her feet and Kurbsky stood there for a moment. Then Svetlana held out her hands and said, “Alexander, can it be you? I can’t believe it after all these years.”
“Like the bad penny, I’ve turned up again, Babushka.”
There was a flood of tears, and he closed the door. A short while later it opened again, and Katya emerged and closed it. “He introduced me, but it’s very emotional for Svetlana in there.”
“Let’s leave them to it and go and join the others,” Monica said.
Ferguson was in the corner of the bar area, talking to Dillon and Harry. Billy was sitting with Roper, and the two women joined them.
“How did it go?” Roper asked.
“Floods of tears from Svetlana. Her precious boy back after all these years. He even called her Babushka.”
“I thought that meant grandmother in Russian?” Roper said.
“It seems it was his pet name for her when he was very little. She is so relieved to see him. Just can’t believe he’s got here safely.”
Monica glanced at Roper, who nodded. “Tell her what happened. After all, you were there.”
WHEN SHE WAS finished listening, Katya looked grave but not particularly shocked. “It’s a bloody nose for the GRU, but Alex is what he is.”
“God knows, he saw enough during the years of war,” Monica said.
“I think there’s more to it than that.” Katya moved to Roper’s side table with the bottles, opened the vodka, and poured one. “Something else, something deep in his soul, perhaps blossomed during the wars and won’t go away again.”
“Perhaps.” Monica was uncertain.
Roper reached for his whiskey, the pain in his left shoulder and back suddenly intense. “She’s got a point, Monica. Take you. A class act. An academic at a famous and ancient university, with doctorates galore, and yet when push came to shove, you shot that IRA bastard dead last year. I mean, where did that come from?” He swallowed his whiskey. “I know, I’m the pot calling the kettle black, but one thing’s certain. It would be difficult for Svetlana to take on board the fact that her beloved nephew has just stiffed three people.”
“I think we’re all agreed on that,” Katya said. “I’ll go and see how they are getting on.”
She went out, and Billy said, “One smart lady, Katya.”
“Well, I wouldn’t disagree with you.” Roper pushed his glass over and Monica poured another scotch. “Is it a bad day?” Monica asked him.
“Monica, it’s always a bad day, but I’m alive, if not exactly kicking, when I should have been in bits and pieces, like a lot of the poor sods coming back from Afghanistan and Iraq these days. It occurs to me that in the great scheme of things, there might have been a meaning to my survival.”
“I didn’t know you were religious,” Billy told him.
“I’m not, Billy, but I believe in reason and purpose.”
The conversation was cut off by the appearance of Kurbsky with Katya, and Svetlana on his arm. Katya said, “Svetlana wants Alex to watch my show now, so that he knows what we have in mind. I’ve spoken to Ferguson, and he and Dillon and Harry have gone ahead to the viewing theater.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Roper said.
KAT YA HAD TWEAKED the film a certain amount, but it was pretty much the same as she had first shown to Svetlana, Dillon, and Monica at Chamber Court. She talked it through, and when she was finished, said, “Let’s show it once more, I think, so that Alex really gets the idea.”
There was silence when she finally froze on the final image of what he had become, standing there in hospital scrubs.
“Very impressive,” Kurbsky said. “An audacious plan.” He turned to Svetlana. “What do you think?”
“It would be wonderful if it gave you the chance to stay at the house, at least for a while, so that I could get close again, get to know you.”
“Let’s analyze the situation. If the GRU thinks I’m in London, they’ll try and seek me out. On the other hand, the last thing they’d want to do is advertise the fact of my presence here. They’d prefer to kidnap me or kill me in some unobtrusive way.”
“All that makes sense,” Ferguson said.
“So I don’t think they’ll bring in the heavy artillery. They’ll wait and watch. If I become wretched Henri Duval, the walking ghoul, dying of lung cancer, racked by the effects of chemotherapy, the odd-job man living over the garage at the house, it’ll be so different from what they expected to find that eventually they’ll just move on. Of course, if it doesn’t work and they sniff me out, I can always do a runner.”
“So you’re up for it?” Dillon said.
“The sooner the better. To make such a fundamental change in me so quickly will vastly increase our chances of success.”
Ferguson was excited. “That’s it, then, people.” He turned to Katya. “When do you want to start?”
“As soon as possible. I’ve brought my makeup box in the car, my hairdressing essentials, certain drugs I want him to take. I understand you keep a wardrobe of assorted clothing and footwear here as a backup for your operations.”
“We certainly do, and anything extra that you need, we can get.”
“Excellent.” She kissed Svetlana on the cheeks. “Go now, love, back to the apartment. Billy will take you. He’ll make sure you get anything you need.”
“Gold room service,” Billy said, gave her his arm, and took her to the door. She stopped him and turned, looking at Kurbsky. “I’m afraid, Alexander, that in finding you again, I will lose you.”
He blew her a kiss. “You will never lose me again, Babushka, I swear it.”
They left. Katya said, “Right, the stuff from my car, and you, Monica.” She nodded. “Yes, you can assist me. It will be good to have you there.” She turned to Ferguson. “But no one else. This must be understood.”
She turned and walked out, with Kurbsky and Monica following.
LONDON
8
The wardrobe area at Holland Park was rather theatrical, when you considered it, filled with walk-in wardrobes containing a wide selection of clothes, even uniforms. There was a screen high up in the corner, and when Katya switched it on, it showed the final image she had frozen on the viewing theater set, the lost-looking hopeless creature in hospital scrubs.
She made Kurbsky undress and put on cotton pajama trousers, and he sat facing the mirrors, the hair wild, the beard tangled. “You look like Sir Francis Drake getting ready to sail out against the Spanish Armada, doesn’t he, Monica?”
“Is that so?” Kurbsky said. “Romantic tosh!”
“Shut up and take these.” She opened a box and shook out two large pills. He examined them. “What are they?”
“You don’t need to know.” She poured a glass of tap water. “You will take two each day. You will notice a darkening under the eyes, which will look like bruising. This will help in the illusion that you are on chemotherapy. They work very quickly.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’m in theater. It’s my business to know.”
He shrugged and washed the pills down. “Now what?”
“A sheet about his shoulders, Monica.” She turned to a selection of scissors. “So now I shall be Delilah and you Samson, I think. The beard first.”
