Kurbsky said softly, “Don’t say a word. You’ve been caught up in a matter of the highest security to the State—we both have. Now, keep your voice down.”
“What about Kokonin and Burlaka?” Ivanov whispered.
“Back at Belleville. I disarmed them and told them to run for it or else.”
“But why did you do this?”
“I am under orders, from Putin himself.” He stood up. “We can’t talk freely here. Come out on the viewing platform.”
He went and opened the door that gave onto the platform with the ironwork rail; it was a spot much popular with smokers in these anti-cigarette times. Although there was a canopy, the rain blew in.
Ivanov said, “We’re going to get soaked. What the hell is going on?”
Kurbsky produced the silenced Walther, jammed the muzzle into him at close quarters, and shot him in the heart. He lurched back, half turning, and fell head down over the rail. Kurbsky toppled him the rest of the way over, and the body was swept away in the darkness and rain. He replaced the Walther in his belt clip, his iron composure clicking in, and calmly worked his way up the aisle to the end, where the car steward still dozed in his booth.
After midnight, when anything is possible and death is in the air.
It wouldn’t go away, went around and around in his brain. He had killed three men without a hint of pity, but he’d have to put that behind him, as he had with so many others over the years. He was clear now to follow the future mapped out for him, however uncertain.
Back in first class, he went into the lavatory and called Luzhkov, who had not been able to sleep, waiting for news.
“It’s done, Boris. I’ve killed all three.”
“Will there be repercussions?”
“I shouldn’t imagine they’ll be found for a while. Their bodies aren’t on the train, if that’s what you mean. By the time anybody finds them, we should be flying out from Saint-Denis.”
“Did it give you any problem, Alex?”
“Boris, people like you, acting on behalf of the State, have sent people out to do your killing for years. When did you ever ask if it gave them a problem?”
He rang off, paused, and then called Roper.
ROPER ANSWERED IMMEDIATELY. “How are you? Dillon called just before the train left, saying you were in good hands. How’s the trip so far?”
“It turned out to be rather lively.” Kurbsky started the lying now. “The others were having a sleep, and I went into the restaurant car for a bite to eat. We stopped at Belleville for fifteen minutes, a few people got off, and to my astonishment I saw Kokonin and Burlaka, two of my GRU minders, having a stroll.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“Pure bad luck. I found out later some chambermaid saw me get into the taxi, heard where I was going, and told them. They got their act together and followed me to the station. They must have just caught the train.”
“So what did you do?”
“At Belleville? I slipped off the train, followed them to a suitable spot, and braced them.”
“Which means what, exactly?”
“I shot them both, left them in a ditch, and got back on board.”
“What about the third man?”
“Ivanov. When we got going again, I searched the train and found him in the club car. I think he thought they’d simply missed the train. I told him we were all victims of a complicated plot direct from Putin himself.” He lied again. “When I asked him how he’d got on my tracks so quickly, he told me about the chambermaid.”
“And where did this confrontation take place?”
“On the viewing platform at the end of the train. It’s a smokers’ paradise these days, but not so much for him.”
“You killed him too.”
“Of course, and put him over the rail. I had to, Roper, you can see that. Those GRU idiots would have cocked things up big-time. By the way, speaking of the GRU, has Boris Luzhkov turned up at the London Embassy yet?”
“So I hear,” Roper said. “What were Dillon and Billy doing while all this was going on?”
“Sleeping the sleep of the righteous.”
“And it didn’t occur to you that they might have appreciated the chance to join in?”
“You have a point, but there was Monica to consider, and frankly, I thought it’d be more efficient if I took care of it myself. I’ll leave you to break the news to Dillon.”
He left the lavatory and paused to look in at the compartment, where Monica was sitting up now and swinging her legs to the ground.
“Have you had a good trip?”
“At least I slept.” Sean and Billy were stirring next door. “What about you?” she said.
“Trains and planes, I can never sleep on them,” he said. “I had a great meal in the restaurant car and read your book on the Roman army in Britain.”
“And what was the verdict?”
“Wonderful. Action and passion, that’s what I like. I’ll go down and get a table for breakfast. I’ll see you there.”
Billy was at the washbasin and Dillon had his mobile to his ear and looked serious, so Kurbsky got out fast.
FIVE O’CLOCK and still dark outside, rain driving against the window. The headwaiter provided the black bitter tea. “Would you care for vodka with it, Monsieur?”
“Why not?” Dinner, breakfast—his time scale was seriously out of joint. He swallowed some tea, knocked the vodka back, and examined the passport and papers Dillon had given him when he’d first boarded the train. Dillon arrived, still looking serious. Billy, on the other hand, was full of excitement.
“Three at one blow, Kurbsky! I always thought that was for flies on a slice of bread and jam.”
Dillon said, “Damn it, Billy, this is serious.” He turned to Kurbsky. “I understand discovering Kokonin and Burlaka was a shock, but you should have called us in. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Kurbsky told him. “I needed to act fast.”
“And Ivanov?”
“Look, I knew him, so I knew how to handle him. It’s done now. How’s Monica?”
“Upset,” Dillon said.
“She’ll get over it,” Billy put in. “She shot an IRA bastard dead in the Drumore affair, and she didn’t have any trouble getting over that. Let’s order breakfast.”
“I’ll go and get her,” said Kurbsky. “Would that be all right with you?”
“I don’t own the lady,” Dillon told him.
“Tell the headwaiter I’ll have the same as I did before.”
She was standing at the washbasin in the compartment, looking in the mirror and applying her lipstick. “Well, here I am,” he said. “Are you angry with me?”
“Not anymore. Let me just ask you: Was it necessary?”
“They’d have tried to take me back by force, and it could have been very messy.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. This venture you’ve embarked on, that we’re all involved in, it was bound to bring demands and consequences we didn’t perhaps anticipate.”
“You’re right.”
“I know I am, Alex, and this may not be the last of them. But that’s in the future. Right now, let’s join the others for breakfast.” She brushed past him and led the way down the corridor.
THEY PASSED THROUGH Rennes and, twenty miles later, pulled up at Saint-Denis, a small station in a pleasant market town. It was six-thirty, still that bad March weather, daylight now, a slate-gray sky and the eternal rain. There was quite a press of people waiting to board, obviously going to Brest, the nearest big city.
Parry was waiting with an umbrella and approached them at once. “I’ve got a car waiting with a driver. The airfield is eight miles from here, and we’ve had an order from General Ferguson only an hour ago to bring our departure forward. I don’t know what’s up, but he wants you out of here as soon as possible.”
They piled in the car, and Billy said as they drove away, “You think Roper’s had words with Ferguson?”
“Of course he has,” Dillon said. “And wants us clear of French soil.”
They were at the airfield very quickly, and the driver, obviously obeying instructions, drove straight to the end of the runway where the Chieftain waited.
Parry said, “Straight on board. We have friends here. It’s taken care of.”
So five minutes later, he was heaving up the airstair door and passing along the aisle to join Lacey in the cockpit. They were at ten thousand feet before they knew it, still bad weather, the Chieftain rocking in the turbulence but making steady progress out over the Channel Islands and pushing on toward the Isle of Wight to England.
Parry came back after a while. “Coffee’s back there, a bottle of champagne, Cokes, the usual things.”
“You certainly got us out of there fast,” Billy said. “Good thinking.”
“Billy, I don’t know what you’ve been up to and I don’t want to know, but we had an order from Ferguson to get you out with the fastest extraction since we saved your hides in Iraq.”
He moved away, and Dillon opened the bar box and found the bottle of champagne. As he opened it, he said, “Ferguson was just being careful. He wanted to get us out of the war zone quickly, as it were. It should be a day or so before those bodies are found. Then it’ll take a while to identify them as Russian GRU and sort out what the hell they have been doing operating in a friendly nation. The lies will start, the deceit, the demands for the bodies, and the story will fade because the public won’t be particularly interested anyway.”
He poured and passed the first plastic glass to Monica, and Billy said to Kurbsky, “There’s a lesson for all of us. We said it would be smooth as silk, dead simple, and it would have been if that bird, the chambermaid, hadn’t happened to be clocking on shift by the taxi rank and seen you.”
“Saw me and heard me, because the doorman asked for my destination to tell the taxi driver.”
“That’s what doormen in top hotels do.” Dillon handed him a glass. “It’s called service.”
Billy raised his glass. “Anyway, we’ve been there and done that. Here’s to what comes next.” He smiled at Kurbsky. “Who knows? You might grow to like it.”
Kurbsky said sharply, “You obviously know what is intended for me. What does come next?”
“That’s for General Charles Ferguson to tell you—he’s the boss.”
“That was never clear to me. The boss of what, exactly?”
“The Prime Minister’s personal security unit.”
“And you’ve obviously dealt with this kind of thing before.”
“Too bleeding right,” Billy told him. “Our rules are there are no rules, not these days, not with all the terrorists and murderers emerging free from court, thanks to stupid laws and clever lawyers.”
“And how did you get involved with him?” Kurbsky asked.
“I used to be a gangster, but it got boring. So did my uncle Harry. Dillon here was a top enforcer with the Provisional IRA, and the two guys flying this plane are decorated RAF officers. The point is, we can be worse than the bad guys.”
Kurbsky turned to Monica. “And you? Are you worse than the bad guys?”
She hesitated. “Now and then, I can be useful.”
Dillon topped his glass up. “Who knows what you could end up doing?”
AT FARLEY, Ferguson’s Daimler drove straight up to the Chieftain when it rolled to a halt, Parry dropped the airstair door, and Kurbsky went down and got in the rear seat beside Ferguson. It sped away at once, and the General said, “Charles Ferguson,” and shook hands. “Heard about the spot of bother on the train.”
“Yes, rather unfortunate,” Kurbsky said.
“You’re here now, and that’s the main thing. We’re going to the Holland Park safe house. Most of my work emanates from there, and Major Roper is based there. It has the fullest facilities, extreme security, and it’s very high-tech, which saves on staff. I need only a couple of Military Police sergeants to keep things smooth. One of them, Doyle, is driving the car now, and Sergeant Henderson is back at the house.”
“And what about me?”
“We’ve put together some ideas, which we’ll explain to you shortly. I think you’ll find them rather interesting.”
“Excellent,” Kurbsky said. “I can’t wait to see what you have in store.”
BACK AT FARLEY, Harry drove across the tarmac to the Chieftain in his Bentley, put the window down, and leaned out, grinning.
“Let’s be having you. Ferguson wants us all down at Holland Park.” They climbed in and he drove away. “So it worked okay, he’s here. Bleeding marvelous. He must be a right villain, knocking off three like that.”
“Ferguson told you?” Billy demanded.
“He certainly did. We’re like a club, Billy, the six of us. We’re the ones who know everything. He won’t tell Svetlana about this. Kurbsky being her nephew and everything, she mightn’t like to think of him running around and knocking off people. Let’s face it, though, he’s obviously got a talent for it. I tell you, he’d have done well in the East End in the old days when the Krays were running things. He’ll be giving you a run for your money, Dillon.”
Monica leaned forward and said, “Harry, you’re one of a kind.”
AT HOLLAND PARK, they found Ferguson and Kurbsky with Roper in the computer room. Harry needed an introduction and shook hands warmly.
“You certainly don’t take prisoners, my old son.”
“Only if there is a choice, and there wasn’t.” Kurbsky turned to Ferguson. “What about my aunt? She must be anxious to see me.”
“Of course. I’ve put her and Katya in one of our staff apartments.” He turned to Monica. “Perhaps you could do the honors? You know where it is.”
“Of course.” Monica led the way. “It’s on the ground floor and not far.” A couple of minutes later, she paused at a door. “It’s a big moment, Alex, for both of you.”
“For her especially, I think, because of her age. I must get it right, for her sake.”
“For both your sakes.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek and held his hand for a moment.