The Secret of Excalibur

can deny any of this. Christ, one of the coppers told me he killed some poor bastard in front of about five hundred witnesses.’

‘You seriously think the Russians would hand him over?’

Mitchell asked. ‘The way relations are right now, with this polar territory dispute? He’s the right-hand man of one of the most powerful men in the entire country, who also happens to be a personal friend of the Russian president. They’d never give him up, no matter how much diplomatic pressure was put on them.’

‘So he just gets away with it?’ Chase said in disbelief. ‘He murders people, then gets to hide out in Russia laughing at us?’

‘He’s not even hiding. Mr Callum?’ Mitchell turned to one of the other people in the room, the white-haired man whom Nina and Chase had met at the embassy the previous evening, and took a photograph from him. It was taken with a telephoto lens, showing Kruglov in the back seat of an SUV as it entered a gate set into a high wall. The figure beside him was only visible in silhouette, but it appeared to be Dominika.

‘This was taken a couple of hours ago,’ Mitchell said. ‘It’s Vaskovich’s mansion, southwest of Moscow. We had our intelligence sources in Russia looking for Kruglov as soon as we realised he’d left England.’

‘How the hell did he get out of the country?’ Nina asked.

‘The guy used to be a spook. He knows all the tricks - and he’s got Vaskovich’s billions backing him up. If you’ve got money, border controls don’t mean shit.’

‘So your spooks knew where he was going, but couldn’t bag him before he got there?’ said Chase. ‘Christ, and I thought MI6 were useless.’

‘There wasn’t time to arrange a snatch team,’ Mitchell said defensively. ‘Also, the CIA weren’t happy about us running our own intelligence operation behind their backs.’

Chase made a disgusted noise. ‘And now Vaskovich’s got the sword? He’s probably going to his base to blow up the world already!’

‘He’s not going anywhere,’ said Mitchell. ‘At least, not until tomorrow.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Nina.

‘He’s holding a party tonight, at his mansion. And not the kind he’d be willing to blow off, either,’ he continued, forestalling the obvious questions. ‘It’s been planned for months, it’s a way for him to consolidate his influence - all of the new Russian elite are going to be there.’

‘You sure about this?’ Chase said. Nina looked at him; she could tell he was formulating a plan.

‘I was actually invited,’ Mitchell told him. ‘Although somehow I doubt I’m still on the guest list. But there’s no way he’ll cancel it, even now he’s got Excalibur. In fact, knowing Leonid, he’ll probably want to show it off.’

‘So you know where he’ll be tonight, and you know where the sword’ll be tonight?’

‘Yeah. Why?’

Chase shot him a humourless grin. ‘’Cause if he’s having a party . . . I think we should crash it.’

23

Moscow

Although only a few degrees further north than London, the Russian capital was noticeably colder. Even the brief time Nina spent moving between the State Department jet and a waiting Lincoln Navigator left her feeling chilled.

‘Should be here in winter,’ Chase said as they were driven to the city. ‘You think New York’s nippy? It’s like Bermuda in comparison.’

‘You’ve been here before?’

‘Couple of times, yeah. On business.’

‘Is that how you met your friend, the one you called from the plane?’

Chase snorted. ‘He’s not my friend. He’s a perverted scum-sucking little parasite who deserves a good kicking.’

‘Oh, he’s a he?’ said Nina, raising an eyebrow in amusement. ‘You mean there’s actually a country where you don’t have an attractive young woman on call?’ She remembered the moment she spoke that there was indeed now such a country - Switzerland - and was about to apologise for her lack of tact, but a single, somewhat sad look from Chase told her she had been forgiven.

‘Actually, I do know someone in Russia,’ he said after the unspoken moment had passed, ‘but she wouldn’t be right for the job. This bloke is, though.’

‘So who is this guy?’ Mitchell asked. ‘Sounds like you don’t even trust him.’

‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, and last time I saw him he was such a fat bastard I’d have a job even lifting him. But as long as there’s money at the end of it, he’s more or less reliable. So I hope you brought your wad. He’s a cash-only sort of bloke.’

‘What’s he called?’ Nina asked. ‘And what does he do?’

‘His name’s Pavel Prikovsky, and trust me, he really is a total prickovsky,’ said Chase. ‘Used to be an officer in the GRU, Russian military intelligence. Ran into him a couple of times when we were on opposite sides before he went freelance to specialise in “executive protection”.’

‘Like you did,’ said Mitchell.

‘Not even fucking close,’ Chase replied, offended. ‘I looked after people. He took care of people, if you get what I mean. But that’s how he got started, only he branched out into other stuff when he realised he could make a lot more money from the same clients without risking getting his head blown off. Now he arranges entertainment for rich guys’ parties.’

Nina pursed her lips. ‘By entertainment, I’m guessing you don’t mean funny hats and balloon animals.’

He smiled sardonically. ‘Not exactly.’

They drove down the highway, the traffic increasing as they approached central Moscow. Nina had never been to Russia before, and watched the city pass with interest. Most of it looked exactly how she’d imagined a communist-built metropolis, grey and blocky and joyless, huge concrete apartment buildings dominating the landscape.

But there were surprises amongst the uniformity: churches with ornate spires and traditional onion-shaped domes of gold and oxidised green copper; giant Soviet bureaucratic monoliths designed to cow onlookers into insignificance beside the power of the state; and their modern equivalents, gleaming corporate sky-scrapers and towering apartment complexes for the new Russian millionaires and billionaires. Moscow had leapt from relative poverty to become one of the world’s most expensive cities within just a few years, yet it was clear that the vast majority of that wealth was concentrated in the hands of an elite few. Nina imagined Lenin would be spinning in his tomb so furiously that a generator connected to him could power half the capital.

They reached the heart of the city, the high walls of the Kremlin sweeping past before they crossed a bridge over the Moskva river and headed south. To her disappointment, she was only able to catch a glimpse of the colourful cupolas of St Basil’s cathedral in the distance before it was lost to sight.

But she wasn’t here for sightseeing. They continued south, eventually stopping outside a warehouse, its small yard surrounded by high fences topped with razor wire. Security cameras stared down conspicuously, covering every angle of approach.

‘This is it,’ said Chase. ‘Wait here.’

He got out and went to the gate, looking up into the blank eyes of the cameras. Prikovsky was expecting him, but would undoubtedly make him wait, a crude attempt to show who was in charge. An intercom was mounted on a steel post beside the entrance; he pushed the button. Eventually, a woman answered in Russian.

‘It’s Eddie Chase,’ he said impatiently. ‘I know you’re there, Pavel, so stop pissing about and let me in.’

Another pause, then a buzzer sounded. Chase pushed open the gate and waved the SUV inside, then headed for the warehouse door.

The driver remained in the Navigator, but Nina and Mitchell, the latter carrying a large briefcase, hurried across to Chase as he banged a fist on the door. It opened, a neckless man with a perpetual frown opening it. To Nina’s alarm he was holding a small machine pistol. ‘All right, put it away,’ Chase told him, unimpressed. ‘Just take us to the gaffer.’

The man sneered, then stepped back to let them in. Nina took in the contents of the warehouse as he led