line. I’ll get back to you as things develop.”
Blake almost burst into the Oval Office and found Jake Cazalet up to his eyes in documents as ever.
“What the hell is this, Blake?” Cazalet sat back, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
Blake told him – and Cazalet couldn’t stop laughing. “God, I can only imagine the look on Putin’s face! Go on, Blake, this is a special occasion, there’s scotch in the cabinet. I’ll toast you.”
At Farley Field, the Citation X coasted in as early light filtered through the dawn sky. Ferguson and Harry stood watching as it landed and taxied up and stopped. The Airstairs door opened, Parry got out and turned and gave his hand to Bella Zubin. She came down the steps, Billy followed with her suitcase, then came Max and Dillon and the pilots.
Ferguson went to meet them. “Mrs. Zubin, I can’t tell you what this means. I’m General Ferguson.”
“I can’t tell you what it means to
“Yes, I’d agree there. I have a safe house at Holland Park. We’ll take you there to settle in, then we’ll decide where you’d like to go. There’s a limousine here for you.”
His driver came forward and picked up her suitcase. She said, “That’s all I brought out of Russia, General, the images of a full life. Other than that, just the clothes I’m standing up in.”
“Well, we’ll soon put that right.”
She got into the limousine, and Max Zubin followed her. “We’ll see you later,” Dillon said.
They moved away and Harry hugged Billy. “Jesus, you got away with it.”
“It was like a dream, really,” Billy said. “Lots of snow and Dillon poncing around dressed in the Russian equivalent of an SS uniform. That bleeding plane, it’s so fast, you’re there and then you’re here. It’s weird.”
Ferguson turned to Lacey and Parry. “Since the Russians can never admit this happened, I’m sure courier service planes will continue to operate as normal. On the other hand, I’d suggest you gentlemen avoid the duty in the future. In view of the extreme hazard you engaged in, however, the consequences if you’d been apprehended, I intend to have you both awarded a bar to your Air Force Cross.”
“I don’t know what to say, sir,” Lacey said.
“He’s right.” Dillon smiled. “It would have been the Gulag for you two.”
“And what about you, Billy?” Lacey demanded.
“Personally, all I want is to get down to the Dark Man and get the chef on to a great English breakfast. If you’d phone him, Harry, I’d be obliged, and if the rest of you have any bleeding sense, you’ll join me, including the pride of the RAF. Come on, Dillon,” and he led the way to Harry’s Range Rover.
While the plane had still been in the air, Volkov had been at the Belov Complex, viewing the guard before they put his corpse in a body bag. “No burial, instant cremation,” he ordered the GRU captain in charge.
Snow drifting, he went up to the reception area of the Belov Complex, and found the receptionist in his green uniform being treated by paramedics. He took the avuncular approach.
“You’ve done well. This must have been a terrible shock for you.”
“I can’t understand it. It was Mr. Belov himself, with some old lady. He said, ‘I’m Josef Belov, surely you recognize me?’ ”
“And then what happened?”
“Someone called out in English. It was from the plane. He said, ‘Come on, Igor.’ No – wait. He started to say something else. Dil something.”
Volkov’s heart chilled. “And what happened next?”
“A GRU captain appeared. He said it was a matter of State and that his name was Captain Levin. He told Mr. Belov to get on the plane, and then he took me into the office and knocked me out.”
“Make sure he’s on the penal battalion plane for Station Gorky tomorrow. Destroy his records. He ceases to exist.”
“At your orders, General.”
Volkov went back through the snow to his limousine. “Dillon,” he murmured. “You cunning bastard.” And yet he felt a certain admiration. “To follow us so closely, to do it so quickly. Who in the hell would have thought of it?” There was an almost reluctant smile on his face. “ ‘I’m Captain Levin,’ ” he murmured. “You dog, Dillon.”
He lit a Russian cigarette, leaned back and said to his driver, “The Kremlin.”
There was nothing certain in this life, except that the President would not be pleased.
He sat in his office for quite some time until the secret door opened and the President stalked in. “We’re going to look like fools!”
“Mr. President, we can always say he’s ill, so the ceremony has to be postponed. Maybe he’s had cancer all along. That would explain his generosity to the State. And then after an appropriate period of time… maybe he’ll die. Willing it all to the State, of course. We can still do this.”
Putin stood lost in thought. “Maybe. For your sake, I hope so, Volkov.” He glowered at the General, then stalked back out, the secret door closing behind him.
Volkov sat there, still feeling uneasy. Perhaps more could be done here, there were loose ends. He lifted his coded phone, checked on his list of numbers and called Ashimov.
At Drumore Place, Ashimov was seated by the fire with Liam Bell, enjoying a drink, and he jumped to attention. “I’ve bad news for you, Ashimov.”
He told him all abut it, and emphasized, “You’re in deep shit as well. We’ve been outfoxed by Ferguson and Dillon over and over again. The business in Algiers, the loss of Major Novikova, all those botched attempts in London, in Drumore, and now this debacle in Moscow. And the final insolence – Dillon masquerading as Levin. The President is mad as hell.”
Ashimov was choking. “What can I say, General?”
“I think you’d better come home, Major. We’ll discuss your future when I see you.”
He switched off, smiling, but Ashimov wasn’t smiling at his end. A return home and a discussion of his future could mean anything from a bullet in the head to a one-way trip to some Gulag. On the other hand, if he could recover the situation, dispose of Max Zubin and his mother, for example, perhaps even Dillon… The rage boiled up in him. Always Dillon.
He poured a large vodka and slopped it down. Liam Bell said, “What’s your problem?”
And Ashimov poured it all out.
At the same time, Volkov phoned Levin, who had moved back to the Dorchester and the delights of the Piano Bar. He was at a corner table indulging in iced vodka and beluga caviar, like a true Russian, but as Volkov spoke, Levin was all attention.
Afterward he said, “You’ve got to give it to him. It was a stroke of genius, the whole caper.”
“You don’t need to exaggerate. I wish he worked for me. I’ve spoken to Ashimov, pointed out his blame in the matter, and suggested he return home. He knows what that means, so I suspect he’ll try to come up with some scheme to eradicate the Zubins in London. Something to make him look good to me. He’ll probably try to recruit the Irishman, Liam Bell.”
“He’ll certainly try to recruit me,” Levin said.
“Exactly. I’m not sure I can rely on you, but do what you can.”
When Ashimov was finished, Liam Bell shook his head. “You’re in more than a tight corner, my friend. Go back home and God knows what Volkov will have done to you.”
“Where else can I go?” Ashimov said. “But if I can go back with some sort of victory, knock off Zubin, his mother, even Dillon…”
There was a madness about him now, Liam Bell saw that. He shrugged. “How in the hell could you achieve that?”
