come on. It was two up two people aboard and a very padded body climbed out and started to move toward the gates.
The clatter of the chain was momentarily louder than the engine noise.
It was left dangling as both gates were pushed inward, creaking and rattling, just enough to let the vehicle pass.
The wagon inched forward, its headlights revealing that the snow beyond the gates and inside the target was full of ground sign, feet and tires. Just as importantly, no alarms or trips appeared to have been turned off before entry.
The headlights splashed across the house, and without the fence in my way I had a clear view. The building was faced with faded red or brown painted wooden slats and closed shutters on all the windows. The dim light on the left that I'd noticed earlier was escaping from a few missing slats in one of the shutters.
The chain rattled again, but I wasn't paying much attention to the gate-closer any longer. It was more important that I saw what was being lit up, looking rather than thinking: My brain would absorb all the information and I'd work out later what I had seen.
I kept my eyes on the 4x4's headlights as they swung to the right. A covered deck ran along the right half of the house.
The gate loser came back into view as the 4x4 rolled to a stop parallel with the deck railings. I could hear the rustling of a nylon jacket and the crunch of snow boots as the brake lights went off and the engine and headlights died. I heard a man's voice as the passenger shouted something I couldn't understand to the driver as he was pushing open his vehicle door.
My nose was stinging and dripping but I couldn't risk missing a thing as the interior light came on and the driver barked a reply. The gate man carried on past the 4x4 and onto the deck as the driver leaned into the passenger foot well and lifted out some flat boxes and a small bag.
The pair moved together, stamping their feet on the wooden floor of the deck to clear them of snow.
The driver opened the front door of the house with a key. Light spilled out and I caught a brief glimpse of a hallway that looked invitingly warm and bright before they disappeared into the house.
I stayed still, smearing the contents of my nose slowly into my gloves before wiping them on a tree branch, visualizing my entry first getting to the house, then into it. After that I'd have to play it by ear. I didn't even know which room the computers were in. So what was new? I seemed to have spent my life breaking into houses, offices, and homes, stealing, bugging, and planting stuff to incriminate people, all with hardly any information, no backup if it went wrong and no recognition for a job well done. The best I ever got was a 'What took you so long?'
I had to assume that the fifteen-foot sterile area from treeline to fence ran all round the house; even if I could fight my way through the trees and cover up any tracks, there simply wasn't enough time to check. Fuck it, it was too cold anyway.
Moving forward to my splash point, I dived out again, this time taking the hit on my knees. I recovered on my back in the wheel rut for a while, just long enough for my shoulder to start reminding me that I'd taken a fall on some rocks on the way in. So adrenalin wasn't entirely effective as a means of pain relief. When I'd got my breath back, I rolled over and got up, keeping my eyes on target for that last look about.
There was one more thing to be done. Going back to the gate, I took my glove off and very quickly touched the metal lattice, then leaned over to the left and did the same to the fence. Only then did I turn round and start hobbling back up the driveway, waiting for my knees to warm up so I could stop walking like an old man.
Once I'd rounded the bend, I pushed my left nostril closed and cleared my right, then changed sides. It felt a lot better.
Twenty minutes later I was scraping ice off the Saab's windshield.
Moments after that I was heading back toward Helsinki, the heater blasting away ready to bust on hot hot hot.
The driveway to the lead house came into sight after just under four and a half hours. I'd stopped at an unmanned gas station on the way, just two pumps and a pay machine between them. It was in the middle of nowhere and the bright white light burning down from the canopy made it look like a UFO landing site. You just placed your cash or credit card in the slot, selected fuel type and off you went. I wondered how quickly it would have been trashed and robbed if this was the U.K. I took the rest of the drive slowly, thinking things through, compiling a mental checklist of all the kit I'd need to make entry.
Pulling up outside the big glass shutters, gagging for a coffee and something to eat, I realized I didn't have a key. There was nothing to do but hit the horn. A few seconds later a light came on and Liv appeared at the door. Thunderbird 3's hangar door opened and I drove in. Before I'd even switched the engine off she was making a drinking sign. I nodded and gave her a thumbs up, and she went back upstairs.
By the time I joined her she was in the kitchen and I could smell coffee.
'So, Nick,' she called out as I closed the stairway door, 'will you be able to get in?'
'No problem. Where's Tom?'
'He's working.' She came round the kitchen door, indicating the other side of the house with a tilt of her head. 'He's broken through the firewall, as I hoped.' She said it without any excitement, and noticed my surprise. 'You still have to get Tom into the house, Nick. Sit, I'll get the coffee.'
I did, taking off my jacket and checking Baby G. It was just before midnight. I'd see Tom later; there were more important things to be dealt with first. I called out, 'You'll need a pen and some paper.'
She came back in with the coffee tray and writing materials, still dressed in jeans and a sweater. She sat on the sofa opposite mine and poured two mugs.
I picked one up. Black would do fine; what I needed was an instant wakeup after hours of car heating. 'I'll run through a list of equipment with you,' I said between sips. 'I'm going to need quite a lot of stuff.'
She picked up the pen and pad and wrote as I dictated. She was surprised by my request for six-inch nails 150mm once she had converted them plus a three-foot length of 2x4 wood, which became a one-meter length of 100 x 50mm.
'Why do you need this, Nick? Aren't lock picks and electronic gadgetry more the sort of thing?'
'Can you get me some?'
She smiled and shook her head.
'That's why I want the electric toothbrush. Don't worry, I'll show you what it's for tomorrow. I'll also need the weather forecast, by the way, for a twenty-four-hour period starting at 9 A.M.'
I liked not telling her what these things were for. At last she was entering my world, things I knew about. There was one last item. 'I'd also like a weapon a pistol, preferably silenced or suppressed.'
She looked genuinely taken aback. 'Why?'
I thought it was obvious. 'Better to have it and not need it than the other way round.'
'Have you any idea of the weapons laws in this country?'
I reminded her what my Russian friends and I had been doing to her Russian friends only a week earlier at the Intercontinental.
It didn't work. 'I'm sorry, Nick, I wouldn't get you one even if I could. I have nothing to do with that sort of thing. Besides, you were employed precisely because Valentin wanted finesse.'
The last time I'd gone on a job unarmed I'd ended up shot.
After that I promised myself I'd always carry, even if I thought I didn't need to. I wanted to tell her it wasn't just finesse that got Val into the trunk of the Volvo, but I could see by the look on her face that it was pointless. It was strange, ROC probably had more weapons than the British Army. I thought about asking if her guy from St. Petersburg could get me one, but decided against it: It's always best to keep an ace or two up your sleeve.
She stood up. 'I'm going to bed now, Nick. Please, help yourself to food. I should be back by ten thirty tomorrow with your list.'
I was beginning to feel hungry and headed for the kitchen. Digging out cans of tuna and sweet corn from a cupboard, I emptied them into a bowl and went in search of Tom as I mixed it up with a fork and got it down my throat.
He was sitting at the Think Pad his head in his hands.
He didn't look up as I came in.
'All right?'
'Yeah, all right.' There was a blocked-up nasal sound to his reply.
