by Matthew Dunn
She finished her wine and decided she’d have an early night. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
Knutsen and Natalia entered their cabin. Sign was lying on his bed, reading Moby Dick, by Herman Melville. He had a mischievous look on his face when he saw them. He held up the book so they could see the cover. “Do you think we’ll spot a whale during our passage to England?”
“No,” replied Knutsen. “Why have you got the single bed and left Natalia and I to have the bunk beds?”
“Oh, you know, dear chap. Man of my age gets achy joints. It’s easier for me to get in and out of this bed.”
“You’re only bloody forty nine and you have the stamina and strength of a twenty year old athlete!”
“Ah, but it’s night time when the creaks and groans set in.” He chuckled and looked at the book. “It must have been cold on deck.”
“It was.”
Sign kept his eyes on the book. “Sometimes it’s best to get warmth from wherever you can when the chill hits you.”
Knutsen and Natalia said nothing.
Sign tossed his book to one side and looked at them. “When we boarded the boat, Thomas had three of Lenin’s hairs on his jacket. They were loosely embedded in the fibres. Now he has two. The other one is on your jacket, my dear.”
Natalia’s face flushed red.
Knutsen replied, “Whatever. Just read your book and turn your fucking brain off. Seven days of listening to you will do my head in.”
Sign gestured to the bunk beds. “Who’s going to be on top and who’s got to be underneath the other person?”
“Shut up, Ben.” Knutsen looked at Natalia. “You choose.”
“I’ll take the bottom bed.” She patted the mattress. “Sometimes I get seasick. I don’t want to vomit over you.”
Knutsen smiled. “Right oh. Top bed it is for me.” He clambered onto the bed. “Ben – be a darling and turn the light out. We’ve all got early starts tomorrow.”
Sign asked, “What about getting changed into our pyjamas?”
“We haven’t got any frickin’ pyjamas, and you know it.”
Sign turned the light off and got into bed. “For seven days we must be like astronauts. They coexist, regardless of gender, in tight spaces. There is no privacy. They get changed in front of each other; go for a wee and poo in front of each other; clean themselves in front of each other. They become hermaphrodites. For the duration of this voyage we too have to become…”
“Shut up, Ben!” said Knutsen and Natalia in unison.
Knutsen added, “Just get some sleep, please!”
The room was pitch dark.
Five minutes later, Sign was snoring.
Knutsen rubbed his eyes and in an exasperated tone yelled out, “Ben – you’re snoring!”
Sign giggled. “I never snore. But it did make you laugh.”
“You bastard!”
CHAPTER 11
At four thirty PM, Archer arrived at the five star Zurich Marriott hotel. She was tired, but not because the journey was arduous – it was only a short hop, skip, and a jump from Heathrow – but rather because she had a mentally exhausting case of the jitters. Was this all some elaborate bluff? Was Susan really alive? Was Archer doing the right thing?
After checking in, she went straight to her room. Though luxurious, it was like so many other hotel rooms that Archer had stayed in around the world during her career. Luxury meant nothing to her. Only the most junior front-line MI6 officers got a thrill from travelling first or business class and arriving at a swanky hotel. Once you’d trawled the Earth, many times at unholy hours, the novelty of luxury was completely worn out. A bed was a bed; a bathroom a bathroom. No amount of chocolates on a pillow or complimentary this and that made a jot of difference. Hotels were places to get one’s head down or to meet secret agents. That was their only purpose. Archer had booked the Marriott because she was pretending to meet one of her assets. It wouldn’t make sense for a woman of her seniority to be assessed as slumming it when she handed in her expenses claims.
She showered, blow dried her hair, and changed into fresh clothes. She knew she had to eat to keep up her strength, though she wasn’t hungry. At six PM she wandered down to one of the hotel restaurants and ordered De Wildi – saddle fillet of venison with a cranberry jus, hazelnut knöpfli, and red cabbage. When the food arrived she had to force it down her throat. After she finished, she returned to her room, drank a glass of wine, regretted doing so, drank two bottles of mineral water, and turned on the TV. She sat in the armchair, flicking through channels, unable to concentrate. But, there was nothing else she could do. As with so many of her MI6 missions, her hotel was her base camp. It was a safe place before she had to venture out. She was poised. The waiting was a killer.
Sign was serving dinner to the sailors in the galley. As he heaped food onto their plates, he told them to enjoy their food. To some, he communicated in Russian and Chinese; to the rest he communicated in English. Instead of the usual unrecognisable slop the crew were served at dinner time, he’d transformed the cuisine. Tonight the sailors were eating pan-fried chicken legs, cabbage and bacon, herb encrusted sautéed potatoes, and gravy that he’d made from chicken carcasses, fried onions, salt and pepper, and a dash of rum. It wasn’t up to his usual culinary standard, but he had to work with the produce at his fingertips and the tiny kitchen at his disposal. The sailors had smiles on their faces as they asked for extra helpings. When dinner was complete, he cleaned the galley, made himself a coffee and went on deck to get some air.
Knutsen was sweating in the engine room. He was paired with a Chinaman who didn’t speak English. The Chinaman had a rag around his head, was wiry, stressed, and had quickly realised that barking orders at Knutsen in Mandarin was of no use. For the majority of today’s shift, the communication between the two men was conducted in crude sign language. The Chinaman tapped dials that registered the heat of the vessel’s engines. He pointed at the red zone of the thermometers and wiped his flat hand against his throat. Knutsen interpreted this to mean that he had to monitor the dials and alert his colleague if the needle went too high. They also cleaned pistons while they were operating - Knutsen thought he might lose his hand in the process – and did a variety of other jobs all of which had the singular purpose of keeping the ship moving. When the two men working the nightshift arrived, Knutsen went on deck and joined Sign.
Natalia spent the day doing two jobs. The first was checking that all of the containers were secure on deck. The second was hanging from a rope over the side of the boat and applying rust treatment to the metal hull. The latter job was terrifying. Waves and foam were only a few feet beneath her. An Albanian called Edi lowered her down and pulled her up, and this went on for hours around the circumference of the ship. He had a permanent grin on his face. Natalia knew he was testing her. In fairness, what she did today was what he did day in day out. Still, it was arduous and Natalia was exhausted when she’d completed her tasks. When back on deck, Edi handed her a hip flask containing vodka. She took a swig and handed the flask back to him. He told her that she was an excellent worker. Tomorrow and the next few days would be considerably easier. Unless something went wrong on deck or on the hull, it would simply be monitoring the cargo and sides of the ship. He bade her goodnight.
. When Sign, Knutsen, and Natalia were back in their cabin, Knutsen sat on his bed and said, “Natalia is either already blown today, or she’ll be blown in the next hour or so.”
Sign looked at him. “Yes.” He handed them disposable foil cartons containing warm leftovers from the galley dinner. “You’ll have to eat with your fingers. I wasn’t permitted to borrow galley cutlery.” He tucked into his food.
Natalia sat next to Knutsen and ate. “I’d kill for a nice bath right now. Every muscle in my body aches. Instead, I’ll have to use the bathroom sink to wash.”
Sign smiled. “It’s an adventure. Be thankful you have access to a sink.” He sucked sauce off his fingers. “How do you feel,
Natalia?”
“Like I’m living in a surreal dream.”
Sign nodded. “Do not let reality become a distant concept. If you do, madness awaits.” His tone of voice was stern as he added, “You are on a boat that is bound for England. You are in a cabin with Thomas and Ben. You were a traitor. You are no longer a traitor. You don’t have a job. Your brother killed himself near St, Petersburg. Thomas has taken a shine to you. The Russians will shortly want you dead. These are facts. This is not a dream.”
Natalia put her food to one side. “I know. Except the bit about Thomas.”
“Eat. I will do my best with tomorrow’s breakfast but don’t expect miracles. You need fuel where and when you can get it.” Sign finished his food. “We must also have some respite.” He smiled. “I may not have been allowed to take some knives and forks out of the galley, but I did manage to nick this without the head chef knowing.” He held up a bottle of rum. “The three of us will have a few drinks this evening and talk about pleasant things – the future; our favourite novels and films; the best restaurants in London; and whether Ben will ask you out on a date.”
Knutsen sighed. “Give it a rest, Ben.”
Natalia placed her hand over Knutsen’s hand. “It’s okay. I like pleasant thoughts.” She looked at Sign. “Pour me a drink and describe to me the most beautiful part of Britain. I want it to be magical. Maybe that’s where I’ll live.”
It was midnight in Switzerland.
Archer stood in the centre of the Quaibrücke Bridge, on the pedestrian walkway. Traffic was non-existent. And though the German quarter of Switzerland had bars, clubs, and restaurants that stayed open longer than their counterparts in the French cantons, there were few lights on in the regal buildings on the other side of the river. The air was still and cool. Her breath was steaming as she exhaled. Noise from the city was barely audible. There were no other pedestrians on the bridge.
She waited.
A car drove onto the bridge and stopped. A man got out and walked towards her. He was wearing a woollen overcoat and suit. He stopped by Archer and lit a cigarette. In a polished Russian accent he said, “You are Jayne Archer. I would like to see your passport.”
Archer handed him her ID.
He gave it back to her. “Susan is in the car. She has a gun against her head. Do you want to see her without me and my men present?”
Archer nodded.
He went right up to her and put his face an inch from her face. “I want the name of the Russian who has been betraying my colleagues. You know that person. I don’t want a code word. I want a real name.”
Archer’s heart was pounding fast. Was this the right thing to do? If she gave the name she’d be committing treason. Then again, who would find out that she’d committed treachery by giving the Russians the name of a traitor? And was it unethical to do so? By giving them a name, she’d be saving Susan. A traitor’s life for an innocent’s life. That was the equation.
She said, “Natalia Asina. She works in the SVR’s London station.”
“Give me the names of the men and women she’s sold out.”
Archer told him who was on the list of blown Russian agents.
The man made a call on his mobile phone. He supplied the name of Natalia Asina, then waited while listening. He nodded and ended the call. To Archer he said, “You are telling the truth. Wait here.” He walked to his car.
Archer watched him.
The man didn’t get in the vehicle. He opened the rear passenger door.
A woman got out.
She walked to Archer.
Archer held her breath.
The woman stood in front of Archer.
There was no doubt it was Susan.
Susan spoke in Russian. “You are my sister. Until two days ago, I didn’t know you existed.”
Archer hugged her. “Susan, Susan.”
The woman frowned. “My name’s Dina Vichneva.”
“It’s not your real name.” Archer smiled and stepped back. “Do you want to see my home in London? My mother’s there.”
Susan had tears running down her face. “They threatened to kill me. I don’t know what’s going on. This is… so confusing. Yes. Let’s go home.”
Archer took her hand. “It’s not confusing anymore. Come with me. I need to check out of my hotel and then we can get a night flight to England. You’re safe now.”
CHAPTER 12
Five days later, Sign, Knutsen, and Natalia arrived in the Liverpool docks. They travelled by train to London. Under normal circumstances, Sign would have suggested to Natalia that she stay at his house until she secured her own home. But, these were anything but normal circumstances. Natalia was blown. Archer knew where Sign lived. And though there was no reason why Archer would have told the Russians about Sign and his engagement by her, there was the possibility the Russians would re-contact her when they realised Natalia had vanished. Then, she’d give them Sign’s name and address. His house wasn’t safe. So, instead he paid upfront in cash for Natalia to stay in a B&B in Pimlico. It was walking distance from West Square. Sign and Knutsen would liaise with her on a daily basis and make sure she was safe. She wasn’t registered with her real name in the temporary accommodation. Sign had taken the proprietor to one side and quietly said that she’d been battered by her husband and needed a safe place. He’d added that if any men came here asking about a woman with an Eastern European accent, the proprietor was to call the police and demand that an armed response unit was deployed to his B&B.
Day two after they’d arrived back in England, Sign and Knutsen were in the lounge of their apartment. Earlier today they’d gone to Sign’s barbers in St James’s where they’d been given a cutthroat shave and haircut. Now, Sign was in immaculate slacks, a shirt, and brogues. Knutsen was in jeans, a creased T-shirt, and flip-flops. They were sitting in their armchairs, adjacent to a lit fire.
Sign said, “We must establish where Natalia can live.”
“It’s her choice.”
“She and I don’t want it to be her choice, and rightly so. She knows parts of London, but everywhere else is a jungle to her.” Sign placed the tips of his fingers together. “We must square the circle. She must live somewhere where she can be anonymous. But she must also have vibrancy and happiness.”
“A rural town or city? I suggested to her the west country.”
“That didn’t help those Russians in Salisbury. It’s too obvious to relocate her to a place like that.”
“Why keep her in Britain?”
“Three reasons. First, I’ve pulled strings to get her a new British identity. I have no strings to attempt gaining a foreign nationality. Second, you and I must keep a weather eye on her welfare. Third, there is a ninety two percent chance that you and Natalia may become an item.”
Knutsen smiled. “Ninety two percent chance? How did you come to that calculation?”
“I made it up, though I’m a millimetre either way from being correct.” Sign was weary and not in the mood for banter. “She can’t live in London in case…”
“Of a chance encounter with one of her former SVR colleagues.”
Sign nodded. “But she can live close to London. Hertford springs to mind.”
Knutsen agreed. “That’s a great idea. Lovely town. Lots going on. Quick and easy access to London at the weekends when most of the SVR station is closed shop. Good rail links. It’s a bit pricey though.”
“She only needs a one bedroom flat.”
Knutsen used his phone to browse the Internet. “I’m looking at Rightmove.” After a few minutes he said, “Discounting the silly prices, we’re looking at between seven hundred and a thousand quid per month.”
“Perfect.”
“How will she afford that? She’s got no savings.”
“I will pay until she has a salary coming in.”
Knutsen stared at him. “That’s very generous.”
“I prefer to think of it as pragmatic.”
Knutsen didn’t nee
d to tell his friend that he was lying through his teeth. “I’ll get on to the real estate agents today. What about a job?”
“I’ll arrange that. She’ll work from home. I have one or two contacts that’ll help her get on her feet and earn a living.”
Knutsen knew that Sign had hundreds of valuable contacts in Britain alone. “We must take her out this evening.”
“We will. I’ve bought us tickets to the Royal Albert Hall. We’re seeing Verdi’s Requiem at eight o’clock.. After, we will dine at Goya tapas restaurant in Pimlico. Then we’ll walk Natalia to her B&B. You will need to change before this evening. You currently look like a beach bum on Mykonos.” He smiled. “We only have a few hours so let’s divide and conquer. I’ve already secured her a British passport. But, there are other matters to attend to. I need to open a bank account in her new name, make a few phone calls and get her a job, obtain a UK mobile phone in her new identity, and plant some misinformation that Natalia was spotted yesterday in Tokyo. Meanwhile, your task is to find her somewhere nice to live. It must be walking distance to the town centre. Preferably go for unfurnished. I’ll deposit five thousand pounds in her new bank account to pay for new furniture and other set-up costs. Are you up to the task?”
Knutsen nodded. “Let’s get it done. Deadline is six PM. Then I’ll get showered and dressed into my best bib and tucker. We’ll have time for a sharpener before we leave for the concert.”
“Good man.”
Knutsen stood. In a more hesitant voice he asked, “What are you going to do about Archer and her mother?”
“I’m going to deal with them tomorrow,” was Sign’s only reply.
Archer made a pot of tea and placed muffins onto a plate. She took the food and drink into the lounge. Susan and Elizabeth were in the room, playing cards. Archer sat with them and after two minutes poured the tea. In Russian she said to Susan, “Your British passport should be through tomorrow. You will have a permanent right to abode in Britain.”
Elizabeth placed her cards down. “She can live here, can’t she?”
