Stolen Souls

84

LENNON THANKED GOD that Galya had the sense to hold her questions until they got to the room. Once inside, she ignored the flowery curtains and stale cabbage smell of the place and sat on the end of the bed.

“Where will we fly to?” she asked.

“Not we,” Lennon said. “Just you.”

“Where will I fly to?”

“I don’t know,” he said, pacing in front of her. “The earliest flight I can get you. As close to your home as I can get you.”

“Why? Because that man in the car?”

“Yes,” Lennon said. “Strazdas has someone on the inside. It’s the only way anyone could have known to come after us when we drove to the station. And I’ve a good idea who it is.”

“Who?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to tell her it was DCI Dan Hewitt of C3 Intelligence Branch, but realized the knowledge could bring her greater danger than she already faced.

“Just someone,” he said.

“A bad man?”

“Yes,” Lennon said. “He used to be a friend of mine. He’s dirty.”

“Dirty?”

“He takes bribes, money, from bad people.”

“Will you arrest him?” she asked. “Put him in prison?”

Lennon laughed in spite of himself. “It’s not as easy as that. And he has a grudge against me.”

“You mean he doesn’t like you?” She smirked. “I think you don’t like him.”

“No, I don’t,” Lennon said. “But if I’m right, then no police station is safe for you. It means you have to get out of here. Go home.”

She nodded. “Home. I want to go home and see my brother. But you will be in trouble.”

“Maybe,” Lennon said. “Probably. But I’m getting you on a plane anyway.”

THE LANDLADY SHOWED Lennon to the computer in the guesthouse lounge. It was an old machine, and the Internet connection crawled, but within a few minutes he had established that the only flight that could do Galya any good was a seven a.m. plane to Kraków. He knew nothing about public transport in Eastern Europe, but he had to hope she could get a train from there to Kiev, and from there to whatever village she came from.

But the price. He had a moment of panic as he tried to remember how much credit he had left on his MasterCard. Not much, but maybe enough. He wouldn’t know until he tried, and the website would either accept or reject his payment.

Relief came as he entered the card number and he was presented with the confirmation page, and a link for online check in. It seemed to take an age for the ancient printer to spit out a fuzzy bar code on an A4 page.

The landlady watched from the doorway as he worked. “All done?” she asked when he stood up.

“Yes, thank you,” he said. “Sorry to have disturbed your Christmas.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. She brushed his arm as he passed. “She seems like a nice girl. I hope you can sort out whatever trouble you’re in.”

Lennon almost argued, almost said there was no trouble other than the ill mother he’d told her about when they arrived. Instead, he said, “So do I.”

HE CLIMBED THE two flights of stairs to the room and paused outside the door. Susan would be waiting for him. He’d promised he would join her on the sofa when he returned, drink some wine with her while their respective little girls slept. With a sigh, he took his phone from his pocket. She answered on the first ring.

“Something’s come up,” he said.

“Doesn’t it always?” she asked, and disconnected.

“Fuck,” he said to himself.

Galya lay sound asleep when he entered the room. He took a seat by the window, facing the door. He placed his Glock on the table next to him and set the alarm on his phone for six.

Five and a half hours of sleep, if he were lucky. But he had never been lucky.