Red Station

FORTY-SIX

Harry needed to find Mace. Whatever was going on wasn’t going to be fixed by ignoring it. First Fitzgerald missing, now the discovery that they were isolated from all contact in London other than via Mace and his secure terminal. Rik didn’t know where Mace was, so Harry looked in his office. There was nothing entered on his wall diary, but he found a menu card from the Odeon on the notice board and tried the number. There was no answer. He went back to the main office.

Rik looked up. ‘You tried the Odeon?’

‘Yes. Nothing.’

Rik raised his eyebrows. ‘Must have felt like a change of scenery. You could try near the station. There’s a workmen’s place round the back he goes to. Next to a car-hire place. Serves strong coffee.’ He grinned cynically. ‘Chacha brand.’

Harry left him to it and made his way to the station, running checks to make sure he wasn’t followed. He passed more military trucks and groups of soldiers huddled against the buildings, sharing cigarettes and bottles of coloured liquid. Chacha mixed with fruit juice, probably. The bloody country must run on the stuff.

On the way, he glanced down the street where Rudi’s stall was located. There was a flurry of activity going on right in front of it, and someone was shouting. Several pedestrians were hurrying by on the other side without looking, although they looked the type to be among Rudi’s regulars. Something in the atmosphere of the scene made Harry step into a doorway to watch.

It was a bad sign.

A man moved away from the kiosk and climbed into a big four-by-four at the kerb. He leaned out, holding the rear door open. It gave Harry a clear profile view.

It was Higgins. He was followed by three other men, one of them being dragged struggling across the pavement.

It was Rudi.

Harry left the doorway and walked away. If they merely suspected Rudi of handling a stolen phone, the most they could do was make a few threats. But if the Ericsson was theirs, and they had already traced its journey to the dealer, it wouldn’t be long before they came calling on Rik. It depended on how much resistance Rudi offered up to safeguard his business.

Either way it was time to dump the phone.

He found a deserted building site away from curious eyes and took out the Ericsson. It was now a liability. If it belonged to Higgins or his colleagues, they would be able to put a trace on its signal and it wouldn’t take long for them to follow it all the way into his pocket. He dropped it to the ground and stamped on it, reducing the plastic to a mash. Then he kicked the pieces into a muddy puddle. While he thought of it, he took out Stanbridge’s mobile and rang Rik.

‘Higgins and some of his pals have just taken Rudi for a ride,’ he told him.

‘What?’

‘I’ve dumped the phone. If they come calling, play dumb.’ He cut the connection and keyed a text message to Maloney.

New number, short life. Use w care.

He hit SEND and turned off the phone. He wouldn’t need it for long and he doubted the Clones’ handlers had the same ability to run a local trace that the Americans had. But he needed a means of contacting Maloney. Without it, he’d be left high and dry.

He reached the station and made his way round to the back. He found a cafe modelled on a Parisian bistro, jutting out aggressively from a corner plot like a sharp tooth. The wedge-shaped establishment was shiny with glass panels and copper screens, and small circular tables packed together with small, upright chairs. A few were occupied, some by men in uniform, sitting uneasily away from other men in work clothes and dusty boots.

Mace was sitting alone near a window, scanning the previous day’s copy of The Times. A small glass of clear liquid and a coffee stood in the middle of the table.

He didn’t look happy at the interruption

‘You got a bloody tracking device on me?’ he snarled, and threw the newspaper to one side. ‘Can’t get a moment’s peace in this place since you arrived.’

‘If I wasn’t here,’ Harry murmured, ‘I wouldn’t be bugging you. You could always send me back with a good review, or transfer me to somewhere civilized.’

‘Forget it. Doesn’t work like that.’

‘Really? So how does it work?’ Harry knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere, but he felt like winding Mace up. He was feeling irritated by the whole place, but especially Mace’s apparent acceptance of the situation.

‘This is not like a career step in Shell Oil,’ Mace replied. ‘You don’t go through here on a management trainee grant, collect your MBA and move on somewhere better. This is a proper posting and you only get a move-on card when London says you can. So I’m about as useful to you as tits on a fish.’ His eyes flickered momentarily, and he wiped his face with a tired hand. ‘Christ, listen to me. I sound like one of those self-righteous HR tits in Whitehall, hiding behind the rule book.’ He raised a hand and signalled to the barman for a refill, then looked at Harry. ‘You want one of these? Cleans your pipes like battery acid but you’ll never get a cold again.’

‘No. Coffee’s fine,’ said Harry. He pointed at the coffee machine and sat down. When the coffee arrived, he spooned in sugar and took a sip. It tasted like a sweeter brand of sump oil and had a greasy film on the surface. ‘God help me, if I ever get out of this place, it’ll be somewhere where they know what a coffee bean look like.’

‘That would be Tbilisi, just down the road.’ Mace smiled. ‘Unfortunately, that’s off-limits, so you’re stuck in this shithole. What have you got?’

‘What makes you think I’ve got anything?’

‘Because you’re a pit bull on the quiet, that’s why. You see stuff others don’t notice and you’ve got a nose for trouble. Now you’ve hunted me down to this place. You didn’t do that just for the pleasure of my company.’

‘Well, well, if it isn’t my fellow passenger!’ A familiar voice boomed across the cafe, cutting off what Harry was going to say about the server. He turned. Carl Higgins was ploughing his way between the tables like an ice-breaker, coat tails flapping around him. He dwarfed the room with his presence, and even the soldiers looked wary. On his way, he waved a beefy hand at the barman for refills. ‘Time to dance, huh? Whaddya say? Cha-cha-cha!’ He clapped Harry on the shoulder and eased himself alongside Mace, settling his buttocks on two chairs with a sigh. ‘Man, this place is getting to me. I need to go home. I musta done something really wrong to get this shit assignment.’

‘What do you want, Higgins?’ Mace’s voice was cool, his expression tight. Harry got the impression he was embarrassed at being seen here. Was that because of himself… or Higgins?

‘Don’t be like that, Mace.’ The big American seemed unaffected by the chilly reception, but there was a tightness behind the smile. ‘I need to speak to your buddy, here.’ He looked at Harry. ‘I hear you’ve been getting around a lot since you arrived.’

‘It’s my job,’ said Harry, and resisted telling the American that he should mind his own business. Had Higgins spotted Harry lurking near Rudi’s stall?

‘Yeah, I figured. I should have known what you were when I saw who the driver was from the airport the other day. He fooled me good, that boy. Ferris, is that his name? Not bad for a computer geek. He’s got some front.’ He looked from Harry to Mace, daring them to deny their cover. ‘But you know, you should be careful who else you mix with, Harry. There are people around here you really don’t want to mess with, know what I mean?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you should.’ Higgins picked up his glass as soon as the waiter set it down and drained the contents in one swallow. He winced as the liquid went down, shuddering like a huge dog. ‘Man, this stuff’s goddam lethal.’ He looked at Harry. ‘You’ve been making friends around town, I hear. Mr Mayor, Geordi Kostova for one. Nice guy but that Nikolai is a real creep. And Rudi’s a real mover, isn’t he? Thinks he’s an entrepreneur, but he’s just a street punk with some smarts. You should stay away from him — he squeals like a girl.’

Harry saw no sense in denying he knew Rudi. Whatever pressure Higgins had been able to apply to the dealer had clearly worked. But there was no mention of a phone. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

‘You do that.’ Higgins gave him a long, hard look, eyes like shards of flint. Then he turned to Mace and lowered his voice. ‘You heard about the build-up long the border?’

Mace nodded. ‘Bits and pieces.’

‘You kidding me? It’s more than bits and pieces. Don’t they tell you anything from London? Any of you?’ He lowered his voice even further. ‘The Russians are right on the line, my friend. Any minute now, they’ll come tripping over it and run right over this place.’ He made a surfing gesture with one huge hand and frowned at Harry. ‘But you guys know that, right? You haven’t been sitting on your thumbs since you got here — you must have heard stuff.’

‘What kind of stuff?’ said Harry, his interest aroused. He wasn’t sure if Higgins was trying to tell them something or merely showing off. Had he run into the same GRU men that Harry had seen?

‘About the teams they sent in. The ones who disappeared.’

Mace lifted a hand. ‘Higgins, what do you-’

‘Let him speak.’ Harry stared at the American, wondering why Mace had been about to stop him speaking. ‘What teams?’

Higgins did a quick one-two, then shrugged, a sly curl edging his mouth as he speculated on the situation between them. He checked nobody was close enough to overhear, then leaned over the table, bringing an aroma of aftershave with him.

‘A few days ago, London and Washington dropped in a couple of recon teams north of here. One Delta, the other a British recon unit. They had orders to eyeball the situation on the ground between here and the border. They had satellite images showing movements on this side, and some pictures further north, but they needed visual confirmation of unit strengths here and in the mountains, and signs of whoever else might be taking an interest.’ He dropped the sly look, his face sombre. ‘Both teams were taken out after just three days. There’s been no word since.’

Mace muttered an oath and stood up, nearly upsetting the small table. Higgins didn’t move, his eyes on Harry.

‘How do you know this?’ said Harry.

‘How do you think?’ Higgins’ voice was soft, serious, no longer playing the gabby journalist role. ‘It wasn’t through CNN, that’s for sure.’ He clapped both hands together and stood up. ‘Whatever, I’m outta here. Got my orders to light out. You’d best do the same, you know what’s good for you.’ He glanced at Mace and continued, ‘Although from what I hear, getting out may be where your problems are just beginning.’