THE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS
7
At the Ritz, Olga clocked in, then went to the women’s staff room, opened her locker, undressed, and changed into staff uniform. She reported to the supervisor and then went up to her station on the fourth floor. It was just after eleven when she went into the linen room, still puzzled about Kurbsky. Then she wondered about Ivanov. Was he even there? There was one way to find out. She went and knocked on his door lightly, then used her passkey.
He was lying on the bed, jacket off, propped up against pillows, watching television, and sat up with a smile, swinging his feet to the floor.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” He took a quick step, enfolded her in his arms, and kissed her passionately. She pulled away. “When I saw your boss leave the hotel, I wondered what was going on. I wasn’t even sure you’d be here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Kurbsky. I saw him getting a taxi downstairs on my way in.”
He shook his head. “But that’s impossible.”
“It was him, all right. Ask the doorman. He got him the taxi. It was to the Gare du Nord. I heard quite clearly. The porter asked which gate, and your boss said he wanted the midnight express to Brest, and the porter said gate three.”
Ivanov turned, ran to the interconnecting door to the suite, opened it, and rushed in. Kokonin was leaning over in the chair, holding his head in his hands and groaning. Ivanov pulled his hands away and shook him.
“What happened?”
“I was watching television. He came in, said he wanted a drink from the room bar, and passed behind me. He must have punched me or something. I just blacked out. I only opened my eyes a minute or so ago. Where is he?”
“Gone. Cleared off. Olga here saw him leaving the hotel and getting a taxi.” He turned to Olga, who stood in the doorway. “Get my friend from his room. If he’s undressed, tell him to get his clothes on again and come and join us.”
“What is it?” she demanded. “What in the hell has happened?”
“My boss has decided to defect, that’s what’s happened, and if he gets away with it, me and my friends might as well defect too, because if we go back to Moscow without him, we’ll end up in some gulag in Siberia. Go and get the other guy.”
She went, and Ivanov pushed Kokonin into the bathroom. “Take your shirt off quickly. Come on, I’ll give you one of my shirts. You haven’t got time for a full shower, but a few minutes with your head under the cold spray will help.” He opened the shower door and turned it on ice cold. Kokonin did as he was told, leaning in and then withdrawing and toweling himself dry. Ivanov went and got a fresh shirt for him, and as he was pulling it on, Olga came back.
“Your other pal was in his pajamas, but he’s dressing as fast as he can. Is this bad for you?”
“Not if we can get him back.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
He glanced at his watch. “Eleven-fifteen and the train leaves at midnight. How long does it take to reach the Gare du Nord?”
“I think maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“We could make it, then.” There was a knock at the door and Burlaka appeared. “Could someone explain what the hell is going on?”
Kokonin came out of the bathroom. “I’m okay now.”
Ivanov said to Burlaka, “Get your raincoats and meet me at the elevator.” They went out obediently. He pulled Olga over. “I suppose we’ll always have the linen room to remember.” He kissed her, then went into his bedroom and found his coat and old slouch hat. She followed him, and he said, “We’ll leave everything in our rooms. The Embassy will see to them, and if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut.”
She followed him out into the corridor. “You don’t have to tell me. Do you really think you can get him back?”
“I’m not sure, but if we can get close enough to kill the bastard, that would be just as good.”
He turned and ran to the elevator, where Kokonin was holding the door, and it closed on him. Olga stood there, thinking about him. A nice boy and she’d liked him, but so what? Life could be cruel sometimes, but the last thing she needed was any kind of trouble with Russian intelligence. She turned and went into the linen cupboard and got on with her work.
KURBSKY FOUND THEM waiting outside the gate, the sight of Monica like an old friend. She came toward him, glowing, hands reaching out. “Alex, this is wonderful.” She kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him fiercely. “Are you all right?”
“Never better. Introduce me to your friends.”
Which she did. Dillon said, “We have plenty of time, forty minutes. Let’s have you straight on board and we’ll get you a drink. I think you’ve earned it. Was it difficult?”
“Not at all. Astonishingly simple.”
They walked along the platform, station noises echoing, people’s voices sounding strangely distorted, a whistle in the distance, a train across the platform starting up and moving forward.
“Everybody seems to be going somewhere,” Kurbsky said.
“Well, you certainly are. Just follow me.” She got in the coach, and he went after her.
Billy paused as Dillon made a call on his mobile, which Roper received in Holland Park. “Our package has arrived safely. Just under half an hour or so, and we’ll be off.”
“Did he kill anybody?” Roper asked.
“Not that he mentioned.”
IVANOV HAD PROMISED the taxi driver double fare, which worked in spite of the night and rain. They reached Gare du Nord with fifteen minutes to spare, and Ivanov led the way to the nearest ticket window and slapped his credit card down.
“The train is quite full, gentlemen,” the young woman said. “All first class has gone.”
“That’s okay,” Ivanov told her. “Anything will do.”
“I can manage three club car seats, so you can at least have refreshments, but you’ll have to sit up for the night.”
Within five minutes, they were passing through the gate and starting along the platform. Ivanov pulled his black hat down over his eyes. “You two keep to the other side of the platform, I’ll scan the windows of the train. I’ll join you farther along.”
It was actually easier than he thought it would be. The three first-class coaches were at the front behind the engine, with a fourth that was a bar and restaurant. Walking past, his head slightly averted, Ivanov found Kurbsky sitting opposite a good-looking woman, two men on the other side of them at a bar table. It was enough. He hurried back along the platform to Kokonin and Burlaka at the rear of the train.
“He’s there, sitting with a woman and two men in the bar in first class. We’ll board, find our seats, and think this thing out.”
OVER THE CHAMPAGNE, Kurbsky went over the events of the evening with the others. He even found the Legion of Honor in its box and offered it to Monica for a look.
“A remarkable souvenir of today,” she said. “What was it like, the award ceremony?”
“Crowded and noisy and bizarre. A very old white-haired nuclear physicist sitting next to me asked me what I did, and when I told him, he said he’d never heard of me, which brought me down to earth considerably. So much so that I found myself asking what in the hell was I doing there.”
“What about the Ritz?” Dillon asked. “You said it was astonishingly simple.”
