Red Station

FIFTEEN

‘ Who were they?’ Rik’s face next morning went pale on hearing the news. ‘Security police?’

Harry wasn’t sure what the local security cops looked like, but the men he’d seen last night had conformed to a type.

‘Them or army intelligence.’ He described the driver’s uniform.

‘Shit,’ Rik breathed. ‘That’s not good.’ He blinked quickly and looked around as if unsure what to do.

‘How well did you know him?’ Harry asked.

‘How do you mean?’ Rik looked defensive.

‘I mean, how well did you know him? Like, were you drinking buddies, nodding acquaintances, were you about to be engaged, what?’ He waited but Rik looked blank, so he said heavily, ‘They searched his flat — they even sliced open the cushions. Are they likely to find anything that might bring them here, to you?’

‘No. No.’ Rik looked shaken but defiant. ‘Of course not. I met him a few times around town, that’s all. It’s standing orders, to chum up with other foreigners, so I did.’ He explained, ‘I’ve always been interested in photography. He was happy to talk.’ He gave Harry a wary look, as if he might have made a grave error, then said, ‘These blokes… what did they look like?’

‘It was dark. I didn’t see much, apart from the one in uniform.’ He thought back to when he’d looked out of his window. He hadn’t got a clear view of the man, and the street lights weren’t good. ‘Short hair, thin face…’ he shrugged. ‘The others, I only saw the tops of their heads. Why?’

But Rik wasn’t listening. ‘Jesus, I was right!’ His face had gone even paler, and his eyes were gleaming as he stared round the room. ‘I knew it…’

‘What’s going on?’ Mace had entered the office with Clare Jardine in tow. ‘You two not falling out, I hope.’ He hadn’t heard Rik’s last words, but had picked up on the tension in the air.

‘No.’ Rik jumped in before Harry could say anything. ‘Harry was saying some blokes went through Mario’s flat last night. One of them was in uniform. Security cops.’

Mace looked at Harry. ‘That so? Well, well. Wonder what our Latin snapper’s been doing. You take a look?’

‘Yes. Nothing I could see, but they’d tossed it fairly comprehensively.’ He paused, wondering what was bothering Rik Ferris. But there was also something from last night coming back to him. Something about the contents of Mario’s flat. Or, more accurately, the lack of.

‘What?’ Clare Jardine was watching him, had spotted something.

‘He’s a press photographer, you said.’ Harry looked at Rik.

‘That’s right. A freelance. Why?’

‘There was some wrapping from a camera shop near the wastebasket. They’d kicked it over. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I think it was for a camera.’

‘So? Maybe he needed a new one.’

‘Maybe,’ Harry agreed. ‘But how many press photographers leave it until they get somewhere remote before buying a camera? Most photographers have a ton of photographic equipment lying around.’

‘The cops could have taken it,’ Mace suggested. ‘If he’s been a naughty boy, they’d collect it as evidence. Or to sell.’

Harry shook his head. Mace was being obtuse. ‘They were empty-handed. And there was nothing inside the flat; no cases, no lights, no lenses — nothing.’

Mace shrugged, anxious to move on. ‘I don’t see there’s anything we can do. Best keep out of it.’ He looked at Rik. ‘Any chance he was Italian intelligence?’

‘I don’t know.’ Rik looked shell-shocked. ‘Maybe. Probably.’

‘Bloody right, probably. You’d best hope he doesn’t give ’em your name just to wriggle out of whatever mess he’s in, otherwise you’ll be next.’ He turned to Harry. ‘You’d better come in — you, too, Rik. Something to show you.’ They followed him into his office, where a PC monitor was humming on the desk.

‘The details Clare picked up yesterday from her contact,’ he said, moving behind his desk, ‘were map co-ordinates.’ He flipped a hand towards a large map of the country on the wall behind him. A red marker was positioned up near the top edge, north of a dark, jagged mass representing the Caucasus Mountains flowing from left to right. ‘We sent them to London yesterday afternoon, and they’ve come back with this.’ He spun the monitor on its base so they could all see the screen.

It was a high-altitude photo, grainy and sombre in a mix of dark greens and greys, with a darker shape like a thin tadpole, the narrow end of the tail pointing north.

‘What’s that?’ said Harry. He recalled what Mace had said about the Russians coming, and his mouth went dry. Surely, bloody not…

‘We think it’s a military convoy: trucks, APCs, troop carriers… maybe even tanks. London’s waiting for another sweep to get more detail.’ Mace pointed further south, where a line me-andered through the hills. ‘This is a road through the mountains called the Kazek Pass. It’s narrow but negotiable, and spills out on to a plain about thirty miles wide. South of there,’ his finger moved down, ‘is open country all the way.’ He sat back and looked at them. ‘And by all the way, I mean all the way here.’

‘Why would they do that?’ Rik asked.

‘They want to keep what’s theirs.’ It was Clare Jardine, speaking from near the door. She had evidently seen the photo already. ‘There’s been trouble brewing for months over the gradual erosion — as Moscow sees it — of land with emerging states calling for independence. Each one opting out chips away at the Russian map, especially with the new states looking towards the European Union. Moscow doesn’t like that. They’ve begun to fight back.’

‘Let’s hope not literally,’ said Mace. He swept an arm across the map, right down to the borders with Iran. ‘Because if they do, and that lot comes through the Kazek Pass, they could end up rolling right over our heads.’