Deception

FIFTY-FIVE

A narrow farm track led off a secondary road below the A264 in West Sussex towards a cluster of fields dotted with small clumps of woodland. Harry drove down the track, suddenly reminded by the swish of grass on either side of the track near Schwedt, where Sgt Barrow had died. The atmosphere here was very different, though; green and scenic, a pleasant rural setting with none of the history of the former Iron Curtain, a British haven where nothing bad could happen. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

He stopped along the track and got out, studying the fields on either side. All he could hear were a few birds and the subtle swish of wind through the trees and hedges.

Clare joined him and surveyed the surrounding fields. ‘Good location. It’s miles from anywhere.’

‘Precisely. Soran’s probably used this place before for bringing in his people. His place in Hackney was clean; he had to have somewhere else he could use for storage on the way back from the coast.’ He nodded towards a dark shape just visible between two oak trees at the end of the track. ‘Looks like a building.’ He walked to the rear of the car and took out his gun, checking the load. He handed Clare a second semi-automatic and a magazine.

She gave him a quizzical look. ‘Aren’t you worried I might shoot you?’ She inserted the magazine with practised precision. It set off a glint in her eye which he recalled from their time in Georgia. Some people were just turned on by guns, he decided. Or knives.

‘What would be the point?’

‘Fair question.’ She waved the gun, head cocked to one side. ‘A little bird told me you’re carded. Is that true?’

‘Yes.’

She looked scornful. ‘So you’ve taken the Queen’s five-penny piece. And after all they did to you.’

‘It doesn’t mean anything.’ Less than he’d thought, in fact, other than being dragged into fights he’d rather not have.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Tosh, Harry Tate. This is meat and drink to you and you know it.’ She shook her head. ‘You’re more complex than you pretend.’

He took out his mobile and brought up the text message from Zubac or Ganic. He held it up so she could read it. She looked at him wide-eyed, and for the first time, he thought he detected a sense of seriousness in her eyes.

‘Christ, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Would you have still come?’

‘Yes, actually.’

‘Why?’

‘Because all roads lead to Paulton. Isn’t that why you’re doing this?’

He set off without answering her question. If she was going to shoot him, now would be the time. But he was counting on her wanting Paulton too much to do it just yet. ‘Keep a lookout,’ he murmured, ‘and try not to shoot any members of the Ramblers Association.’

They left the car and moved down the track, arriving at an open gateway and a cluster of small outbuildings on a level patch of ground. Harry stopped in the shade of an oak tree and studied the layout. He counted five buildings in all, darkened by age and neglect, some sprouting grass from the roof. They still looked usable, and seemed too structured to be farm buildings. He soon realized why; the ground they stood on was at the head of a north-south stretch of land which must once have been a runway. Any brick or concrete buildings had long since been demolished, but someone had obviously forgotten about the Nissen huts used as sleeping quarters or storerooms. Whoever now owned the land had profited by renting them out for temporary storage or as workshops.

He glanced at Clare and nodded towards the left-hand buildings. She slipped away without a word, the gun held two-handed in front of her. He didn’t wait to hear if there were any shouts of alarm, but started walking around the other side, eyes on the window panel in the door of the nearest hut.

Empty. The missing pane showed an oil-stained floor and an old workbench, the interior walls festooned with cobwebs. It hadn’t been used in years. He skirted the building and approached the next one, feeling the hard standing underfoot, with cracks and crevices in the concrete caused by the passage of time.

Also empty and with a hole in the roof. He glanced across and saw Clare moving away from a hut on her side. She shook her head to indicate nothing found, then stepped up to the next one. She peered through the window and shook her head again.

One more left.

Harry stopped.

The last hut was a dozen paces away, set slightly apart from the other four. Something about it looked different. He gave Clare a warning signal, and she hunkered down by the wall of the hut she had just checked while he gave this last one the once-over. Unlike the previous huts, this last one had a newer door and no window. The roof also looked solid and the grass around the doorway had been flattened by regular use.

He waited, listening for any alien sound above the breeze. A couple of skylarks were kicking up a song high above, and an unseen tractor was clattering away in the distance. Disturbingly ordinary. If the Bosnians were in there, they would catch him flat-footed before he got halfway across the open space towards the door.

To hell with it. He stepped out and moved at an angle towards the hut, which would make it hard for anyone inside to draw a bead on him. Then he cut back in and fetched up against the door. No shots and he was still upright.

He tried the handle. Locked. He walked around the back, checking for a second door, and found a grey Renault tucked in against the rear wall. The bonnet was up and a pool of oil had spread out on the ground underneath.

Clare joined him. ‘Looks like they ran out of luck.’ The keys were still in the ignition. She leaned in and gave them a twist. The engine made an unpleasant noise but refused to catch. ‘Seized up.’

Harry walked back to the door. ‘Sorry, Mr Soran,’ he muttered, ‘but needs must.’ He kicked hard at the panel alongside the lock. The door gave slightly and he kicked again, driving it back until it smacked against an obstruction on the inside.

A wave of musty air came out to greet them, overlaid with body odour and cigarette smoke. Harry stepped inside. Anyone here would not have locked themselves in, waiting to be caught.

The interior was dark. A large battery-powered camping lantern stood on a workbench just inside the door. He switched it on. A pile of wooden crates stood at the far end, with cardboard boxes standing on pallets to keep them off the floor. The floor itself was bare concrete. Against the walls halfway down the hut lay four camp beds, two on each side. A nylon sleeping bag lay on each one with a bare pillow at the head. Two mugs stood on the floor, and an ashtray was perched on an up-ended rubber bucket.

On one of the other beds lay a crumpled T-shirt with a vivid orange starburst pattern on the front. Harry walked across and picked it up. He had only ever seen one like this; Rik had been wearing it. He’d left a clue.

He checked the cardboard boxes, which looked new. Video game consoles with a brand name he’d never heard of. Probably cheap rip-offs if Soran was risking leaving them here. The wooden crates were just small enough to have come through the door, but were heavy, and nailed down tight. He left them. Whatever was in them could wait. He went back out to where Clare was waiting.

‘Anything?’

‘No. Rik was here, though.’ He walked around the outside of the hut, scanning the ground. The grass was shorter here, and clumped haphazardly where it had pushed through the concrete. Further out, though, on the edge of the old runway, it was longer, untouched by vehicles or humans, shimmering in the breeze like waves in the sea.

‘There.’ He pointed to where twin lines ran through the grass towards the far end of the runway, the passage of whoever had walked down there showing darker than the rest. One line was broader than the other, with occasional kinks, as if someone had stepped off the line they were following.

Or he was being dragged.

‘Come on.’ Harry set off, leaving Clare to decide whether she wanted to come or not. He wasn’t sure why the Bosnians had taken Rik with them, but it could only have been as a bargaining tool if they ran into trouble, or to use him as a last throw of the dice before they bugged out. Whatever their reasoning, it was a short-term thing; this could only go on so long before they wouldn’t need him any longer.

‘This isn’t a random route. They’ve come this way for a reason.’ Clare spoke just behind him.

She was right. It was too direct, too purposeful. Nobody in their position would head out into the fields like this on a whim. They’d be drawing him out and making for a back-up vehicle, somewhere not too far away. Deakin and Soran would have provided for that. They would want both men out of the country so they couldn’t talk.

‘We’d better hurry.’ Clare sounded calm and controlled, her breathing steady. Harry reminded himself that she would have been through a tough training course with MI6, including close quarter combat exercises and live firing. Scenarios such as this would have been part of the curriculum, played out with as much reality as they could muster.

But that was training. It was nothing like the real thing.