by Andy McNab
"Isn't this all a bit James Bond, Nick? I don't like it."
"It's just basic routine. You need to know what to do if it goes wrong. You know, suppose I break a leg and can't get back here? Then it'll be down to you to hand over the goods and get us our money."
"So long as there ain't no funny business. You know, fucking her about or anything? I don't want that, mate. I just want the money."
We stopped by the wall next to the newsstand.
"Tom, it's going to go like clockwork. You just need to know this stuff in case I get injured, that's all. You're my insurance policy, and I'll be yours."
He liked that. The girl got up and walked toward us, nodding her head in time to the music stuck in her ears.
"Go on, see if there's anything there yet."
"What, now?" He looked absolutely terrified. "While everyone's here?"
"It's never going to be empty, Tom. It's a station, for fuck's sake.
All you've got to do is take a stroll over there, sit down, put your hand under the bench and have a feel around. While you're doing that I'll go and change some money for you, all right?"
I didn't wait for his answer. I wanted him to go through the motions.
If he had to get here on his own, he'd at least know what to do.
I walked further into the station. Signs in front of me pointed to the platforms and the long-term luggage lockers. I'd be checking that out soon enough.
As busy-looking people passed through the large wooden doors, I saw snow-covered cars standing at each platform. To my right were stores and rest rooms, and, about fifty feet away, the exit to the bus station. To the left were more shops and the short-term luggage lockers, then another set of doors the same distance away that led out to the taxis. Behind me were the metro stairs and a very nervous Tom.
I went left, to the currency exchange, exchanged $500, then wandered back. As I neared the DLB I could see him sitting on the bench, looking very pleased with himself. I sat next to him, squeezing into the small gap between him and a rather large woman peeling an orange.
"Piece of cake, mate. Found it first time, look."
He started to bend down.
"No, no, not now, Tom. Leave it where it is and I'll show you how to tell Liv that you've put a message in there for her."
I stood up and he followed. The woman was delighted and spread herself out more. We went toward the platform doors and turned right, passing the rest rooms.
"Tom, go in there to write your message, okay?"
He nodded, his eyes fixed on the English edition computer magazines as we passed another newsstand, with yet more people wrestling with their luggage and skis.
I explained where to leave his DLB-loaded marker. "Just beyond this coffee shop, on the right, is a row of telephones. When the time comes, get yourself a marker pen from one of these shops and draw a line down the booth of the right-hand one, okay?"
It wasn't. "Why?"
"So Liv doesn't have to sit down and feel under the bench every time to check it. If the loaded sign the marker-pen line isn't there, she knows that a message isn't, either. Otherwise she'll look just a bit suspicious on Wednesday, won't she, sitting in the same place every hour on the hour?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "Tell you what, she could sit next to me every hour on the hour, know what I mean?"
I smiled. If the two women at the airport would have had him for breakfast, Liv would probably chew him up and spit him out without looking up from her newspaper.
We were closing the gap toward the bus station doors when they all opened at once and a busload of people surged toward us, dragging their skis and luggage behind them.
Thirty feet short of the doors was a bank of four phones fixed to the wall, divided by polished-wood booths. We stood against the nearest one, letting the bus party pass with a rumble of suitcase wheels and excited conversation.
"See here?" I said.
"Yeah, you want me to mark " He started to wave his finger.
"Hey, Tom, in spy land nobody points." I pushed his hand down and tried not to laugh. "But yes, that's right, mate, a mark. But a line, a nice thick line. Make sure you pretend to be on the phone and make sure they" I nodded toward the flower shop opposite "don't see you."
Tom's eyes followed mine. "I get it, but you'll tell me what to say in the letter, yeah?"
"Of course. Now let's go and get cold."
We walked out through the bus station, a large square concourse littered with sheltered stops.
Once onto the pavement we cut half right in the direction of Stockmann.
I handed Tom 2,000 Finnish marks from the wad I'd got from the money changer. It worked out at about six marks a dollar. He thought he was rich; his eyes shone or maybe they were starting to be affected by the cold as we walked along cobblestoned streets. The rumble of tires and metallic rhythm of the streetcar wheels meant we had to speak louder than normal.
"Tom, I want you to give me your passport and wallet for safekeeping.
I've got an idea for a little extra insurance, but listen, this is between you and me. It's not that I don't trust her, but better safe than sorry, eh?"
"Nice one, Nick. Makes me feel better."
He handed them over without questioning. It made me feel suddenly more responsible for him.
"Besides, we want to travel light tomorrow night."
You could tell Stockmann was Finland's top people's store by the line of large black or dark-blue cars outside with their engines running, waiting for their V.I.P passengers to come out and load up their Christmas shopping. When we got closer, it was clear who the cars belonged to. Large men with no necks and square heads were waiting beside them. It looked as though the hit on Val last week, was making Mr. and Mrs. Mafia a bit nervous.
A group of heavies came out just as we approached the main entrance, surrounding a very young, beautiful blonde, who was wearing more fur than a grizzly. For a moment I thought it was Liv.
A limo door opened for her, and the three-car convoy zoomed off up the street.
Tom and I walked through large double doors straight into the perfume department. A little further on, in the luggage department, I picked up two small weekend bags, one dark green and one black, from a display, and two heavy car blankets.
Tom had his big wad of money clasped firmly in his hand and was looking happy. It was time to say my goodbyes.
"I've got things to do, Tom. Insurance." I tapped the side of my nose and winked. His big hamster cheeks beamed back. "I'll see you in the coffee shop in about forty-five minutes. Just get yourself some good warm clothes, the sort of stuff I told you about, all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, no drama. Hey Nick, when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
I clapped his shoulder. "Remember, get a decent coat and boots. And by the way, if Liv turns up before I get there, just tell her I'm shopping, too."
I could see he couldn't be bothered to ask why, he just wanted to get spending.
"No drama. See yer."
Back in the cold, I took out my new bags and bulked them out with the blankets. Then I headed for the bus station again. I went past the telephones into Europe's most expensive rest rooms. It cost me over a buck to sit down in one of the stalls so I could get out the money from my organizer wallet what was left of the twenty-five grand in $100 bills which I'd brought with me. I removed four grand and then placed the wallet, plus my own documents and Davidson's, into the dark-green bag. You never know when even a burned ID can come in useful. Tom's documents and $3,000 went into the black bag, and I slipped the remaining grand into my pocket. I then dumped both at the luggage lockers and looked for a decent hiding place for the two tickets our own little DLB some-where that Tom would find easy enough to remember.
I went into one of the shops and picked up a computer magazine with a plastic sleeve holding a free CD-Rom. I was in line at the checkout when I saw her.
Liv was standing by the doors
to the trains. The man she was with was very smartly dressed in a long camel-hair coat, shirt and tie. She was looking quite dolled up herself, in a black overcoat she hadn't been wearing earlier. It must have been in the back of the Mere 4x4.
I ducked out of the line as if I'd had second thoughts about the magazine, and went back to browsing the racks, watching Liv and her man out of the corner of my eye. They were in each other's arms, their faces just inches apart and talking away. They were doing their best to look like two lovers saying their goodbyes but it wasn't quite working. There were times when they cuddled, but they weren't talking to each other, they were talking at each other. I'd done this enough times myself to know what was going on.
They held each other and talked for a little while longer, then he pulled slightly away from her. He was in his early thirties, with short brown hair, and looked quite the young trendy businessman.
She turned away, heading for the bus station exit. There had been no final kiss, no last touch or stroke of the hair.
I let her go past me, then moved quickly to the platform doors, spotting him on Platform 6 as he looked at his ticket and checked the buses. It was now time to hurry back the other way and see what Liv was up to.
Barging through the bus station doors I looked out onto the square. She was walking away from me, putting her Tibetan hat on, heading across the pedestrian crossing. I could see the 4x4 on the other side, parked in a line of other vehicles on meters.
Turning, I ran back into the station. The destination board said the Platform 6 train was leaving for St. Petersburg in two minutes.
I walked swiftly back to the newsstand and bought the magazine, together with a reel of Scotch tape. Taking off the plastic sleeve, I ripped it into two strips and wrapped the tickets individually. Now all I had to do was find a place to hide them that Tom would remember.
It wasn't hard. The long banks of luggage lockers by the taxi exit were on legs, with a four-inch gap between them and the floor.
Pretending to clean the slush off my shoes, I taped Tom's under Number 10 and mine under Number 11. If things went wrong, both of us had a ticket out of Finland.
As I made my way back to Stockmann, Liv's meeting with the man in the camel-hair coat mulled round in my head.
I took the elevator to the sixth floor. Once I'd passed the cold weather gear a sign told me that on the floor above was "cold storage for furs." I passed a restaurant, a juice bar, and found Tom in Cafe Avec, overlooking the shoppers below on the fifth floor. His half-cup of herbal whatever looked sad and cold on the table in front of him. The light-wood furniture had come straight out of an Ikea warehouse and the place was packed with people snacking on soup or little fish dishes. The noise was deafening people talking and cell phones going off with a million and one different tunes.
"Wotcha, mate." He was all smiles, pointing at his bags, then opening one for me to look inside. I was pleased to see he'd bought himself a decent pair of boots, and the dark-blue, thick, woolen check lumberjack coat was just the sort of thing I'd told him to get.
"Great, Tom. Now listen."
I explained to him where his ticket was hidden. We'd pick them up on Wednesday, but if the shit hit the fan tomorrow night, he should head straight for the station, grab his bag, and catch the first flight home.
He started to look a bit more cheerful. "I just want to get this job done and get back to London with some cash. I don't really like it here. Thought I would, but I don't. It must be the cold. That's why I got these for tomorrow." He bent down and brought out a set of silk leggings and a top.
I tried not to laugh. They were the sort of thing you might buy for your very first ski trip, but never wear.
He looked rather proud of them. "What do you think? Keep me warm or what? You should get some, Nick. The girl behind the counter said they're great."
I bet she did; they probably cost three times as much as a set of proper thermals. "I've got some," I lied. "Actually, there's one more thing."
He packed them proudly back into the bag. "What's that?"
"I know you said you're nearly there, but can you really break through the firewall by tomorrow?"
He looked at me as if I was mad. "No problem. But you will look after me, won't you? You know, when we're in there "
I could sense that his bravado was fading slightly as the witching hour approached. I smiled, nodded and then saw him look anxiously over my shoulder.
"Liv's here."
I turned in my seat and watched her looking out for us both, hat in hand and the black coat still on. She saw my raised hand and came straight over.
She sat down. "Everything all right at the station?"
I nodded.
"Good. Here are the keys for your car, Nick." She passed over two keys on a Saab key chain. "There are maps inside the glove compartment to get you there, and a detailed one of the area. None of the maps are marked. It will take you more than three hours to get there."
"There'll probably be a list of things I'll need once I've seen the house."
"No problem, so long as it's nothing exotic." Talking of which, she looked at her Carder watch. 1 got the hint and started getting to my feet. "I think I need to get going. I want to spend as much time as I can on target."
She stood up. "I'll show you where the car is, then go back to the house with Tom."
As we came out of Stockmann, Tom took out his new check coat and put it over the one he was wearing. He looked the perfect tourist.
We walked back toward the station and I could see the Mere 4x4 still parked in the same position, with a shiny new blue Saab next to it.
I said my goodbyes. Tom got in the front with her and they drove off.
18
The journey to the target seemed to be taking longer than she'd told me to expect. Maybe it just felt that way because there'd been nothing to look at but thousands of trees and lumps of granite. I needed to adjust my boredom threshold.
It was just after three o'clock and it was already last light. The reflection from the Saab's headlights twinkled in the snow piled high at the roadside as I stayed obediently in the line of traffic, which all traveled within the speed limit. I hit the seek button on the radio a few times, but there wasn't much to listen to. I hated Europop, and didn't have a clue what was being said on any of the speaking stations.
I used the time to think about Liv's station RV, but didn't come up with any answers. I decided I just had to get on with it. "It" was simple: I'd do the job, control the exchange with Liv, then get Tom and me back to the U.K." leaving Val to do whatever he wanted with the stuff. At least after tomorrow night, once on the ground, I was in control of my own destiny.
After taking the exit for Lappeenranta, signs for Kuhala began to appear. Pulling into the side of the road, I checked the smaller scale, more detailed map. I had another eight miles to go until turning off the two-lane road and onto what looked like a minor gravel one. Then I'd need to find the private turning to the target building.
I pushed on, driving through dense forest on a paved firebreak. Tall trees on either side of me cut down the headlights' capacity as if I was in a tunnel. Then I was suddenly out of it and rumbling across a wooden bridge, my lights blazing across the white ice of the frozen lake beneath me. Twenty seconds later I was back inside the tunnel, with just the occasional mailbox to let me know I wasn't the only person around.
Passing a yellow triangle sign showing a silhouetted elk, I knew I'd well and truly hit the countryside. Stopping at the intersection, I checked the odometer and map. Five more miles and the third option right.
I drove on, counting off the miles, crossing two more bridges and only a handful of mailboxes until I found the intersection I was looking for. The tire noise changed as I hit the two-lane gravel road. Like the one leading to Liv's, it was still iced over but had been snow plowed and sanded.
With a few miles still to go, I wanted to make sure I had the right track to target first time. It wouldn't be a good idea
to cruise around with headlights on and the engine revving up and down the road.
The map showed a scattering of houses in the area, and I was passing a mailbox every quarter mile or so. I shifted down to first gear. There wasn't a light to be seen as I checked off each track into the woods on the map.
I found the target track, but kept going, looking for somewhere off the road to leave the Saab so it looked parked rather than abandoned.
About another 300 yards on I found a small cut in the woodline which seemed to be a firebreak. Once tucked in, I switched off the engine.
It was freezer time again. Putting on the nylon padded gloves and black woolen hat I'd bought myself at Stockmann, I got out and hit the key chain. The four ways flashed as the central locking did its stuff, but I couldn't help that.
Setting off down the gravel road, I made sure the hat didn't cover my ears; I was on a recce, I needed them to be able to work, without fighting to hear through half a lamb's coat.
It was bitterly cold after the snug warmth of the Saab, and there was no noise or light. All I could hear was my own breathing and the snow crunching an inch under my feet before it compressed onto the hard ice beneath. My whole world was trees, snow, and a very cold nose and ears.
Once at the top of the track, I stopped, looked, and listened.
Nothing. It would take another fifteen minutes for my eyes to adapt to the lack of light. Then, with any luck, I'd be able to see a little more of the treeline than just a wall of black.
I turned into the track and started slowly down it. A lot of vehicles had obviously been up and down; there was no snow in the ruts on either side of the small central mound, just compacted ice. The trees were hard up against the edge of the track.
Three feet in front of me was pitch-black, but I knew it wouldn't be like that for long once my night vision kicked in. I moved like a tightrope walker along the rut, to cut down ground sign. The last thing I wanted was to slip and fall in the snow at the side of the track, leaving evidence that even a five-year-old would pick up.
