Execution

FIFTY

‘It’s Bronyev, my colleague.’ Katya had switched on her mobile as they approached the end of the street. Seconds later it had buzzed. She had taken it out and was staring at the screen. ‘They’re using him to try to get to me.’

Harry looked past her and Clare, and saw Rik jogging along the street towards them. He was moving easily and had clearly suffered no damage.

They were standing beneath some trees on the edge of a small park not far from Riesenradplatz and the giant wheel. Between them lay the dual carriageway that was Ausstellungsstrasse, running east-west and connecting to the Praterstern gyratory. It was wide and too well lit, and still busy with traffic — an enormous gulf if the Russians had men staking out the most obvious points to watch.

‘Can you trust him?’ Harry asked.

‘I don’t know. I think so, but. .’ She shrugged. ‘He will be under pressure to help them. I’ve put him in a terrible position.’

‘Forget it. It’s done. He can’t do anything for you now.’ He was aware that it sounded harsh, but he knew what the situation would have been like had their positions been reversed. The man commanding the pursuers was responding with whatever he had to hand in order to reel them in; and that included leaning on Katya’s former colleague.

A few minutes ago he had called the number of the taxi company on the card from the amusement arcade. Then he had tried Richoux one more time. Still nothing. The lack of response wasn’t good news; local assets like Richoux were chosen for their knowledge, contacts and reliability, in case an operative needed help on the ground. That help ranged from the provision of equipment, like guns and a safe place to stay, to simple background information on a place or a person which only a local resident could pick up. If an asset was indisposed for any reason, there was always a backup message to explain it. Going off-line in the way Richoux had done meant that he had been intercepted and blown.

End of game.

‘Can they lock in on your mobile?’ He was aware that some phones had anti-tracking devices. He’d never seen the point, since software development invariably put the ungodly just one shade behind the good. But using a mobile that was open to triangulation or tracking the signal would be a sure way of being caught very quickly. And Katya’s colleagues would almost certainly have a search going on right now for her signal.

‘No. The risk is too great for FSO protection officers. All our phones are fitted with blocking software.’ She looked at him with a faint smile. ‘Don’t you have it in your department?’

‘I don’t have a department. Life’s much simpler that way.’

As Rik joined them, a light coloured Mercedes cruised to the kerb and stopped. It was a taxi. The driver looked across at them with a questioning lift of the head. Stopping for an unknown pick-up on the edge of a park was a risky business in any city, even Vienna. But taxi drivers have to make a living, too.

Clare stepped into the light, her arm through Katya’s. The driver nodded and beckoned them aboard, listened to the destination Harry gave him, and set off for the Praterstern and the south.

The area known as Favoriten was a mixed residential and commercial zone, the cultures of its residents leaning heavily in favour of Turks, Croatians and Serbians, all workers who had populated the area over many decades. The safe house had been chosen, Harry guessed, for this very reason. In an area where incomers were frequent and varied, and their backgrounds often too obviously tragic to question, nobody would pay much attention to a few more moving among them. Hopefully, it would only be for one night, before moving out again the following day.

He got the driver to drop them off not far from the exit from the A23, which ran north-south through the district, near a collection of large apartment blocks. They waited for the Mercedes to disappear before turning and following Harry along the street to one block of five set among parkland.

‘We should check it out first,’ cautioned Rik, as they surveyed the building from the shadows beneath a belt of trees. It was neat, bland and four storeys high, with bedding and washing blowing out from verandas along its length. Nearly every window showed a light, testament to the working day being over and a sign of normality. But entering this place without care was asking for trouble, especially with Richoux having gone silent.

Harry agreed. ‘I’ll go with Katya. You stay here with Clare.’

He and Katya set off, walking close and slowly, like a couple returning home, their bags and the briefcase close enough to resemble shopping to throw anyone off-guard. Once off the street they followed a neat pathway to the main entrance, and inside, used the stairs. Both had their hands on their guns, aware that if trouble was waiting for them, they would have split seconds to react and fight their way out.

The apartment that was their safe house was on the first floor. They walked past it once, studying the lock for signs of a forced entry. It looked good, and after reaching the end of the corridor, they turned and went back.

Harry knocked while Katya stood to one side.

No answer.

He inserted the key and pushed the door. It stuck for a second, then opened, releasing a gust of warm, stale air. Harry stepped inside, dropping his bag and moving swiftly forward along a short hallway into an open living room. Katya slid past him and checked out a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom.

‘Clear,’ she said, and returned to join him.

Harry dialled Rik’s number and gave the all-clear to come in.

‘We need food,’ said Katya. ‘I saw a store along the next street where we were dropped off.’

Harry nodded. It made sense. Going out in a group to eat would attract attention. They were clearly not Turkish, and their clothes in a well-lit restaurant would mark them out immediately as foreigners, and therefore a subject of interest. ‘Good idea. Cold meats, preferably, and bread. Coffee, too.’ He held up his mobile. ‘I need to make a couple of calls.’

Katya nodded and went out.

As soon as Rik and Clare arrived, Harry dialled Ballatyne’s number. It rang without answer. He tried again in case he’d misdialled. Still no response.

‘Problem?’ Rik was standing by the kitchen door, watching him. Clare had gone into the bathroom.

‘Could be, but I don’t know what. Ballatyne isn’t picking up.’

Rik delved into his bag and opened his iPad, waiting for a connection. Seconds later, he was tapping away one-handed on the screen’s virtual keyboard.

‘What are you doing?’ Harry queried.

‘Just checking something. Won’t be a minute.’

Harry left him to it and took a walk round the apartment. He wondered how many people had used this place before. It was minimally furnished, with two single beds, chairs, table, small sofa and cupboards. No carpet but a simple tiled floor. It reminded him of British army accommodation around the world: basic, unfussy, plain and cheerless. There was probably a specialist department somewhere in Whitehall, with an order book full of details about such furniture very similar to this.

He turned off the room lights before approaching the windows, and checked the view of the parkland and street outside as carefully as he could. There was too much shadow and darkness to be certain of anything, however. He considered that ironic seeing as how he had been relying on that very thing to survey the apartment building before coming in.

Rik appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, waving his iPad. ‘Six have had a system shut-down. They issued an inter-agency security statement two hours ago saying all non-essential comms channels have been suspended for security checks. It includes a short-term interruption to most call networks.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Sounds like they’ve been hacked. But it could be they’re tracking down the insider. It would explain why Ballatyne’s been out of touch.’

‘How did you get this?’ He knew Rik wouldn’t have had time to get into any of the security agency systems, and nor would Six have gone public with the situation. The one thing you don’t do is alert your enemies to the fact that you’ve suffered a system meltdown.

Rik smiled. ‘Friend of a friend. Don’t worry, I didn’t hack into Six.’

Harry said he was going downstairs to check the outside more closely, and left the apartment, scanning the corridor carefully before stepping out. He passed the doors to other apartments, where for many, life was going on as usual; an argument in one, music from another, a child crying, a football match commentary.

He left the building and walked along one of the paths, passing two Muslim women with a baby buggy and shopping bags, their heads covered in hijabs. Once they had gone, he stepped off the path and melted into the trees. Then he stood and breathed in the atmosphere, using his senses to tune in to the night.

Cars passed along the street nearby, and there was a steady roar from the A23 dual carriageway which they had joined to bring them down from the city centre. But there was nothing that suggested there was anybody here who shouldn’t be — except maybe himself and the others.

He wondered what Katya was doing.