buying a camera? Most photographers have a ton of photographic equipment lying around.’
‘The cops could have taken it,’ Mace suggested. ‘If he’s been a naughty boy, they’d collect it as evidence. Or to sell.’
Harry shook his head. Mace was being obtuse. ‘They were empty-handed. And there was nothing inside the flat; no cases, no lights, no lenses — nothing.’
Mace shrugged, anxious to move on. ‘I don’t see there’s anything we can do. Best keep out of it.’ He looked at Rik. ‘Any chance he was Italian intelligence?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rik looked shell-shocked. ‘Maybe. Probably.’
‘Bloody right, probably. You’d best hope he doesn’t give ’em your name just to wriggle out of whatever mess he’s in, otherwise you’ll be next.’ He turned to Harry. ‘You’d better come in — you, too, Rik. Something to show you.’ They followed him into his office, where a PC monitor was humming on the desk.
‘The details Clare picked up yesterday from her contact,’ he said, moving behind his desk, ‘were map co- ordinates.’ He flipped a hand towards a large map of the country on the wall behind him. A red marker was positioned up near the top edge, north of a dark, jagged mass representing the Caucasus Mountains flowing from left to right. ‘We sent them to London yesterday afternoon, and they’ve come back with this.’ He spun the monitor on its base so they could all see the screen.
It was a high-altitude photo, grainy and sombre in a mix of dark greens and greys, with a darker shape like a thin tadpole, the narrow end of the tail pointing north.
‘What’s that?’ said Harry. He recalled what Mace had said about the Russians coming, and his mouth went dry. Surely, bloody not…
‘We think it’s a military convoy: trucks, APCs, troop carriers… maybe even tanks. London’s waiting for another sweep to get more detail.’ Mace pointed further south, where a line me-andered through the hills. ‘This is a road through the mountains called the Kazek Pass. It’s narrow but negotiable, and spills out on to a plain about thirty miles wide. South of there,’ his finger moved down, ‘is open country all the way.’ He sat back and looked at them. ‘And by all the way, I mean all the way here.’
‘Why would they do that?’ Rik asked.
‘They want to keep what’s theirs.’ It was Clare Jardine, speaking from near the door. She had evidently seen the photo already. ‘There’s been trouble brewing for months over the gradual erosion — as Moscow sees it — of land with emerging states calling for independence. Each one opting out chips away at the Russian map, especially with the new states looking towards the European Union. Moscow doesn’t like that. They’ve begun to fight back.’
‘Let’s hope not literally,’ said Mace. He swept an arm across the map, right down to the borders with Iran. ‘Because if they do, and that lot comes through the Kazek Pass, they could end up rolling right over our heads.’
SIXTEEN
‘ Something bugging you?’ Harry dumped coffee powder in a mug. Rik was poking about in the back of a computer monitor.
Rik shook his head. ‘Just… stuff.’
Harry looked round. Clare Jardine had gone out and Fitzgerald was with Mace in his office, going over a destruction plan if the Russians did arrive. ‘It sounded more than stuff.’ He poured water and stirred the mix, waiting.
Rik dropped the screwdriver he was using and stood up, flicking a glance at the door to the connecting office. He came over and made himself some tea, jabbing at a teabag as if stabbing it to death.
‘We’re being watched, you know that?’ His voice was tight.
‘Who by?’ It wouldn’t have surprised Harry, not after the last few days.
‘I call them the Clones.’ Rik looked at him, eyes bright. ‘There’s a team of four. Fitz said he might have seen them… Clare thinks she did, although I reckon she was taking the piss. Nobody wants to talk about it. Mace thinks I’m delusional.’
Harry held up his hand to halt the rush of words. ‘Whoa, slow down. Who are these… Clones?’
‘Local security police, I guess. All I know is, they’re watching us. Christ, that makes me sound paranoid.’ He laughed nervously and Harry realised he must have been itching to talk about this for some time.
‘Go on.’
‘There’s four, right? Never more, sometimes less… but I reckon it’s because they’re on a rota system… two on, two off kind of thing.’
‘Thanks,’ said Harry dryly. ‘I get the concept.’
‘Sorry. Forgot. Anyway, they’re always hanging about, sometimes on foot, sometimes in a car down the street.’ He sipped his tea and winced at the heat. ‘Shit. I’ve even had them show up outside my place.’
‘What do they look like?’ Harry decided to keep it as calm as possible. If he really had spotted a team of watchers, it meant they’d undoubtedly now added his face to the collection of spooks in this building. Interesting, but not unusual. The Russians had already accused British Council staff of fomenting trouble among local minority groups. Other local intelligence organizations probably held similar views.
‘Youngish, about thirty… fit-looking, jeans and street clothes — and shaven heads, although that’s pretty much par for the course around here.’ He grinned quickly. ‘A short back and sides in this town is short all over.’
The description fitted half the men Harry had seen so far. Including the watcher at the airport.
‘No special characteristics?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed. Sorry.’ He looked at Harry as if weighing up whether he’d been believed or not.
Harry put down his mug. ‘Come on. Time for a cup of real coffee.’
‘What?’
‘We’re going walkabout, see if we can spot one of these Clones.’ He wasn’t sure why he should care, but it was better than doing nothing.
He led the way downstairs. On the way out, he picked up a large brown envelope and handed it to Rik, with instructions to make his way to the railway station. ‘Walk normally. If you clock one, don’t do anything, just keep going as if you’re on a boring errand. I’ll see you there.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘Closer than you think.’
He waited for Rik to clear the end of the street, then slipped outside and followed at a discreet distance.
He picked up the first watcher a hundred yards out.
Heavy rain clouds had closed in on the town overnight, dumping a blanket of cold drizzle on the streets and filling the paper-choked gullies. Potholes were invisible under a covering of water, and Harry hugged the buildings to avoid a drenching from passing trucks.
The first man he saw fitted Rik’s description to the letter: young, lean, anonymous, bristle-cut hair and nothing to mark him out. He wore a scruffy denim jacket, patched jeans and trainers, and hunched against the cold rain; he would have been invisible in any crowd.
He was also good at following a target.
Five minutes later Harry spotted another likely contender. This one appeared out of a shop doorway across the street. He sloped along, keeping Rik in his sights without losing pace. If there were any signals exchanged between him and his colleague, they kept them discreet.
The railway station was a heavy concrete structure with no pretensions of style, a plain, arched entrance and few windows. Like a brick shithouse with trains, thought Harry. He walked on by, allowing the first Clone to follow Rik inside. The other man had disappeared, and Harry guessed he had gone to cover the other exits. If there were any more on the job, they were keeping well back.
Once out of sight of the station entrance, Harry stopped and counted to fifty before doubling back. He passed a cheap clothes shop on a corner and ducked inside. When he came out he was wearing a waterproof ski hat pulled down over his ears.
The inside of the station was noisy, damp and unwelcoming, with a cold wind cutting through the concourse
