A. Zander - Moscow City

“What’s your next move?” shouted Varndon, his voice clearer and more human than before. “Make it the right one.”

Harper jumped and squeezed his fingers onto the stone ledge up above, heaving himself up by placing his legs on the outer railings. He inched round, making as little noise as he could. He held his breath as the pigeons flew from their perches and swooped down onto Ludgate Hill. He looked down at the cars below. A woman ran out of a coffee shop and waved down a black cab. The figure looked tiny and his head span. As he reached the opposite corner, he looked carefully around the stone. Varndon stood directly below, looking in the opposite direction.

Harper pointed his gun downwards at the back of the other man’s head. “Turn around.”

Varndon moved slowly to face him. “Looks like you win.”

Harper climbed down from the ledge and stood opposite him. “Put your hands in the air.”

Varndon raised his hands. “Anything you say.”

“Now, we’re going to walk back down. Let’s go.”

Harper motioned with the gun and they started off back towards the exit. They circled the steeple and Varndon walked back through the door to the top of the spiral staircase. As Harper followed, Varndon kicked out and swung the wooden door into his face. Harper fell backwards into the iron railings outside and his gun dropped to the floor. He looked down at the road and the vomit rose again in his throat. Varndon leapt at him and peppered his body with punches, taking his head and smashing it against the stone. Harper felt his cheekbone shatter and his lip split. His mouth filled with blood and his vision blurred as small bone fragments slipped into his eye.

Varndon punched him hard in the face again. “You’re a real fucking pain in the arse you know that.”

Harper dropped to all fours, spitting blood onto the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a foot hurtling towards his face. As it was about to connect and he grabbed it and twisted the ankle. Varndon’s body contorted and he fell to the ground. Harper pounced on him and brought his forehead down hard on his nose, digging his elbow into his neck several times and hammering his fist onto the side of his head. He retrieved his gun as Varndon groaned in pain on the floor. He stamped down hard on his groin, causing him to hiss and lay still on his side. Harper stood over him, breathing hard and pointed the pistol at the side of Varndon’s head.

“This one should be easy for you,” said Varndon. “I might even be convinced you’re not a complete pussy if you do this.”

Harper gritted his teeth and felt his finger kiss the trigger. The Ukrainian boy’s face flashed in front of his eyes again. His flesh tingled and everything slowed down around him.

“Just fucking DO it if you’re going to do it!” shouted Varndon. “This is what fucking murderers do, isn’t it?”

Harper felt his arm move down towards the ground. It was being guided down by something. As he noticed the hand on his arm, he felt no urge to move it away. Someone loosened his grasp and took the gun, but Varndon didn’t move or try to escape.

“We’ll take it from here Matt.” Tom Lonaghan’s Boston twang hung in the air behind him. Burly men with short haircuts pushed past him and scooped up Varndon, dragging him back towards the stairs with no resistance. Harper leant on the iron railing and took in some deep breaths. The vomit burned the inside of his mouth. He looked out at London. Dusk cast darkness over the landscape.

“That’s the second time I’ve been saved by the CIA now,” said Harper.

“It’s all part of the service,” said Lonaghan.

“I’m starting to feel in your debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Tremaine needed a reminder that there are some people in this business that don’t like to be screwed. He’ll get the picture now.”

“What are you going to do with Varndon?”

“He’ll go missing for a while. If he’s lucky, it’ll only be for a while. That guy’s safer locked away, believe me on that.”

They made their way back down the stairs and into the cathedral. Lonaghan’s men swarmed around like worker bees.

“You’re one tough bastard,” said Lonaghan.

“Maybe,” replied Harper.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I need to find Vitsin. They took him somewhere.”

“We found him.”

“You did? Where is he?”

Lonaghan paused. “He’s coming with us. It’s his choice.”

“Is it really his choice?”

“It’s the truth Harper. He knows working for us is the safest place for him.”

“You mind if I hear that from him.”

“I’ve got no problem with that.” They walked out of the cathedral and stood on the steps looking down the hill.

“I presume the ‘special relationship’ won’t be quite so special now,” said Harper. “Not when they work out what happened.”

“We’re not the ones that got greedy,” said Lonaghan. “They’ll get over it.”

“Remind me not to make an enemy of you.”

“Why don’t you come and work for me? I could use a guy like you.”

“Work is the last thing on my mind at the moment.”

“Your call.” Lonaghan shook his hand and walked down the rest of the steps. “But you should think about it. People like us don’t stay away from the action for too long.”

Harper stood to the side of the path as a group of runners floated past him towards the bandstand. He had never seen the bandstand with a band inside it before, but there was a first time for everything. An elegant pensioner with a flute pushed out a few practice notes next to an eastern European with a violin. Harper sat down on one of the surrounding benches as a few more stragglers turned up and started to unpack their instruments.

Morton looked sallow and tired as he picked his way across the grass through Clapham Common’s early morning exercise fanatics. He passed the band and sat down next to Harper. “It makes me tired just looking at them. I’d be as depressed as you if I lived round here. This much exercise just isn’t natural.”

“You should try it, you might live longer.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Morton.

“I haven’t thanked you for sticking by me,” said Harper. “Not everyone would have stuck their neck out like that.”

“Don’t mention it. There’re too many fucking bureaucrats in our profession these days. Blokes like you need to be backed up.”

“Well I appreciate it.”

The band struck up the first tune. Mozart swirled around, unappreciated by the runners bouncing along with their headphones stuck to the side of their heads.

“I heard you’re back on the force,” said Harper.

“Yeah, they had a change of heart. Seems like any pressure they felt to get rid of us evaporated with Tremaine and Worthing. Funny that.”

“Yeah, funny. What happened to Bailey?”

“She resigned.”

“Yeah? I didn’t expect that.”

“She was in Tremaine’s pocket. Tried to smear the Commissioner. I feel sorry for her in a way. She just made some bad decisions.”

“We’ve all made those.”

They stood and walked down the path back towards the High Street. The music was gradually replaced by the sound of the morning traffic.

“The Commissioner wants to give you your own squad Harper.”

“That’s the second job offer I’ve had recently.”

“What was the other one?”

“Nothing interesting. Look Morton, I just don’t think it would be good for me to jump back in at the moment.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, I’m going to make sure the people that matter know your record. A man’s reputation is all he’s got sometimes.”