Quiller Meridian

Chapter 22: ZOMBIE

It had happened before.

Fell forward. Forward and down, fell forward.

Lying with my face in the snow, freezing cold, cold iron mask on my face, get up.

Something was down there. Important.

Down in the snow. I got up and the sky reeled and I sat with my back to the engine again. Important.

I reached down and dug around in the snow and found it, walkie unit, dropped it, I had dropped it, mustn't — must not — do that again.

The sky steadied. It had landed on its side, the Skoda, and the bonnet had burst open, so I'd been sitting with my back to it, not very warm any more, long — how long?

Thirty-two minutes. Patience, my good friend. Hurt anywhere?

A long icicle was hanging from the middle of the radiator where the fan had been driven into it by the impact; the engine bearers had sheared. Yes, head hurting a bit.

Not skittish, then, no, he'd led me away from the camp, hadn't wanted anyone to hear the noise when he pumped that bloody toy, he tried to kill me, you know that?

Very cold out here, it was very cold. Yes, a violent man, the agent didn't give anyone a chance, kerboom and rat-tat-tat, don't get in my way, not one of your more subtle espions, lacked reticence.

Car coming.

09:34.

But also cocky, like all violent men, they never doubt themselves or anything they do — he should have come back here and taken: look at me, made sure I was lying in the car there with only the stall left. Not, then, a professional.

Crunching over the dry brittle snow, the car, in the high pale light of the morning. It wasn't the agent. He would have come back here straight away. This would be support. I'd signalled them.

But I watched carefully as the windscreen showed above the fold in the land, the light flashing across the glass. It was a minute before I could see the whole vehicle, not a SAAB: the agent had beet driving a SAAB.

I got onto my feet and the sky swung full-circle and the snow came up and crashed against my face.

Sound of engines. Two cars.

'Christ, get him up.'

I didn't want that, they could keep their bloody hands off.

'Keep your bloody hands off.'

'Anything broken?'

I got up by sliding my back against the roof of the Skoda while they stood watching me, Frome and another man.

'Has the DIF signalled yet?' I asked Frome.

'Not yet.'

'Has Rusakov signalled?'

'No.'

'Jesus,' the other man said, 'what was he driving?' He was looking at the mess that gun had made all over the Skoda. It's a bit of spook vernacular some of them affect, 'He was driving an AK-47,' that sort of thing. I asked him what his name was.' Oh, Dover, sir. You all right, are you?' He stood staring at me, bland-faced. Where did they find him, for God's sake?

'Which car is mine?' I asked Frome. I'd signalled him for a replacement 'Take your pick, but the Merc's more comfortable.'

It was a four-door 280 SEL, too big, less easy to hide than the shitty-looking little Trabant.

Head was throbbing. The seat-belt had snapped when we'd come down. I asked Frome, 'How serviceable is the Trab?'

'Oh, top line. She just looks like that.'

'I'll take it.'

Then I was face-down on the snow again and they were helping me up and I didn't say anything this time, we'd got a mission running and if this was the only way we could run it then all right.

'We'll get you into the car,' Frome said.

'I can walk. It's a head thing, that's all — '

'Bit of concussion.'

'Yes.' We picked our way over the snow towards the cars. 'When the DIF comes through, tell him it was the rogue agent. I was trying to make contact with him and he didn't like it.' Debriefing, not much to say and not a great deal to show for it except a bloody headache but that wasn't the problem: I couldn't monitor the agent any more, he'd never let me get close.

Going down and I grabbed for the door handle of the Trabant but couldn't find it, snow came up again in a white wave.

'What time is it?'

'12:05,' Frome said, his shadow huge on the wall, thrown by the lamplight. Ice rang against the beam of the hulk. I was facing the ceiling, flat on my back. 'Been out a couple of hours. How d'you feel?'

'All right. Has he come through yet?' Ferris.

'Not yet.'

'Rusakov?'

'No.'

But I must tell you, I shall resist arrest. I shall resist very strongly.

Fine, but it would be a question of numbers when it came; there wouldn't really be anything he could do.

'Call him?' Frome asked.

'No.' I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bunk and stayed like that, waiting for things to steady. I didn't want to call Rusakov; he'd think we weren't sure of him.

'Make some tea for you?' Frome asked.

'What? No. Get back to base.'

He didn't move, was watching me. 'I think you need a doctor The whole bunk was shifting, but I'd got control of things now I could shift them back if I kept still enough.

'I'm through it,' I told Frome.

He let out an impatient breath, clouding the air in the lamplight 'You go flat on your face again in here, you hit the wall or the floor and you'll bash your head again, that what you want?'

'Look,' I said and stood up, and the lamp circled slowly, finally stopped. 'I'm through it now, so get moving. I want you back a base.' the lamp had started circling again, but I found that if 1 moved my head with it I could get it to stop. Frome was watching me do it.

'Shit,' he said, 'if the DIF ever finds out I left you here looking like a zombie he'll have my balls.'

'I'll put in a good word for you,' I told him, and he turned and I went out, clumping up the companionway.

I woke three times before dark and finally felt hungry and heated some soup.

This was at 5:07 in the evening.

'Meridian,' I said.

'Hear you.' Frome.

'Any signal?'

From Ferris, from Rusakov. There must have been, after all this time.

'No. You all right now?'

'Yes.' then I said, 'You'd better tell London.'

There was a brief silence before he said, 'Will do.'

I shut down the radio and saw them in the signals room, their heads turning as they heard Frome's voice coming over the amplifier: DIF went missing 23:15 last night, no signal since.

Strictly no dancing in the streets.

The floes rang and rattled against the beam of the Natasha, and I went up the companionway and stood on the deck, leaning against the mast for cover. The air was calm, and the stars clung to the haze over the city like fireflies trapped on a web. There was still traffic on the river, a motor-barge pushing its way through the white crust of the ice, smoke from its funnel lying in a dark rope across the water. I could hear a woman laughing somewhere, perhaps on board the wreck of the sailing boat farther along the quay, where a light was showing below deck. It was a wonderful sound, coming softly through the night, through this of all nights when joy was hard to come by. It came again, and I sipped courage from it, feeling release and renewal, not surprisingly, I suppose, given the natural grace of womankind to succour the needy.

I stayed for minutes there, clamped by the cold but letting the energy gather, not wanting to go short while I had the chance. Then I went below deck again, and before I'd reached the cabin the radio started beeping and I opened it up.

'Executive.'

'Support. I've got a signal from Captain Rusakov. You want to write it down?'

'I don't think so.'

Head had started throbbing again, I suppose because the pulse was faster, this could be a breakthrough.

'The two generals are going to be leaving the army camp at 17:3 0 hours. Armoured transports have been ordered for that time.'

17:30: in nine minutes from now. Armoured transports: that should take care of any suicide run by the rogue agent.

'Does Rusakov know the destination?'

'Yes. There's a building on the road east from the town, Kievskay a ulica. It's a mansion, used to be the residence of the state governor The generals are going to have some kind of meeting there.'

I opened the map with one hand and spread it on the table. 'Did he give you a reference for the location?'

'It's setback in a park, a kilometre west of the power station. I've got it, have you?'

'Yes.' there was silence while we both worked on our maps' Twenty kilometres from the camp, twenty-five from here.'

'Right.'

I wouldn't be able to reach the camp before the generals left, but I could reach the mansion before they did, if the road wasn't snowed under.

'How soon can you get here?' I asked Frome.

'Gimme ten minutes.'

'Bring the Mercedes.' The little Trabant out there didn't have enough ground-clearance.

'Got it.'

I checked the time. 'Listen, we're cutting it very fine — I want you to do a running drop and put me outside that building before the generals arrive.'

'Oh Jesus,' he said, 'I better move it.'