‘Excuse me?’ Grek looked as though he was having trouble bringing Tanya into focus.
‘Just a private joke between myself and Doctor Gaddis,’ she said, moving towards them. She was also speaking in fluent Russian and, for a wrenching moment, Gaddis thought that they were working in tandem. ‘I’m getting married,’ she said. ‘Could do with the extra cash if you’re doling it out. Sam, would you introduce us?’
Startled, he began to say: ‘This is Alexander Grek-’ but Tanya interrupted him.
‘I know who he is.’ She reverted to English. ‘And I know his friend in the Mercedes parked just over there.’ She gestured in the direction of Tite Street. ‘In fact, a colleague of mine is currently asking to see the friend’s identification.’ It was a lie, but Grek’s impassive demeanour finally cracked.
‘What is going on here?’
‘What is going on here is that you are going to do exactly what Doctor Gaddis asks. You are going to give him five hundred thousand pounds. In return for this, Doctor Gaddis will guarantee that the copy of the tape in his possession will never be shown or distributed during his lifetime. Is that the case?’
Gaddis felt as though a vest, heavy as lead, had been lifted from his body. ‘That is the case.’
Grek adjusted his stance, his hips shifting forward in a way that looked awkward. He was struggling to maintain his equanimity, a climber slipping on a wall.
‘We will need that tape,’ he said.
‘Fine.’ Gaddis found the courage to be almost dismissive with the tone of his reply. ‘But it won’t be any good to you. I made several copies. Each of them will be kept in a secure location. Should anything happen to me, the people charged with looking after them will release the Platov footage to the media.’
Grek looked hard into Gaddis’s eyes, because he sensed that he was lying.
‘You had time to make several copies?’ It was an opportunity to claw back some lost pride. ‘I doubt that very much. I imagine that the only copy of the tape is currently at the bottom of a letter box not five hundred metres from where we are standing. I think you are bluffing.’
‘Try me,’ Gaddis replied.
A teenage girl with what looked like a cold sore on her lip walked past them on the arm of her boyfriend. Gaddis saw that it was a lip-piercing and smiled to himself.
‘Something funny?’ Grek said.
At that moment, his mobile phone pulsed in the inside pocket of his coat. The Russian reached for it and both Gaddis and Tanya flinched, assuming that he was going for a gun. But he reassured her by unbuttoning the coat slowly and retrieving the phone with the tips of his fingers.
‘Relax. You assume that I would shoot you? What do you think of me?’
He looked down at the screen. It was a message from Kepitsa. Gaddis used the moment to glance across at Tanya, who reassured him with a nod. Grek looked up and spoke.
‘It would appear that you are right, Doctor Gaddis.’ In Russian, he added: ‘My instructions are to leave you in possession of the tape. I have your word that our business is concluded?’
‘You have my word,’ he replied.
Grek replaced the phone and turned in the direction of Chelsea Bridge, so that his back was facing them. He seemed to consider the possibility of a parting remark but thought better of it and walked away. Within moments he had disappeared into the glare of the London night. Almost immediately, Des materialized beside Tanya and said ‘Hi’ to Gaddis as though they were still in Berlin.
‘Get to the Mercedes,’ Tanya told him. ‘Go back and keep an eye on Holly. And find someone to take a look at that postbox.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Gaddis told her. ‘It’s a decoy. It’s a DVD of Holly’s showreel. I gave one of the real copies to a cleaning lady in the lobby. She told me she was going to post it to Princeton on her way home.’
Des acknowledged the trick with an admiring bob of the head and then crossed the Embankment, walking north up Tite Street. Gaddis leaned once more on the stone balustrade and saw an old wooden toy abandoned in the sands of the river, as if trapped by time.
‘What about Brennan?’ he said. ‘Does he know about the deal?’
‘Yes.’ Tanya was beside him, their arms almost touching. ‘The master tape is at Vauxhall Cross. I didn’t know that. It was the last of the many secrets he kept from me. Let’s just say that Brennan uses it for leverage whenever Platov gets ideas above his station.’
‘ Realpolitik,’ Gaddis replied and watched a double-decker bus crossing the hump of the Albert Bridge. ‘What about Grek?’
Tanya took his hand with a barely disguised look of triumph on her face.
‘This will be his last night in our fair capital. Grek and Doronin will be called back to Moscow, their pal in the Mercedes as well. Brennan is also going to ask that Kepitsa be replaced.’
Gaddis wanted to congratulate her, but something was bothering him.
‘It doesn’t work, you know,’ he said, arriving at the words slowly.
‘What doesn’t work?’
A pleasure boat, packed with partygoers, was sliding on the current. ‘The Platov deal. What happens when he’s eventually turfed out of the Kremlin? What happens when he loses power? That’s when they’ll come for me.’
‘I doubt it.’ He was glad that there was conviction in her voice. ‘Platov is a tsar. You should know that. He’ll reign for as long as his health holds up. Why else did he change the constitution? Twenty years? Thirty? There’ll be no change in Moscow during that time. And afterwards, he’ll have his reputation to think about. He’ll know that the tape still has the potential to obliterate his political legacy. He wouldn’t be dumb enough to come after you.’
It was a comforting thesis and Gaddis was too worn out to argue against it. He reached into his coat and took out one of the disks. It was a final demonstration of his faith in Tanya Acocella.
‘I want you to keep one of these,’ he said. ‘Keep it safe.’
‘I will.’ She put the disk in her pocket but did not thank him for his act of trust. Instead, she produced a document of her own, a clipping from a daily newspaper. It was folded twice and slightly torn in one corner.
‘Did you see The Times?’
Gaddis shook his head. ‘Been a bit busy with one thing and another. House arrest until three o’clock this afternoon, then I had to run some errands.’
She smiled. ‘Take a look.’
Gaddis took the clipping and opened it up. It was a page from Saturday’s Times. There was a circle of red biro halfway down. BIRTHS, MARRIAGES AND DEATHS NEAME, Thomas Brian, died peacefully on 26 October aged 91 after a short illness. Private funeral service at Magdalen Hill Cemetery, Alresford Rd. Family flowers only. Any donations to Marie Curie Nurses.
He passed it back to her.
‘Where have I seen that before?’
‘You don’t believe it?’
‘I don’t believe it.’
There was no more left to be said. It was time to go back to Holly. He wanted to telephone Natasha in Spain. He longed to speak to Min.
‘We’ll call you into the Office in a couple of days,’ Tanya said. ‘There’s the money to sort out.’
‘Ah yes, the money.’
He went towards her and they embraced. Tanya squeezed his chest, as if reluctant to let go.
‘Thank you,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. Her skin was soft and cold. ‘For everything. Without you-’
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said, already turning to leave. ‘I’ll see you in a few days.’
Chapter 59
On the orders of Sir John Brennan, Thomas Neame had been moved from the Meredith nursing home on the outskirts of Winchester to a retirement village in the suburbs of Stoke-on-Trent. His name had been changed to Douglas Garside. He was denied Internet access and a mobile phone. He was largely confined to a two-bedroom house which he was obliged to share with a fifty-eight-year-old Scottish spinster named Kirsty who cooked his meals, washed his clothes and occasionally drove him to the local multiplex to watch whatever costume drama or arthouse hit had managed to force its way north from London.