Francis smiled again.
‘It is McGee we need to think about, Dmitri.’
‘Not Robert Skatie?’
‘No, McGee will play.’
‘And what do you –’
‘Matt McGee is an interesting man, Dmitri,’ Francis said. ‘I have had a man looking into him for me. A private investigator.’
‘And what did he find?’ Tupolev said.
‘That Matt McGee is a man with a past. And a present.’ Francis paused for effect.
But Tupolev said nothing.
So Francis went on. ‘In the past he was involved with some unsavoury characters.’
‘Unsavoury?’ Tupolev said. ‘What does this mean? That he was sweet? How can he be sweet?’
Francis held back a laugh. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Unsavoury means bad, criminal.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘There are links to counterfeit money. And to drugs. And other crimes.’
‘You are proposing blackmail?’
‘Yes,’ Francis said. ‘But there’s more. I have made it my business to find out that Matt McGee is in severe debt. He gambles.’
‘Gambles?’
‘Bets. He bets money on anything that moves.’
‘And you are recommending?’
Francis stopped to think. He often wondered how good Tupolev’s English was. Sometimes he used words like ‘recommending’ and ‘blackmail’, but would then struggle with words like ‘gamble’. A word he should know better than any other.
Francis knew he had to be careful. He should not forget that this man was one of the most dangerous in the world.
‘A two-pronged attack,’ Francis said. ‘One: we threaten to expose his past. Two: we say we will pay all his gambling debts.’
‘To pay?’ Tupolev spat. ‘Let us just kill him. Pay him? This is one thing we do not do in Russia.’
Francis spoke calmly. ‘We will not pay him, Dmitri. You misunderstand. We will say that we will pay him.’
Again, after a pause, Francis heard Tupolev’s raucous laughter. It was a good sign. A very good sign. They could move forward. Francis had failed to finish off Alex Finn. But everything was still on track.
SPIES EVERYWHERE
Anton Holt gave Danny the afternoon off.
‘Find your passport,’ he said. ‘Text me its number. Someone here will sort your visa. Then get some roubles and some thermal underwear. OK?’
Danny went home. His dad found his passport and Danny texted the number through to Holt. Then Danny asked his dad if he wanted to come to the Post Office to get some roubles. As for the thermal underwear, Danny didn’t bother. There was no way he was wearing anything ridiculous like that. He’d rather freeze.
‘Now?’ Dad said.
‘Yeah. If they don’t have any in I’ll need to order them. For tomorrow morning, Anton said.’
They walked down to the shops together. Danny’s dad next to him, just on his shoulder. Along streets of terraced houses, through leafier roads, past a church. Danny was still amazed at his dad. How could he walk without a stick, without holding Danny’s arm, just following his voice or his footsteps?
‘So what do you know about Russia?’ Dad said, interrupting Danny’s thoughts.
Danny was about to reply, but his dad cut in.
‘I can’t believe you – how jammy can you get? First you get invited to the European Championships. And now you’re off to a World Cup qualifier.’
‘I’m just lucky,’ Danny said, stopping to cross the road at the lights.
‘Hmmmm,’ Dad said, stopping too. ‘Maybe you are. But just make sure you stay out of trouble on this trip. You know what I mean?’
Danny felt like his dad was glaring at him through his dark glasses, but he knew he couldn’t be.
‘All I know,’ Danny said, ‘to answer your previous question, is that Russia isn’t as bad as it used to be. We did it in history last year, remember? The Cold War and all that.’
‘The Cold War and all that?’ Dad mimicked Danny. ‘Do you know, before my accident, all I used to read were thrillers about the Cold War and all that? I was obsessed. Everyone was. They were spying on us. We were spying on them. They were the communists: we were the free world. They had enough bombs aimed at us to sink the whole island. And everyone was always saying “The Russians are coming!”’
‘Coming where?’
Danny asked the questions as they crossed the road, towards the row of shops on the high street.
‘To invade us.’
‘Us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why us?’
‘Because they had all these tanks and bombs and they wanted to come get us. Make us communist too.’
‘And did they?’ Danny asked. ‘I mean, did they really want to do that?’
‘No. I don’t suppose so. It was a funny time. Anyone going to Russia was immediately watched and suspected by both sides. The British and the Russians.’ Dad stopped walking. ‘You’ve seen Spooks on TV, right?’
‘Yeah. The MI5 thing?’
‘And you know how it’s all about al-Qaida – the enemy?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, there was no al-Qaida then. Not in the seventies and eighties. It was the Russians. The papers were full of it. And the books.’
‘Right,’ Danny said.
‘Are we in front of the café?’ Dad asked.
His dad was spot on. That’s exactly where they were.
‘Yeah,’ Danny said.
‘You go and get your roubles,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll get the teas in.’
‘Can I have a Coke?’ Danny asked.
Dad waved his hand and pushed the door of the café open. Danny walked another fifty yards and went into the Post Office.
The Post Office was a large square room with three counters at the far end. There were two racks of shelves in the middle of the room, with kids’ toys, stationery and gift cards on display. Two of the counters were busy. The third was free. The man behind it already had his eyes on Danny. He was bald, sixty-plus and was wearing glasses.
‘Yes, sir?’ he said.
Danny had been served by this man dozens of times. Getting stamps for his mum. Posting parcels for his dad. But he still called Danny ‘sir’.
‘Can I have some roubles, please?’ Danny asked.
‘Roubles?’ The man raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, Russian –’
‘I know where roubles are from, sir,’ the man said, utterly deadpan.
Danny nodded.
‘I’ll have to phone the order through,’ the man said.
‘When will they come?’ Danny said. ‘I need them for –’
‘Tomorrow, sir?’
‘Great.’ Danny
