To Kathy, however, the most interesting thing in the file was an assessment by an unnamed MI6 operative of Mikhail’s relations with the Russian government. Despite his flirtation with the lifestyle of an oligarch, he had taken a lot of trouble to avoid giving offence or aggravation to the political hierarchy, and unlike some of the other Russian expats, like Berezovsky and Deripaska, had never been threatened with financial or criminal penalties. The report referred to a warm letter of appreciation from President Putin following a gift by Moszynski of money for new buildings for School No. 193 in St Petersburg, where both had been students. It also speculated that the marriage between his daughter and the well-regarded FSB officer Vadim Kuzmin had been engineered by Moszynski to maintain a favourable impression in Moscow.
MI5’s file on Mikhail Moszynski was much briefer and seemed to be a matter of routine, given his nationality and wealth. It dealt with his applications for UK residency and then citizenship for himself and his family, his lack of political affiliations, his membership of various charitable, cultural and social organisations, and listed his movements in and out of the UK since 2000. It also tried to grapple with his financial affairs, without, Kathy thought, much success. It listed the properties in Chelsea and the Bahamas as well as recent negotiations for a large country estate in Wiltshire. It also quoted a couple of estimates from the Financial Times of his net worth, of five hundred and fifty million US dollars in 2007 and four hundred and thirty million in 2009, but didn’t attempt to unravel the structure of RKF SA or his other companies and trusts. Under the heading Criminal history was the entry None, with a footnote that his current accountant, Frederick Clarke, had been investigated by the Fraud Squad in 2003 without charges being laid.
Kathy slid the two Moszynski files aside and reached for Vadim Kuzmin’s. She was rather pleased that both MI5 and MI6 had failed to record Mikhail’s enthusiasm for hedgehogs.
She was wading through the MI6 briefing document on the FSB Sixth Directorate to which Vadim was attached when Bren came in.
‘Any news about Brock?’ he asked.
‘Haven’t heard anything. What’s up?’
‘That mobile phone number that Peebles rang…’
‘You’ve got a name?’
He shook his head. ‘No chance, but we’ve got the record of calls it’s made in the past six months.’ He handed Kathy a printout, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
She scanned it, then frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Only one number?’
‘Right! Apart from Peebles’ call to it, the phone has been used to contact only one other number, which it calls always on a Monday, between two and three in the afternoon.’
‘That’s weird.’
‘Look at the number.’
Kathy stared at it again, shrugged. ‘Should I know it?’
‘It’s Gloria Cummins. The Chelsea madam. It’s her number. This bastard rings Gloria’s knocking shop practically every Monday afternoon.’
‘Hell.’
‘Isn’t that bloody wonderful?’
‘What do we do?’
‘Well, there’s no point confronting Gloria. I spoke to the local boys. They know her well and confirmed what I suspected-she’s tough as nails and won’t give us anything on her clients if she can help it. If we approached her she’d just tip this bloke off, and then we’d be lost.’
‘So?’
‘We tap her phone, listen in.’
Kathy nodded. ‘So we have to wait. He doesn’t ring every Monday though, does he? But he did last week.’ She thought. ‘That was the day Vadim returned from Russia.’
‘That’s true.’
Kathy shook her head in frustration. ‘By Monday we could all be in hospital… or worse.’
‘By Monday we might be begging to go to hospital. They’re talking about sending in sleeping bags for us for tonight. I thought my days of kipping on the floor were over.’
‘That’ll be fun. We’d better put an armed guard on Brock’s stock of booze in the basement.’
‘Or drink it all ourselves first. What do you reckon, Kathy? By Monday we’ll have reverted to savagery in here. Lord of the Flies in Queen Anne’s Gate.’
Kathy laughed and he ambled off. She went back to the file she’d been reading, turning to a picture of Vadim Kuzmin, apparently one he was proud of. He was standing among trees, hands on hips, a chilly smile on his lips, and dressed in the black uniform of the Spetsgruppa Vympel special forces which came under the control of the FSB, specialising in counter-terrorism and assassination.
It was nearly eight when Sundeep phoned again. He had some news, he said. The Marburg diagnosis had been confirmed. Brock and the others were reasonably comfortable and receiving the best possible care, and it was now a matter of waiting. The good news was that Kathy’s test results, taken at the same time, had also come through, and she was clear, as was Sundeep himself.
‘This is a good result, Kathy, the best we could have hoped for. We’re very lucky that Brock kept himself pretty much to himself the last few days. You’ve seen more of him than anyone, so the chances are that the others will be okay, but they’ll have to stay in isolation until we know for sure, probably some time tomorrow. But you’re free to leave.’
There was a smell of fish and chips coming from the entrance hall as the evening meals were brought in. A mocking cheer went up as Kathy appeared and relayed the latest from Sundeep, and Bren said something about rats leaving the sinking ship. By way of compensation she promised to visit the off-licence and get them a case of red before she left.
On the way she stopped to buy an evening paper with the headline new shock for shaka, reporting that the model had been put in isolation as a precaution after being in touch with someone infected with a mystery disease. Kathy wondered how long it would be before the full story broke.
At the hospital she found Suzanne sitting at an observation window looking into Brock’s isolation ward. There wasn’t much of him to see and he seemed to be asleep as a nurse, dressed like a mortuary assistant with face mask and double gloves, made notes on his clipboard.
The two women hugged and brought each other up to date. Suzanne said that she’d been told it could take another week before they knew if Brock would pull through. ‘They’re contacting research teams in America and Switzerland that are working on new drugs which might help.’
She looked strained, her face tight with worry, and Kathy thought, with a little tug of regret, that there would have been no one to look like that for her if she’d caught it.
As if she’d read Kathy’s mind, Suzanne reached for her hand and said, ‘I’m just so relieved that you’re in the clear, Kathy. They say you saw him most during the past week.’
Kathy described what had happened and his refusal to let her contact Suzanne.
‘Stubborn as always.’ Suzanne sighed.
‘There’s nothing that we could have done. Someone slipped up when they identified the carrier-they should have warned us then. But even so, it would have been too late for Brock.’