A Colder War

62

Harold was at Kell’s side within thirty seconds, at the edge of the ramp within ten. Kell turned to see Danny walking away from the crush towards an exterior staircase that would take him up into the arrivals area. Carol confirmed that Minasian was still loitering near the information desk. Kell was relying on her to have made the right call. If the man she suspected of being Alexander Minasian turned out to be just a run-of-the-mill Odessan hanging around the port, they were in trouble. If the real Alexander Minasian was currently getting out of a black Mercedes Benz, flanked by SVR minders who would grab ABACUS from Customs and take him to the airport, they were finished.

‘Missed him.’

It was Harold. Kleckner had passed too far away to be painted. The American had his head down and was walking along the roped-off passage towards a door in the lower-ground floor. No sign of a welcoming committee. No sign of anybody trying to grab Kleckner out of the line. It was all too easy.

Kell called Javed.

‘Tell me what’s going on with the car.’

‘Driver got back in. Has Danny done the tyres?’

‘Not yet. He’s going to Minasian. We’re waiting on that.’

Danny confirmed by comms that he was inside the terminal, Kleckner now out of sight in the Customs area two floors below. A place where nobody on the team could get to him. Nobody but the SVR.

‘Confirm on Minasian,’ Danny said calmly, and Kell felt a swell of relief. Carol had made the right call.

‘Any company?’

‘Not that I can see.’

‘I’ll be there in fifteen seconds.’

Kell sprinted up the flight of stairs, came into the arrivals area. He was out of breath. The day before, the terminal had been all but deserted; now there were at least two hundred people crowded at the top of the escalators. Noise and bustle and heat. It was impossible to move quickly.

The first American tourists had made it through Immigration and were pushing their way towards the souvenir shops at the southern end of the terminal. Kell looked across the hall at the information desk and saw Danny closing in on Minasian. Carol between them, turning, watching, looking for plain clothes. And all the time Kleckner downstairs, seizable, with only Javed and Nina outside making sure that he didn’t double back.

Kell’s phone rang. Javed.

‘Mercedes engine on,’ he said. ‘Exhaust fumes. Back doors open. Another man has got out. No suit. Just jeans and a T-shirt. Tattoos. Tyres?’

‘Take them,’ Kell replied instantly. He was convinced that Minasian was a diversion. The Russian had known that Kell was coming, positioned himself in the terminal building to give the impression that he was Kleckner’s only contact, while down below a second SVR team was pulling Kleckner out of the Customs line and preparing to take him to the Mercedes.

‘I can do that,’ Javed replied. He had a knife, but no conviction in his voice.

At that moment, Kell saw Alexander Minasian begin to struggle, Danny with his arms around him, hugging him tight. As though Minasian was an old friend, encased in a welcoming bear hug, not filled with the ketamine that had just been jammed into his bicep. Kell heard Minasian shouting out in Russian, a man at the edge of losing control, trying to get a warning to somebody, trying to ask for help. But Danny was much stronger, he had the element of surprise, and the sedative was working through him. Kell saw Danny laughing, lowering Minasian to the ground, Carol still watching the terminal for cops and plain clothes, signalling to Kell with her eyes that the coast was clear.

Javed was still on the phone.

‘Talk to me,’ Kell said, as a space formed around Minasian, crowds stepping back, as if from a drunk. Danny and Carol already long gone. ‘Is anybody moving near the car?’

‘Negative. Engine still running. Driver looks very relaxed. I don’t think it’s them. I think we’re watching the wrong people.’

‘Take the fucking tyres,’ Kell ordered and turned towards the escalators.

At that moment, the head of Ryan Kleckner, his neck, his shoulders, his chest, came sliding up into view. There was a blonde woman of about Rachel’s age in front of him, two elderly cruise ship passengers behind. Before Kell had a chance to turn away, Kleckner had looked directly at him. The expression on the American’s face disintegrated. Kell saw his eyes widen in alarm, then shoot away. In the next moment Kleckner had abandoned his suitcase, letting it drop as he reached the top of the escalators, seeming to understand that the commotion ahead of him, the disturbance around Minasian, was part of the plan to trap him. Kell called for Danny on the comms, because he could no longer see him.

‘Outside. Doing the tyres,’ Danny replied.

Kell shouted back: ‘Leave the tyres. Javed has them. ABACUS is mobile.’