Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1)

by James White

  Nick bent over. “What happened?” he asked softly.

  Jurgen gave a painfully dry swallow, the dry smack of his mouth sickening to Nick’s senses. He was losing a lot of blood. “Carruthers. He jumped us. You were right. Two men with him. They got the others…” He trailed off as a paroxysm of pain wracked his body, causing him to gasp and then retch, followed by a dry-hacking cough that drained yet more of the colour from his cheeks as blood spilled from his mouth.

  “Carruthers got the bank details from you?” Nick asked.

  Jurgen shook his head, eyes closed. “No,” he breathed.

  “Give them to me. I have the list of Russian spies. I’ll pass the lot onto British intelligence.”

  Jurgen looked at him with wide eyes. “You had the list?” he rasped.

  Nick nodded and half pulled the papers out. Jurgen smiled painfully.

  “We all underestimated you.” He began coughing. “If you’d said, then–”

  “I know. But I still don’t know who’s telling the truth. I can’t hand over from a British Intelligence officer to an agent from another country, not willingly. The bank details?”

  Jurgen nodded. “I don’t have them.”

  “What?” Nick asked, confused. Surely Carruthers had set this up to eliminate the Germans and get everything that could incriminate him.

  “We all underestimated someone else, too.” Jurgen smiled through twisted lips. He lapsed into another bout of coughing. His complexion was almost grey now. Blood ran freely down his chin.

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Lucia. Lucia. She was here. Carruthers jumped us. She jumped him. He got away, but she took the papers from me…”

  Nick looked around. “Which way did she go? Jurgen, please.”

  “That way,” he coughed, nodding with his head towards the Conway Street corner. “Nick. Please, get me to a hospital.” Jurgen looked at him with imploring eyes.

  Nick stood. “Sorry, old chap.” Nick’s face filled with sad regret. “You’re done for anyway.”

  Jurgen nodded and winced again. “I understand.” He coughed again. “Shame, I was looking forward to Berlin…”

  “Me too.” Nick raised the pistol. “For Stephen.”

  Jurgen looked into the barrel’s mouth, smiled and nodded. The gun barked once and the man fell back against the railings, quite still. Nick looked at the lifeless body for a second then turned and stalked away across the square as the first glimmer of light began to show in the east.

  Nick paced his way across the square, peering through the swirling shrouds of fog. He was guessing that Lucia was not still hanging around, but where would she go? He stopped at the corner of the square and looked at the flat that had temporarily been home to Ramona and the Brigadier’s trysts. It sat silent in the darkness. Surely? Nick swiftly manipulated the locks to gain entry, but it sat as he had last left it. Empty, messy, cold. He pondered for a moment. Carruthers would go after Lucia, of that he was sure. Perhaps Carruthers might even use Nick to track her down. Either that or feed him to the wolves in the shape of the police hunt that would surely be already underway for him after the shootout in Clara’s flat. He’d killed a British security service officer, though it had been self-defence, Nick didn’t feel good about it and it gave him a more immediate problem. Unless he could convince Carruthers to clear it up for him and lay the blame at the feet of the ensuing carnage in Fitzroy Square then he was most likely to remain a wanted man. He doubted Carruthers would do anything to help him, even though Nick had certainly done a lot to help him, given a lot. He’d been beaten and shot at, his only friend was dead and his lover was dead. Carruthers wouldn’t give a hoot, though, Nick was sure of that. In fact, it might suit him to have Nick hauled in. Carruthers couldn’t be sure how much he knew. He made a snap decision. All this shooting had just happened; the police would be scouring the streets, sealing off crime scenes and taking witness statements. There was no way they would have identified him yet. He had to get home, pick up what he could and track down Lucia. He had the spy list; if he had the bank details he could drive a bargain. Then he had some funerals to attend.

  Nick hurried through the rapidly lightening streets as dawn broke over the city. It wasn’t far to his apartment and he wanted to be in and out of there as quickly as possible. He had a small hotel in mind, up in Camden. He had plenty of cash. It was a place that didn’t ask questions, nor answer any either. Tripping up the stairs, he slipped his front key into the lock, but the door swung open of its own accord. Nick swore under his breath and leapt back from the doorway, reaching for his gun. Had they got here already? Nothing. No shots, no shouts, not a sound. He carefully edged his was to the corner of the door and peered around. The corridor was in darkness but the light was on in the lounge. He stepped in softly, clicking the front door shut behind him and slipping the latch, then he crept stealthily down the corridor to the lounge. He stepped through, gun raised, tense and ready to react. He lowered the gun slowly.

  Lucia smiled weakly at him from the sofa where she lay, half propped up on the Chesterfield. Her golden colour had drained away, leaving her skin with a greyish pallor, and for the first time since he had met her, those amber eyes didn’t shine. They seemed darker, glassy. Despite her shivering, she opened the coat she was still wearing and let it fall open. Despite the glittering sequinned red of her dress, Nick could see the matching stain spread over her abdomen, the sticky dark liquid covering her left hand where she kept it pressed to her side. He sat on the arm of the sofa.

  “No,” he moaned softly. “Not another one, not today. Not you.” He leaned forward and gently felt for the pulse in her neck. Her skin was cool, the warmth gone, the pulse weak, erratic. She tipped her head back, the smile still faint on her pale lips as she blinked at him.

  “Lucia, let me get you to hospital,” Nick sobbed.

  She shook her head. “Too many questions.” She coughed. “You know, I’ve never been hurt before.” A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

  He knelt beside her. “Why did you come here?”

  She smiled weakly. “To make sure you were alright. I guess you are.” She nodded at the coffee table. “The accounts. More use to you now.” She tried to smile but winced.

  “Shh! Stay quiet, stay still.”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly and closed her eyes. “You’re bad luck, you know that?” she murmured.

  “I know.”

  She fell quiet for a few minutes. Nick listened to her breathing grow shallower. Her eyes were shut, her eyelids fluttering. He couldn’t bear to look. Suddenly her eyes flew open.

  “Did you find Clara?” she mumbled.

  “Yes. Yes, I found her.”

  Nick looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” Nick said numbly. “Can I get you anything?”

  She gave a weak smile. “I’d give anything for a drink Nick. Please.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Please Nick, a Scotch, a brandy, something.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

  “Alright. Give me a minute.”

  Nick paced to the kitchen and tore open a cupboard, scrabbling for a glass. He grabbed a bottle of whisky from the counter and poured it, his shaking hand spilling it everywhere. “Just coming.” He shouted.

  There was no reply. Cursing he strode back the living room, the Scotch spilling over his hand.

  The sofa was empty, the front door yawned open, a smear of blood on its edge. Time seemed to freeze for an instant then the crash of the shattering glass Nick had dropped broke the spell and he was running, running down the stairs, out into the dull grey dawn of the street.

  He spent the next half an hour frantically tearing through the nearby roads and alleys, checking every basement, every nook and cranny before he admitted it to himself. She was gone.

  Climbing back up the stairs to his apartment took Nick every ounce of effort he had. He was spent.

  Back inside Nick sat on the sofa fo
r what seemed an age, the tears streaming down his face, his body racked with sobs. Eventually, he pulled himself upright and trudged to the kitchen where he took a large swig of Scotch straight from the bottle, savouring the burning fire in his throat as it slid down, savouring the emotional numbness even more.

  It took him half a bottle and five minutes to pack a bag with clothes, money and various fake documents that he pulled from hiding places around the flat. As he left, he picked up the blood smeared accounts documents from the table. He left the front door open and trudged out into the morning light.

  CHAPTER 24

  The phone only rang twice before one of Richardson’s goons answered.

  “Let me speak to Richardson,” Nick said curtly.

  “He’s not–”

  “It’s Nick Valentine.”

  “Nick? What the hell is going on? You’ve left a bloody slaughterhouse out there. There are Bobbies all over the streets. My boys are all having to lie low. That is not what I call taking care of things!”

  “It wasn’t all me. In fact, it mostly wasn’t me.”

  “Nick, do me a favour, get out of town and stay the hell away from me. Death follows you like a hungry dog trails after a butcher’s boy.”

  Nick gave a snort. “No problem. I’ll be lying low for a while.”

  “Lying low? I should bleeding well think so. You’ll be on the way to the gallows if the law catches up with you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps? Don’t be a mug, Nick.”

  “I think the police will be more than busy trying to tidy up all the loose ends of all the dead foreign spies, and trying to cover up the embarrassing loss of important documents to further complicate things by bringing me into the equation. There are enough bodies and enough shooters for them to find an angle that works.”

  “I hope so, for your sake. Still, stay out of town.”

  “That an order or advice?”

  There was a long pause at the other end. Nick could almost see Richardson reviewing Nick’s war story in his head.

  “Advice,” he growled in a barely audible whisper.

  “Actually, there’s one more thing.”

  “Forget it, Nick.”

  “You wanted a name.” Nick waited.

  “Are you serious? All these stiffs and my mark’s still out there?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Forget it. There’s too much heat.”

  “I told you not to worry. I’ll take care of it. It’s personal. I just need a favour.”

  “Well, now I am bleeding worried. I’m sorry, Nick. Forget it.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. After all, you did say you were a patriot. There are larger things at stake.”

  There was a long sigh. “Okay, what is it?”

  On the other end of the line, Nick smiled.

  CHAPTER 25

  He waited until Monday to call Carruthers. He figured that would be enough time for them to search his flat and realise the documents weren’t there. It would also give them the chance to get all worked up about the carnage that had swept through Fitzrovia, and lament the fact that Nick had got clean away. He had no doubt that the police would be looking for him and no doubt that Carruthers would be searching for him with renewed vigour. By Monday the man would be sweating and that was exactly what Nick wanted.

  The phone only gave three rings before the receiver was snatched up.

  “Hello,” Carruthers’ voice crackled down the other end.

  “Hello, Carruthers,” Nick replied.

  “Nick! Where the devil are you?”

  “Closer than you think.”

  “Come in now and we can sort all this out. You’ve left a most terrible mess.”

  “I’ve left a mess?” Nick’s tone was flat.

  “Look, we can smooth it over. I can sort it out. The police are after you for our agent you shot in Clara’s place, and they want to speak to you about Lucia. She was found in your flat after all. What the devil was she doing there?”

  “More to the point, why was one of your agents waiting at Clara’s flat with orders to kill?” Nick asked coldly.

  There was a slight pause. “Nick. I don’t know how to break this to you, but she was one of them, German Intelligence. We’d been watching her for a while then we realised how senior she was and how mixed up she was in the current mess. We had to get her. I’m so sorry.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “I didn’t know whether you knew, Nick. I had to be sure. Now tell me where you are so we can come in and pick you up.”

  “Nice try.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m not playing it like that. Once you get me in you can bury me. We make a deal then I come in.”

  “I don’t think you’re in a position…” Carruthers began in an arrogant tone.

  “I’ve got the bank statements,” Nick interrupted.

  Silence.

  “And the list the Germans were after.”

  “I see,” Carruthers said slowly after a pause.

  “So, we’re going to make a deal.”

  “It won’t be easy. I–”

  “What won’t be easy is explaining to your boss why the Russian security service are paying money into a Swiss account for you, or why you’re aiding them in setting up a Balkan spy network. Nor explaining to your wife about Ramona and–”

  “All right!” Carruthers shouted – his temper getting the better of him again. His tone softened and he dropped his voice. “What do you want?”

  “That’s better. Understand this. I’m not in this to blackmail you. I don’t want money. I don’t care what you’re up to. All I want is for you to make my current problems go away. Clear me of any involvement…”

  “Nick, be reasonable!”

  “I am being reasonable,” Nick said in a cold tone. “Maybe one of those Italians at Fitzroy Square killed your agent at the flat, maybe Jurgen. You can clear it up; you do it.”

  “Okay. That works. I could use you some more, Nick. You’ve got good contacts. You’ve evaded us and the police. I could continue to use someone like you unofficially. What about the documents?”

  “Meet me tonight. I want a signed statement from you, on your office’s headed paper, stating the limit of my involvement and clearing me of any wrongdoing. Then the documents are yours.”

  “Okay. Where?”

  “Ten o’clock this evening. You know Camden Basin in the canal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go there then walk up the tow path towards St John’s Wood.”

  “You’ll be waiting there?” interrupted Carruthers.

  “I’ll find you. Don’t worry about that.” Nick put the phone down without waiting for a reply. He dialled Richardson to confirm the details. Now he just had to wait.

  The stars sparkled in the clear, crisp, black velvet of the night, there was no moon and away from the dull glow of the city, here by the northern edge of Regent’s Park, the darkness of night had a firm hold. Shadow was indistinguishable from darkness. The canal surface was like a black mirror, still and eerily silent. The stagnant river reflected the night from its dark surface, a thin, dark strip of reflected night lying deep in the steep cut between road and parkland. Even if there had been a moon or any kind of light along the tow path, the shadows would have been dark and deep. Heavy foliage nestled on steep banks. Silent now, not even the animals and birds stirred.

  Carruthers walked nervously along the towpath. Against the starlight-punctuated backdrop of the sky he could make out the silhouetted relief of an iron bridge crossing above the canal. The towpath disappeared into even deeper darkness beneath it. He paused and looked uncertainly around, his breath fogging in the cold, night air. He stepped cautiously onwards, the leather soles of his handmade brogues crunching on the loose gravel of the towpath. Behind him in the wide basin where the canal turned its corner into Camden laid the welcoming glow of the moore
d narrow boats, the smoke from their stacks and organ lights indicated warmth and comfort. They seemed a long way behind, even if they weren’t in reality really that distant. The night did that. Without the moon to give perspective, the distance seemed to open up the safe haven of the boats, the path leading up to the road already far behind him. Swallowing nervously, he gripped the butt of the small revolver in his pocket more tightly and continued to creep forward, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. He stopped under the bridge, into total darkness. A shape peeled from the wall ahead of him and blocked the path and the last of the starlight.

  “That’s far enough,” Nick said, his tone devoid of emotion. “You brought it?”

  Carruthers fished nervously in his Macintosh pocket and pulled out an envelope. “The list and the bank statement?”

  Nick stepped forward, close enough that they could touch each other, but it was still near impossible in the blackness to even make out each other’s faces. He shoved the sheaf of papers at Carruthers who, surprised, let go of the gun in his pocket to receive them in his free hand. Nick took the letter and started to open it.