“Sounds like a floating conservatory. Where will it be?”
“Cadogan Pier, Chelsea. They’ll have their discussion, then their joyride past the House of Commons, and disembark at Westminster Pier. Preparations have already started.”
“Good, I’ll be in touch.”
Bounine went back to the cabin and found that Ali Selim had still not returned. He quickly told Luzhkov what Greta had said.
“When we’re driving back to the Embassy, we could take a look,” Luzhkov said. “It’s near Cheyne Walk.” He nodded, thinking about it. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they got their heads together before boarding the boat.”
“Who knows?” Bounine said, and Ali Selim came in.
“Is everything all right, my friend?” Luzhkov asked.
“A little stomach trouble. Nothing a large cognac won’t cure.” He drank one at the bar, then poured another. “Anyone else?” There were no takers. “So let’s get on with it. What’s the game?”
“The half-a-million-pound kind of game,” Luzhkov said.
Ali Selim didn’t even blink. He swallowed the second cognac, put down the glass, and leaned on the bar. “Okay, tell me everything.”
So Luzhkov nodded to Bounine.
AFTERWARD, BOUNINE SAID, “I realize what a hopeless proposition this must sound. Between the British Security Services and the Vice President’s Secret Service men-let alone Israeli and Palestinian security-getting on the boat would be a nightmare.”
“One couldn’t even plant a bomb on board,” Luzhkov said. “They’ll go over the Garden of Eden with a fine-tooth comb.”
“And find nothing,” Bounine said.
“Because the bomb’s elsewhere.” Ali Selim nodded. “Come with me.”
He led the way up the companionway and stood under the canopy, rain pouring down. “Have a look over there.” He pointed to the large orange motorboat with the huge outboard. “I call that Running Dog, and her speed would amaze you. Some lifeboat stations use them as rescue boats, and the River Police have a few on the Thames.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Luzhkov asked.
Selim turned and pointed down at the other boats moored with the canvas covers. “One of these loaded with Semtex would do it. Sink the Garden of Eden like a stone.”
“Come off it,” Bounine said. “You’d need a suicide bomber to do that. This isn’t Baghdad.”
“I’d arrive while it’s tacking out into the river. I’ll cast off the motorboat so it can’t help but collide. Since it will be carrying seventy pounds of Semtex with short-time pencil fuses, it will blow the Garden of Eden to kingdom come.”
Luzhkov looked at him in awe. “And what about you?”
“What about me? I sink the Running Dog in some run-down dockland area, await events, and vanish if necessary with your half-million pounds to comfort me. I’ll be fine. I always make out.”
Bounine said, “And the Vice President and the others? This doesn’t bother you, not even the President of Palestine?”
“Fuck him, Major, who cares? It’s a lousy world. People live and die because these politicians push the pieces around on some gigantic chessboard.”
He led the way down to the cabin again, went to the bar, made a face, almost as if he were in pain, and poured another cognac.
“That’s better,” he said. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes,” Bounine said. “You mentioned seventy pounds of Semtex. That’s an astonishing amount. Can you get it at such short notice?”
Ali turned, dropped to one knee, and pulled a khaki-colored canvas holdall from a cupboard behind the bar. His strength obvious, he lifted it and dropped it on the bar. He unzipped and opened it, and there was the Semtex neatly stacked in blocks, each covered by greasy paper. On top was a large tin. He opened it.
“Pencil timers. See for yourself.”
“Excellent,” Luzhkov said. “Everything appears to be in perfect order.”
“Call me when you have the exact departure time. Now I’ve got things to do, so go.”
Bounine said, “You haven’t made arrangements for the delivery of the half million. Aren’t you worried?”
“Why would I be?” Ali Selim glanced at Luzhkov. “This old bastard knows I’ll cut his balls off if he crosses me.”
“A TRULY FRIGHTENING MAN,” Luzhkov said as they drove away.
“You can say that again,” Bounine said. “Back to the Embassy?”
“Cadogan Pier, Chelsea, first and let’s see if there’s any action.”
At that early hour, the streets were quiet and there were many private residences around the pier area, but they paused close enough to see the Garden of Eden tied up at the pier, many lights on. There were men working, particularly at the main boarding point.
“That’s a portable electronic arch they’re putting up,” Bounine said. “Everyone will have to pass through it for security. It’ll be the same for the stern area where the crew join the ship or supplies are taken aboard.”
Luzhkov nodded. “It will be as tight as a sardine can. I expected no less. Back to the Embassy.”
KURBSKY HAD GONE back to his room over the garage for the moment and was sitting on the bed. It had been a couple of hours since his confession in the conservatory. It had been terribly distressing, the whole business, particularly for Svetlana, and now he had retired to think about it in the cold light of dawn.
His anger was profound, every instinct in him wishing to strike back at those who had placed him where he was. The DVD showing Tania must have been rigged from old footage when she was still alive. It was inconceivable that Putin hadn’t been fully aware of that. He could not believe that his friend, Yuri Bounine, would have known, surely not that, but Luzhkov must have.
One thing was certain. Sitting here and staring at the wall wasn’t going to do any good. He got up, removed his bathrobe and pajama jacket, and examined his arm. Hitesh had done an excellent job. What a fine doctor he would make. It didn’t hurt, it just felt numb, so he took two of the special painkillers Hitesh had provided, found the bulletproof vest, and managed to pull it on.
He cut the left sleeve off one of the khaki shirts with breast pockets on either side, useful for his mobiles, and hurried the rest of the dressing, pulling on the French paratroopers’ boots last, fitting the gutting knife in the right. He pulled on his knitted hat and looked in the mirror at the strange man he had become. He found no answer there, got his bag, went down to the garage and threw it in the Ford, then called Bounine.
BACK AT THE Embassy, Bounine had tried to pull himself together after his nocturnal activities by taking a hot shower and finding a change of clothes for the active day he suspected lay ahead.
He answered his phone at once, and Kurbsky said, “You’re probably the best friend I have in the world, so prove that friendship by telling me the truth.”
“But I believe I always have, Alex. What is this?”
“What if I told you Roper has succeeded in breaking into the secret files of Station Gorky and has discovered that my sister, Tania, was sentenced to life in perpetuity in 1989?”
“Yes, but you knew that, it was in the file with the DVD.”
“The Putin file. You defended him to me, I remember, said it had all happened before his time.”
“Look, Alex, where is this leading?”
“To my sister’s death from typhoid on March 7, 2000.” There was a moment of stillness. “He lied, Yuri, our beloved Prime Minister lied, and whoever put the file together lied. Was it just handed over to Luzhkov? Is it conceivable the bastard didn’t know?”
“I didn’t, old friend, on my mother’s soul I didn’t know. What are you going to do?”
“The big question is what Ferguson and his people are going to do. I’ve done plenty already. Killed Vronsky, the three lads on the midnight express, that bastard Basayev and his minder. And I sorted out Oleg and Petrovich.”
