Execution

FORTY-SIX

The area around the hotel where Harry and the other two were staying was secluded and quiet. Any night life was a few blocks away, where the more conservative residents of Vienna could be spared the garish sights and sounds of the tourist trade that passed through their fair city, washing it with the kind of raucous music that owed nothing to Strauss, Mozart or their illustrious colleagues.

Harry had chosen the early shift, and was now standing in a darkened doorway, watching the front of the hotel they had now vacated, waiting for a sign of late night visitors. He had guessed that if Balenkova chose to make a move, with or without her colleagues, she would do so when there were fewer pedestrians about and when the likelihood of running into traffic would be slight. But she wouldn’t want to leave it too late; movements in these quiet streets would stand out, especially if she had a unit of armed FSO personnel as backup.

A taxi turned into the street and stopped a hundred yards away. A couple climbed out and the man stood on unsteady legs and paid the driver. A burst of laughter followed and the female half of the couple, a large lady in a long dress, tottered off along the pavement, shimmying to an inner tune and leaving her companion to stumble along in her wake.

A dog wandered by, sniffing at doorways, and jumped back in surprise when it saw Harry. It continued on its journey, leaving him to the night.

Twenty minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching, and peered out from his cover. A lone figure was coming down the street. He waited for the walker to pass beneath a street lamp. Slim, not too tall, in trousers and a half-length coat. He couldn’t see clearly yet but something about the movement was definitely female.

Another street lamp washed its light over the figure. A woman with fair hair.

Katya Balenkova.

She turned in at the hotel, and with a glance along the street behind her, disappeared.

Harry felt the weight of the gun in his pocket. A Walther P88 9mm, its twin was now with Rik in the other hotel. He hadn’t been convinced of the need for weapons, but seeing the display of force sent to intercept Clare, he wasn’t prepared to take chances.

Three minutes passed. No traffic and no other pedestrians. He could hear the hum of vehicles in the distance, and the tinny sound of a nearby radio or television, but that was all.

He gave it another two minutes. They had left a phone number with the receptionist, saying that they had been called away on urgent business out of the city, but would retain their room for the following night. If Balenkova was playing them, it would be sufficient to make any watchers think they could catch up with them the following evening.

His phone buzzed. It was Clare.

‘She called. She’s agreed to meet.’

‘Where?’

‘Here, at the hotel — but I didn’t tell her where it is. I told her what you suggested and she said fine.’

‘That’s very trusting of her.’

‘No, it’s not. If she doesn’t like you, she’ll kill you. She’s very capable.’

‘Thanks for the warning. Is Rik outside?’

‘He’s on the roof, keeping watch.’

‘Right. Five minutes.’ He cut the connection and waited. If Balenkova had help nearby, now was the time she would call it in. It gave Harry a chance to spot any watchers, while remaining unconnected with Balenkova save for a short period before they entered the other hotel. As a precaution, he took out the gun and placed it on a ledge in the doorway. If he did get scooped up here and now, there would be no going back if found in possession of a weapon.

A door scrape echoed along the street, and when he looked out, he saw Balenkova step into the open and look left. Then she turned and began to walk towards him. He picked up the gun and walked away, making sure she saw him.

Two minutes later, he waited in a recess between two buildings for her to come along. When she did, he stepped out, hands empty and clear of his body so that she could see he meant her no harm.

She stopped a few feet away from him. She looked perfectly balanced and relaxed, but had one hand in her coat pocket, which looked a little dragged down on that side.

‘Mr Tate?’ Her voice was accented but clear. Confident but wary.

He nodded. ‘I’d like to check you for devices, if you don’t mind.’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘And if I do mind? I still don’t know who you are, only your name.’

‘Which Clare told you.’

‘But I don’t know you. Why should I trust you?’

‘You’re here, aren’t you? She wants to see you. She’s in danger.’

‘Yes, she said that. What makes you think I can help?’

‘I don’t know if you can. But she believes it — wants to, anyway.’ He pressed on before she could talk further, aware that she could be playing for time, in which case they needed to be away from here and off the street now. ‘Follow me and I’ll take you to her.’

She didn’t respond for a moment. Then she took her hand out of her coat pocket. It was empty. She lifted her hands clear of her body, holding the coat open.

‘What are you proposing to do — a body search? The last man who tried that is still walking with difficulty.’ Her tone was light, but he guessed she wasn’t fooling.

‘Nothing like that. I just wanted to see if you were willing to go along with it, that’s all. Is the gun loaded?’

‘Of course. Is yours?’

Harry nearly laughed. He hadn’t heard such cheesy lines since watching a very bad spy film a few years ago. But it broke the tension between them. He turned and led the way along the street and round a corner. The hotel was across the street.

Inside, they by-passed the reception area without being seen and took the lift to the fourth floor. Up close, he saw that Katya had nice eyes but a pock-marked area of skin along one side of her jaw. She smelled of soap and was wearing jeans and a plain sports jacket with flat-heeled boots.

She watched him assess her and did the same back, lifting a dismissive eyebrow before concentrating on the mirror on one wall.

Outside the room where Clare was waiting, he was about to knock when Katya held up a hand.

‘Please. Can I speak to her alone for a few minutes? I promise I won’t harm her. She owes me that.’

Harry nodded and stepped back.