Adrian Magson - Execution

She watched him assess her and did the same back, lifting a dismissive eyebrow before concentrating on the mirror on one wall.

Outside the room where Clare was waiting, he was about to knock when Katya held up a hand.

‘Please. Can I speak to her alone for a few minutes? I promise I won’t harm her. She owes me that.’

Harry nodded and stepped back.

‘We all clear?’ Harry stepped onto the roof, where Rik was keeping an eye on the streets below. The air was fresh and slightly damp with the promise of rain, free of the traffic fumes further down. They were on a maintenance veranda running all the way round the building, with a clear view of the approaches to the hotel. Unless Katya had been coached since the meeting in Riesenradplatz and was under orders and playing a devious game to reel them in, they should be safe for now.

‘So far.’ Rik shivered. ‘How was she?’

‘Prickly, suspicious. What you’d expect.’

‘You left them alone?’

‘They need to talk.’

‘Bit risky, though, isn’t it? They could be punching seven bells out of each other.’

‘It might ease the tension a bit if they do. I’ll give them three minutes to decide.’

‘What do we do if she agrees to help? She’s not exactly in a position to call off the dogs, is she?’

‘No.’ Harry still wasn’t entirely sure what he’d hoped to achieve from this. Getting Clare out of harm’s way was one thing, and they’d almost achieved that until he’d heard Ballatyne’s news about the details lifted from secret files on the memory stick. The Russians had moved even faster than he’d expected, drumming up a search team to track down Katya. But luck had been on their side. Just.

He hoped it would continue.

His phone rang.

Clare said, ‘We’re good. You can come down. She promises not to shoot you.’

Harry left Rik on guard and walked down to the room, using the rear emergency stairs, which were deserted and little-used, although impressively carpeted. He rapped on the door and stood back so that whoever answered the door could get a good look at him.

It was Katya. She had one hand out of sight behind the frame.

‘You can put that away,’ Harry said. ‘If I was going to slot you, I’d have done it in the street.’ He marched past her into the room. Clare was sitting on one side of the bed. She looked oddly bright-eyed and alert, in spite of the rough day, and was sipping from a miniature of brandy from the minibar.

‘Celebration?’ he asked, and felt embarrassed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. What’s the situation?’

‘Katya’s agreed to help us,’ Clare announced. ‘She thinks her future’s shot, anyway, so why not?’

‘Really? That was quick.’ Harry studied Clare for signs that the miniature wasn’t her first. In her weakened condition intoxication would be much faster than normal, and he didn’t want her impaired any more than she already was. He also wanted to avoid false promises and expectations on both sides. If Katya had already made a decision which would affect her entire future, it had to be the right one.

‘Really.’ Katya advanced into the room and stood in front of him. Her gun hand was hanging down by her side. She looked more formidable up close, and Harry could see why she was so good at her job; attitude radiated from every pore, but without brashness. In basic terms, she gave off the right vibes to inspire confidence in her charges and a sense of power in anyone who faced her.

‘Help us how?’

‘I can help you find Sergei Gorelkin. Find him and you will find the men trying to kill Clare.’

‘OK.’

‘But first you must promise me full protection and entry to the UK without months in one of your asylum centres or a debriefing cell.’ She looked him in the eye, her stare unwavering and cool. ‘Otherwise I walk out of here and you never see me again.’

Harry hesitated. For someone negotiating their future, she was amazingly self-possessed. But the simple truth was, there was no way he could guarantee any of what she was asking. However, he knew a man who might. ‘I’ll see what I can do. That’s all I can say.’

‘Bullshit,’ Clare intervened. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, Tate. Katya’s giving up everything for this. The least the UK government can do is allow her residency and new papers.’ Her lip curled. ‘The MOD does it all the time for Iraqi and Afghan interpreters, and I know Six has done it before for blown assets. She’s going to help you find the killers of Tobinskiy. Surely that counts for something.’

‘I agree with you. But I’m not on the official payroll. I promise I’ll speak to Ballatyne.’ He looked at Katya. ‘The first priority, though, is to get you out of here.’

She nodded and put a hand out to prevent Clare from arguing further. ‘Very well. That is enough for now. This man. . Gorelkin. He’s a special; one of the old guard. He retired years ago. Some said he was not a fan of modernity, others said he was simply tired of the game.’

‘Game?’

‘He started out in the GRU — military intelligence — and was very active during the Cold War in Germany and the West. He also organised counter-terror units during our Afghan War and was highly decorated during that time. He transferred to the KGB and worked under Vladimir Kryuchkov until Kryuchkov’s forced retirement in ’91. Gorelkin continued but some say the fight had gone out of him, that he was not happy with the new ways of the FSB or of the new government.’

‘Of Putin?’

‘Especially of Putin. But not even a man of Gorelkin’s status could voice those opinions for long without attracting trouble. Eventually he dropped out of sight. There were rumours that he was doing special work for the government, but they were like many rumours, impossible to prove. It was part of the mythology of men like him. Then, I think two years ago, it was said he had died of cancer.’ She glanced at Clare. ‘I tell you this only so that you know who you are dealing with. If Sergei Gorelkin is, as you say, controlling the team in London, then he was asked to come in and do so at the very highest level.’

‘Why? The FSB can’t be short of good leaders.’

‘They are not. But a man who retired, disillusioned, then died? Who would think it? I can barely believe it myself.’

‘Why not?’ Harry countered. ‘It makes him very deniable. Was he involved with the death of Litvinenko?’

Katya paused before answering, and blinked, as if adjusting her thinking. Then she said, ‘I don’t know. Nobody does. That is a subject not talked about anywhere in the FSB. There is a saying among the ranks, “You can think your thoughts but do it quietly”.’

‘And Lugovoi?’ Harry said it before Clare did — or in case she could not. Andrei Lugovoi, a former member of the FSO, like Katya, but now a member of the Russian parliament, was the prime suspect in Alexander Litvinenko’s murder in London, and Litvinenko’s widow was pushing hard for an investigation. ‘Is he also a non-subject?’

She looked straight at him. ‘I never knew him and I don’t know if he did it or not. We are trained to save lives, not take them.’ Her face moved momentarily in some kind of inner conflict, but she said nothing else.

‘My point,’ Harry said gently, ‘is that if Gorelkin played any part in the tracking down and killing of Tobinskiy, he could have done it before. It would have made him a natural choice.’

She nodded fractionally. ‘Yes, I agree. It would.’

‘So where do we go from here?’ said Clare. She looked nervous, as if the talk was irritating her, and was tapping the empty miniature on her knee in a furious drum-beat. ‘We can’t stay here forever, can we?’