Carver

63

Kensington Gardens, London

They met on the path that runs beside the Long Water in Kensington Gardens, just another two lovers snatching a few furtive moments together at the end of a working day.

‘I was so worried about you,’ Alix said. ‘As soon as I saw it all happening on the news, I just knew you were there, and I thought… I’m sorry…’ She rummaged in her handbag for a tissue to wipe away the tears that had caught her by surprise. ‘Dammit,’ she muttered, trying to manage a smile, ‘I was hoping to look pretty for you!’

With the same delicacy of touch that could be so arousing when they were in bed, but now just made her feel loved and comforted, he gently stroked a tear away from her cheek. ‘You always look pretty — much better than pretty,’ he said. Then he took her in his arms and she rested her head against his chest, hearing the strong, steady heartbeat that reassured her more than any words of his could do.

Alix sniffed, cleared her throat and, embarrassed by the weakness that she had just displayed, tried to snap back into a steadier, more professional mindset.

‘So what really happened?’

‘There was a very effective, professional, calculated assault on an oil refinery that just happened to cause a ton more collateral damage than the people who planned it expected.’

‘And who did plan it?’

‘In theory, a group called the Forces of Gaia. In practice, your old friend Celina Novak, calling herself Uschi Kremer, put the idea into their heads.’

Alix frowned. ‘You said she was working for that guy Razzaq…’

‘Yes.’

‘Who works for Zorn… You mean, this was all his idea?’

‘Got it in one. This whole thing was basically a financial scam. Zorn sticks a pile of money into the market, placing it all on bets that will pay off if there’s a disaster. Then he gives the market jitters by saying, “The eco-terrorists are coming!” Then they come. Then he cleans up… only in this case he does even better than he ever dreamed of because half the government is taken out along with the refinery.’

‘So Azarov was right,’ Alix said. ‘As soon as he saw the news — as it was all happening — he said that Zorn must be behind it.’

‘I thought that was over, you and Azarov.’

‘As far as I’m concerned it is. But I said I would do one last thing with him. We’re supposed to be going to Wimbledon tomorrow, as Zorn’s guests…’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it. I have to smile at the guy and act like nothing has happened, when all the time I know what he has done. Anyway, Azarov wanted me to pay close attention to Zorn. He said my woman’s eye might spot something that his male one could not. Why are you smiling?’

‘Because I just had exactly the same idea as Azarov,’ he said. ‘There’s a couple of things I need to know. And you could tell me the answers…’

An hour later, and six miles south-east across London, Carver was in a pub off the Walworth Road with Schultz and his oppo, an ex-lance corporal called Kevin Cripps. There were three pints of London Pride on the table, and whisky chasers for Schultz and Cripps. Carver was carrying out an impromptu mission briefing using Google Earth shots of Wimbledon on his phone screen to set the scene, and an assortment of coasters, pepper pots and cigarette packets to represent elements of the action he was describing.

‘Think you can do it?’ he asked them at the end.

‘Can you get all the kit by tomorrow morning?’ Schultz replied.

Carver nodded.

‘Even the Krakatoa?’ Cripps sounded sceptical.

‘Absolutely.’

‘In that case, boss, it’s a piece of piss,’ said Schultz.