Sea Leopard

watched her eagerly devouring a plate of thin, overcooked steak and mushrooms and chips. For himself, beans on toast had been as much as he could eat. Tension wore at him, devouring appetite as well as energy. Quin was somewhere in the north of England — the girl had said nothing more than that, and he refrained from pumping her further for fear of recreating the drama of obsessive suspicion in her mind. He behaved, as far as he was able, as a driver who was giving her a lift north. The adrenalin refused to slow in his veins. He was nervous of pursuit — though he had seen no evidence of it — and he was suffering the stimulant effects of their escape from Petrunin.

'How's the tour going?' he asked conversationally.

She looked at him, a forkful of chips poised at her lips, which were shiny with eating. Her face was amused, and somehow obscurely contemptuous.

'I didn't have time to notice.'

Hyde shrugged. 'I thought you might have heard. I hope they do well.'

'You expect me to believe that's all that's on your mind — the profits of an over-thirties rock band?' she sneered, chewing on the mouthful of chips, already slicing again at the thin steak. The cafeteria of the motorway service station was early-hours quiet around them. One or two lorry drivers wading through mountainous plates of food, a carload of caravanners avoiding the traffic of the day by travelling by night, smuggling their way to their holiday destination, the two waitresses leaning at the cash register, grumbling. Just south of Lancaster. Hyde hoped that Quin was somewhere in the Lake District. The sooner he got to him, the better.

He shrugged. 'No, I don't think you're that stupid. Just filling in time, trying to lull you into a false sense of security.' He grinned in what he hoped was an unsuspicious, engaging manner.

She studied him narrowly. Her plate was empty. 'You're odd,' she said eventually. 'And too bloody clever by half. Don't pull the dumb ocker stunt with me.'

She was still in control of their situation, leading him by the hand to her father, only because her father had agreed. She would tell him nothing until the last minute, to retain control.

'Thank you. Tell me, why did your father up and away like that? He wasn't really frightened of us, was he?'

She screwed her face up in thought, then released the skin into clear, youthful planes and curves again. With a bit of make-up, Hyde thought, she wouldn't look bad. They all wear a sneer these days.

'He was frightened of them — people like the ones tonight,' she said. 'And he didn't believe people like you —' An old and easy emphasis lay on the words like a mist. Pigs, Fascists, cops, the fuzz. The necessary vocabulary of her age and her education. The silence after the emphatic last word was strained, and she looked down, suddenly younger, more easily embarrassed.

'I see,' he said. 'We would have looked after him, you know.'

'No you wouldn't!' she snapped, looking up again. 'They watched him all the time. Your people took time off for meals, and the pub, and to go for a piss — they didn't! They were there all the time. Dad said there were a hundred times he could have been kidnapped while your lot weren't there or weren't looking!' She was leaning forward, whispering intently, a breathy shout. 'You wouldn't have taken care of him — he took care of himself.'

'I agree we're not as efficient as the KGB,' Hyde said evenly. 'But he wasn't in any real danger.' Immediately, he was sorry he had uttered the words. The girl's features were rich in contempt, and he had no business defending the DS. Quin had been right, in a way. The KGB might have lifted him, any time. 'Sorry,' he added. 'No doubt he was right. Sloppy buggers, some of them.' Her face relaxed. 'But he's safe now?' Her eyes narrowed, and he added: 'Do you want coffee?' She shook her head.

'You?'

'No.' He hesitated, then said, 'Look, you have to trust me. No, I don't mean because you realise I'm trying to save you and your old man from the baddies — you have to believe I can do it. I'm not tooling around Britain waiting for you to make up your mind.'

She thought for a moment, then said, 'You'll have to turn off the motorway at the exit for Kendal.' She watched his face, and he suppressed any sign of satisfaction.

It was the importance of it, he decided. That explained her almost fanatical care for her father. She was the key, even to herself. Importantly useful for the first time in her parents' lives. Crucial to her father's safety. She clung to her role as much as she clung to her father. 'Ready? Let's go, then.'

The man near the telephone booth in the car park watched them approach the yellow TR7, get in, and drive off down the slip-road to the M6. There was just time for the brief telephone call to Petrunin before they set off in pursuit. Once clear of Manchester and on to the motorway, Hyde had not driven at more than sixty or sixty-five. If he kept to that speed, there would be enough time to catch him before the next exit. He dialled the number, then pressed the coin into the box. Petrunin's voice sounded hollow and distant.

'I may have some trouble getting away. A slight delay. Keep me informed.'

'Trouble?'

'No. I must, however, be careful leaving Manchester. I am known by sight. Don't lose them.'

The man left the booth, and ran across the car park to the hired Rover and its two occupants. They were less than a minute behind the yellow TR7.

* * *

Lloyd was still angry. The effort to keep his appearance calm, to portray acquiescence to the inevitable, seemed only to make the hidden anger grow, like a damped fire. His father, encouraging the first fire of the autumn by holding the opened copy of The Times across the fireplace in the morning room. He smiled inwardly, and the memory calmed him. His stomach and chest felt less tight and hot. It was worse, of course, when the Russian was there — even when Thurston with his impotent raging and coarse vocabulary was in the same room.

There was nothing he could do. With his crew confined to their quarters and one guard on the bulkhead door, and his officers similarly confined to the wardroom, three men had held them captive until a relief, augmented guard had arrived from the rescue ship and the damage repair team with their heavy equipment had begun their work on the stern of the Proteus. Ardenyev forced one to admire him, and that rankled like a raging, worsening toothache. The effort of three weary, strained men to drag unconscious bodies through the submarine to monitor the essential, life-supporting systems, to inspect 'Leopard', and only then to call for help, surprised him. Enraged him afresh, also.

There was a knock at his cabin door. Presumably the guard.

'Yes?'

Ardenyev was looking tired, yet there was some artificial brightness about his eyes. He was obviously keeping going on stimulants. Lloyd tried to adopt a lofty expression, feeling himself at a disadvantage just because he was lying on his bunk. Yet he could not get up without some admission of subordination. He remained where he lay, hands clasped round his head, eyes on the ceiling.

'Ah, Captain. I am about to make an inspection of repairs. I am informed that they are proceeding satisfactorily.'

'Very well, Captain Ardenyev. So kind of you to inform me.'

'Yes, that is irony. I detect it,' Ardenyev replied pleasantly. 'I learned much of my English in America, as a student. Their use of irony is much broader, of course, than the English — I beg your pardon, the British.'

'You cocky bastard. What the hell are you doing with my ship?'

'Repairing her, Captain.' Ardenyev seemed disappointed that Lloyd had descended to mere insult. 'I am sorry for much of what has happened. I am also sorry that you killed three members of my team. I think that your score is higher than mine at the moment, don't you?'

Lloyd was about to reply angrily, and then he simply shrugged. 'Yes. You haven't —?'

'One body, yes. The youngest man. But that is usually the way, is it not? The others? No doubt they will be awarded posthumous medals. If I deliver your submarine to Pechenga.'

'What happened to the fraternal greetings bullshit?'

'For public consumption, Captain. That is what our ambassador will be telling your foreign secretary, over and over again. I'm sorry, but your inconvenience will be shortlived and as comfortable as possible. My interest in the affair ends when we dock. Now, if you will excuse me — '