The Conor McBride Series Books 1-3

by Kathryn Guare

  “I did, actually.”

  “Well, I look forward to hearing about it. Shall we move to more comfortable quarters? Poor Bradford is still convinced we’re here to pinch the silver but he’s agreed to let us sit on the good furniture.”

  They returned to the first drawing room where Frank made a silent, lightning-quick raid on the liquor cabinet, coming away with two glasses of whiskey and a Cheshire-cat smile. Despite the droll humor, when they retreated to the sitting area Conor took note of his weariness and the uncharacteristic tension in his eyes.

  “You’re not here with tidings of great joy, I’m guessing.”

  “Am I ever?” Frank took a long sip from his glass. “Give me your report about tonight first—and where is Kate, by the way?”

  “She went back to the Labuts’ house. Martin Labut,” Conor clarified. Sighing at Frank’s squinting attempt to recollect the name he finally added, “The Minister of Culture?”

  “Oh yes, of course. Lord, I’d quite forgotten you were staying there. What are they like?”

  “What are they like.” Conor nearly choked on the maniacal laugh rumbling in his throat. He hardly knew where to begin.

  “He’s trying to get even. He’s blowing her cover.”

  “Who’s … ah, bugger.” Winnie gave her an apologetic glance and heaved a sigh. “I know. You don’t have to tell me again. ‘Shut it, Winnie.’”

  “I’m sorry for snapping at you.” Kate spoke without taking her eyes from the restaurant’s window. “It’s a long story, and it’s probably better for you not to hear it.”

  She patted his arm and returned to concentrating on two men she’d never expected to see together. So it was true—Ghorbani had come back to Prague looking for vengeance, and he was getting it by doing to Sonia exactly what she’d done to him. Both had acted ruthlessly, but their mutual betrayals weren’t mirror images. Before exposing Ghorbani, Sonia had waited until Kate and Conor arrived, providing him with an avenue of escape. Kate felt sure he had no intention of returning the favor, but she wondered how he’d discovered the Minister of Culture was the leader of the New Přemyslids. Sonia said Martin kept himself in the shadows, letting his second-in-command serve as the network’s public face. She believed Ghorbani didn’t know his identity.

  Kate strained for a better look at Martin, curious to see how he was coping with the news that his mistress—and the mother of his son—was an MI6 agent who’d been spying on him for almost two years. The distance was too far. His features were smudged and distorted by the rain spitting against the windows, but she could tell Martin was doing most of the talking at this point. Their meeting ended a few minutes later, when he picked up the glass in front of him and drained its contents in one swallow. He stood up, and after a parting remark that Ghorbani received with an apathetic shrug, Martin disappeared from the dining room.

  She pulled Winnie back into the shadows and they waited for him to exit the restaurant, but after several minutes it became obvious he wasn’t going to appear.

  “Maybe he went out the back. What should we do now?” Winnie cast his eyes to the heavens, as though praying she’d give an answer that would please him.

  “I’ll let you know when I think of something,” Kate said. She was focused on Ghorbani now, who had finished his drink and was signaling his server for the bill.

  Their mission had been to facilitate the defection of an Iranian double agent and he was sitting less than a hundred yards away from her. Now that he’d planted the seed of his revenge he might re-establish contact with MI6, but it was equally possible he would disappear again. If he’d decided not to defect this might be the last chance anyone would get to convince him otherwise.

  More than all the simulated nonsense she’d endured at Fort Monckton, Kate realized this was truly her final exam. It didn’t matter what she thought about Farid Ghorbani and the decisions he’d made. He was a vital intelligence asset and she had an obligation to bring him over, or at least try.

  In Hřensko, Conor had assured her nothing would go according to plan, but with a little improvisation they could still accomplish something. The time had come to test that theory.

  “We deal with whatever’s left to make it work.” She watched Ghorbani get up from the table and head for the door. Quickly, she stripped off Winnie’s sports jacket and thrust it into his arms. Startled, he nearly dropped it before catching it by one sleeve.

  “What’s this now? What are you doing?”

  “Improvising. His car. Where is it? Where did he park?”

  “It’s that black Honda up there.”

  “Good. Go get in yours now, Winnie. Hurry, before he gets out of here. I’ll see you back at your hotel.”

  After giving him a firm push Kate took off, running in the opposite direction. She stayed close to the wall beneath the arcade, forming a plan she hoped would work as she raced from one archway to the next. Up ahead, the Honda—parked a few hundred feet beyond the end of the arcade—suddenly flashed to life. The interior lamp and headlights snapped on, and Kate heard the high-pitched chirp signaling Ghorbani had pressed the remote on his key ring. She stopped at the last archway, watching him approach through the rain, half-running himself. He passed where she stood without seeing her, and when he reached the car Kate ran into the street, waving at him.

  “Farid! Wait!”

  Immediately, Ghorbani tensed and half-crouched beside the car like a cornered animal, one hand moving to his back in an unmistakable gesture, but when she shouted again he recognized her and slowly straightened. Reaching the car, Kate stopped and gazed at him over its roof, giving him her best smile in an effort to appear delighted.

  “I can’t believe it. We’d just about given up on you.”

  Wary and clearly suspicious, he scanned the wet, empty street around them before turning back to her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Our hotel is only a few blocks away. I came out for a walk to clear my head. You’re the last person I expected to run into, but I’m glad I did.”

  “You came out to walk in the rain?” Ghorbani snorted his disbelief.

  Dropping her smile, Kate gave him a withering look. “Obviously it wasn’t raining when I started. How about giving me a ride back? I’d say it’s the least you could do, after the trouble you’ve caused us.”

  He seemed about to refuse, but then frowned, apparently considering the idea. After giving her a long appraising look he impatiently yanked the car door open and motioned for her to do the same.

  As soon as she pulled hers shut Kate felt a claustrophobic discomfort and snuck a peek at Ghorbani while he started the car. He adjusted the rearview mirror, his thick eyebrows pulling together as he glared into it, still wary of an ambush. Unlike the first time she’d met him, he was clean-shaven and completely sober, and projected an aggressive, almost belligerent physicality. His wet leather jacket gave off a musky odor mingling with the stronger scent of men’s cologne.

  “Where is the other one? Conor?” He shot her a dismissive glance before pulling out onto the road.

  “I left him at the hotel,” she said. “He’s probably snoring by now, although he could have used a little fresh air too. He’s been drowning his humiliation in a few too many pints of Guinness.”

  Even though entirely fabricated, Kate regretted the snide remark, but it achieved the desired result. He said nothing, but the stiffness in Ghorbani’s face subsided a little, and seeing a faint grin she struck while his guard was down.

  “What happened, Farid?” she asked, softly. “You said you wanted to defect, and a lot of people put the effort into making it happen.”

  “Things have changed. It’s not so simple.”

  He looked uncomfortable now rather than angry, which was probably a good sign. Kate let the response go unchallenged for the moment, hoping her patience might encourage him to add something to it. She directed him through the streets to the hotel she and Conor had stayed in for their first three nights in Prague before promptin
g him again.

  “I’m sure it isn’t simple, but don’t you think we deserve an explanation? What’s changed? You said you’re in danger of exposure if you go back to Iran. If you get caught, you’ll have done all this for nothing. Do you really want to risk that?”

  He pulled the wheel sharply for the wide turn around the green space in front of the hotel, but when he answered his voice was surprisingly mild and touched with a note of relief. “You don’t understand, but it is not for you to know. Here is your hotel now. Go to your snoring man and don’t think of these things any longer.”

  They pulled up to the front door, and Kate sat staring at the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. Realizing she’d achieved little and her opportunity was slipping away, she risked a different, more dangerous tactic.

  “Revenge. That’s what you came back here for, isn’t it? You have an opportunity to make a difference, isn’t that why you started this in the first place? To contribute something that might help make the world a little more peaceful? Make us all less likely to bomb each other into atoms? Are you saying none of that is important now, and that all you want is to get back at one woman?”

  Ghorbani took his hands from the wheel and rested them in his lap before turning to her, his expression blank. “I came back here for justice. You have no idea why I started all this, or what is important to me. “

  “Justice,” Kate snapped, angry now. “You want to send Sonia to her death and call that even, but it isn’t.”

  “Sonia?” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “How do you know Greta by this name? I learned it myself only tonight. How do you know her at all, when Conor told me over and over that you didn’t?”

  “I don’t. I mean—” Flustered, Kate tried desperately to recover from this catastrophic slip of the tongue, but her face gave her away. She popped the seat belt off and reached for the door handle, but she was a second too late. The automatic locks engaged with a definitive, hollow thunk.

  “Put your seat belt on, Kate.”

  Slowly, she turned from the door to face his hard, angry eyes and the gun in his hand. At that moment, more than fear for herself, she felt an overwhelming sorrow for the mistake she’d made and the suffering it would cause someone else.

  “I’m so sorry.” She covered her face, whispering the apology into her hands. “Oh, Conor, I’m so sorry.”

  A security detail stationed on the street outside the building when he arrived, although apparently the Labuts had not yet returned home. The police weren’t inclined to allow Conor passage, so in a twist that moved the night one step closer to farce, Sonia was summoned to the intercom to vouch for his character. He moved off to one side, letting her disembodied voice persuade them of his honor, and saw Kate’s shoes placed neatly next to the step. Amused that she’d forgotten them and the police hadn’t noticed, he picked them up, looping a finger around the spiky heels as he climbed the stairs. Sonia came into the hall before he reached the apartment, looking down from the top of the staircase.

  “They’re still not back?” he asked, looking up at her.

  She shook her head. “They heard there would be police all about the house and they didn’t like the idea, so instead of coming here they’ve slipped away to a hotel nearby.” She smiled. “The police are quite annoyed. At least they have me to protect, which is ironic, yes?”

  Pulling himself up the final flight, Conor realized he was extremely tired. “You and Kate, I suppose. Did they give her the third degree as well, or did she charm them out of it?”

  “Kate?” Sonia’s eyes widened. “She’s not here. Did you not meet her outside the Town Hall?”

  Alarmed, he sprinted up the remaining steps and waved the shoes at her. “What do you mean she’s not here? She left these down by the door. Are you sure she didn’t come in earlier? Maybe she went up to our room.”

  “It’s possible, but I’ve been waiting and listening for you both—”

  Pushing past her, Conor went through the foyer and up the stairs, calling Kate’s name as he ran down the hall to their room. He nearly broke the latch as he came through the door and ripped half the shower curtain down in a hasty search of the bathroom. He snatched the Walther and its holster from under the mattress and raced back out of the room, meeting Sonia in the hall.

  “Where the fuck is she?”

  “I don’t know. I promise you, Conor—she hasn’t been here. Is there someplace else she might have gone?”

  “No. She was in a taxi coming straight here.” He grabbed Sonia by the arm, pulling her back towards the stairs. “The police. Ask them if they’ve seen her.”

  They returned to the foyer and Sonia used the intercom again to call the men stationed at the front door. After several exchanges in Czech she turned back to him, her face troubled. “They haven’t seen her.”

  “When did they get here?” Conor demanded.

  “About forty-five minutes ago.”

  “And I left her an hour ago.” Realizing he was still holding Kate’s shoes he was about to toss them on the floor, but took a shuddering breath and clutched them more tightly instead. “I don’t know where to look for her.”

  Sonia took his arm. “Come sit down in the living room. We must think this through before we can decide what to do.”

  He refused the drink she suggested and wandered across the parquet to the boxy leather couch. Removing his tailcoat, he lowered himself stiffly onto it, staring blankly at the windows while Sonia switched on a few table lamps. A strong wind was mingled with the rain now, throwing waves of accelerated drops at the windows like a handful of pebbles, or a hail of gunfire.

  “She must have been here at some point,” Sonia said, gesturing at the shoes he’d set on the cushion next to him. “And she knew this is where you expected her to be. Wouldn’t Kate phone you if she needed to go somewhere else?”

  “She couldn’t. She didn’t have a mobile.” From the pocket of his trousers Conor pulled out the two new phones Frank had given him before he left the Embassy. He placed them on the glass coffee table, feeling helpless and terrified.

  “Maybe if you think back to earlier in the evening.” Sonia took a seat next to him. “Where did you go from the Town Hall? Did anything happen?”

  This, of course, reminded Conor of all the things she didn’t know yet. It made him weary thinking about it, but he knew he had to tell her. “Something happened, yeah. In fact, something’s been happening every ten minutes tonight. I’ll give you chapter and verse, but first let me change out of this feckin’ tuxedo.”

  He stood and looked down at the shoes. If they were meant as a signal, he wasn’t getting it. Where could she have gone, and why would she go anywhere without waiting for him? Gently, Conor scooped them up from the couch and carried them upstairs with him.

  23

  Under normal circumstances, Conor represented the orderly half of their relationship. It was a good indication of his state of mind that several islands of clothing littered the floor by the time he’d exchanged his tuxedo for jeans and a sweatshirt. Before returning downstairs, he went to the bathroom sink and popped his last three paracetamol tablets, chasing them down with a handful of water cupped in his palm. The two middle ribs on his left side were still painful enough to require more pain relievers than was probably good for him, and the bruise was still an impressive collage of color that Kate compared to the minimalist “Zorn palette”, whatever that meant.

  With the water still running, he stood with his hands braced on the sink, looking at his reflection. He replayed the last few minutes spent in the taxi with her, but there was too little material to draw on to be helpful. They’d said nothing during the ride; there had been nothing in the least suspicious about the driver. He remembered every word she’d said in persuading him to let her go ahead to the house. He recalled his agreement, and telling her he loved her … Conor cupped his hands under the faucet again, this time splashing the cold water onto his face.

  That was all. There was nothing e
lse. He remembered watching the taxi coast down the hill, and then getting spooked by a dark figure standing against the wall, until he realized it was a bust of Winston Churchill sitting atop a four-foot pillar. He walked up the alley to the Embassy door, and—

  Winston Churchill.

  “Oh, shit. Why didn’t I think of that?” Conor snapped upright, his face dripping. Swiping at the water on his face he dropped the towel on the floor and ran from the bathroom.

  Until now his nerves had been threatening to jump through his skin, but with a workable hypothesis and an immediate need for proof he felt a familiar process engage. Within seconds, every spiking nerve had flattened to something like the surface of a dead calm sea. Kate referred to it as his “Buddha mood.” The assessment reports from Fort Monckton termed it an “extraordinary talent for repose.” Sonia saw the change at once when he came into the living room and rose from the couch.

  “You’ve thought of something.”

  “I have,” he said, fitting the gun into the holster beneath the waistband of his jeans. “Get the police on the intercom, again. No, hang on a minute.” Conor picked up one of the new phones and pocketed it. “On second thought, let’s go down and talk to them this time.”

  Once in the passageway outside the door to the apartment, Sonia spoke to the police, asking if they’d seen a short, balding man in the area, while Conor continued out to the street. Although the rain had stopped the wind was still fierce, but on the curb next to the lamp post he found a mangled length of white tape too waterlogged to blow away. He picked it up as Sonia came hurrying from the passageway.

  “He’s been here,” Conor said.

  “Yes. They said he was here twenty minutes ago, standing in the parking area there in the middle of the plaza. When they challenged him he said he was waiting for a friend. He was a British tourist with a rented Hyundai and he looked harmless, so they politely asked him to leave. Who is he?”