Red Station

FIFTY-FOUR

Clare Jardine’s block was in darkness. Harry checked his watch. It was just after midnight.

He called Rik at the office. ‘Follow the destruct sequence,’ he told him.

‘What about Mace? He’s supposed to authorize that.’

‘Mace isn’t in a fit state to authorize his own name. Do it.’

‘OK. Everything?’

‘Records, files, hard drives, the lot. Don’t worry about the BC stuff — just everything else. Can you do it?’

‘Bloody right I can. It’ll be fun. What I don’t wipe forever, I’ll burn or hit with a hammer.’

Harry cut the call and climbed the stairs. The air smelled clean, of flowers. Different to his place. The stair treads were lined with rubber, and were clean. Somebody must sweep it regularly, although he couldn’t quite picture Clare Jardine behind a broom.

Standing over someone with a whip was more her style.

He knocked gently on her door and stepped back so she could see him through the peephole.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded, flinging open the door. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and looked rumpled. She clearly hadn’t slept.

‘Nice to see you, too,’ he muttered. ‘Care to invite me in or shall we have a slanging match out here?’

She stood aside. He stepped past her into a comfortable, if minimally furnished flat. It was not unlike his own in size, although there were a few feminine touches. Not many, but enough to be noticed. He concluded that she either didn’t have the nesting gene or had placed it on hold.

‘We’re leaving,’ he said. ‘You coming?’

‘We?’

‘Rik and me. Mace is staying and Fitzgerald’s gone native. They’ll have to take their chances.’

She shook her head, eyes blank. ‘I’m staying.’

‘Why? You think Kostova will look after you? Or Bellingham?’

Her face tightened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve been cosying up to Kostova and Nikolai. And you’ve been feeding information back to Bellingham in London.’

‘That’s rubbish. Who the hell do you think you are-’

‘Save the wounded outrage,’ he said. ‘I don’t have the time. You’ve been working on Kostova to get you some papers. Bellingham’s made you some promises in return for your help, but you don’t believe him. Frankly, I don’t blame you. But you thought you’d set up an alternative escape plan by getting a new passport from Geordi Kostova. He hasn’t delivered, has he?’

‘You’re insane.’

‘Maybe. But I’ve met people like him before. He found out what you are and he’ll promise anything to get what he wants. But his demands will never stop. You know that as well as I do. What did he ask you for in return — the keys to Vauxhall Cross?’ He shook his head, hating this line of attack. But he had to shock her into seeing reason. ‘What he doesn’t know is that you’re not an active agent in the real sense. Which puts you out of the loop. You haven’t told him that, have you? What did you tell him — that you could get him something to take to Moscow and get himself some promotion?’

‘I’ve been working him, you fool!’ she snapped, her voice was low and trembling with anger. ‘Finding out exactly why he’s here. Him and his creepy friend, Nikolai. It’s what I was trained for… what we were all trained for — even you. The rest of you may have resigned yourselves to your fate, but I haven’t!’ She turned away from him. ‘I’m not going to stay in this shithole for ever. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back.’

‘Whatever it takes? Including tapping up the only Russian intelligence officer for a hundred miles? You thought you’d do that for the good of Queen and country?’ He stopped; he didn’t want to alienate her entirely. ‘Did Bellingham put you up to it?’

By the way she looked at him, he knew he’d hit the button.

‘What did he promise you?’ he asked gently. ‘Home and absolution? A welcome back into the fold?’

‘Why not?’ she said hotly. ‘Anything’s better than staying here.’ She clutched her arms around her. ‘He said I could have my old desk back if I got close to Kostova.’ She looked at him. ‘I don’t mean that close — I know what you’re thinking.’

It sounded convincing, reasonable, all that passion. But Harry wasn’t taken in. Clare had been trained in the art of deception, of feeding people what they expected to hear. She could be doing it to him right now.

He changed tack. ‘So why is he here?’ He was aware that time was running out. They had to be moving before everything hit the fan. But information was power, and the more he knew now, the better he was prepared for what lay ahead.

‘He’s a plant. He’s Georgian originally, but he’s lived in Russia most of his life. They sent him back here with a cover story to get himself in with the locals.’

‘Why would they do that?’ Harry wasn’t up on current Russian thinking, but he knew they hadn’t changed their methodology much. And the Russians of old had always taken the long view. If Kostova had been sent here, it had to be with some strategy in mind, and not a short-term view.

‘Because Vladimir Putin wants everything back the way it was. He wants all the satellites back, all the breakaway states, all the power that will bring. A politician here, a mayor there… it’s takeover by stealth. Why do you think they’re so eagerly massing to the north — just for the sake of the separatists?’

‘And Nikolai? What’s his place in all this?’

‘He’s FSB. Originally KGB. Sent to make sure Kostova stays loyal and to protect their investment. If the locals found out what Kostova was really doing here they’d string him up on his own front gate. Nikolai plays on that fear to get him to do what Moscow wants.’

He could see that working. But it still didn’t explain the relationship between Clare and Kostova. ‘Did he get you the papers you wanted?’ He was interested to see whether their answers would be the same.

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, ‘No. He didn’t.’

So she was stuck. Unless she came out with them.

‘It’s us or nothing,’ he told her. ‘It’s all the same to me. But you really don’t want to stay here. They’ll roll right over you. Rik’s destroying all the records right now.’

She shook her head, suddenly looking very vulnerable. But she hadn’t lost any of her steel. ‘Good for Rik. Why should you care about me?’

‘Because I need to get to Paulton. And through him to Bellingham. You can help me do that.’

She frowned. ‘Why do you want to get to them?’

‘To set things right.’

Her face twisted. ‘Christ, Tate, what are you — a boy scout? Set things right? That’s positively archaic. Are you on some kind of revenge trip?’

‘Maybe. But you owe it to Jimmy Gulliver.’

Her frown deepened. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? What’s Jimmy got to do with it? He’s lucky — he’s out of this, safely back home.’

He didn’t think twice; she had to know. ‘Actually, you’re wrong. Jimmy Gulliver’s dead.’

The words were like a slap to the face. Clare staggered, her eyes registering a rush of emotions. Harry saw doubt followed by denial, then anger.

‘Rubbish. He’s back in London.’

‘Is that what they told you? Your open message back to Bellingham put Gulliver under the spotlight. He died not long after leaving here. A climbing accident. That’s the official explanation, anyway. Odd that, because Jimmy suffered from chronic vertigo. He wouldn’t go near a set of stepladders, much less a mountain.’

‘Wha- how can you know that? Who told you?’

‘Mace. Jimmy Gulliver was his nephew. He’d known him as a kid, but they’d lost touch.’

She said nothing, her expression dissolving inwards.

Harry moved towards the door. It was now or never. But he couldn’t force her to do anything. ‘Are you coming? We don’t have long. Kostova and Nikolai, the Russian army… or Latham. He’s already here, by the way. Or we make a try for the airport, morning flight. Take your pick.’

She turned away, her face pale. ‘Can you give me five minutes?’ She sounded desolate.

‘Make it four. Pack light.’