Samantha warily. His oatmeal-coloured linen suit was crumpled, his face red and beaded with pe
rspiration.

  ‘Don’t look at me; turn and face the other way, then kneel down.’

  He shuffled round and fell to his knees. She moved closer and stood behind him, staring down at his thinning grey hair. ‘Who sent you? Why were you looking for the girl?’

  ‘Milosovitch sent us.’

  ‘Milosovitch?’

  ‘Father of Tatiana, Vladimir Dvoskin’s third wife. She told him she was worried about her stepdaughter, asked him to find her. That’s what we were doing.’

  ‘And what were you going to do when you’d found her?’

  ‘Tell Milosovitch, then keep her safe until Tatiana arrived to take care of her.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘It’s the truth, I swear –’

  Samantha swung the gun down on the side of his head. He howled and sagged forward. She leaned over him and put her mouth close to his bleeding ear. ‘Your friends are dead. If you lie to me, I’ll kill you too. Now, I’ll ask you again, what were you ordered to do with the girl?’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ he moaned, ‘to keep her safe until –’

  She swung the gun down again. ‘Don’t lie to me.’

  He drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Bitch,’ he moaned. ‘You bloody bitch.’

  ‘Milosovitch ordered you to kill her, didn’t he?’ She stabbed the muzzle of the gun into his temple. ‘Tell me the truth or I’ll kill you. I’m counting. One, two—’

  ‘Yes, yes, he told us he wanted her dead.’

  ‘And how were you to kill her.’

  ‘An accident; it had to look like an accident. We were going to disable the passenger airbag on one of the cars, drive it at speed into a wall and make sure the passenger side took the impact. Kuzma was going to do the driving. He’d worked as a stuntman in Russian and Polish films. He—’ The man stopped gabbling and began to beg. ‘Please, have mercy on me. When you’re hired by a man like Milosovitch, you can’t refuse—’