by T. M. Parris
Rose was thinking all of this through. “Khovansky killed Fairchild’s parents because years earlier they’d exposed him as a deep cover Soviet agent?”
“They were going to expose him, but they didn’t get a chance because he staged his own death to return home. But that seems to be enough for Khovansky to seek them out from behind the Iron Curtain and have them killed. It also seems to be enough for him to target their son as well, now he knows of his existence, even though Fairchild was only a child at the time. The man bears grudges, clearly. Given his influence within the FSB and access to their power and resources, Fairchild is in a lot of danger. It also means you are, I’m afraid.”
Now Peter came in. “You’ll have to leave the country, Rose. There’s no way you can operate here with this hanging over you.”
“You’re joking!” Rose couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Pack it in and go home? No way! Not after what I’ve done to get this post. Walter!”
“I fear Peter’s right, my dear. This is a very serious situation.”
“But it’s got nothing to do with me! This Grom, this is all Fairchild, not me!”
“You’re right,” said Walter, “but clearly John has feelings for you, and Khovansky has latched onto that.”
“How? How could someone who’s never met either of us know that?”
“He must have seen you together somewhere. Or, more precisely, seen Fairchild’s response to you. He can be read, Rose, if you’re good at these things. As I said to you before, I’ve known him a long time.”
“There were FSB agents all over the place at the reception in St Petersburg,” said Peter. “Half the waiters were probably FSB. That’s the first time I’ve seen Fairchild in Russia for some years.”
“Well, I didn’t notice anything.” Rose knew she sounded sulky.
Walter spoke mildly. “I appreciate you don’t welcome the attention, but in actual fact, that’s by-the-by.”
“Don’t welcome the attention? I’ve lost my job! Again!”
“Not your job, Rose,” said Walter. “Just this posting.”
“And why was I posted here, Walter? Because of him? Because you knew he’d come to Russia searching for Dimitri and you wanted me here too? Are you telling me this? Because I said to you, didn’t I, that I didn’t want to spend my career chasing him around the place!”
Walter met her agitation with blandness. “Your posting here served a number of purposes.”
“Oh, great. Listen, Peter, surely this can’t be the right time to send me home. We’re in the midst of a political crisis. I’m running other agents here, I can do useful work.”
Peter sighed. “It’s too great a risk to you now, Rose. With the attention of this man it’s unlikely you’d be able to operate in secret anyway. We’d be risking the agents as well. Besides, there’s been talk already of diplomatic expulsions. A few rounds of tit-for-tat expulsions and we may all be getting on a plane home.”
Rose couldn’t accept this. “They’re already watching me. They’ve been watching me since I arrived, you know that.”
“Not like this,” said Peter. “This isn’t just normal FSB intimidation. This is a much bigger threat.”
“And seriously, this is more important than what’s going on in Georgia right now? The whole Anglo-Russian relationship? The whole NATO-Russian relationship? This one man?”
“Potentially, yes,” said Walter. But instead of explaining how, he turned to Zack.
“Where is Fairchild right now?”
“No idea,” said Zack. “He told me he’d be back in Moscow last night but I couldn’t reach him.”
“We both got back last night,” said Rose, “but he did a disappearing act at the train station. I haven’t heard from him since.”
They all looked at each other. Peter spoke first.
“I’m thinking that Rose should get over to the airport right now.”
“Is that safe?” asked Zack. “I mean, they’re watching the Embassy, aren’t they? They’ll know she’s here.”
A knock at the door and a head peered round. “Car here for Rose Clarke.”
“What car?” asked Rose. “I didn’t order a car.”
“He says sorry for the delay.”
The head disappeared. The penny dropped.
“It’s Fairchild,” said Rose. “He offered me a lift last night before he vanished into thin air.”
Walter and Peter looked at each other.
“Go with him,” said Walter to Rose. “Stick with him if you can.”
“Walter, are you sure?” asked Peter.
“She’s probably better off with him than with anything we can offer.”
This sparked something in Peter’s normally sedate self.
“You can’t say that, Walter. Are you doing this for Rose’s safety or because you want eyes on Fairchild?”
“Yeah, and let’s not forget Fairchild’s wellbeing here,” Zack intervened. “I can tell that’s high up on all your priority lists.”
“I think we’re all done here,” said Walter. “Rose, you can escort Zack out and wait in reception. Peter and I will finish off.”
It was a voice that extinguished all debate: quiet, hard, utterly authoritative. Rose got a glimpse of Peter’s rigid face as she closed the door on the way out. Walter, of course, out-ranked Peter. No doubt that point was about to be made to him.
At the security desk she said to Zack: “I really don’t welcome any of this, you know.”
“Yeah, you made that clear enough.” He took off his security badge and threw it unceremoniously onto the desk.
His resentment niggled her. “I’m marked, now, because of him. I’ve got to move, start again somewhere else. I didn’t ask to come here. I didn’t ask for him to show up in Lali. I didn’t ask for any of it.”
“Well, neither did he. And I seem to remember you coming after him in the first place.”
“To get my job back, Zack! That’s why I did that. It wasn’t personal.”
“Well that’s okay then! You’re all heart, aren’t you?”
“That’s what I’m supposed to be, am I? Why’s that? Because I’m a woman?”
Zack performed the classic eye-roll all men in the industry did when anyone mentioned gender. Out of the doors through the security gates she could see a sleek black limo with tinted windows parked on the other side of the road. She turned to Zack.
“Look, you’re his friend. Go out there and tell him to go without me. I can look after myself. Tell him that’s what I want.”
Zack hesitated.
“Well, that’s what you think as well, isn’t it?” she said. “That I’m bad news? That he should forget about me and look out for himself? Go out there and tell him! Quick, before Peter and Walter get down here!”
Zack’s large brown eyes contemplated her. “You think I haven’t said that already?”
“Well, try again.”
She knew she sounded irritated. But Fairchild’s attentions were an embarrassment as well as a liability. Zack shrugged and went out to the car. The back window slid down. She couldn’t see Fairchild but Zack was talking, pointing, gesturing. A slight pause, then the same with more energy. It wasn’t going well. How could he be so stubborn? She really didn’t want to get in a car with him. Hurry up, Zack, she said to herself. Just make him go before the others get here.
But it was too late. Peter was already walking towards her.
64
“Well,” said Peter, “I have my orders. But you don’t have to do this, you know. Walter’s obsessed with Fairchild, was blamed for him ever since he went off-piste in his teens and caused so much trouble. It defined Walter’s career somewhat.”
“Well, I just hope it isn’t going to define mine,” said Rose. Outside, Zack gave an extravagant shoulder shrug and walked off. The car remained. “But Walter’s word is final, isn’t it?”
Peter paused for a long time before answering. “I’m not the rebellious type, Rose. But I think he’s
hanging you out to dry here. How can he say you’d be safer driving off with Khovansky’s main target than with any kind of plan we can put together? I’ll back you up on this. If you don’t want to go with Fairchild, don’t. Send him away. We’ll think of something else.”
Rose’s pause was shorter than Peter’s. Craven’s leadership and the resources of Moscow Station, the people who had her back, against one man with no loyalties who was already a walking target? There was no contest. Of course she’d stick with her own.
“I’ll tell him,” she said.
She stepped out through the security gate. Peter followed. But before she could cross to the car, a sharp squealing filled the air, tyres skidding on tarmac. A tatty old hatchback careered towards her, accelerating fast.
“Get down!” shouted Peter, but Rose had already seen the open window and the end of a gun barrel sticking out. She threw herself onto the ground and covered her head. Machine gun fire hammered. Bullets clattered on the iron gates. The car tore up the street, braked and reversed. Peter was lying on the ground next to her. The car’s engine revved. It pulled out. It was coming back for another run. Behind her an alarm was going. Footsteps were running, but they weren’t fast enough. The hatchback was accelerating towards them.
The limo door opened.
“Get in!”
It was Fairchild, shouting. Beside her, Peter didn’t move. The hatchback was gaining ground.
“Now!” shouted Fairchild.
Rose got up and pelted across the road in the path of the oncoming car. She threw herself into the limo and slammed the door shut behind her as the hatchback ripped past, another salvo strafing the gates. The limo took off. Rose looked behind. Security guards were running out into the road now. They formed a huddle around the body on the ground.
“Peter!” The limo turned a corner. The Embassy was out of sight.
“There’ll be more of them,” said Fairchild. “We need to get out of Moscow.”
Rose turned back. The choice had been made for her.
“I really hope you’ve got a bloody good plan.”
“Yes. And some help. I’d advise you to fasten your seatbelt.”
They swung round another corner. The driver’s arms were solid and muscular. Her face was intent on the road with frequent glances up at the mirror. She was large, not young, in a jacket and shirt with permed dark hair. She braked suddenly to take a narrow side street. Rose noticed flecks in the glass window next to her.
“Is this bulletproof glass?”
“Standard on all our vehicles,” was the response.
They came out on an expressway, blocked with traffic. They crawled to the next junction and turned off.
“Where are we going?” asked Rose.
“Nowhere. Not for a while, anyway.”
“Behind us.” That was the driver addressing Fairchild in Russian. They both turned. A black saloon was several vehicles behind.
“They’ve found us again,” said Fairchild.
“Great,” said Rose.
“Don’t worry. She’s one of our best drivers.”
As if to prove it, they jumped a red light and turned twice in quick succession while the saloon was held at the signal.
“So what happened to you last night?” she asked.
“Sorry about that. Roman Morozov wanted to see me. I didn’t have much choice in the matter. He’s the one who’s helping us.”
“Helping us do what?”
“Get out of Moscow. Then out of Russia. Safe passage, paperwork.”
“In exchange for what?”
Fairchild’s hesitation was slight. “He wants me to kill Grom.”
“And will you?”
He looked at her, his eyes grey and bland. “Yes.”
“Again,” said the driver. Another saloon was behind them now, closer than the last.
“Are they tracking us?” asked Rose.
“I don’t think so.”
“They’re talking to each other, that’s for sure.”
“How far are we?” Fairchild asked the driver.
“Not far.”
They gained a few seconds, then turned into a long narrow street. The driver braked sharply and reversed the car into a narrow gap between buildings. After a few seconds the FSB car shot past them. The driver waited a few more seconds, pulled out and turned the other way. Several turns later she pulled up in the middle of the road.
“The van,” she said.
They got out. A rusty white van was parked in a driveway, its back door open. As soon as they got out of the limo, it moved off. They climbed into the van and shut the doors. The van set off in the opposite direction.
“I hope your driver’s prepared, when they catch up with her again,” said Rose.
“She’ll lure them to a very public place.”
“What, more public than the British Embassy, you mean? They just gunned down the Deputy Head of the UK’s Mission to Russia!”
“Somewhere where they can’t stage a drive-by in an unmarked car and then blame it on some dissident group. Once they realise we’re not there, they’ll lose interest. By which time, hopefully…”
“We’re now in Roman’s hands, I take it?” They were moving at a normal pace on a smooth road. No windows at the back so she couldn’t see out, or see the driver beyond a headrest in the front.
“Very much so. He wants this guy dead as much as I do.”
“Make that three of us,” said Rose.
After a few minutes the van accelerated smoothly. They were on an expressway, one that wasn’t clogged this time. Their speed was steady but not fast enough to draw others’ attention.
“If Peter’s dead…” started Rose.
“You’ll read about it on the news.”
“I can tell you’re touched by it.”
“What do you expect? I suppose Walter was in there with you?”
“Yes, he was. I didn’t even know he was in Moscow.”
“And what did he have to say for himself?”
“He talked about Grom.”
Fairchild looked round at her. “What did he say about Grom?”
“He wanted to know what you said.”
“Right. What else?”
“He said Grom was dangerous. But then, we already know that.”
“So he didn’t really say anything, then.”
She wasn’t in the mood to tackle Fairchild’s animosity towards Walter. They lapsed into silence. After a long time they slowed again, coming off the expressway and turning left then right. The road surface was bumpy, not a city road.
They slowed to a halt and the driver got out and swung the doors open. The quiet after the noise of the engine was striking. They were in a goods yard next to a railway line. Stacks of timber were piled up in the distance. Rose smelled freshly cut wood and sawdust.
“You’re to give me your mobile phones,” said the driver, a portly man in working clothes.
“Why?” This Rose didn’t like.
“Instructions from the Bear.” He held out his hand and waited.
“Probably not a bad idea,” said Fairchild. “We can’t be sure the hackers haven’t got hold of our numbers.”
“Did you know about this?”
Fairchild shook his head and handed his phone over. They both waited. With a sigh, Rose did the same.
“Wait here,” said the driver.
“What for?” asked Rose. He’d already turned back to the van. He looked round at Rose as if she were an idiot.
“The train.”
He got in the van and drove off. They moved towards the rails. A short standalone wooden platform was positioned for loading. Elsewhere the ground was level with the tracks. No buildings or features, no one else around. They stood in the silence waiting.
She’d lost track of time when eventually she heard a distant clatter. A blot appeared in the far distance, seeming for ages to be coming no closer, but then the sound intensified and the shape grew larger. As the train came n
earer it loomed above them. The engine roared as it passed them, although it wasn’t moving quickly. Behind the engine were open cars piled with gravel and sand, cylindrical containers, box cars.
“This is a freight train.” Rose turned to Fairchild. He was staring up at the cars.
“I suppose Morozov is all about freight,” he said.
“What exactly did he tell you to do?”
“Come here and get on the next train. That’s all I have.”
“We’re supposed to ride on this?”
“Well, it’s the next train.”
They were having to shout as the huge ironwork rolled past them. The cars seemed to carry on forever. The train was rolling slowly but Rose could hear no squeezing of brakes. Fairchild was frowning. Now she could see the end of the train in the distance, the last car.
“Although,” said Fairchild, “he didn’t actually say that the train was going to stop.”
She stared at him. “You’re joking.” The fifth carriage from the end was passing them now.
Fairchild held his hands up. “What do we do? We can’t call him and check.”
The fourth car from the end passed by. He was waiting for her.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
She started jogging, running alongside the carriages. She looked up at it, the one third from the end. It was a cylinder, with a metal ladder half way along it stopping at the top. In front of her at ground level the loading platform loomed, a wooden structure extending right across her path. She sped up. She could hear Fairchild behind her. The car second from the end started to come past her. She put on a spurt. Running flat out, she reached up and grabbed the grip bar at the back of the car and lifted her feet off the ground. She swung into the medal side. Her feet kicked out until they found the bottom rung of the ladder. The platform was five seconds away. Fairchild was running alongside the last car of the train. He reached for the last grip bar at the back of the carriage, and grabbed on. His legs came up just as the wooden floor of the platform rushed under them.
