Breaking Cover

32

The following day had a full programme of visits to the sights of Tallinn, led by Professor Curtis. Liz went with the party, not wanting to appear anything other than a normal, interested tourist, and spent the day keeping in the centre of the group, trying not to be left alone with Curtis. He had suggested the previous evening that on the third day, which was a free day for tour members to do what they liked, he might give her a private tour of the city. As that was the day fixed for her rendezvous with Mischa, the last thing she wanted was Curtis hanging around. She needed to prevent him from getting any opportunity to renew his offer.

She was also trying to spot any surveillance, though it was impossible to know where it might be coming from. Both Andy Bokus’s covert Station in Tallinn and MI6’s in Riga knew that she was here, and they also knew her alias and the programme of her tour party. She had agreed this was a sensible precaution in case she got into any difficulties, and she had also been given a method of contacting them. But Liz had insisted that they keep well out of the way, since she didn’t want either Mischa or any of his colleagues who might be watching him to become aware of interest from the other side.

As her party went from church to church, she saw nothing to concern her. The churches were full of tourists grouped round their respective leaders, each no doubt explaining in their own language, as Professor Curtis was in his, how much the styles of architecture here varied, ranging from the elaborate onion domes of the Russian Orthodox churches to the stark simplicity of the Scandinavian Lutheran buildings, with their needle spires pointing to the sky. It was a reminder, said Curtis somewhat portentously, of how occupying regimes may come and go, but religious faith endures. Liz wondered how much of this would survive if Tallinn became the front line of a trial of strength between NATO and a newly aggressive Russia.

In the afternoon the focus changed from religion to politics with a visit to the Hotel Viru, the Cold War tourist hotel, where the rooms were bugged by the KGB. On the twenty-second floor there was a control room for the wiretapping operations, and the party marvelled at the antiquated technology – the enormous tape recorders and the little room at the back with the notice on the door saying Zdes Nichevo Nyet, where listeners had sat with headphones on, eavesdropping on the tourists in their bedrooms.

‘What does that mean?’ asked one of the Finlaison sisters, pointing to the Russian sign.

‘It means “There is nothing here”,’ replied the curator to general laughter.

Liz wondered how much of the same thing was still going on, conducted nowadays from an FSB listening station or from the CIA’s covert surveillance, rather than the top floor of a hotel. What was certain was that the technology would be a lot less noticeable than these old monsters, and today’s targets were likely to be politicians and visiting NATO or EC delegations, not tourists.

The following morning Liz had breakfast in her room. She wanted to avoid getting swept up with any of the group and then having to lose them in time for her meeting with Mischa. So she was annoyed to hear a cheerful cry behind her just as she was leaving the hotel.

‘Liz! Good morning, my dear. How are you today?’ It was the Finlaison sisters. Liz stood still, holding the door open for them. She didn’t want to arouse their interest by being rude. One of the sisters said, ‘We’re going along to the market square. They tell us there’s an ethnic market and folk singing there today. We thought we might get some souvenirs and a present for our niece. It’s her birthday next week. Would you like to walk along with us – unless you’ve got other plans?’

‘That would be lovely,’ said Liz. ‘I was just going to wander around but I’d like to see the market.’

It was a bright, windless but cool morning with a clear, pale blue sky overhead. ‘We are so enjoying this trip,’ said the younger Miss Finlaison, enthusiastically. ‘Tallinn is such a beautiful city. I do hope it’s doing you good, my dear,’ she added, taking Liz’s arm.

‘Thank you,’ Liz replied, feeling a terrible fraud for playing on their sympathy. ‘It is a lovely place and I’m feeling a lot better.’

In the cobbled square in the heart of the old town, stalls with striped awnings were trading briskly. Most of the selling was being done by women in embroidered skirts and blouses, and head dresses decorated with lace and strings of tiny silver coins which rested on their foreheads. They were selling handicrafts and all kinds of food and drink – from bread and cakes to honey and strange-shaped bottles of brownish liqueurs that looked, thought Liz, likely to blow your head off.

The square was crowded, and after five minutes she had successfully lost the Finlaisons and drifted off discreetly, pretty confident that the two women would still be inspecting the native wares of Estonia when she returned from her meeting.

It took her twenty minutes to reach St Olaf’s Church. There was no need for a map; its spire was clearly visible from the market square and it was only a short distance away. But she needed to be sure no one was following her, so she proceeded with caution. She wandered, apparently aimlessly, through the small alleys and lanes of the Old Town, doubling back twice as if returning to the square. She remembered that Peggy’s briefing note for this trip had described how the white stone tower of St Olaf’s, the tallest in the city, had an observation platform high up, which had been used for almost fifty years by the Soviets as a radio tower and surveillance point. As she wandered, Liz kept track of her position simply by looking for the stiletto-sharp spire.

When she eventually reached the entrance to the church, exactly five minutes before the scheduled meeting time, she was confident she hadn’t been followed.

There was a tour group of Chinese visitors inside, crowding the centre of the nave, so Liz went down a side aisle and took a seat. She stared upwards at the windows and the ceiling like an interested tourist. At the same time she kept an eye on the door, but no likely-looking person came in. She wondered for a moment about a couple, obviously American from their clothes, but they soon left. Then four women in what looked like locally bought winter coats arrived. They genuflected to the altar before sitting down in one of the back pews.

After a few minutes the Chinese left and Liz made her way towards the Sanctuary, crossing in front of the altar. Though the church was Baptist now, much of the original Catholic finery of its interior had been retained. Slowly she headed through an open doorway to a little hallway, which she knew led to an annexe – a chapel that had been built early in the sixteenth century and had survived the lightning strikes and fires that had several times destroyed the main church. Normally open to the public, the chapel was closed today, signalled by a thick red cord strung between two brass stands barring entry to the double doors at the end of the hall. Looking around, Liz saw no one paying her any attention, so she quickly skirted around the red cord, climbed four steps and opened the door to the chapel.

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the thin, tawny light thrown out by the only illumination in the room – two tall candles by the small altar. There was just enough light for Liz to make out the little room’s four rows of pews. As instructed, she went and sat in the third-row pew at its farthest right-hand end, next to the side aisle. She sat quietly, her eyes fixed on the altar with its gold cross ornately studded with gems, a hangover from Catholic times.

She was a little early, but within a few minutes heard the door open and then footsteps that stopped by the last row of pews. She didn’t turn round, but waited for Mischa to say, ‘The altar is very old.’ She would then reply, ‘How old?’ And he would say, ‘Old enough,’ then sit down directly behind her. If they were interrupted, they would look like two people seeking solace or praying quietly, away from the tourists filling the main body of the church.

But instead a familiar voice said, ‘Hello, Liz. How on earth did you find this place? I’d been coming for years before I discovered it.’

Liz’s heart sank. It was Curtis, and he moved around the pews now and stood by the end of hers, smiling. Glancing back, Liz saw the door to the chapel stood wide open – anyone coming past could look inside and see them, especially Mischa.

She had to get rid of Curtis fast, but she mustn’t be rude or seem angry at being disturbed – that might simply make him even more curious about her.

‘I needed a few minutes alone,’ she said, hoping he would take the hint.

He didn’t, and sat down at the end of the pew in front, half turned round so he could talk to her.

‘Yes. It is a lovely quiet place,’ he said. ‘I always come here when I’m in Tallinn, but I never bring the tourists. I don’t want to spoil it. But I’m glad you found it.’

Liz’s heart sank. She could see that he was settling down for a pleasant afternoon with her. She had to get rid of him somehow or this trip would have been a waste of time.

Then all of a sudden the quiet was shattered by a mobile phone ringing. Liz jumped. Surely it wasn’t hers. She’d turned it off.

It was then she saw out of the corner of her eye a figure pass by the open door. She couldn’t make out the face, but it was clearly a man: well-built, and wearing an olive-coloured top. The figure hesitated in the doorway, looked in then quickly moved past.

It must be Mischa. He would be spooked to see two people in the chapel and to hear the phone ringing. He’d be thinking that the meeting had been blown. She must stop him leaving somehow.

Curtis had his phone to his ear. ‘Yes. Why? What’s happened?’ He listened for a moment then said, ‘OK. I’ll come straight away.’ He rang off and looked at Liz regretfully. ‘I’m sorry. It was the hotel. Something’s happened to one of the party but they wouldn’t say what over the phone. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you, but have a good afternoon and I’ll see you later.’ He got up and hurried out, closing the chapel door behind him with a bang.

Liz had to get to Mischa fast.