Spy Out the Land

by Jeremy Duns

  Chapter 18

  Weale walked across the square and into the telephone booth outside the cinema, then took the coins from his pocket and lifted the receiver. He dialled the number in Rhodesia and waited for it to connect.

  ‘Campbell-Fraser.’

  Weale fed some coins into the slot.

  ‘Leopard One.’

  He read out the number that was printed above the slot, then hung up. Two minutes later, the telephone rang and he snatched at it.

  ‘You’re late,’ said Campbell-Fraser. ‘What’s going on?’

  He listened in silence as Weale explained what had happened.

  ‘How did the boyfriend get out there so fast?’ he asked when he had finished. ‘I thought he was some sort of vagabond.’

  ‘We don’t know. I haven’t put any surveillance back on their flat. Should I?’

  ‘No. Leave that now. Did he see anything that could help him identify you?’

  ‘The men insist he didn’t. They say they had their masks on the whole time.’

  ‘I see. But they also missed that he spotted them.’ There was a moment’s silence, and Weale understood the implicit accusation – he had also missed it. ‘Is there any indication you’re under surveillance yourselves?’

  ‘None. Shall we exfiltrate as planned? There’s a flight out in a few hours.’

  ‘Yes, get on it. And Johnny – no more mistakes.’

  Weale replaced the receiver and started walking back to the safe house.

  Chapter 19

  Kurkinen didn’t seem to be in any hurry with his interrogation, and in his mind Dark was running through every combat position he’d ever come across. But he wanted to escape, not get killed, and there were armed men outside: two at the most, possibly one. If there were just one, he might be able to—

  ‘Where did you learn to fly a helicopter?’

  Dark snapped back to reality. ‘Bromma flying school.’

  Kurkinen nodded. ‘I spoke to them half an hour ago and they claim never to have seen you before.’

  He feigned surprise. ‘Really? Well, it was a few years ago. I imagine they have a lot of people passing through.’

  ‘Yes, but they also keep records, and they don’t have any of you.’

  Dark didn’t reply. Kurkinen scratched his chin and frowned, as though concerned for Dark’s welfare.

  ‘Herr “Johansson”, you left a trail of destruction this evening and two people are dead, so I need to know what your role in all this was. Why did you steal the helicopter?’

  ‘I wanted to reach my girlfriend and son before the men in the boat did – the men you let get away.’

  ‘My officers say they saw no such men when they reached the scene. What did they look like?’

  ‘There were four of them. All wore dark clothes and masks over their faces. But their hands were exposed – they were black men. Africans, I guess.’

  Professionals, he might have added. Not simply because of the way they had dressed, but also the economy and speed of their movements and the total silence they had operated in. These weren’t common or garden criminals. The shots fired and the grenade thrown might have killed him, so they weren’t looking for ransom – at least, not from him. Everything pointed to their being government operatives, soldiers or special forces of some kind.

  Kurkinen was looking at him sceptically. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘So you are asking me to believe some mysterious black men kidnapped your family, then vanished into thin air.’ He tapped the passports on the desk. ‘And of course we have these – a getaway option. It doesn’t look good, does it?’

  ‘Are you saying I’m a suspect in this? That I’ve somehow staged the kidnapping of my girlfriend and son?’ Dark dug his nails into the palms of his hand to abate some of the fury pulsing through him. In Kurkinen’s position he would probably have reasoned much the same way – but he was now beyond reason.

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened,’ Kurkinen said. ‘But no, I’m not saying that. I’m saying I’d like to know more about why you have these passports.’

  ‘And I’d like to know why you’re asking me these idiotic questions and not trying to find my family.’

  Dark felt like a fly trapped in a bottle, bashing his head against the sides. If he told Kurkinen who he was, he’d run his name through Interpol’s systems and the British embassy would be informed and he’d never see daylight again. But he couldn’t see how to persuade the man to act when the forged passports lay between them.

  Sensing the impasse, Kurkinen tried again.

  ‘Why did you steal the helicopter?’

  ‘What would you have done if you’d realised your family was about to be kidnapped?’

  ‘If I were an ordinary citizen? Called the police, of course.’

  ‘Even if you thought it could happen at any moment? I didn’t have time to waste hoping that a patrol might arrive in ten minutes. I don’t have time to waste now, either.’

  ‘How did you know they were about to be kidnapped?’

  ‘Claire was taking my son out to Utö to visit some friends of ours, the Hanssons, who are . . . were . . . the lighthouse-keepers there. I was going to stay in Stockholm for a few days and then come out to see them. As they left I looked out of the window of our flat and saw a car had started following them. I couldn’t think of how to catch up with them. Then I remembered the helicopters at the flying school.’

  A flicker of a smile appeared at the corner of Kurkinen’s lips.

  ‘You presumed from looking out your window that someone was following your girlfriend’s car so you decided to steal a motorbike and then a helicopter and fly out to the lighthouse to get there before them?’

  Dark nodded, noting that he seemed well briefed on what had happened in Stockholm. That meant he had probably spoken to the Swedes, which might make things trickier if he ever managed to get out of here.

  ‘What if you’d been mistaken,’ Kurkinen said, ‘and the car hadn’t been following your girlfriend and son after all?’

  ‘I’d have been relieved, of course. I’d have flown back to Bromma and returned the helicopter at once, with apologies.’

  ‘Instead of which it’s now a ball of ash. They’re quite expensive machines, you know, helicopters.’

  ‘They’re also hard to control when you’re being shot at. I was right: the men I’d seen did mean my family harm, and now I’m sitting here talking to you while God knows what happens.’

  ‘I understand—’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘You need to stop treating me like a fool, Herr Johansson. Your story isn’t just thin – it’s absurd. You can’t have known that someone was following your family and intended to kidnap them simply by glancing out the window!’ He tilted his head slightly and gave an encouraging smile. ‘Is there anything in your past that made you think that was likely? Or in your girlfriend’s past, perhaps?’

  Dark stared ahead, his face stiff. I also have secrets. Yes, there was something she had hidden from him, something he had missed. He placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward.

  ‘Listen,’ he said quietly. ‘My girlfriend and son have been kidnapped by men in ski masks. I think they’ll head back to Stockholm, as that was where they were based. Can we please stop wasting time and start trying to find them? Get on the phone to your friends in Sweden and tell them to put out an all-ports alert for four black men travelling with a young African woman and a three-year-old boy. They should also be following up on the transport. They used at least two cars. One was a dark green Opel Käpitan, I’d guess six or seven years old. If they visit the main dealerships in Stockholm I suspect they’ll find a lead pretty quickly. Also tell them to check the harbour. The kidnappers either rented or bought someone’s boat in cash, and the owner shouldn’t be too hard to find. What did they look and sound like, what language did they speak to each other? These are the questions you should be looking into.’

  Kurkinen didn’t blink. ‘Tha
nk you for the suggestions. But I need to know what you’re not telling me.’

  And I need to get out of this room, Dark thought. From the way the men had operated he doubted they were after money. It was worse than that: they might not want anything. It could simply be a hit squad, for whatever reason, something from Claire’s past, and they intended to kill them both as soon as they could.

  The door opened and one of the men who’d escorted him earlier walked in and approached Kurkinen. He whispered in his ear and Kurkinen nodded a few times, then left the room again. The detective looked up at Dark and smiled, revealing regular white teeth.

  ‘We don’t often have reason to contact the Zambian authorities,’ he said, ‘but they’ve been rather helpful. They’ve just informed us that they have no record whatsoever of your girlfriend.’

  Dark stared at him, taking this in. So she had a false identity, too. Why, he wondered. Who was she? And how had she managed to obtain a Swedish person-nummer? An idea was forming in his mind. He looked at Kurkinen and smiled back at him.

  ‘Tell me, Detective, why are you so scared of me?’

  Kurkinen raised his eyebrows. ‘Of you? What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘All this security seems very elaborate. Yes, I stole a bike and a helicopter, but you’ve placed me in a holding cell, had me escorted everywhere by men with machine-pistols, come in here with a Browning in your belt and placed two armed men outside the door to protect you.’

  ‘To protect me!’ Kurkinen laughed. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. This is standard procedure. And there’s only one man outside—’

  Dark rose from the chair and propelled himself towards Kurkinen, his right hand lunging across the table to grab him by the throat. Kurkinen was slow to react, but when he did it was with surprising force, sweeping his fist round and bringing it down onto Dark’s wrist. The jabbing pain made Dark drop his hold, but he used the momentum of his movement to push away from the desk and then charged low into the other man’s legs, rearing his head up like a bull at the last moment and punching up into his stomach.

  Kurkinen staggered back, groaning, and Dark knew he had to act very fast or the man outside would hear and come in. He circled behind Kurkinen and took him in a stranglehold with his right arm, avoiding the Finn’s increasingly frantic kicks as he did. Dark kept the crook of his elbow in position and drew his hand back to his own shoulder, placing more pressure on Kurkinen’s windpipe.

  Straining from the effort, he reached down with his left hand and took the Browning from Kurkinen’s waistband. He raised it to the Finn’s head, pressing the barrel into his temple.

  ‘Be very quiet, Detective,’ he said. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

  Kurkinen let out a grunt of frustration, but then was silent. Dark loosened his grip around his neck a fraction of an inch, enough to allow him to breathe easily but not enough to give him any doubt that the pressure could be applied again instantly.

  ‘If you make a move or a sound without my say-so, I’ll pull the trigger. Nod if you understand.’

  Kurkinen nodded.

  ‘Good. Now we’re going to move together towards the door. You’re going to move your arse forward an inch, then me. Nod if you’re ready.’

  Kurkinen nodded again, and they bumped along, inch by inch, until they were within a few feet of the door. Both men were pouring with sweat now, and Dark’s forefinger was turning red from keeping the pressure on the trigger. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Now tell your colleague to come in here, and make it convincing.’

  Kurkinen hesitated and Dark pushed the gun against the bone.

  ‘Mäki!’ Kurkinen called. ‘Get in here!’

  Dark watched the door.

  Nothing.

  He could hear Kurkinen’s breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest, and smell his sweat.

  The door started to open. Dark leaned forward and smashed the butt of the Browning into Kurkinen’s jaw, let go of him so he slid to the floor, then lunged forward with his other hand and grabbed at the stunned Mäki’s machine-pistol. Before the other man could react, Dark had hit him in the solar plexus with the stock. He groaned in pain and started falling forward. Dark caught him in his arms and dragged him into the room, kicking the door closed behind him.

  Both men were out cold, but he didn’t have long. He quickly emptied Kurkinen’s pockets, and took his wallet, money-clip, wristwatch and car keys, noting the Saab emblem. He stripped both men to their underpants, then undressed himself. He tore his shirt sleeves into strips and tied their hands up with them, using one of Gunnar’s sailing knots. Once he felt they were secured tightly enough, he balled up the remaining shreds of cloth and gagged them both, then hurriedly took Mäki’s uniform from the floor and dressed in it. He stuffed Kurkinen’s clothes in the briefcase with the passports and his own wallet, picked up the Browning and headed for the door.

  He opened it slowly and peered out. An empty corridor. To the left, a sliver of weak light reflected against the surface of the floor. Dark ran towards it and shoved open the door with his shoulder. He was in front of the station, a row of cars parked on the asphalt ahead of him, their bonnets gleaming faintly. Dark walked rapidly towards them, clutching Kurkinen’s keys in his hand and searching for a Saab.

  Chapter 20

  ‘How long are we staying here, Mamma?’

  Ben was swathed in blankets in her arms, staring up at her.

  ‘Not long, darling. We’re just going to rest for a while.’

  ‘Where’s Pappa?’

  ‘He will be here very soon.’

  The men had so far kept contact to a minimum and hadn’t shown their weapons in front of Ben, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep what was happening from him. She wondered what he was thinking. Those enormous eyes of his saw everything – like his father, Ben was an observer.

  She wasn’t all that sure what was happening herself. What did they want? They could have killed them both already if that had been the plan, but they didn’t seem to want to take them anywhere, either. They were being kept in this soundproofed cellar, guarded around the clock, but she couldn’t see the purpose in it.

  There were rumbling noises from the ceiling: they’d taken her watch, but she guessed it was time for them to change shifts. She sat up a little straighter, adjusting Ben in her arms. A man entered the cell, and she stared at him, recognition gradually dawning.

  ‘Joshua! Is it really you? What are you doing here?’

  Ephibe’s mouth twitched in a smile. ‘Hello, Hope,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time.’

  Another man stepped into the room and locked the door behind him. He was a few years younger, she saw, and carrying a small suitcase.

  ‘The lovebirds reunite,’ he said with a nasty chuckle. ‘A touching scene. But let’s not play it now.’

  He placed the suitcase on the floor and opened the lid, revealing two tape reels.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘now we’re going to have a little talk. Joshua, take hold of the microphone, please.’

  Chapter 21

  Friday, 22 August 1975, Helsinki

  Paul Dark parked the Saab outside the ferry terminal and walked into the departure hall. It was crowded: it seemed a lot of people were heading out of the city for the weekend. He looked up at the display and saw a ferry was due to leave for Stockholm in half an hour, at just after midnight. He took Kurkinen’s money-clip from his pocket and counted the notes in the wad. A thousand Finnish marks. That was around four hundred kronor: it wasn’t a fortune, but it would do for the time being.

  He followed the signs to a kiosk servicing waiting passengers. He bought a small ‘travel’ cosmetics bag and a box of disposable razors, then retreated to the public washrooms and locked himself into one of the stalls. He removed the nail scissors from the bag and started to cut away at his beard, using the reflection of the aluminium door-lock as a mirror. Once he had hacked off most of it, he shaved the rest away, going through three razors i
n the process.

  He decided it was too dangerous to continue impersonating a Finnish coastguard as he didn’t speak a word of the language, so he undressed and changed into Kurkinen’s clothes, then put the uniform into the briefcase. He slipped the Browning into his waistband, obscured by the jacket.

  Fifteen minutes later, he emerged and washed his face in the basin, the hot water stinging his pores. The smooth-cheeked face that stared back at him in the mirror was older than when he had last seen it, but unmistakable.

  Erik Johansson was gone, and Paul Dark was in his place.

  Chapter 22

  Her eyes widened when the door opened. He was older, of course – a decade older, almost to the day. In different circumstances, she might not have recognised him, but his expression was the same as it had been that night he had raided the farm with his colleagues. He had cornered her in one of the outer huts, and she had known from the look in his eye and his scythe of a smile what he planned to do to her. In desperation, she’d lashed out, catching him in the face with a flailing foot, and as he’d screamed in pain she’d run and run and run until she had reached the wagon as it was leaving the gates of the compound, climbing into a sea of familiar warm bodies, into humanity.

  ‘Hello, Hope,’ said Pete Voers. ‘I think we have some unfinished business.’

  She shuddered with disgust. In the corner of the room, Ben was sleeping, the top of his head emerging from the thin blanket. Did the man intend to assault her with her own child in the room? She looked frantically around for a weapon but of course there was none. Everything in the room was chained to the floor.

  ‘Stay away from me!’ she hissed.

  Voers grinned.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, waiting for him to come closer and trying to keep her thoughts calm. Should she wake Ben? Would that stop him?

  Footsteps. She opened her eyes. The door opened, and another man came in, also white, but younger, wearing shirtsleeves and slacks.