by Mark McKay
‘You’ve lost weight,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Much better. I wasn’t expecting to see you.’
‘Well, when you’d been missing for a week I decided to try and find you.’
‘But you found us instead, Mr Webb’ said Cooper. He shook Nick’s hand. ‘Let’s get you back to the embassy. All of your things are there.’
Cooper had a car. Nick didn’t want to say too much to Mariko on the way back. He didn’t want to put his foot in it by saying something that might compromise whatever story she’d told Cooper about their relationship. Instead, he repeated most of the details of the events of the last two weeks to both of them.
‘How much did it cost to get me back here?’ he asked Cooper. ‘I’ll have to see about paying you back.’
‘Don’t worry about that. The Great British taxpayer has covered that particular bill. Just don’t make a habit of disappearing like that though, or we will start charging you.’
When they reached the embassy, Cooper took them to his office.
‘I just want to confirm some details,’ he said to Nick. ‘You say you were at your hotel. Two men who said they were from Russian Security abducted you at gunpoint and put you on a train to camp number 7. Do you know why?’
Nick had left Dubrovsky out of his story. Including him would only lead to more awkward questions.
‘No, they didn’t explain. They didn’t speak English. I’m at a loss on that one.’
Cooper was a tall, thin rake of a man, around forty. He projected a care free affability that might make you think he wasn’t too quick on the uptake. But Nick wasn’t fooled by the jolly persona. Underneath it, the man was sharp.
‘Doesn’t make a lot of sense, then,’ Cooper said. ‘The two people from Amnesty who were filming Louisa Bach’s trial saw you get into a car with these two men. They took the licence plate details. I sent those across to my opposite number at the Russian embassy, but I’m afraid he couldn’t help.’
‘Or didn’t want to help,’ said Nick.
‘Look, Mr Webb. If you say you spent the last two weeks on a prison train and then in a Siberian forest, I believe you. But I’ll never sell that story to the Russians. I can’t even make a protest.’
‘Maybe not. But I brought you something as proof.’
Nick opened his case and pulled out the guard’s jacket and his prison overalls. Cooper picked up the jacket, his eyes widening.
‘Ah, look,’ he said. ‘This is definitely a prison service jacket. And it has a number on the shoulder. Yes, we can definitely do something with this.’
He contemplated the jacket for a while, then looked directly at Nick and Mariko.
‘I’m not entirely sure that you’ve told me everything,’ he said, including both of them in that statement. ‘And my advice to you is to leave Moscow as soon as possible. You came with Ms Bach, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, did she fly back?’
‘Yes. You can thank her for raising the alert, actually. She insisted that something awful must have happened to you, but she wasn’t very forthcoming on why. Then Ms Mashida arrived. It seems several people are concerned for your welfare. Anyway, you’re back, in one piece.’
‘I think we should take Mr Cooper’s advice,’ said Mariko. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel, darling. We can book a flight from there.’ She slipped her arm through his.
Nick hoped his face hadn’t betrayed him. ‘Yes. Good idea, darling.’
Cooper got up. ‘Your passport and all your personal effects are in your luggage. We retrieved it from your hotel. Leave me some contact details and I’ll let you know how I get on with my enquiries.’
They thanked Cooper, and left. Mariko still had her arm through his as they went looking for a taxi.
‘Did your friend Dubrovsky have anything to do with this?’ she asked him.
He told her the full story. She made no comment, just listened intently.
‘What did you tell Cooper?’ he asked her.
‘I told him I was your girlfriend. We’re soon to be married,’ she said, looking quite serious about it.
‘And you were so worried you came all the way from Japan to look for me. Did he believe you?’
‘It doesn’t really matter. He accepted the lie. And he was right, you should leave as soon as possible. I will book that flight. And when we get back to my hotel you can tell me all about Mr Dubrovsky. The whole story, from the beginning. I’m becoming very interested in that man.’
‘So much for our passionate reunion,’ he said.
She glanced at him with the flicker of a smile. ‘I’m glad you are safe, Nick. But this man Dubrovsky has killed two people who were close to me, and I thought you were about to become number three. I was stupid to let you come here.’
They found a taxi. Mariko was right, they had underestimated Dubrovsky. The man was dangerous, period. And unpredictable. Did she still think that harming him in some way constituted a ‘conflict of interest’? They sat quietly in the back seat and she stared out the window with an expression of benign, Japanese inscrutability. No doubt she would tell him, soon enough.
Mariko had already booked a room for him at her hotel. That evening they had dinner together in the hotel restaurant. She wanted to talk about the future.
‘I heard about the result of Louisa Bach’s appeal. It seems there’s nothing more for you to do, now. You can go back to India.’
‘I want to make sure Marielle is safe before I go anywhere.’
‘You think Dubrovsky is vindictive enough to do anything to her now?’
‘We still have something in Germany that he wants. So yes, I think he is.’
Mariko was surprised to hear this. ‘What have you got that he wants?’
Nick saw no option other than to tell her about his visit to London. Mariko was hard to read when she wanted to be, so he wasn’t at all sure how she was taking it. He’d gone there in direct violation of her instructions. She was cool in her reply.
‘You know, Nick, we can’t use you as an agent if you won’t follow orders. You didn’t say anything about drugs when you told me what happened at the estate in Germany. If you had just given him the drugs in the first place…’
‘You think I don’t know that?’
She said nothing. The sudden tension between them was threatening to ruin a perfectly good meal. After a few minutes’ silence in which they both assiduously focused on eating, Mariko looked up at him.
‘You wanted to know about Kamiko.’
‘Yes. I did.’ The change of subject threw him, but he went with it. ‘What did she have to hide?’
Mariko took a sip of mineral water. ‘She was my cousin. A couple of years younger than me. She got married quite young, too. In Japan, we tend to marry for social status, not for love. The man goes to work and the woman has children. Then she becomes a mother rather than a partner. Often the man goes elsewhere for his sexual needs. This is all quite normal.’
‘Is that what happened?’
‘Not exactly. They never had children. In fact, Kamiko was a bit rebellious. She’d spent time at college in America. You might say it warped her values. She had an affair with a colleague of her husband. Anyway, the affair was discovered. The company fired both men and Kamiko’s husband was incensed. So incensed that he killed the other man and wanted to kill Kamiko, too.’
Nick had forgotten all about his meal. ‘He attacked her?’
‘Not exactly. Our family is descended from the Samurai. He insisted that she commit suicide like a good samurai wife would do, out of shame. It might sound strange to you in the 21st century, but these traditions aren’t forgotten.’
‘I take it she refused, then.’
‘Yes, and when she did, he attacked her. But of course, Kamiko was very proficient at Aikido. She broke his arm and walked out. He was arrested later, for the murder of his colleague. But Kamiko did feel ashamed. There was a part of her that felt he was right. She shoul
d kill herself.’
‘But how did she end up in India?’
‘She worked for us, though her husband didn’t know that. My father intervened and said she had to leave Japan. Her husband’s family were furious with her and things were only getting worse. My father sent her to India. She had been there two years before you arrived. She still felt ashamed about the whole incident, even after that time.’
Nick was drinking chilled white wine. He fiddled with the stem of the glass as he took it all in.
‘We were getting close, did you know that?’
Mariko nodded, looking rather solemn, now. ‘I knew.’
‘You told her to sleep with me. Just what were you thinking, when you did that?’
Mariko seemed a little embarrassed. ‘She liked you. I thought it would do her good. So I ordered her to do it. Unlike you, she wasn’t one to refuse an order.’
He sighed. ‘Well, it brought her out of her shell. Me too, if I’m honest. Can we talk about something else?’
‘Yes. What I want you to do is go back to Berlin and pick up the drugs you told me about. Get them to Dubrovsky. Tell him that as far as you are concerned, this whole matter is closed. Then go back to India, or England. Take a month to recuperate and we can talk about whatever comes next. Can you do that?’
There was no point in arguing. There was something he wanted to clarify, though.
‘What about Dubrovsky? He’s killed friends of yours and you’re going to do nothing. Is that right?’
Mariko’s mouth settled in that cruel twist that so fascinated him.
‘That’s right. I’m going to do nothing. Neither are you.’
It was settled, then. They spent the rest of the meal studiously ignoring the rift that had opened up between them. Tomorrow, Mariko would fly back to Japan and he would go to Berlin. Then this sorry business would finally be done with.
Chapter 16
He left Russia without further incident. It was late when the plane touched down in Berlin and he went straight to the hotel they’d been in prior to flying to Moscow. He’d tried to call Marielle while he was waiting in departures at Moscow airport, but she hadn’t answered. There was still no answer when he tried again, just after landing.
He had a room here for the next few days. He intended to do just as Mariko had stipulated and then perhaps go to England for a bit. There were just a few loose ends to tie up first. He walked up to the reception desk.
‘Hello again,’ said the blond girl who’d been on the desk the first time they’d arrived. ‘You must like it here.’
He smiled at the pleasantry. ‘I left a package in your safe,’ he told her. ‘Do you remember?’
‘Yes of course. Shall I get it for you?’
‘Please.’
She went into an office just behind the reception area and re-emerged with his parcel.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘By the way, did the lady I was with come back here recently?’
‘I haven’t seen her. I’ll check the register for you. What was her name, again?’
Marielle hadn’t been back. He could only assume she’d gone to her house by the sea. Or maybe she’d gone to stay with Paula Klein. He’d check with Paula first, before driving back to Rostock. After he’d gone up to his room and unpacked he tried Marielle again, without success. There was nothing more he could do tonight. It was too late to go calling on Paula, and he didn’t have her phone number. He remembered the street name though - Christstrasse. He’d go there first thing in the morning. Then he would take this parcel to the Russian Embassy and ask them to deliver it to the Minister of Culture. That would be one loose end out of the way.
The next morning he found Paula Klein’s apartment again, without too much trouble. This time it was Paula who answered the buzzer. She didn’t remember him at first, until he mentioned Max’s name.
‘Ah yes, the associate,’ she said. ‘Come up.’
It was 11am, but it looked like she hadn’t been up for long. She wore no makeup and greeted him wearing a richly patterned, red silk dressing gown.
‘Sorry, I should have called you. But I didn’t have your number,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Webb. My husband isn’t here, but I’ll make you some coffee if you like.’
He said he’d like some coffee, and waited while she went into the kitchen to make it.
‘I work quite late sometimes,’ she said, when she returned. ‘I imagine you’re here about Marielle, then?’
‘How on earth did you know that?’
She gestured for him to sit, and did the same. ‘Marielle is in hospital. Since one week ago.’
‘What happened? Is she alright?’
‘No, not really.’ Paula looked a little frazzled. ‘She was admitted to the University hospital in Rostock. With a broken arm, broken ribs and internal bleeding. It was a ruptured spleen and needed emergency surgery.’
He was stunned for a moment. ‘Go on.’
‘The surgery was successful. She gave the doctor my name and he rang to tell me all this. I’ve been out to Rostock twice since then, to visit her.’ Paula pursed her lips in an expression of distaste. ‘I dislike hospitals. They remind me of how old I’m getting. Anyhow, she wasn’t making much sense. She had come back from Russia and gone to her house near Rostock. A week ago, someone visited her and inflicted those injuries. She couldn’t or wouldn’t say who.’
‘Christ, why did she go back there?’ he muttered to himself.
‘Because it’s her home, Mr Webb. She had nowhere else to go. Now, I saw some coverage of Louisa’s appeal on television. You were with Marielle in court. As she isn’t saying anything, perhaps you could tell me what’s been happening since you first visited me. Where were you when Marielle was attacked? And where is Max?’
It took him the best part of an hour to tell her what had happened since he and Max had come to this apartment looking for Marielle. He thought it best that she should know everything. He had a favour to ask.
‘When Marielle is discharged, can she stay with you for a while? It isn’t safe for her if she goes home.’
‘Yes, I see that.’ Paula was shocked at what she’d heard, but she was nothing if not pragmatic in her assessment of the situation. ‘She can stay as long as she needs to.’
‘And we must make sure nobody knows she’s here.’
‘Yes, yes.’ It looked as though Paula might be in need of something stronger than coffee. She pulled herself together. ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I’m going to give Dubrovsky what he wants. And then I’m going to Rostock, to see Marielle. After that, I’m not sure.’
‘I’ll make sure she is looked after, once she is discharged. Good luck, Mr Webb.’
He went back to the hotel and asked the receptionist for a container of some sort that he could put his parcel in. They gave him a shoe box and he went out and got wrapping paper and sellotape. He sealed the box as tight as he could and then addressed it to Dubrovsky at the Ministry of Culture in Moscow. He consulted his notebook and found the phone number for Dubrovsky’s lawyer, if that’s what he truly was. It didn’t matter, as long as he could get the message through. When his call was answered he asked the man on the other end of the line if he could relay that message.
‘Yes, I will do that,’ came the reply.
‘I’m dropping this parcel at the Russian embassy today. Tell Mr Dubrovsky that this matter is now closed. There is no need for him to take any further action. Got that?’
‘I have it.’ Dubrovsky’s lawyer wasn’t the talkative type.
‘Do you have a name?’ asked Nick.
‘If you need me again, which you won’t, and I don’t answer on this number, ask for Herr Schmidt. Goodbye.’
That was that. The BMW was in a car park not far away. He packed his bags and checked out of the hotel. He would stay in Rostock for the foreseeable future. He drove to the Russian embassy and presented his parcel. The man on the reception desk looked at it in frank ast
onishment.
‘What is in this?’ he asked.
‘Confidential. Mr Dubrovsky is expecting it. I suggest you contact him and he will confirm it.’
‘I will do that. Bring it back in 24 hours.’
‘I can assure you that it isn’t dangerous. And if you don’t accept it, your career might just be in jeopardy. Your call.’
The man muttered to himself in Russian and then took a long look at the parcel.
‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Nick Severance. Make sure Mr Dubrovsky knows that.’
‘You can’t tell me what’s in it?’
‘Medicine,’ said Nick. ‘Just medicine.’
The Russian picked up the parcel and shook it. He heard the pills rattling and that seemed to satisfy him.
‘Fine, leave it then.’
Nick walked back to the BMW. He’d given away his last bit of leverage. Surely even a vindictive bastard like Dubrovsky would leave them in peace once he got that. He started up the car and went to the Berlin main railway station, where he retrieved the guns he’d left in a locker there before going to Moscow. Then he headed for Rostock.
When he got to the hospital and finally found her, she was asleep. She had a little room all to herself. Someone had put a vase of freshly cut roses on the window sill; they cut a splash of vibrant red in this white, sterile room. He just looked at her for a while. Her face was unmarked and looked remarkably serene, untroubled by the damage to the rest of her. All he could see was one arm swathed in plaster. She had a drip in the other arm and was propped partially upright in the bed, breathing softly and regularly. He sat down next to her and just watched her sleep. When he clasped his hand lightly in hers a few minutes later, she stirred and opened her eyes. She must have looked at him for all of ten seconds before she realised who he was.
‘Nick. Where were you?’
‘I got side-tracked. I’ll tell you later. Are you feeling better?’
‘They’re drugging me with morphine at the moment. It’s rather nice. Apparently, I’ll make a full recovery.’
