ADAM HALL - The Scorpion Signal

The keys of the Syrena took a long time to find in the snow, two or three blackouts, the shoulder burning alive, but found them, the keys, all right.

I called the Embassy from the underground garage and got Bracken direct at Ext. 7. Speech code for Schrenk, Apt. 15 Pavilion, Baumanskaja, told him they'd have to be quick. And pick me up.

Then I walked through the concrete columns and up the ramp and found the Pobeda where I'd left it, got in and sat waiting, might hit something if I drove any more. I hoped they wouldn't be long, blood on the phone down there, whole trail of it, someone might notice. Dizzy and getting thirsty, singing in the ears, dark coming and going. Hurry.

'For God's sake leave me alone,' I told them.

'He's all right,' a voice said.

'Who is?' I hit out and felt an arm and heard something crash on to the floor.

'Steady,' someone said. It sounded like Bracken.

'Open your eyes.' This was in Russian, a woman's voice. I'd heard it before somewhere.

'Eyes?'

Then I saw her, swaying from side to side, leaning over me, melting into some kind of shadow and taking shape again. I remembered her now.

'Can't you keep still?' I asked her.

She laughed, deep in her throat.

Raging thirst.

'Can he sit up?' I saw Bracken now.

Place stank of chemicals.

They helped me, but only on one side. The other side was peculiarly numb. 'Am I in bed, for God's sake?'

'Take it easy,' Bracken said.

I let them pull me upright and when they weren't ready for it I swung my legs over and stood up and they caught me as the wall swung round and hit me full in the face.

'When was that?' I asked them.

'An hour ago.' Bracken was trying to sound cheerful. He was sitting hunched on a brown-painted crate below the window, his big blunt face lit by the street lamps outside and the glow of the stove. The woman was leaning against the wall watching me with her arms folded, black sweater and slacks, raven black hair, eyes like slow coals, Zoya, you are for safe keeping , a lot of it was coming back.

'I've got a thirst like a wooden god.'

She laughed and swung a jug over a glass. The room looked like a hospital ward, bowls and towels and instruments all round the bed, a sickly stink in the air. I drank three glasses of tepid water.and lay back again and then the whole thing hit me.

'Bracken. Did you find him?'

He shook his head slowly. 'No. But then we didn't expect to:

I shut my eyes and something inside my head kept saying all that for nothing, all that for nothing.

'Why not?' I asked him.

'You phoned at 8.42. I got three men there by 8.57. He'd had fifteen minutes to get out, quite long enough.'

'Shit:

'You did your best.'

My eyes came open. 'Time for epitaphs, is it?' There were half a dozen pillows and a couple of them rolled on to the floor but I kept moving and got my legs over the edge of the bed. She came at me fast but I said, 'Leave me alone for Christ's sake, I'm all right now.' My left arm was in a sling and I couldn't feel anything on that side. It didn't interest me; all I could think about was that bastard Schrenk. I'd nailed him at his base and now we were about as close to him as we'd been when I'd first got into Moscow.

Why had I let him reach that gun?

Because I hadn't wanted to kill him. I'd been holding off, taking things right to the brink, chancing my own life and trying to save his. Sometimes you learn the hard way.

'Take it easy,' Bracken said, and got off the crate to hold me up.

'Time is it now?' I asked him, and wobbled about, leaning on him when I had to.

'Nearly twelve.'

'Twelve what? Oh. Night.'

'He must rest,' Zoya said angrily. I suppose she was waiting for me to fall over, going to be right out of luck. Two lumps of metal lying on a bloodied swab in one of the basins, I said: 'What are those?'

'They both went into the same shoulder,' Bracken said. The woman began clearing the stuff away, obviously not prepared to speak to us any more.

'Did you find Ignatov?'

'No.'

'What about the girl?'

'What girl?'

'There was a girl there. Misha.'

'The apartment was empty when our people got there.' He steadied me as I moved my feet. Weak as chewed string, bloody infuriating.

Someone was outside the door and we all froze by habit and Zoya opened it, standing close in the gap. A man spoke in Russian and she nodded and went out, shutting the door.

'Croder's on his way here,' Bracken said and I jerked my head to look at him.

'Croder?'

'Things have been moving. Look, why don't you sit down for a bit?'

'How did he get into Moscow?'

Patiently he said: 'You mean Croder?'

I let him lower me on to the crate and I put my head back against the wall and waited until the throbbing eased off. It was the first time I'd ever heard of a control coming right into the target area from London and now it had to be Croder and he was going to find his executive in the field looking just about as useful as something the cat had coughed up and there was nothing I could do about it.

'What's he doing in Moscow?' I asked Bracken.

'Going to help us out. Want another drink?'

'You don't need any help, for God's sake.' He'd pulled me off the street and got me into the safe-house at a minute's notice, even Ferris couldn't have done any better. 'Fill me in, will you?'

'I've been in signals with London for the past twelve hours. They — '

'Did you know Croder was coming out here?'

'Yes.'

'Uninformation, Jesus, I — '

'His orders. They blew Gorsky, by the way.' He didn't want to talk about Croder.

'Gorsky?' The man at the first safe-house, a good man, reliable. 'Did Schrenk think I was there?'

'Presumably. The KGB raided the place an hour ago.'

Schrenk wasn't going to leave me alone. That was all right. The next time I'd follow instructions. All we want is his silence.

Do it for Gorsky.

'Mind getting me some water?'

'Coming up.'

I was drinking it when the door opened and Croder came in, a thin scarecrow in the heavy military coat, his skull's head catching in the light from the corridor and then darkening in shadow as he moved farther into the room, picking his way through the cluttered furniture as if through a minefield, halting in front of me at last and staring down with his black hooded eyes.

'What happened?'

'Schrenk tried to kill him,' Bracken said.

'Where is Schrenk?'

'We lost him again.'

The skin drew taut across the pale pointed face and the hooded eyes blinked once. It was like watching a lizard, but I felt a strange sensation of comfort: with someone like this here, cold-blooded and totally dedicated, we wouldn't make any more mistakes.

He heard the door click shut and turned with a quick swing of his shoulders; it was Zoya coming back. He looked at Bracken again. 'How many do we have left in the cell?'

'It's still intact. Six of them.'

'How are they deployed?'

'Two are watching Schrenk's last known base and two are watching an apartment block where Schrenk's lieutenant lives with his family. Pyotr Ignatov. One mobile liaison, one signals.'

Croder swung back to look down at me. 'I assume you're not operational.'

I was so annoyed that I got on to my feet before Bracken could try to help me. This time it didn't feel too bad. 'I'm short on protein, that's all. There wasn't time to eat.'

'He lost blood,' Zoya said in thick accents. 'I could not make any transfusion here, of course. He is weak.'

Croder looked at her. 'Are you a doctor?'

'Yes. There are two bullets, and a third wound. He needs to rest. He came out of a general anaesthesia an hour ago.'