Adrian Magson - Execution

A pulse was beating in Deane’s throat. Paulton recognised the signs of anger beating beneath the surface. Deane had worked under Bellingham in MI6. She had been one of his protegees, one of a posse of SIS recruits loyal to him and hanging on to his coat-tails. Ironically, had Bellingham survived, Deane’s advance in the service would not have been quite so rapid. But sudden gaps in any organisation created opportunity for the ambitious. He doubted Deane had ever considered it, but with his death, there had been a vacuum and she had moved on up ahead of her colleagues. The fact that he considered her totally unsuited to the job was beside the point. Played right, she could still be useful to him.

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘I have an idea, yes. But that’s not the only part of the package.’

‘Really? Who else have you got — Lord Lucan?’ Deane didn’t bother hiding her scepticism. ‘Not interested.’

‘Not even close. I know who put an end to poor old Roman Vladimirovich Tobinskiy in King’s College.’

Deane’s eyes showed a spark of interest, quickly supressed. ‘How can you know that?’

He grinned. What she meant was, even she doesn’t know that. ‘I know how they found Tobinskiy, I know about the guard leaving his post the night he was killed. . and I even know the name of the man who came over especially from Moscow’s Special Purpose Centre to run the kill team who carried out the assignment.’

The thought processes as Deane ran through the permutations were almost painful to watch. Paulton let them run without interrupting. He knew what was happening. Boxes were being ticked, targets lined up, scores being calculated for the final personal triumph.

Finally, she said, ‘Are you saying Jardine wasn’t involved?’

It was a minor point, but one he knew she would consider. Vengeance is a hard goal to let go.

‘She knew nothing about it.’ As her face fell, registering disappointment, he added smoothly, ‘But in the final analysis, who will be able to tell? She was right there when it happened, she knows the Russians, she was already a bad apple in the barrel.’ He shrugged meaningfully. ‘You can do with that what you will. I presume you have people looking for her?’

She gave a hint of a nod, but no more. She would have to be careful committing resources to look for a person of no official interest purely for her own ends; but he had no doubts that she already had a team working on it. Outsiders, probably, a bunch of contractors from one of the many shadowy private security companies with offices in Mayfair.

He watched while she worked out the prizes this could bring her: the team responsible for the murder of a Russian dissident in a London hospital, including their senior Moscow chief; the woman who had murdered her boss, Bellingham. A shot at the top job.

Game, set and match.

Alice Alanya stared at Harry. ‘I didn’t realise. How did it happen?’

Harry didn’t want to go through the shooting again; he’d done that enough already. But he owed Clare some recognition with her friend. ‘She was helping Rik and me track down Zubac. We found him but he got the jump on us and shot Clare. He was going to finish her off, then me, when she used a knife on him. She saved my life.’

‘That’s why you want to help her.’

He nodded. ‘And she helped someone else. I owe her for that, too.’

‘I don’t know what I can tell you,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘I haven’t heard from her, if that’s what you’re asking. Not since. . well, ages.’ She stopped speaking.

‘But you used to, before she was shot.’

She shook her head, but it didn’t amount to a denial. He decided not to push it.

‘You’ve heard of Roman Tobinskiy?’

‘Of course. What about him?’

He told her about Tobinskiy’s death in King’s College Hospital. She looked shocked, even stunned; with her position in MI6, working on the Russian side, she would be well aware of the gravity it would bring to international relations if the death was proven to be suspicious.

‘Clare was recovering in an adjacent room,’ he added. ‘She may have heard something that made her run. If she did, then the killers will be after her.’

‘Killers?’

‘Two men raided the security control centre at the hospital earlier today and took the CCTV hard drive. It would have held footage of the night Tobinskiy died and of Clare leaving the hospital minutes later.’

Alice touched a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. The implications were clear and she knew what it meant for Clare. ‘My God. How awful.’

‘Yes. I’m surprised you haven’t been told.’ He was more surprised that she hadn’t been hauled in and questioned by internal security. Maybe, with stunning lack of efficiency, they were working through Clare’s past list of contacts in reverse alphabetical order.

‘I didn’t know — honest. How bad was she hurt?’

‘She was out of the woods and recovering well, but not enough to have a couple of killers on her trail.’ Or a vindictive bunch of MI6 heavies, he wanted to add, but didn’t. That might colour her judgement. ‘Last seen, she was heading towards Waterloo Station and central London. Best guess is she’ll go to ground and find someone she can trust. But she has no ready access to money or ID, unless she had a stash somewhere.’

‘You mean with a friend. Like me.’ She gave him a flat look. ‘You think I’m hiding her?’ She swept a hand out. ‘Do you want to search the place? Go through my things, check my phone log and laptop to see if we’ve been having cosy chats? Go ahead.’

Harry shook his head, about to deny it, but was interrupted by his mobile ringing. He excused himself and took it out.

It was Rik. ‘Don’t want to cause panic, boss, but two blokes in a blue Focus just did a couple of slow drive-bys, eyeballing the flats. Might be coincidence but I don’t think so. I got their number.’

‘Did they see you?’

‘No.’

‘Meet us round the back. We’re heading out.’ He shut off the phone and looked at Alice. ‘I’m sorry to do this to you, but we have to leave. Now.’

‘Why?’ She blinked like a startled doe. But she stood up and reached for her bag, her security training taking over.

‘Two men in a car showing an interest. They could be from Six, but it would be best not to risk it. They’re probably looking for Clare. Do you have somewhere you could go until you hit work tomorrow? Ballatyne will fill you in then.’

‘I have an aunt in Uxbridge.’

‘Good. Show me the back way out and we’ll see you safely to a taxi.’

Alice turned left out of her flat and led Harry through a narrow door leading onto some back stairs, concrete and unfinished. The air was cool and musty. At the bottom, she turned right at a glass-panelled security door leading out to a small enclosed area with parking spaces and garages.

Rik was standing with his back to the door, watching the entrance off a feeder road from the street. If the men were the Russians, they would come in the back way through the feeder road. They hadn’t got much time.

Harry opened the door and Rik nodded before heading off at a brisk walk.

Alice stared at Rik’s right hand, held close down by his side. ‘He’s armed.’

‘I know. I keep telling him about it but he’s addicted.’

‘You’re carded, then?’

‘Yes. Is there a footpath away from here?’

She nodded. ‘Turn right and through a style at the end. We can double back towards the station. My God, what kind of work do you two do?’

‘Most of it’s boring and repetitive. But every now and then we get to shoot people. Come on.’ He hustled her along, and she gave directions, showing the entrance to a narrow alleyway between rear gardens. Bordered by trees and wooden slat fencing, it was concealed from the road, and Harry called a halt long enough to send a text to Ballatyne.