Deaken never remembered making a positive decision; even any contraction of his fingers. There was a sudden, blasting roar and the gun kicked wildly in his hand so that he almost dropped it. The shot caught Levy fully in the chest, kicking him backwards onto the bottom of the bed and then onto the floor.
Karen’s cry was beyond hysteria, animallike. She threw herself sideways, jerked short by her handcuffed wrist, fingers of her free hand clawing out as she tried to touch Levy’s crumpled body. She threw herself again and again until the blood began to drip from her stripped arm and then she stopped, whimpering in her frustration at not being able to reach him.
She stared up at her husband.
“Bastard!” she said. “You bastard!”
Epilogue
Suslev was waiting for her knock. When it came he hurried to the apartment door, opening it wide to admit her. Excitement churned through him at the first sight of his wife. So beautiful, he thought, so radiant.
“How are you?” he said.
“Fine.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
He stood back for her to enter. The apartment was just off Kalinin Prospekt but still with a view of the Kremlin and far more spacious than Suslev had ever expected. He led her around it, like a rich child with a toy no other child could afford, showing her the kitchen quite separate from the dining area, a full-sized room where they could entertain, and the third bedroom, which could be used on the rare occasions when they had guests. The bathroom was equipped with a shower, which he turned proudly on and off to prove that it worked.
“Sergei’s at the academy,” he said. “There’s going to be an acceptance ceremony in a week’s time.” Suslev took a square of pasteboard from a dresser and said, “Here’s our invitation.”
She smiled, enjoying his excitement. Beside the invitation was his official citation, confirming his promotion to full colonel.
“Very impressive,” she said, picking it up. She felt a great weariness and wished she could share his excitement.
“They’re calling it one of the most successful disinformation operations ever,” said Suslev. “There’s even talk of it being included in the training manual.”
“That’s wonderful” she said. She hoped the conceit wouldn’t last. It was going to be difficult enough to learn how to love him again without additional barriers.
“It’s nice to be properly recognized,” he said.
“I hope you’re right,” she said.
He seemed to miss the point. “I got worried that it took Deaken so long to go to South Africa,” Suslev admitted. “I think that was the greatest uncertainty, the delay involving his father and the South African intelligence service. I didn’t expect to have to manoeuvre him there, with all that bullshit about Dakar and boarding the ship.”
“What about the second boat?” She yearned to deflate his pride.
“That was a surprise,” he conceded. “I knew there’d be something and guessed it would be mercenaries. In the event, two ships gave us a better propaganda result, because of the seizure of the Bellicose.”
“How could you be sure of being identified?” she said.
He shook his head. “I knew I’d be on the South African security files: I spent most of my time in Angola making myself obvious-I even saw them photographing me. It was logical that when Deaken, with his family connections, got to Pretoria with his story they’d check out the Underbergs in security, try descriptions and end up with me. That was the lure, the bait I knew they’d have to follow, because of their neurosis about Russian involvement in Angola and Namibia.”
“You’d have been in trouble if they’d extended the search beyond their own security service.”
“But they didn’t!” he said triumphantly. “South Africa has even paraded the real Rupert Underberg at press conferences and insisted he’s nothing more than a senior clerk in their Foreign Office…” He sniggered. “And got the rest right! They actually identify his visit to the Seychelles as the time when we got all the passport details to make our own copy. And been laughed at and condemned for trying to avoid the truth. The French have retrieved my hotel registration in Monaco, with the passport number… Underberg’s passport number… and directly accused Pretoria of lying. I used it for all the car- and lorry-rental registration forms too. And for hiring the last villa to hide the boy in. South Africa’s illegal seizure of the Bellicose, as well as their involvement in the carnage at Toulon, makes the evidence against them overwhelming. It’s years since they’ve been hurt so badly internationally.”
“Did Israel work out as well?”
“Absolutely,” he said, enjoying the boasting. “Up to now there’s been an incredibly close business liaison between Israel and South Africa. Israel’s largest export is the polished diamonds it gets rough cut from South Africa and that’s only a small part of the business and commercial ties. Now it’s damaged, probably forever. It’ll certainly be years before either Jerusalem or Pretoria trust each other. I used the same Underberg passport going in and out of Israel, so again there’s official registration on airline immigration forms and hotel documents. As far as Israel is concerned, it’s incontrovertible proof of a South African government employee stirring up a dissident, anti-government group and using them in an operation to smuggle weapons through to an area where they’re involved in conflict. And by exposing Azziz, a Saudi Arabian with direct links to the court as the supplier of those weapons, and having him made look foolish by the Israeli involvement, whether by dissidents or not, puts back for years any chance of the Saudi peace plan for the Middle East and any recognition of Israel. The Saudis have lost face and Israel has been shown to be a country treating its settlers so roughly they’ll try armed resistance rather than look for the Promised Land.”
Suslev paused, splaying his fingers. “We’ve made fools of South Africa internationally, and split them from one of their closest allies, Israel. We’ve made Israel and Saudi Arabia turn away from each other and run back into their comers. And we’ve strengthened our position in Angola by convincing SWAPO and every other nationalist group on the entire African continent that they shouldn’t trust any other arms supplier but Moscow.”
The woman looked sadly away. “What about Deaken?” she said.
“He’s a hero. He killed the terrorist who kidnapped and murdered his wife. That’s the official version anyway- that she was shot during the struggle.”
She shrugged. “I thought he was a nice man; gentle, frightened and nice.” She paused, wanting to make the point. Then she said, “He loved his wife very much… didn’t want her used…”
“Sure you’re all right?” he said, reverting to his earlier question.
“Shouldn’t I be?” she said. “People pay thousands for that sort of vacation.”
“None of it would have worked without you,” insisted Suslev.
“Didn’t it upset you?” she demanded.
He felt foolish at having been carried away by his own euphoria. He came forward, pulling her into his chest, excited by the feel of her closeness. “You know it did,” he said softly. “We talked about it before it ever started and agreed it wouldn’t matter… that it wouldn’t count.”
She pushed away from him, looking up into his face, wanting to feel some emotion at his touch and failing completely. They had lost too, she decided.
To break the moment between them, he took the false duplicate passport of Rupert Underberg from his pocket and tossed it onto the dresser, alongside the citation certificate.
“It’s gone on for so long,” he said, “that I think I’m going to miss not being Rupert Underberg.”
“I’m not,” said the woman. “I hated being Carole, being a whore. I just want to be myself again.” She didn’t think it was ever going to be possible.