Games Traitors Play

91

‘Please place a flower on my daughter’s grave,’ Primakov whispered, leaning forward, his whole body shaking now. ‘And may your father forgive you.’

Marchant wanted to look away as he fired. It took all his strength to pull the trigger, leaving him with no will to watch. But he knew Dhar was scrutinising his every move. Primakov’s head lurched forward as if in a final drunken bow, and then he fell to the floor.

As the sound of the single shot faded in the echoing spaces of the hangar, Marchant prayed for the first time in years. He tried to tell himself that Primakov would have been executed by Grushko or Dhar if it hadn’t been by him, but it didn’t make it any easier. He had never killed anyone in cold blood before. Primakov deserved better. He had been one of his father’s oldest friends, a courageous man who had carried out his wishes to the last. He hoped to God his death was worth it.

Dhar looked on impassively, then took the gun from Marchant without a word and walked over to his living area.

‘Our father told us to trust him as if he was family,’ Marchant called after him, feeling the need to explain himself as he tried not to stare at Primakov’s slumped figure. A pool of blood had formed around his disfigured head, dust floating on its surface like a fine skein of flotsam.

‘He made an error of judgement,’ Dhar said. ‘Primakov had other interests.’

‘Like stopping the global jihad?’ Marchant asked, regaining some of his composure. He needed to reassure himself that Dhar had moved on, no longer suspected him. ‘He must have known you wouldn’t like what he said.’

‘Primakov was working to his own agenda. There are many within the SVR who are at war with Islam. He was trying to turn you against me, suggesting that our father had somehow sent you here from beyond the grave to halt my work.’

‘Was he anti-Russian, too?’ Marchant asked, thinking that was exactly what their father had done. His question was a risk, but he needed to know what Dhar thought.

Dhar fixed Marchant with his eyes, now shining blacker than ever. ‘No. I do not believe Primakov was a British agent, if that’s what you are asking. Grushko was simply trying to frame him. As Primakov said, there were people in Moscow Centre who were jealous of him when he recruited our father. His signing was quite a coup.’

Marchant couldn’t ask for more. Dhar not only still believed that Primakov was working for Moscow, he was also sure that their father had been too. Primakov had chosen his words carefully. Thanks to him, Marchant was now safe, free from suspicion. He looked again at Primakov’s body, remembering his final wish.

It was the first time Marchant had heard that Primakov had a daughter. He would make enquiries when all of this was over, find out where she was buried and put flowers on her grave. It was the least he could do. And may your father forgive you.

‘Now I must prepare to fly,’ Dhar said.

‘Where are you going?’ Marchant asked as casually as he could, glancing at the aircraft at the end of the hangar. From the moment Primakov had requested him to help with the MiG-35s’ incursion, Marchant had assumed that Dhar’s plans involved an airborne attack of some sort. All he had to do now was persuade him to take him along.

‘To the land of our father,’ Dhar said, patting him on his shoulder.

‘Then let me come with you,’ Marchant said instinctively. It was the only chance he had of stopping Dhar. ‘We still have so much to discuss. And I know the country well.’ He managed a light laugh. ‘I could show you the sights.’

Dhar paused for a moment, smiling to himself as he seemed to consider Marchant’s offer. There was something Dhar wasn’t telling him that made Marchant think that he had a chance. ‘That is true. And it is a long flight. Have you flown in a jet before?’

‘Only a Provost. But I have a strong stomach.’ Marchant was thinking fast now, improvising. The last time they had met, Dhar had abandoned him on a hillside in south India when he left to shoot the US President. Marchant wasn’t going to let him get away again. He had to be in the cockpit with him, find out what the target was, get a message to Fielding.

‘You know they won’t allow another Russian jet to enter UK airspace,’ Marchant continued. ‘I might be able to help, talk to traffic control. It could buy us a crucial few minutes before we’re shot down.’

‘Grushko has already taken care of that. He’s with your friend Myers in Cheltenham now.’