Sykes had never seen Ferguson truly rattled, and he didn’t look rattled now. ‘How can you remain calm at a time like this?’
‘Because, unlike you, this isn’t my first extracurricular activity,’ Ferguson said. ‘And I also have a pair of these.’ He put a hand to his testicles.
‘What the hell happened in there?’ Sykes whispered. ‘Since when do you have a relationship with Hoyt?’
‘Since always.’
‘Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?’
‘There was no need.’
‘No need? What happened to all that crap about making sure we weren’t connected with anyone else involved in this op?’
‘We didn’t have a choice but to use Hoyt. We needed hitters who weren’t on CIA files, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not acquainted with too many of those. Hoyt, however, is connected in such circles. He was necessary to the success of our objectives. The fact that he was a previous asset of mine had no relevance to that.’
‘Except that Alvarez is now onto him. And therefore onto us.’
‘We couldn’t have known Hoyt would have delivered the money to Stevenson personally. I would have thought he’d have been more careful than that.’
Sykes stared at Ferguson. ‘Greed tends to make people forget to be careful.’
Ferguson ignored Sykes’s tone. ‘And we couldn’t have known that Stevenson would be so paranoid as to have their meeting photographed. It’s what in this business us grown-ups call bad luck.’
‘Chance favours the prepared mind,’ Sykes said with another hint of sarcasm.
‘Indeed,’ Ferguson agreed, and Sykes was unsure whether he didn’t notice the tone or was just ignoring it. ‘Which is why we have Reed. Have him get the next possible flight to Milan and deal with Hoyt.’
‘He’s probably going after Rebecca Sumner again.’
‘Hoyt is far more urgent.’
‘But what about Alvarez?’
‘He won’t move on Hoyt until he knows everything about him there is to know. There will be plenty of time for Reed to work his magic.’
‘Okay, but why did you have to tell them all that shit about Hoyt in there anyway? Surely you could have waited instead of putting them one step closer to unravelling this thing.’
‘Listen to me carefully and learn. I told them about Hoyt because by tomorrow or the next day they would have found out he’d been an asset of mine regardless. The kind of asset one doesn’t forget in a hurry. How would it have looked if I had neglected to mention that? Mildly suspicious doesn’t quite cover it.’
‘What if the girl doesn’t hang around? Reed missed her once in Marseilles already.’
‘I’m well aware of that. After Reed has taken care of Hoyt he can deal with Sumner. You have another potential strike point?’ Sykes nodded. ‘So don’t worry about it. Even if she doesn’t stay put, she’s not a field operative, she won’t stay alive for long.’
‘I hope not.’
Sykes leaned against the wall and sighed heavily. He scratched the back of his neck.
‘Pressure getting to you, Mr Sykes?’ Ferguson asked.
‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ Sykes replied. ‘I didn’t count on all of this bullshit.’
‘Welcome to the CIA,’ Ferguson said bitterly.
CHAPTER 35
St Petersburg, Russia
Saturday
16:23 MSK
It was minus fourteen degrees Fahrenheit when Victor landed, and the short wait for a taxi outside the airport was an excruciating one. He asked the driver to take him to the best hotel the driver knew and to turn the heater up. The driver mumbled it was hot enough, but Victor held out twenty dollars for him to see in the rear-view and he flicked the switch up to maximum.
The taxi took him deeper into the city. He saw St Petersburg as a city of contrasts. The new modern skyscrapers of capitalism stood alongside the decrepit structures of the Soviet era and between them, somewhat out of place, stood the grand buildings of historic Russia that had survived the war. The weather was no different. At the height of summer it could be as hot as in Madrid, but in the dead of winter it was difficult to find a colder place on the planet.
The hotel was expensive compared with the St Petersburg norm, which made it quite reasonable to Victor. He booked a room for a week but only intended to stay for a few days at the most. He always found it best if hotel employees knew as little about his plans as possible. Another taxi took him east, where he gave the driver directions to a bar lost in one of the city’s industrial districts. The name of the bar had changed since he’d last visited, but he hoped its patronage remained the same.
He ordered a vodka and sat at the end of the long bar sipping it quietly. When he had finished he waved the bartender over for a second drink. Victor spoke to him in fluent Russian with a hint of a Ukrainian accent.
‘I’m looking for Aleksandr Norimov.’
He asked as though he was just curious, as if it didn’t matter what the answer was, but the young man behind the bar visibly tensed up. ‘I used to know him,’ Victor added, pretending he didn’t notice the bartender’s reaction.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know who you mean.’
‘He still owns this bar, doesn’t he?’
‘I don’t know.’
He gave Victor his drink and moved to the other end of the bar. He took out a rag and started wiping it down, his eyes occasionally twitching in Victor’s direction. Two minutes later the bartender walked over to the payphone and inserted some coins. Victor couldn’t hear what he was saying, and he couldn’t see his lips to read them. The call took no more than forty-five seconds, and the bartender then went back to cleaning the bar. This time he didn’t look Victor’s way once.
Good. He didn’t expect he’d have long to wait.
By the time Victor had finished savouring his third vodka two men entered the bar. Both were well over six feet and had the build of serious weightlifters. They had typically Russian pale skin, cheeks ruddy from the cold. Victor noticed their long overcoats did more than just protect them from St Petersburg’s freezing weather.
Victor watched them out of the corner of his eye while he ate his potato chips. They walked over to the bar and exchanged a few whispered words with the bartender. He didn’t give them any drinks but gestured Victor’s way. The two men approached slowly, no trepidation, just an arrogance gained from both size and status. Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
Their shadows fell over Victor as he turned in his seat, head tilting back to look at them.
‘Who are you?’ one asked.
There was a deep resonance to his voice and he spoke with a thick Siberian accent. In Victor’s experience Siberians were an especially tough breed even among the already-tough Russians.
‘I’m a friend of Aleksandr Norimov.’
The Siberian paused a second before responding. ‘Who?’
‘The owner of this bar.’
‘He’s not the owner any more.’
‘So you do know who I’m talking about?’
The big muscles in the Siberian’s jaw flexed. ‘Norimov died last year.’
Victor let out a long breath. ‘Then I appreciate your coming all the way over here just to let me know that. You’re really too kind.’
The Siberian paused, mouth slightly open, unsure whether Victor was being serious or sarcastic.
‘What do you want with Norimov?’
