Ratcatcher

Venedikt drew a deep breath. ‘Start the move.’

Kendrick staggered against a trunk and slid down, his face waxen. Without speaking he waved Purkiss onwards. Purkiss strained to see back through the trees. There had been no human sound other than their own for — how long? Ten minutes? — and it might be safe to stop. In the sudden relative quiet now that their boots were no longer churning the forest floor he had the impression of another sound, ahead of them. He took a few steps more and saw it, below them and a hundred yards ahead. A road, with a solitary car sweeping by.

‘No.’ He grabbed Kendrick beneath the arm, hauling him to his feet. Purkiss had already taken the rifle and strapped it across his own back. He’d noticed an extra magazine clip in Kendrick’s belt, and assumed he’d had the presence of mind to take it off the man along with the rifle. ‘A bit further.’ He hoisted Kendrick’s arm across his shoulders.

More slowly now, their momentum broken, they scrambled across the sloping terrain down towards the road, a narrow single-lane curve of tarmac that disappeared into blackness at each end. The evenness of the road surface was jarring at first and Purkiss almost lost his footing. On the other side they disappeared again into the trees. Purkiss took them another fifty yards till he found a ditch. He said, ‘All right.’

Kendrick sank so that he was half-supine. Purkiss sat on a rock, rested his forearms on his knees. Getting to the other side of the road had been of tactical importance. If their pursuers made it this far, they might assume the two of them had followed the road in one or other direction.

Kendrick winced himself into a position where he could inspect his leg. Oozing puncture marks were visible in the calves and shin, and a couple of ragged holes had been torn from the muscle. No arterial damage was apparent, though Purkiss knew they wouldn’t have made it this far if there had been.

‘‘King dogs,’ Kendrick managed through dry lips. ‘I normally like them.’

Purkiss checked his phone. No signal.

‘How do you think they got on to us?’ said Kendrick. ‘Reckon they saw us come over the wall?’

‘They might have. But we couldn’t see the men patrolling the wall, which suggests they were too far away to have spotted us.’ Purkiss stood unsteadily and walked up the slope a few paces. The display showed a single bar: a weak signal. Before he could dial, Abby’s number came up as a missed call, fifteen minutes earlier. There was no message.

Again he was about to key in her number when the phone rang. Once more it was Abby’s number.

‘Abby?’

Silence for a moment, then, ‘John.’

A man’s voice. Low, muted. Unmistakeable.

‘Fallon?’

‘I have your friend.’

The connection was poor, and occasionally a consonant was lost; but there was no doubting the voice, with its trace of Irish.

‘Don’t go to the police, John, or the Service, or anyone else. If you do, I’ll kill her.’

‘Fallon, damn you — ’

He was gripping the phone so tightly it almost sprang from his sweaty fingers. There was a band around his throat, choking off not only his words but his breathing as well.

‘Remember, John. No outside involvement.’

‘Listen — ’

‘I’ll be in touch.’

Purkiss dropped the phone. He clenched his fists and raised his face to the canopy of trees and the night sky beyond. The choking feeling left him.

It was completely unprofessional because the danger of being hunted down was still present, but through clamped teeth he roared, a long deep primal sound that bounced off the depths of the forest and sent small things skittering in fear.

Twenty-Three

It was a setback, nothing more. All thoughts of trying to get some sleep gone, Venedikt stood motionless, watching his men at work. The doors were hauled open and the preparations began for the transfer.

Rather than fury he felt a quiet pride in his foresight. There had always been a possibility that the farm would be discovered, and to fail in the mission at this late hour because of having failed to anticipate this possibility would have been a shame too enormous for him to bear. An hour’s swift work, and it would be as if nothing had happened.

He could, Venedikt supposed as he stepped aside to give more room to two of his people who were running at a stoop and laying the charges, have committed more men to the pursuit of Purkiss and his colleague. To his mind that would have been irresponsible, would have left the rest of the farm dangerously underprotected. In any case, a larger group wouldn’t necessarily have managed to hunt Purkiss down.

Venedikt’s phone rang.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve warned Purkiss off. You don’t need to relocate.’

‘Warned him.’

‘I have his friend. The contact he had here in the city. I’ve told him she’ll die if he alerts the authorities.’

Venedikt watched a truck reverse into position and wheeze to a standstill. Two men came running to drag the rear doors wide. ‘It’s not enough.’

‘He cares for this woman. He won’t do anything to jeopardize her safety. I know him.’

‘But we’re still exposed here. He might come back.’

‘If he comes back you’ll be ready for him. And the woman dies.’

‘It’s my decision to make.’

‘I know it is. And if you choose the upheaval of relocation, it’s more of a problem for you than for me. But it is my problem too, because it increases the risk of something going wrong with the operation, of your being discovered along the way.’

Venedikt sucked hard on his teeth. He hated to change his mind once he’d made it up, especially at the urging of another whom he did not respect. Especially when that person was an English. But the possibility that they were still secure, could proceed as planned without the disruption of changing bases… it was attractive.

He said, ‘I’ll stay put for the time being.’

‘Good.’

‘Any change in circumstances, any hint you get that Purkiss is alerting anybody else, you let me know immediately.’

There was no reply. Venedikt thought that showed contempt.

He stepped forward, raised his hand, and gave the orders. One or two of the men glanced at him but they were all finely trained, obeyed without question. He went to look for Dobrynin who was supervising the wiring of the farmhouse. The charges, the detonators, would remain in place, just in case circumstances changed.

After an age they were surprised by another road. Again they crossed it, its surface slick with the drizzle that was beginning now that the cloud cover had ceased its drifting. The compass on Purkiss’s phone told him they were heading east-south-east, but they were still far from anywhere that looked familiar. Soon they would have to leave the cover of the forest and chance the road.

Beside him Kendrick kept pace, hobbling slightly, his leg bound with strips torn from his shirtsleeves. His mouth moved, bitten-off mutters barely audible over the tramp of their feet.

There had been no telephone signal now for half an hour. Purkiss checked the display periodically. The time was just after eleven p.m. Nine hours until the summit, and he didn’t care.

He had let Abby down.

Guilt was a phenomenon — not a feeling, that was too slight, too ephemeral a word — with which he was