‘You didn’t say whether you had given Miss Jardine the papers she asked for.’
‘I gave her nothing. If she were to disappear, I am sure a person of her… status… would attract some unnecessary attention. Besides, we are not in the business of supplying members of your security services with false documentation.’ He raised an eyebrow, daring Harry to deny it. ‘You do that quite adequately yourselves. Although,’ he smiled and added, ‘I know you yourself would not be guilty of such misleading activities.’
‘Thank you for the warning.’
Kostova nodded and put out his hand, which Harry took. It was a firm grip, and warm. ‘Watch your back, Harry,’ he said softly. ‘You have enemies here and at home, I think. I wish you well when you return. I, too, know what it is like to experience the… fallout of failure. Fallout — is that a good word?’
‘It’s a very good word.’
‘Then I wish you good luck.’
Kostova turned and walked back to the Nissan and climbed aboard, Nikolai following closely behind. Seconds later, they were gone.
‘What the hell was that about?’ asked Rik. He was staring at Harry with something approaching respect. ‘I didn’t know you were mates with him.’
‘I’m not. We were being warned off; get out of town before we become an embarrassment he could do without.’
‘Suits me. Was that all?’
‘Pretty much. Oh, and Latham’s arrived.’
‘What?’ Rik looked startled, but Harry pointed to the road ahead.
‘Drive.’ He settled back as the Mercedes pulled away from the kerb, and frowned at the passing street scene, thinking about timing. If what Stanbridge had said was true, the Clones weren’t employed for heavy work. They were here for training purposes and to keep basic surveillance on the members of Red Station.
Their duties had ceased on the night Stanbridge had died.
But if Kostova was telling the truth, Latham had only just arrived — after the Clones had gone.
So if it wasn’t Latham who killed Stanbridge two nights ago, who had?
Back at the office, the message light on the answering machine was green. Rik hit the button and a woman’s voice gave a name and number.
Rik turned to look at Harry. ‘That was Fitz’s wife, Amina.’
‘Call her,’ said Harry.
Rik dialled the number and waited. ‘Fitz?’ he said, and beckoned Harry over. ‘Where are you, man? We’re ready to roll out of here.’ He listened some more then said, ‘No, just me and Harry. OK, sure.’ He hit a button on the console and Fitzgerald’s voice filled the room.
‘Listen, I’m sorry about running out like that.’ Fitzgerald sounded tired. ‘I checked downstairs, and when I saw it was clear, I decided to keep going. I should have told you but… you know, I’ve got a daughter here… and something special, which is more than I’ve got back home. I don’t want to lose that, you know? We’re out in the woods… staying with Amina’s family. We’re safe here. We’ve got money to last us. I heard you’d been round to the house — the neighbour recognized the Merc, Rik. I thought I should at least let you know the score.’
‘If the Russians come through here,’ said Harry, ‘they’ll scoop you up, you know that.’
‘No chance.’ Fitzgerald’s voice was flat, confident. ‘They’ll have to find me first. I won’t let that happen. Take care, you two. Watch your backs.’
There was a click and Fitzgerald was gone.
FIFTY-TWO
‘ I thought I might find you here.’ The Odeon was dark, but not merely with the gloomy decor of previous days; there were no lights, no sounds from the kitchen and a chill in the air signalling a lack of heating. It had the air of a building being allowed to die slowly, like a terminal patient cut off from life-saving drugs.
Harry closed the front door behind him, shutting out the colder air. Mace was alone in shadow at his usual table. A bottle stood on the table in front of him and his glass was nearly empty. There were no other customers.
‘Where else would I be?’ He sounded drunk, and Harry guessed he’d been hammering the booze since they’d parted. The man must be working his way through every drinking joint in town. He looked exhausted and grey, his hair limp and no longer swept back elegantly over his ears.
‘We should leave,’ said Harry. ‘They could be rolling down the street any minute.’
‘They? You mean the Russians? Or the Hit?’
‘Same difference. I’d rather not meet any of them if I can help it.’ He explained about the flight vouchers Rik had got from the French.
Mace spun the glass on the table top. ‘Good idea. Well done, Rik, eh? Either way, I’m staying.’ He waved a tired hand in the air around him. ‘After all, how can I leave this? It’s the only investment I’ve got left.’
‘You own this place?’
‘Sure. Have done for a while. It was going to close, so I put some money on the table.’ He grinned crookedly. ‘Seemed a good idea at the time, even if it does break every Service rule in the book.’
‘Where’s the old woman?’
‘My business partner, you mean? Up-country somewhere. Said she had to see her niece, make sure she was OK. She’ll be back — she’s keen to pro… protect her share of the assets.’ He swallowed and blinked at the verbal stumble. ‘Christ, think I’ve had too much.’
Harry sat down. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do this. Confrontations rarely went well in his experience, even less so when alcohol was part of the mix. But if Mace was staying put, it might be the last opportunity he had of getting him to talk.
‘You knew all along what was happening here, didn’t you? What Red Station was for… what might happen to anyone sent here. Especially if they tried to leave.’
Mace’s silence was enough.
‘Did you volunteer for this?’ Harry pressed him. He could hear people running in the street, and someone banged on the door as they passed. A car horn sounded, impatient and tinny, and distant shouts echoed off the buildings. The early sounds of panic; the prelude to forced flight. Close by, a man’s voice shouted something at length. He didn’t understand a word of it and cared less. Not right now. ‘Or did they offer you the top desk to keep you quiet?’ He suddenly wanted a drink. This wasn’t like interrogating terrorists or drug smugglers. This was working on your own people. It felt… unclean. ‘They’d have needed someone here, on the inside,’ he continued. ‘Someone they could trust… someone who would agree to working here rather than being pensioned off early. Isn’t that right? The Clones could only do so much… hear so much. What better than having a man on the inside to keep London in the loop?’
Still no reply. No shouting now from outside. Just a distant drone of a car engine. If it turned into something heavier, he was out of here. Mace would have to fend for himself.
‘Did you allow the Clones inside to set up their bugs? Drop them the nod when a team member was away from home so they could run a quick check of their phones and correspondence? Tell them in advance when we were going on a pointless errand so they didn’t have to follow?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Mace’s voice was sticky and dull, like congealing treacle.
‘Of course it was. They couldn’t have run it all the way from London. Someone had to be the eyes and ears on the inside, to make sure the boys ands girls behaved themselves and didn’t get restless.’ He pressed on, feeling like a heel but desperate to know. ‘You were ideal; no further chance of advancement in the Service; your best years were behind you. It must have been a life-saver.’ He reached out and picked up the bottle. Read the label. Felt disgusted by what he was doing, but more so with the man across the table. ‘Pity Jimmy Gulliver didn’t get the same deal.’ He put the bottle down.
Mace blinked heavily. ‘What d’you mean?’