A. Zander - Moscow City

“I’m afraid you’re all out of escape routes,” said Varndon, circling him from a safe distance.

“Where the hell am I?” said Harper, spittle gathering around the sides of his mouth.

“You’re not far from Gdansk. It’s a little place the Polish government let us use for our…sensitive interrogations. But that is rather inconsequential at this point.”

“What did you do with Cohen and Russell?”

“Oh, we didn’t have to do anything. Your colleagues were more than willing to take up the slack on that score.”

“You don’t think there’ll be people asking where I am?”

“Who exactly? You seemed to have alienated any friends and family a long time ago. Maybe some of those one-night stands or the hookers you are so fond of will come looking for you. What do you think?”

Harper snorted. “That’s funny. Nearly as funny as when your Russian friends took a few IRA bullets.”

“You think I gave a shit about them?”

“I don’t know, did you?”

“Scum like that comes and goes. They were useful for a few errands, but nothing more. You probably did us a favour in the long run.”

“Who the hell are you Varndon?”

“I am the constant. Governments come and go, but people like me, we remain.”

Varndon rubbed his hand over Harper’s torso until his fingers got to the bullet wound. He tapped it lightly a couple of times and then dug his thumb deep into the flesh. Fresh blood sprayed onto the table and Harper’s shouts filled the room.

“Sadism is not something I have always encouraged in myself,” said Varndon, twisting his thumb amidst Harper’s breathless scream. “It’s just something that I find more opportunities for these days.”

“You fuck…!”

“I’ve only taken it too far once or twice. There was a South American couple I picked up in some nasty little Rio slum. Life is so much cheaper in those types of places. It’s so much easier to ignore the guilt.”

He pulled his thumb out of Harper’s side and wiped the blood on the metal table. Harper gagged as he felt Varndon’s hands slide around his throat and squeeze hard. His head thrashed around, banging against the cold metal as Varndon bared his teeth and pushed his face closer to Harper’s. His attacker’s eyes reddened and moisture ran over his eyelashes and dripped onto Harper’s cheek as he pushed harder on his windpipe. Harper held his breath and waited until their faces were just a few inches apart before slamming his forehead against Varndon’s nose, sending him sprawling across the floor.

“That was just a small indulgence on my part,” said Varndon, backing up against the wall and wiping the blood from his face. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Maybe.”

Harper coughed and spluttered as his lungs fought for more oxygen. The white glare from the lights began to hurt his eyes and he squinted to relieve the pain.

“If it was up to me, you’d be dead by now,” said Varndon, pulling a syringe from his pocket and sticking it into Harper’s arm. “But some people think it is more prudent to keep you alive.” Harper felt his vision blur and a relaxing sensation washed over him. The tension in his muscles began to disappear and the pain from the bullet wound evaporated.

“I hope that feels good,” said Varndon. “Because that’s all you have to look forward to now.” Varndon’s voice seemed to get quieter and Harper’s eyes dropped closed. “I’m going to have to go. I need to get back to London. I’ll give your regards to the Deputy Commissioner. I’m sure she’ll be keen to know you’re comfortable in your new surroundings.”

A couple of students stood in the reception pointing at the screenings board as Alpha walked in. The plastic letters were crudely tacked on and one of the films was spelt wrongly. He walked up the red-carpeted stairs to screen number two. A car sped along a Caribbean beach in an advert on the screen. He looked over and saw Bailey sitting in the corner.

Alpha shuffled along the row and sat beside her. “Will we have company?”

“I gave the guy some cash. He’s not selling any more tickets.”

Alpha took his coat off and placed it on the arm of the seat. “Your people made a real mess in Hong Kong.”

“You’re blaming me for that?”

“I’m not blaming anyone. It just wasn’t helpful.”

“Well, I tried to stop them.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve tried harder.”

“What did you expect me to do?” said Bailey, raising her voice and immediately lowering it again. “They acted off their own back.”

“I’m starting to doubt your usefulness to be honest.”

“I’m not God over there. The most I can do is exert some influence.”

“Quite.”

The advert changed. A group of nubile young couples ran down onto a beach and stripped off their clothes before breaking out a case of soft drinks.

“You do remember why we have this arrangement, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult to publicise your daughter’s brush with the law.”

Bailey said nothing and watched the screen.

“The headlines wouldn’t be pretty.”

“I gave you Harper, didn’t I?”

“Eventually. If you’d been more plugged in earlier, maybe I would still have my Russian assets alive.”

“UC ops are kept within a tight circle.”

“So it seems. A circle you aren’t part of.”

“I need to be careful. They’re not stupid.”

“With your people, the bar isn’t very high on that score.” Alpha offered Bailey a boiled sweet. “Don’t worry dear, I have big plans for you.”

“What plans?”

“I want you to take over from the Commissioner.”

Bailey turned to look at him. “What?”

“I want you replace him. Head the Met.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple. When I take over my little patch and start to make some changes, I will need a friendly face in the Commissioner’s chair. That’s you.”

“And do you think the Commissioner will just allow that?”

Alpha placed some files on Bailey’s knee. “These are transcripts of the Commissioner leaking confidential information to a reporter. I will make sure certain politician friends of mine give it the publicity it deserves. And I would like you to hand it your people in internal affairs.”

“Where did you get this?”

“It’s not important. What’s important is that you climb to the top of the tree when he is knocked off. And that your daughter is left to enjoy the rest of her formative years…unharassed.”

Morton sat with his hand wrapped around a whisky glass. He glanced up and the barman added another generous measure. Music from the fruit machine was the only sound in the pub. He waved at Cohen and Russell as they came in and pointed them to the back corner booth. They noticed the tiredness in each other’s eyes as they sat down.

“You look like shit Guv,” said Russell.

“I know. I haven’t had much sleep. They shoved me in a cell and the scumbags across the hall knew I was old bill. Someone must have tipped them off. They didn’t shut up all night. How did you two get on?”

“They put us in together, but it was pretty quiet.”

“Good for you.”

Morton looked over Russell’s shoulder towards the door. A young couple walked in and stood at the bar, laughing and giggling with each other. “They’ve been following me since I walked out of the station.”

Cohen lowered his voice. “Who are they?”

“Bailey’s people maybe. Special Branch. Spooks. I don’t know. I’m not sure it even matters anymore to be honest.”