Execution (A Harry Tate Thriller)

by Adrian Magson

‘His name is Bronyev. He was my colleague in Vienna. We were friends, too. He is a good man.’ She looked a little sad at the memory.

  Ballatyne was sceptical. ‘A bodyguard with the FSO? Does he have any clout?’

  ‘Not him, no. But his father does. He is an army general. Is that clout enough, Mr Ballatyne?’

  ‘Good enough for me.’ Ballatyne nodded sideways at the young male official. ‘Go with Julian, here, and he’ll show you to a secure communications room. Take your time. Just tell them about Gorelkin and the others. If what you told Harry is correct, and they were acting illegally, somebody will take notice.’ He reached into his breast pocket and produced a memory stick. ‘This has still photographs of the men involved, taken in various locations. They’re good enough that even their own mothers will recognise them. Julian will help.’

  They waited for twenty minutes, during which time Ballatyne arranged for coffee and biscuits, and the man at the far end of the table got up and disappeared to the bathroom. The atmosphere was heavy and utterly quiet, with almost no sound of movement in the corridor outside and just a hint of traffic noise from the street.

  ‘You spoke to Clare,’ said Rik.

  Ballatyne nodded. ‘We had a brief chat. She seems to be bearing up remarkably well, but I thought she should have someone take a look at her, just in case. She must be feeling better; she asked for a laptop.’

  Rik looked surprised. ‘Really? I could have lent her mine.’

  ‘No need. I arranged for one to be delivered to her at the clinic. It was the least I could do after all she’s been through. I asked if she wanted any help, but I gather she’s quite the IT buff on the quiet.’

  Harry said, ‘What did she want it for?’

  ‘She wants to sort out her future, she said. Their future, actually; hers and Miss Balenkova’s. I believe they’re looking for somewhere to go away, far from the madding crowd of spies, lies and security officers. Not that I blame them.’

  ‘And you just gave her a laptop.’

  ‘On loan, actually. But why not?’ Ballatyne looked innocent. ‘She’s hardly likely to run off with it, I shouldn’t think.’

  Harry said nothing. He was prevented from asking further questions by Katya returning with her escort. She looked pale but composed.

  She sat down without meeting Ballatyne’s gaze and said, ‘It’s done.’

  The MI6 man glanced at Julian, who nodded in confirmation.

  ‘Good.’ Ballatyne clapped his hands. ‘I think we’re finished here. Thank you, Miss Balenkova. I appreciate that wasn’t easy for you. Mr Ferris, can you watch Miss Balenkova’s back? I need to talk to Harry.’

  Rik nodded. ‘Sure. I’ve got nothing else on at present.’

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  ‘What was that all about?’ Harry and Ballatyne had stopped along the gravel path of Victoria Embankment Gardens, skirting small groups of tourists and office workers on their lunch break. Ballatyne had led him at a brisk walk from the building and down towards the river, forging ahead on the busy pavement in a manner that avoided conversation. ‘Why the play-acting with Crampton and the Special Forces liaison?’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘No, I recognise the type.’

  ‘I was covering my back. You know how these things work.’ Ballatyne turned and looked towards the river, chewing his lip. ‘This job is as much about politics these days as it is about gathering intelligence. Departments have their own priorities and agendas, and as much blood is spilled in the corridors as out in the field. I just have to make sure none of it is mine, which is why those others were at the meeting. I needed them to hear the basics.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘Crampton and the nameless one will spread the word about Paulton; I’ll do the rest from another direction.’

  ‘So why am I here?’

  ‘We need to stop this in case Miss Balenkova’s message doesn’t get through. I wasn’t entirely open and honest in that meeting. We’ve actually got more information about the two shooters than I let on. First of all, though, there’s Paulton.’

  ‘There always is. Do you know why he was here?’

  ‘In a nutshell, he wants to come in from the cold.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘I wish I were. Maybe life out in the wild isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when you’ve got a price on your head. It seems his plan was to bargain his way back by bringing something of value to the table. And for that he needed a sponsor . . . someone who would give him the time of day without having him shot on sight. Somebody who would appreciate something to trade – if it had added value.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘A birdie told me.’

  Harry had been thinking a lot about who else would have benefited by Clare’s death apart from the Russians, who wouldn’t have wanted their part in Tobinskiy’s murder revealed. But exactly who that was meant someone else had to be pulling some strings. As an old instructor had been fond of saying, when you’ve considered and rejected all possible options, all you’re left with is the blindingly obvious. But naming names wasn’t his job.

  ‘Who?’

  But Ballatyne was enjoying himself too much to let it all out at once. ‘Well, let’s remember that Clare Jardine figures closely in all of this. First of all, who would have a grudge against her? The list is not very long, strangely enough. Second, who has the ambition, balls and position to risk talking with Paulton as a means of getting to Jardine? Who would also give anything to get the Tobinskiy hit team – and their controller? And who would bring Paulton back into the fold – and potentially turn on him as a personal coup?’

  Harry knew who Ballatyne was talking about. The only person he had referred to who might fit. Candida Deane. What he didn’t know was why the MI6 man was going after one of his own colleagues in such an open fashion.

  ‘I take it this person would have known about the Russians being here in the first place?’

  ‘Too right. They read reports and summaries just like I do, and that one would have been hot enough to snap her knicker elastic. They knew where Tobinskiy was, they probably had a good idea what this team were here for – although, to be honest, tying the two together might have taken a while, because they’d have assumed that finding Tobinskiy wouldn’t have been easy.’

  ‘So how did they find him?’

  ‘Laughably easy: I think the shooter in Brighton who first plugged Tobinskiy had a backup man in place. Once the shooting was over, the gunman disappeared, and all his colleague had to do was keep an eye on the hospital and wait for Tobinskiy to croak. When he didn’t, he simply followed the ambulance to London. A second team was called in to finish the job. It’s how I would have done it, anyway.’

  ‘Is that why the guard on the ward disappeared? Was he part of it?’

  ‘No, he was perfectly innocent, if incompetent. A mix-up over rotas. He saw another guard entering the building and thought he was his replacement, and took off without handing over. It left a ten-minute gap which the Russians exploited. But they’d have probably planned on taking out any guards, anyway.’

  ‘So Deane wasn’t using Tobinskiy as bait?’

  ‘Probably not, much as it pains me to say. She’s as nasty as a tank of piranha fish but she has her limits. She was playing Paulton along and hoping to implicate Jardine in the killing and get the hit team all nicely wrapped up. I can’t prove it because she’s not saying much, but I suspect she was planning on turning Paulton in as a bonus.’ He sniffed. ‘I told you, she’s ambitious. Proving any of it might be a problem, but she’s finished in that job, anyway.’

  ‘Unless you can find Paulton.’

  Ballatyne shrugged, his eyes hooded. ‘You and I both know that’s not going to happen.’

  ‘So what’s this other information you have?’

  Ballatyne took a slip of paper from his pocket and passed it to Harry. He was surprised to see that it held an address in Knightsbridge, west London.

  ‘What’s this?’

&
nbsp; ‘We tracked the shooters to this location. The tech boys in the Met got a lucky strike with an FRS camera along Knightsbridge. The building’s not on the list of Russian holdings, which makes me think this whole operation was very deep and black. It’s the second-floor flat of a short-term rental property. They were there last night and I’ve got a man on watch to make sure they don’t slide out unnoticed.’

  ‘Couldn’t you get Crampton’s men to go in?’

  ‘Too risky. There are two foreign embassy buildings in the same street, both unfriendly, one openly harbouring a fugitive facing terrorist charges in the States and cocking their noses at us. If the boys in blue show up in force anywhere within two hundred yards, they’ll scream from the rooftops.’

  ‘What about Special Forces?’

  ‘The MOD won’t risk sending in anything less than a full team. Can you imagine the noise?’ He shuddered. ‘We’d never hear the last of it from the Harrods board, either.’

  Harry breathed out. He knew what was coming.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘You and Boy Wonder could do it.’ Ballatyne straightened his jacket. ‘It would send a message to Gorelkin’s controllers, telling them they can’t do this on our territory without consequences.’

  Harry wanted to tell Ballatyne to go jump in the river; that he didn’t do hit jobs, no matter what the reason. But he knew deep down that it wouldn’t wash. If the two Russians were in there, it wouldn’t be a hit, it would be a fight.

  There was a lot more he wanted to ask, especially about Clare. For example, why was Ballatyne suddenly so keen on her welfare, when before this he had been indifferent to downright cold. But now wasn’t the time.

  Ballatyne turned to go. ‘Don’t leave it too long, or they’ll be gone until they can pop up and take another crack at Jardine. And I hate to be melodramatic, Harry, but they do know where you live.’

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  From the scrum of journalists and onlookers jostling about on the pavement, it was clear where the suspected terrorist was seeking sanctuary. The street was just behind the world- famous façade of Harrods in Knightsbridge, and the kerbs were lined with luxury model cars of every make, many with chauffeurs in attendance.

  Harry and Rik walked past the red-brick house where they had been told the two Russians were staying, and joined the crowd eyeing the embassy building, where an official was reading a statement for the press. It was clearly not the first such statement of defiance in a running war of words, and even the press personnel looked slightly bored with the rhetoric and fist-waving. But it gave Harry and Rik an opportunity to take a look at the target building without being too obvious.

  The proximity of the press and onlookers, quite apart from the flow of pedestrians, gave Harry cause for concern. If things went badly wrong and the two Russians took the offensive, there could be carnage. And that was to be avoided at all costs.

  ‘Come on, we’re going to have to do this ourselves.’ He walked further along the street and turned down the first intersection. He had already scanned the area for Ballatyne’s watcher, but whoever he was was keeping well out of sight. No doubt he was holed up somewhere comfortable, waiting for instructions.

  They circled the block holding the target building, and eventually ended up in a narrow street at the rear. The structures were extensive, and broken up into a rabbit warren of offices and residential spaces. Harry had already seen that some had access through from front to back, but these were mostly by secured passageways and doors. Unfortunately, not all the rear passageways were identified, and there was no way of telling which ones had access to the front.

  ‘No option,’ Harry said. ‘Front way in.’

  They returned to the front entrance and stopped by a flight of stone steps leading to a basement flat, carefully avoiding looking up at the first-floor apartment windows. A chauffeur was polishing the already gleaming bodywork of a large blue BMW nearby, but paid them no attention.

  ‘I used to live in a place like this in Earl’s Court,’ said Rik. ‘Full of backpackers and layabouts. It was connected to the rest of the building by narrow back stairs, from when they had servants’ quarters. We might strike lucky.’

  Harry nodded. They hadn’t got any alternative. They descended the steps and knocked on the door. A woman opened up and peered out at them, large dark eyes in a coffee-coloured face above an overall and an apron.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Police,’ said Harry, flashing his MI5 card. ‘I wonder if you could help us?’

  ‘Police?’ The woman looked frightened. ‘What I do? Why you come here?’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Rik leaned past Harry and smiled broadly at the woman. ‘It’s not you we’re after, love.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the press pack across the street. ‘We need to get a view of that crowd, to make sure there’s no trouble.’

  She frowned, mollified but puzzled. ‘But from here? Is too low.’

  ‘You’re dead right. But if we could get further up . . . say, on the second or third floor, we’d have a great view. Are there stairs going up?’

  She shook her head. ‘Yes, but they are locked. Only manager has keys.’

  ‘Great.’ Rik gave another winning smile. ‘And where is the manager?’

  ‘Belize.’

  ‘That’s a bit far. Do you live here?’

  ‘No, I cleaner and make sure everything is working.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Rik delved in his pocket and took out some notes. He held them up. ‘I’m a magician with locks. You take this and go put the kettle on, and we’ll be through and gone before the water’s boiled. And I’ll lock the door behind us so you don’t get into trouble.’

  The woman stared at the money for a long time, eyes flicking to both men and back. ‘Is this what British policemen do?’

  ‘In very extreme circumstances, yes.’

  ‘OK.’ She reached out and took the notes, and stood back to let them in, closing the door and leading them through a set of offices to a narrow door in one corner at the rear of the building. ‘This go up to ground floor,’ she explained in a hushed voice. ‘Turn right and stairs go up to other floors.’

  She turned and disappeared, evidently not keen on staying to watch her part in their moment of larceny.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a magician with locks,’ said Harry.

  ‘There’s quite a lot you don’t know about me.’ Rik grinned and produced a short length of plastic. Inserting it between the door and jamb, he wiggled it about, at the same time leaning hard against the door, which gave a little under the pressure. The plastic moved and sank into the gap, and suddenly there was a click and the door was open.

  Harry checked the cleaning lady wasn’t looking, then drew his gun and followed Rik through, closing the door behind him.

  They were at the bottom of a flight of stairs piled with cardboard boxes and stacks of floor tiles. At the top was another door with the Yale lock and handle on this side.

  The door opened onto a polished tiled hallway. To their right another flight of stairs led upwards, and beyond that, the hallway ran down to the front of the building.

  The stairs to the upper floors were wide, carpeted down the centre, with a wood and metal bannister polished with years of use.

  ‘Straight up?’ whispered Rik. He drew his gun and slipped off the safety.

  ‘Might as well. Knock and wait.’ In Harry’s experience, pretending to be a water official or a delivery man only worked if you had sight of the people you were calling on and their suspicions were low to zero. Anyone armed and in hiding on the other side of the door would take any such pretence to be just that, and were likely to start shooting instead.

  Rik reached the door first and knocked a light rat-tat, then stood to one side and waited, with Harry on the other side.

  No answer. He knocked again. A door slammed down the hallway, to the rear of the building, followed by the sound of footsteps. Another door banged.

  Harry ste
pped out from the wall and looked down the hallway.

  ‘It’s them – they had a back way out.’ He began running, while Rik took a step back and kicked the door open and disappeared inside.

  Harry reached a door at the end of the hall, down a short flight of steps. It was part of an extension to the main building, with a side window giving a narrow view to the rear, and he guessed it gave out onto the street he and Rik had seen at the back. He tried the door. Solid and unmoving, opening towards him. It would take an axe to get through it.

  He ran back to the apartment and found Rik standing in a living room littered with discarded pizza boxes and beer cans. A huge plasma television was on with the sound muted, showing a children’s programme.

  ‘If it was them,’ said Rik, ‘they travelled light.’

  Harry bent to one side of an armchair. He picked up a small can of Birchwood Casey gun oil lying on its side, dripping its contents onto the parquet flooring. Near it, just under the edge of the chair, something shiny caught his eye.

  It was a single round of 9mm ammunition.

  FIFTY-NINE

  Harry put down the can and called Ballatyne. The MI6 man answered immediately. ‘Where’s your watcher? The targets are on the move out the back. We’re blocked and need some eyeball backup.’

  ‘No problem.’ Ballatyne sounded unnaturally calm. ‘We’ve got a live map of the area on-screen. Make your way to the front. Bruce will be waiting for you. His controller will guide you from there. Out.’

  Harry turned and ran through the building and down the stairs, with Rik hard on his heels. Going out of the front door, he remembered to put away his gun in time before coming under the curious gaze of the press pack.

  The blue BMW was still there, the engine ticking over quietly. The chauffeur lifted a hand. ‘Tate and Ferris? Jump in and buckle up. The name’s Bruce.’

  ‘I’m Harry, he’s Rik.’

  The BMW tore away from the kerb, narrowly missing a photographer being artistic outside the besieged embassy. As he came to the end of the road, Bruce hit a button on a central console, and a stream of radio chatter came out over the powerful hum of the engine.