The phone bleeped, then rung. What did she mean, don’t go getting into any trouble? He was old enough to be her father, yet she was treating him like he was her son.
‘Azurov.’
‘It’s Banin.’
‘Banin. I thought you might call.’
‘Then why did you do it? Why did you put me on this stupid case?’
‘I need this one out the door. Gone, and quick. You can do that for me, can’t you?’
‘Why? It’s been done already. Did you read the file? Drunk guy crashed his car. Died. End of.’
‘Come on, Banin — you don’t think I know that?’
‘So what’s going on?’
Azurov sighed. ‘This one’s come from central. They’ve reopened the case. I don’t—’
‘But what—’
‘— I don’t know why, but they have, and so I’m passing it down to you. The main suspect is a fugitive by the name of Aleks Dezhurov, a friend and work colleague of the deceased’s. Central says he did it, and now I need you to go and put the pieces together. That’s an order.’
‘But I—’
‘No more buts. I need this done yesterday.’
Banin wanted to tell him no, but he couldn’t. ‘Alright, I’ll do it. But you owe me.’
‘I’ll get the drinks in for the rest of the week, how about that?’
‘It’s Friday already.’
‘Then you’d better get your drinking hat on.’
Banin laughed and hung up. He flicked through the file once more, stopping at the picture of the car, upside down and mangled, wrapped around the telegraph pole.
‘What a mess,’ he said, tossing it onto his desk.
Chapter 23
The weather flying home was not as calm as it was flying out. If it weren’t for the constant battle to keep his innards down, Sean would have been terrified by the way the small plane was being tossed about by the angry sky. Death wouldn’t have been unwelcome, and the journey was the longest, most torturous thing Sean had ever done. There was more than one occasion where he regretted the trip, and he had to remind himself over and over — between trying not to hurl — that the information he had uncovered, however small, was valuable beyond reckoning.
The European coastline was a welcome sight, and Sean thanked every deity he could thing of for his safe arrival. From there, the hop over to Moscow was a breeze, and one that he slept through without stirring.
‘I hope I never meet you or your tin-pot plane ever again,’ he said, shaking McBride’s hand, ‘but thank you for getting me there and back in one piece all the same.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ McBride said.
Sean had a bit of a walk to the nearest payphone — he’d decided not to use his satellite phone any more in case that too was being tracked — and his feet felt like two distant nubs by the time he reached it. Two miles, maybe four, he’d walked, on a stomach that could not be any emptier.
‘Aleks?’ he said when the call was answered.
‘Sean — you’re back! How are you?’
‘Come and get me and I’ll tell you everything.’
Sean wasn’t true to his word. As soon as he arrived at Grigory’s, he flopped onto the sofa and fell asleep, a state he managed to maintain for over fourteen hours. When he awoke, he felt better, but starving hungry.
‘Oh god…’ he groaned, struggling to lift his aching limbs. He could still feel the plane tossing him about even now.
‘How are you this morning?’ Aleks asked him from the kitchen.
‘Just south of dead,’ Sean said, sitting, then waiting for his head to catch up. ‘Would you mind getting me a coffee, please?’
‘Sure.’
‘Where are Novitskiy and Grigory?’
‘Out hunting.’
Aleks heated the kettle on the hob and made Sean a fresh coffee. Sean sipped at it, relishing the soothing warmth as it spread to his extremities, chasing his aches and pains away. ‘This tastes awful,’ he said. ‘When’s Grigory coming back? His is much better.’
Aleks snorted. ‘I’m glad you like it.’
Then it all came back to Sean in an instant: the plane, the taxi ride, the old people’s home, the story Todd had told him — everything. He burned the roof of his mouth as he took an over-large swig of coffee in his surprise. ‘Ow!’ he said, fanning his mouth and blowing.
‘Are you okay?’ Aleks asked, looking concerned as he put dry dishes away.
‘Yeah, fine. Just burned my mouth.’
‘Can I get you some water?’
The heat tingled and stung Sean’s skin. ‘No, I’ll be fine.’
‘So what did you find out in America?’
‘She’s dead.’
‘Ruth?’ Aleks asked, as he brought Sean a glass of water anyway.
Sean drank it, the cool liquid soothing his mouth. ‘Yeah. Died in her sleep apparently.’
‘Natural causes?’
‘I asked, they said yes.’
‘Do you believe them?’
‘I think so. There was no need to lie.’
Aleks folded his arms, looking thoughtful. ‘Is it true? Do you think she was there?’
‘At Roswell? Yes. She saw UV One, or something like it. But they destroyed it.’
‘Why?’
‘It was doing things to people, turning them crazy. They must have all died because of it — Bales’ father included. Well, all except Ruth.’
‘Why wasn’t Ruth affected?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How did they destroy it?’
‘I don’t know that either. But Bales does. He knows what happened, he knows it killed his father, and he wants revenge at whatever cost.’
Aleks flopped down next to Sean and folded his arms. ‘That confirms it,’ he said. ‘Bales wants to destroy UV One, and the station with it.’
‘It certainly looks that way. And we’ve only got a week left until it happens.’
‘What are we going to do now?’
‘I think we’ve done enough research,’ Sean said. ‘Now it’s time to get this story on the front cover of every newspaper, magazine, blog and pamphlet before it’s too late.’
‘What a dump,’ Banin said, pulling his all-weather coat tight around him. It was raining that fine kind of rain that soaked through even the most waterproof of materials. He knew it was raining when he left the office, yet somehow he’d still forgotten his umbrella. Stupid case, he thought. I should be back at my desk, where it’s dry. He blew at the bulging drop hanging from his nose, only for another to take its place. ‘So this is where it happened?’
He needn’t have asked: the long row of neat telegraph poles was interrupted by one leaning at a drunken angle. At its base, the dull, fume-stained wood had fresh scars gouged from it, and a few red paint streaks, too. The car that did the damage was long gone.
‘That’s right sir,’ the accompanying police officer said. ‘Came straight off the road about here’ — he pointed to a scuffed section of kerb — ‘and down into this ditch here. Poor bastard. Such bad luck to hit this pole. If he’d stayed on the road a fraction longer or come off a fraction earlier, he’d have missed it.’
An articulated truck whooshed by, spraying them both.
‘Is it okay if I go and sit in the car while you look, sir?’
Banin nodded, and the police officer darted back to the cruiser.
Bad luck indeed, Banin thought, stumbling down the roadside ditch to study the pole. The officer was right. It wasn’t in the base, it was sprouting from the bank, and hitting it was the worst feat of bad luck imaginable. The road was dead straight, too, and quiet. How had he come off in a straight line?