Red Station

TWENTY-FIVE

Nikolai drove fast, hands light on the wheel. He caught Harry’s eye in the rear-view mirror, nodded, then looked away.

Harry waited to see where he was being taken.

Kostova said nothing.

The interior of the car was beige leather and smelled of lemon freshener. It was a rich man’s ride, with walnut panelling and thick carpets, and classical music easing smoothly out of twin speakers behind Harry’s head.

They reached the suburbs, gliding at speed along one of the town’s boulevards. Each side was lined with large villa-style houses set behind high fences. Some were inhabited, but many looked neglected and empty. They were almost at the end when Nikolai slowed and swung the wheel, taking the BMW between an impressive set of iron gates. They stopped in front of a two-storey house surrounded by thickly planted flower beds and bushes.

Kostova jumped out and stretched, openly savouring the fresh air. ‘Come, Harry, come,’ he said enthusiastically, and strode off towards the front door without waiting. A thickset man in a grey suit appeared in the entrance. He had the bearing of an army man, with a bristle of black hair across his scalp and no neck. He nodded to Kostova, but ignored Harry completely.

Once they were inside, he shut the door, then disappeared.

‘Harry. You like a drink?’ Kostova was standing in an oval hallway, checking through a pile of mail on a large antique table capable of seating ten people without overcrowding. The floor was richly tiled in grey and silver and the walls were hung with heavy, lined wallpaper dotted with pink cherubs blowing golden trumpets. The effect was one of money overwhelming style.

‘Tea would be nice.’ Harry decided that taking alcohol with Kostova might be a step too far. The mayor had the look and energy of a man who could take his drink and liked to prove it.

Kostova looked mildly disappointed but recovered with a wide smile. ‘Of course. Tea. Why not? Is good for the digestion, anyway.’ He clapped his hands and shouted, then walked through a doorway to another room, beckoning for Harry to follow.

The room was vast, with a scattering of heavy, deeply-polished wooden furniture, comfortable armchairs and sofas, and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling at each end. The carpet was Persian over a wood-block floor, with heavy rugs seemingly dropped at random, giving the impression of something between a de Rothschild manor and a carpet salesroom.

‘Nice place,’ said Harry.

‘Thank you.’ Kostova was standing by a window overlooking a side garden filled with rose bushes. He smiled appreciatively. ‘It is nice to come home to some comfort, I think. Ah, tea.’

A youngish woman in a grey uniform dress and black shoes had entered the room, followed by the large man in the grey suit bearing a tray of fine china cups, saucers and a teapot. The woman poured, then handed Harry a cup. It was Earl Grey. She served Kostova, followed by Nikolai, who had entered quietly and was standing by the door. Then she and the heavy disappeared.

‘So. How are you finding our little town?’ Kostova slurped his tea and beamed at Harry like a favourite uncle. ‘I trust you are comfortable?’

‘Not bad,’ said Harry. ‘I haven’t managed to explore everywhere just yet, but it’s growing on me.’

‘Good. Good. We are not London, of course — what you are used to — but we have a very old culture and many pieces of fine architecture and a very interesting museum.’

Harry buried his nose in his cup, and glanced at Nikolai. The bodyguard was staring into his cup as if trying to decide whether to drink it or toss it in the nearest available flowerpot.

‘So, you knew Jimmy Gulliver?’ Harry said. ‘He was before my time, so I didn’t have the pleasure.’

Kostova looked surprised by the question. He glanced at Nikolai before replying. ‘Jimmy? I knew him… but not well. He was a guest in our town, and I like to make our visitors welcome.’

All visitors? Harry wanted to ask if that would extend to visitors dropping in from the north. He doubted Kostova would want them tramping over his precious carpets.

‘It was a pity,’ continued the mayor, ‘that he had to return to England. He was an interesting young man.’

Harry said nothing.

Kostova continued, ‘He said he had orders to go back. A great shame. This town needs young people. We have too many old ones. Many who are not cultured.’

‘You’ll soon have lots more young ones popping by,’ said Harry, ‘if the rumours are correct.’ It was impolite, given that he was drinking the mayor’s Earl Grey. But this wasn’t Eton Square and he doubted if he and Kostova would ever become bosom-buddies.

Kostova’s eyes flashed. He said sombrely, ‘We are not all masters of our own destinies, Harry. I think you know that more than anyone. For both of us,’ he waved a vague hand, ‘fate is decided a long way from this place.’

Harry was surprised. The mayor’s English suddenly had taken a turn for the better. He wondered where he had received lessons. An institute outside Moscow, no doubt.

Before he could ask, Kostova drained his cup and called out. The woman in the grey dress appeared and took it from him.

Harry took the hint and also handed his cup to her.

‘Thank you,’ he said, and headed for the door.

‘Enjoy your stay, Harry Tate,’ Kostova murmured, and stayed where he was by the window. Nikolai was still studying his cup. There was no offer to drive Harry back into town.

He walked down the drive towards the gate, trying to work out what had just happened. An invitation for a drink had ended as abruptly as it had started. Had he actually managed to upset Kostova?

His mobile buzzed against his hip.

It was Mace.

‘You having fun?’ said the station chief. ‘Dropping off the radar is not a good idea, know what I mean?’

‘I didn’t know I was on it,’ Harry replied.

‘Well, think again. You go missing, I want to know where you are.’

He wondered what was biting Mace’s backside. He hadn’t shown much interest in his movements thus far, so why now? ‘I had an invitation to tea. It seemed churlish to refuse.’

‘Tea? You taking the piss?’

‘Kostova picked me up in his BMW,’ Harry explained. ‘Said he liked to meet new visitors. We drank Earl Grey served by two flunkies.’ He wondered where this was leading. ‘He made it sound like standard hospitality.’

‘Standard? I’ll bloody say not. When Geordi Kostova starts issuing personal invites to British Government personnel, it means he’s up to something. You should have turned him down flat.’

‘Why? He’s the mayor, you said.’

‘Use your head, son. How do you think he got that position? He’s got the Moscow stamp of approval running through him like Blackpool rock. Why d’you think he’s got all those fancy aerials at the back of his place — so he can download music off the internet?’

Harry turned and looked back. From his position in the back of Kostova’s car, he’d missed the aerial array behind the main house, discreetly hidden by a clump of trees. He was no communications expert, but he guessed the array must have the ability to reach a long way. Like all the way to Moscow.

‘London’s not going to like this,’ Mace continued, his tone lecturing. ‘You’ve compromised yourself, lad.’

‘London can go screw themselves. It was tea, not twenty questions.’

‘They were just on the wire, asking where you were and what you were doing. Random check. I’ll have to tell ’em.’

The phone clicked off and Harry swore. He’d been had. The invitation from Kostova had been deliberate, but had nothing to do with making friends or influencing people. And Mace must have known about it.

He’d been set up.