Execution

EIGHTEEN

‘Where are you right now?’ It was Ballatyne, in answer to Harry’s text. He sounded rushed.

‘Near Waterloo. We’ve had a sighting of Clare.’

‘Never mind that. This is not an instruction for you to get involved, but an update. There’s been a shooting at King’s College hospital. The security control centre was raided by two armed men. They forced their way in and made the operator hand over a hard drive with CCTV footage of the night Tobinskiy was killed. Then they shot him.’

‘Dead?’

‘No. He’s alive but hurting.’

‘Any indications who they were?’

‘The guard was able to talk just before he went into the operating theatre. He said the man doing all the talking sounded English at first, but an accent came through a couple of times. There was another man who stayed outside the control room. He looked East European and was built like a wrestler. There’s footage of him and the shooter leaving the building together through a side door. Then nothing. The police are working on cameras in the area, but my guess is these jokers will merge into the background.’

‘Russians?’

‘Undoubtedly. Looks like the FSB team decided to get hold of the footage. Comes across as panic measures to me, probably to cover their tracks from their visit the other night.’

‘Why would they bother?’ Harry countered. ‘There’s the footage from today’s entry. They’re clearly not worried about leaving evidence. Not that it proves who they were.’

A long pause. ‘Good point. In that case they must be counting on tracking down Clare before we do and getting out of the country. Thanks to the obstruction by the hospital authorities, they now have a lead on us. As soon as they scan that hard drive and put out pictures to their resident network on the streets, Jardine’s hours are numbered.’

‘Wasn’t there a backup drive?’

‘That was the backup. And the hospital’s still dragging its heels in releasing the original footage.’ His breathing echoed down the line. ‘I give them about four hours before the executives are hit with a massive court order which will freeze their balls.’

‘Good luck with that.’ Harry gave this new development some thought, then said, ‘It would help if we could cut this short.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Following her trail is taking too long; she could be anywhere. She’ll probably be looking for help by now, and there’s a limit on who she’d approach. Do you have that name for me? There must have been at least one person she was friendly with. Nobody works in a complete vacuum.’

‘Damn. You never give up, do you? OK. I got one. Her name’s Alice Alanya. She’s a Russian language specialist, thirty-four and single, lives in Harrow, north London. She was friendly with Jardine, but as far as I can make out, no more than that. They shared briefings on a couple of Jardine’s assignments, and Alanya gave her some refresher sessions to keep her language up to date. As far as I can make out without disturbing the water, she was about as close to Jardine as anybody.’

‘Disturbing the water?’

‘I’m having a problem with the deputy head of the Russian desk. It means going through back-channels to avoid her.’ Internal politics. He didn’t elaborate further. ‘I’ll email you a photo in a minute.’

‘Is Alanya clean?’

‘You mean with her surname? There’s no reason to think she isn’t. Her great grandfather was a Russian emigre, but any allegiance to the old country ran out a long way back. She’s just another member of Six, that’s all.’

‘Where do I find her?’

‘She’s a creature of habit. She leaves the building about six thirty unless there’s a buzz on, and gets home via Harrow-on-the-Hill.’ He read out an address. ‘Go easy on her. I don’t want this spreading fire and panic throughout the service. Use my name if you have to but keep it low-level.’

Harrow-on-the-Hill tube station was no more or less prepossessing than any other station Harry had used, although it had the disadvantage of possessing two entrances on opposing sides of the line. The northern exit and ticket hall gave access to the main shops and town centre off College Road; the southern exit gave out onto a back road opposite a small recreational park. Alice Alanya’s home address, a small block of private flats on a residential street to the east, was reachable from either direction.

Harry watched as the flow of passengers walked by from the northbound line. He was checking faces while trying to look bored, occasionally checking his watch like a man on a date. Rik was across the way, doing the same in case Harry missed the target. They had decided to wait at the tube station for her, rather than following her from SIS headquarters, on the grounds that the less time they shared the same space, the less likely Alanya was to pick up on their presence. Even non-field operatives were trained to be alert at all times, in case of being under surveillance from foreign agencies, but according to Ballatyne, Alanya had been involved in special operations because of her language expertise, so she would be even more aware of the need for caution.

Harry checked the print-out of the photo Ballatyne had emailed him. Alice Alanya was slim, about five feet eight inches, with long dark hair, pale skin and a nice smile. He hadn’t been able to think of a better word; she was pretty without being beautiful, but would attract attention from most men without trying.

Which made him wonder why she was single. Ballatyne had been unable to help on that score, as closer questioning of her colleagues would have aroused suspicions and chatter in the office — something he wanted to avoid.

Another trainload decamped and walked by. Equal numbers of men and women, mostly office workers but a few in more casual gear or work clothes. The flow dropped to a trickle, then ones and twos in no particular hurry, some using mobiles. A minute passed by and Harry looked across at Rik, who shrugged and got ready to wait some more.

In the sudden quiet, they heard footsteps. A young woman, walking at normal speed, head up, alert. Shoulder bag, smart suit, white blouse. Officer worker. She was heading for the northern exit.

Alice Alanya.

Harry already had his phone clamped to his ear. He started talking, saying he was on his way and he’d be there in five minutes, an imaginary but entirely plausible conversation heard a hundred times a day. It was a signal to Rik to start walking away, front-running the target to keep his face hidden, but assuming the normal route home unless told otherwise by Harry.

Alanya stopped just a hundred yards from the station and entered a store advertising East-European food. Harry called Rik to tread water and wait for her to emerge, while he carried on walking. He was playing safe in case she had ducked into the store for more than just groceries; she might have done it to check her back. He passed Rik without speaking, and turned the corner and waited behind a builder’s van parked at the kerb.

Moments later his phone rang. It was Rik.

‘She’s coming out, heading your way. Carrying a plastic bag. I’m following.’

Harry watched as Alanya came into view and crossed the road. She appeared unconcerned, walking at the same speed, another worker on her way home, now with the makings of dinner.

He gave her a hundred yards, with Rik following, then crossed to the other side and joined in.

Five minutes later, she entered the block of flats they had scouted out earlier. A single front entrance beneath a canopy, three floors, a smart building, well maintained. Harry joined Rik fifty yards past the block.

There were no signs of other watchers.

‘You going in first or me?’ Rik asked.

‘I’ll do it. I look more like Internal Security. You look more like a cat burglar.’ He was looking at Rik’s clothes for the day, which, unlike his jacket and slacks, were jeans, a nondescript T-shirt and scuffed trainers. His normally spiky hair had been tamed by an application of gel to prevent him standing out.

Rik grinned. ‘Cheers. That’s the kindest thing you’ve said all day. I’ll hold the fort out here.’

Harry nodded, then walked back to the block of flats and through the entrance.

Alice Alanya was waiting just inside. She looked calm.

She was holding a can of Mace in her hand.