‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive. I saw her crushed under the wheels of a car.’
The silence was longer than any Calvary had experienced in Llewellyn’s company.
At last Llewellyn said: ‘All right. I’ll explain.’
*
‘It was, as I told you in the beginning, all about revenge for the Grechko murder. But revenge of a far more subtle, British kind than a straightforward tit-for-tat killing.’
Calvary had debated whether or not to allow Gaines to listen in. Had decided it couldn’t hurt, and kept the volume up high, his head close to the older man’s.
‘Sir Ivor Gaines has been too modest with you. He wasn’t just a humble SIS operative running a few tuppeny-ha’penny networks. He knew – knows – the identity of our agent in the Kremlin. The one the Russians call TALPA. The Mole.’
Calvary glanced at Gaines, saw no expression.
‘That’s why Comrade Krupina was so desperate to find Gaines, to get him back from this gangster and from you. He was gold dust. The ultimate trophy for a Russian intelligence operative.’
‘How did she know about him?’
‘Because we tipped her off.’
The stillness of the park was almost a physical entity, the turmoil of the city seeming miles away.
‘It’s easy to do. A message from one of their supposed agents in London who’s really working for us, sent to his handlers in Moscow. They would have informed Krupina at once.’
Gaines had turned his head a little. The unspoken question between them – why – hardly needed voicing.
Llewellyn went on: ‘But of course, Sir Ivor doesn’t really know the identity of TALPA, even though he thinks he does. He’s been fed disinformation, as have several others in his position. Insurance, you might call it, in case they were ever captured. You were never supposed to succeed in killing Gaines, Martin. You just had to be seen to try, and to try so convincingly that there was never any doubt that the information he had was genuine, was so important to the British state that we were prepared to send an assassin in to ensure our own man didn’t fall into enemy hands.’
‘So I fail to kill Gaines, the Russians take him back to Moscow, find out from him the identity of the mole and deal with whoever that is –’
‘Thereby diverting attention from the real TALPA. You’ve got it. And the irony? Gaines is captured by Darya Krupina, the murderer of Pyotr Grechko.’
Calvary’s breath caught in his throat.
‘Yes. I told you we knew for certain who’d killed Grechko, but couldn’t extradite them. Krupina was in London at the time of the Grechko hit, was identified by several sources as being in the vicinity when the murder took place. Left the country hours later. It was her. Not any of the other people our government has made a public show of accusing. But we’ve no proof. So we take revenge on her. Not by killing her, but by making her unwittingly complicit in one of the most sophisticated disinformation exercises since the Cold War. Delicious, isn’t it?’
Calvary said, ‘Except it hasn’t come off the way you wanted.’
Llewellyn hissed through his teeth. ‘Well, yes and no. It’s true that a lot of the elegance has been lost along the way. We can probably blame that gangster chappie for that. But at the end of the day, as the cliché has it, Darya Krupina is dead. She was dying anyway, from cancer, but we got there first. We’ve had our revenge. Thanks to you.’
There was almost too much to process. The cold was settling like a shroud and Calvary felt himself starting to shiver.
‘There still?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve really been most helpful, Martin. Yes, I admit, I made a mistake. I assumed you’d fail to get Gaines. You didn’t. You’ve beaten both the Russians and the most powerful crime lord in Prague. You’re even better than I gave you credit for.’
‘And?’
‘And, I need you to come in now. Bring Gaines in. He can’t be left out there, it’s too messy. As for you, I have great things in mind for you. No more hits. The kind of work you’d enjoy, as well as be skilled in. A senior position.’
Calvary let the silence hang. Then he said, ‘You must be mad.’
‘I can assure you –’
‘This is the last time we’ll ever speak. You’ll never see me again. Or Gaines.’
‘Wait –’
‘Rot in hell, Llewellyn.’
He flung the phone high into the darkness, watched it arc over a row of bushes.
*
They were on the march once more, having found a water fountain and gorged themselves repeatedly. Calvary no longer supported the older man but had to put out a hand once or twice when he staggered.
From a pocket Calvary retrieved the other phone he’d taken from the cottage where Gaines had been kept.
‘Ano?’ She sounded guarded.
‘Nikola, it’s me. Can you talk?’
‘What happened? Where –’
‘Blažek’s dead. Killed himself. I showed him the picture Max took.’
She gasped.
‘How’s Max?’
‘We’re at the hospital. It’s a clean fracture of his upper arm. He doesn’t need surgery. They’re keeping him in overnight, though.’
‘Any trouble on the way?’
‘No. We got a few streets away, called an ambulance. The police are everywhere.’
He was at a loss for a moment. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I am unhurt.’
‘I mean... not physically.’
She didn’t answer, said, ‘Martin, is it over?’
‘Yes. Blažek’s gone for good, and most probably his empire with him. The Russians have failed to get Gaines and most of them are dead, anyway. They may come after us, so Gaines and I need to get away.’
‘Can we meet –’
‘No. I need to get away.’ Your life’s here in Prague, it seemed unnecessary to say. ‘And you need to get some rest.’
‘Jakub, and Kaspar.’ She sounded as if she was talking to herself.
‘I didn’t know Kaspar, but Jakub was a good guy. He saved me. You all did.’
‘Martin –’
‘Best that we go. Goodbye, Nikola. And good luck.’
*
It hit him an hour and a half later.
They’d gone west, Calvary and Gaines, stumbling through the streets like two refugees from hell. Eventually the city streets gave way to suburbia. They had no money on them and they looked roughed up.
Calvary broke into a family saloon, a Mazda, that was parked outside a moderately prosperous house. He hotwired the ignition and disabled the alarm within seconds, too late to prevent lights from going on in the house. He felt bad about the theft, and made a mental note of the house number and the name of the street, telling himself he’d send some money in compensation whenever he next had the chance. He wondered if he was kidding himself.
Beside him Gaines dozed. They both needed food – he found a child’s chocolate bar in the glove compartment, which made him feel even more guilty, and they shared the meagre mouthfuls – and sleep. Plus medical attention, especially Calvary. The hole in his forehead was throbbing and when he touched the discharge seeping from it, his fingers smelled.
He kept off the motorways, with no real idea where he was going other than that it was in the broad direction of Austria. What he would do once he got there he didn’t know.
The unease tugged at him all the way. Something Llewellyn had said; or rather, something he’d said to Llewellyn.
On a country road winding between dark fields, the odour of manure pungent in the night air, Calvary slammed on the brakes, sending the car slewing sideways. Gaines jerked awake against his seatbelt, mumbling.
Calvary grabbed the phone.
It was answered, but in silence.