Tim Stevens - Ratcatcher

‘That took some nerve,’ said Purkiss. ‘Hats off.’

Klavan had checked the name of the man in the toilet cubicle, Abram Zhilin, and discovered that he’d had a military career, six years’ service in the Ground Force, the Estonian equivalent of the Army, after his compulsory national service. She’d phoned a contact of hers in the Ground Force’s records office who promised to look up Zhilin’s file once he’d got into work.

Rossiter put the SIM card on the table. ‘Two of us do the snatch, two the interrogation.’ He looked at them in turn, pale eyes lingering on Purkiss. The anger was there still, livelier, as if sleep had rejuvenated it. ‘You and Chris do the grab. Elle’s an experienced interrogator, and a woman, which Ilkun will find disconcerting.’

Purkiss shook his head. ‘No use my grabbing her. She’d recognise me. It’s better not to let her know for sure who’s got her, even if she suspects.’

‘She wouldn’t recognise you if you took her without her seeing you. There are ways, you know, using hoods.’ Rossiter voice was thin, disparaging.

‘No. Besides, I have to meet someone.’

Even Klavan and Teague stared at him. Rossiter became very still.

‘Say again?’

‘An associate of mine’s arriving in the city this morning.’ He stood. ‘Oh, for goodness sake. I’m working with you but of course I’m not letting you in completely. I need insurance, some kind of backup in case things go wrong. You’d do the same.’

‘And when’s this… associate of yours expected?’

‘Late morning.’ Purkiss spread his palms. ‘You lot take the woman — I take it you can do it without my help — and I’ll meet you back here once you’ve got her and I’ve done my business.’

Rossiter’s eyes moved, calculating; then he said, ‘Fine. And if you’re late, you won’t mind if we start without you.’

Abby’s text had arrived just after eight, minutes after the sun had come up: I’m boarding now. See you half elevenish .

Klavan and Teague offered him a lift to the airport on their way to Lyuba Ilkun’s address and he sat in front this time. From the back Teague said, ‘Pissed him off a bit there.’

‘But he did understand.’

After a silence Teague said: ‘He thinks you’re the Ratcatcher, you know.’

‘What?’

‘The Ratcatcher. The outsider, tracks down Service personnel who’ve broken the rules. Emerged in the last few years.’

‘Never heard of him, or her.’ Purkiss shook his head. ‘See, that’s one of the reasons I’m glad I left the Service. It’s such a hermetic world you end up losing perspective. Everyone’s either with you or against you, an ally to be exploited or an enemy to be destroyed. Eventually you end up believing in fairy tales. Vast conspiracies, masked avengers smiting wrongdoers. It’s insane. You go crazy.’

Klavan said, ‘You’ve got to admit, though, that your story’s an odd one. You turn up here on the trail of a renegade agent on the eve of an international summit. And yes, I know you have your personal reasons for wanting Fallon. But the part about this Seppo alerting you and then turning out to share a flat with Fallon… it doesn’t ring true.’ Her face in profile was amiable.

‘It doesn’t make sense to me either, as I’ve said. But you need my help, so you have to trust me up to a point.’

He was at the airport an hour and a half early and he used the time to carry out a complete counter-surveillance routine. He doubted the two agents would have bothered trying to keep tabs on him after dropping him off, but there was no harm in making sure. He booked a hire car at a kiosk, choosing a nondescript Toyota. Afterwards he ordered an enormous all-day breakfast at a restaurant in the arrivals hall, bearing in mind Kendrick’s military dictum that when it wasn’t clear how long it would be until your next meal, it was worth fuelling up when you could. He took his time eating, watching the boards.

Abby came through fifteen minutes after landing, dwarfed by the rucksack and suitcase she was lugging. He made sure nobody was observing her before catching up with her at the entrance.

‘Hope you manage to find a fast enough connection with all this gear.’

She smiled up at him. ‘It’s one of the most wired cities in Europe.’ Her face fell. ‘You look awful , boss. What happened to your neck?’

‘Nicked myself shaving.’

He helped her with the suitcase and they found the car he’d hired. Abby had booked a room at a chain hotel near the city centre and on the way he told her as much as she needed to know: about the SIS agents, and about Fallon and what they suspected his presence in the city meant. He described Fallon as impersonally as he was able, leaving out what he had done to Claire. As far as Purkiss knew, all Abby was aware of was that he’d lost a girlfriend many years ago just before leaving the Service.

She rummaged in her rucksack and took out a tiny object and handed it across. ‘What you asked for.’

He took it and, still driving, glanced at it. It was the size of a pinhead, metallic with a row of minute hooks like an insect’s bristles.

‘Terrific.’ In turn he fished out the memory stick he’d found in Seppo’s flat. She slipped it in her pocket.

At the hotel he offered to help her to her room but she said, ‘No, I’ll manage. Go.’

‘One more thing.’

‘Sure.’

‘There are three of them. The agents.’

‘Yes, you said.’

‘Two of us.’

She frowned for a second, then got it. ‘Aha. Want to even things up?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll ring him and make the arrangements.’

He was on his way back into the Old Town when the phone rang. He hit the speakerphone key. ‘Yes.’

‘Mr Purkiss, it’s Klavan. We — ’

‘John.’

‘John. We’ve got her.’

‘Good. I’m nearly there.’

He parked several streets away and walked to the office. When he gave his name the door buzzed and he climbed the stairs.

Rossiter let him in, his expression stone. Neither Teague nor Klavan was in the main area.

‘They’ve got her in my office.’ He jerked his head. ‘Took her two blocks from her flat.’

‘She resist?’

‘Like a cat in a sack. They’re good, though. She didn’t get hurt.’ A flicker of pride in Rossiter’s voice. Purkiss found himself liking the man for it.

‘How did they get her up here in broad daylight?’

‘There’s a side entrance down the alley.’

Rossiter tapped on the door of his office. Teague emerged, and Rossiter went in and closed the door behind him. Teague nodded to Purkiss.

‘We can watch and listen here.’

They moved behind a broad desk where on a computer monitor the woman sat, her head hidden by a canvas hood, on a swivel chair in front of a desk. Rossiter was perched on a corner of the desk, Klavan standing on the other side of the woman. Klavan reached out and pulled off the hood, and the woman’s face worked as though the canvas had been stifling her. Her expression was hard, surly. Purkiss understood why they’d removed the hood, even though leaving it on would have had the advantage of increasing her disorientation and keeping their identities secret. Without being able to see her face they might not know if she was lying.

Klavan spoke first, her voice slightly tinny through the speakers. She used Russian, fluent though accented.

‘We want information about the whereabouts of Julian Fisher, also known as Donal Fallon. We are prepared to use any means necessary to obtain this information, up to and including physical duress.’ She sounded like a flight attendant reciting the safety drill.

The woman said nothing, sat with arms folded and feet hooked behind the castors of the chair, staring ahead.