Tim Stevens - Ratcatcher

‘Klavan.’ She answered before the first ring had finished.

‘It’s me, Purkiss.’

‘John — ’

‘I’m in the middle of nowhere, out in the forest to the east of the city. Things are blowing up a bit. Fallon’s been in contact with me.’ At his side he sensed Kendrick’s warning growl. He held up a hand. ‘Where are you?’

‘Driving the routes the presidents are going to be taking tomorrow, trying again to work out where an attack might come from. There’s not much more we can do. For God’s sake, John, where did you run off to? What have you discovered?’

‘Are you with the others?’

‘No. On my own.’

‘Pick us up, and I’ll tell you everything. No more working behind your back, I promise.’

‘Us?’

‘I’m with a friend.’

After the briefest pause she said, ‘All right.’ She sounded fatigued.

He gave her the names of the two roads. ‘Stop when you get there if you don’t see us immediately. We’ll be among the trees. And Elle.’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t tell the other two.’

Kendrick was snarling as he put the phone away: ‘Fallon told you not to involve anybody else.’

‘It’s not the same as going to the police, or SIS at the embassy. She’ll be discreet.’

‘She could be the one. The traitor. You said so yourself.’

‘She’s the least likely. She’s our best hope of getting back to the city before dawn.’

‘I don’t fucking like it.’

‘I don’t pay you to like things.’

Half an hour, it had taken her. As they stepped out beside the car Purkiss had the now familiar feeling of tension between his shoulder blades as he waited for the shot to come from whomever she’d brought with her. It didn’t happen. He took the front passenger seat and Kendrick got in the back, hoisting his ragged leg up onto the upholstery.

‘Elle Klavan, this is Kendrick.’

Kendrick stared at her. Elle craned round to look at his leg.

‘Shot?’

‘Just a scratch,’ said Purkiss.

In the dull light from the dashboard her face was drawn, a tightness around the eyes that he hadn’t seen earlier. She took off, handling the car smoothly on the wet road, navigating the curves down through the forest with an ease that contrasted with her grip on the wheel.

‘Where are the others?’

‘Chris — oh, you might not know this yet. Rodina Security began shutting down soon after we left it. Literally shutting down, the office dismantled, the plaques removed. Chris has been following the removal vans. Last I heard from him was an hour ago. They’re out of town, heading south. He’s sticking with them.’

‘Red herring.’

‘Maybe. Richard’s back at the office, doing what he can with the background we’ve unearthed on Rodina — which isn’t much — and phoning the few contacts we have around the city, trying to get a new lead on Fallon.’ She looked over. ‘So tell me.’

Purkiss took a breath and gave it to her, how he’d got the address from the satnav, his and Kendrick’s investigation of the farm, Abby and the call from Fallon. She absorbed it in silence.

When he’d finished she said, ‘Lots that doesn’t add up.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘This barn.’

‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about it.’

‘And?’

‘It could be a hangar.’ He glanced round at Kendrick, who shrugged.

‘The thought had crossed my mind, yeah.’

Purkiss stared ahead at the rain that was starting to come harder against the windscreen. ‘So they’re planning to, what — fly a plane in and bomb the summit at the War Memorial? Crash into it like 9/11?’

‘They’d never get close,’ said Elle. ‘There’s a ten-kilometre no-fly zone radiating from the site, including over the sea. The airspace will be jam-packed with security. Any aircraft seriously violating the exclusion zone will be shot out of the sky, no questions asked.’

Silence again for a few moments. Elle said, ‘Something else. Not new information, but there’s a possible connection.’

Purkiss waited.

‘Five months ago there was a heist just outside Tallinn. Two armoured vans carrying currency from one of the big banks were attacked in the forest by what must have been a heavily armed gang. There were no survivors, every one of the guards was shot dead. But the sides of the vans had been blown open with RPG rounds. It was huge news at the time, one of the biggest hauls in Estonia’s history. Two hundred and fifty million krooni . That’s over sixteen million euros.’

‘Kuznetsov’s crew, you think?’

‘Possibly. The police made no progress, at least none they disclosed publicly. A well-trained team, carrying out a military-style ambush with sophisticated weapons… Kuznetsov’s definitely up there on the board.’

Through the trees was the glimmer of the horizon’s lights.

‘Where are we going now?’ said Elle.

‘To the hotel where our friend was when she got taken. To ask if anyone saw anybody matching Fallon’s description, and to search her room.’

‘It’s what Fallon would expect you to do.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And he’s probably got it under surveillance.’

‘I hope so. From now on I’m putting myself in harm’s way wherever I can. It’s the only way in.’

They crested a hill There was the city in the near distance, its brightness blurred by the rain, the firefly glow of helicopters sparking here and there above it. She skirted the centre, Purkiss assumed to avoid the roadblocks and detours as he had earlier. Still progress was slow once they reached the commercial hub.

Elle’s phone rang in its cradle on the dashboard. She glanced at the display, said, ‘Rossiter,’ and hit the speakerphone button.

A rasp, a wheeze, and a burst of static. Then, harsh but clear, Rossiter’s voice.

‘Elle. It’s… Teague. Chris Teague. He’s the one… ’

‘Richard?’ Her voice rose.

‘ He’s… I’ve been stabbed… ’

He sprawled on the living room carpet with his back propped against a sofa, hands clamped to a wad of bloodied cloth against his chest. The room was a riot of disorder. A coffee table sagged in splintered halves, a heavy armchair lay overturned by what could only have been the impact of a human bulk. Glass from smashed ornaments was splashed across the carpet.

Rossiter’s teeth were bared and clenched, the breath hissing through them in rapid jerks, sweat sheening his face and slicking his sparse hair to his brow. The carpet was a Pollock painting of cream fabric and spattered blood, a broader smudge marking his path across the floor to his current position.

Elle had said, ‘Where are you,’ and he replied, ‘ At my flat ,’ and she said ‘We’re two minutes away. I’ll call an ambulance.’ He said, ‘ No. No ambulance, it’s not that serious ,’ the sibilants drawn out like air from a tyre. Elle seemed to Purkiss to be debating. Then she hung up and hauled the wheel sideways. The car crossed the corner of a pavement.

The flat was a second-floor one. They took the stairs three at a time, Purkiss and Elle in the lead, Elle holding the pistol from the car low at her thigh, Kendrick in the rear with the rifle, doing what he could to conceal it across the short distance between the car and the entrance to the block. The door to the flat itself was shut but unlocked when Purkiss tried it. They piled in.

Close up, Purkiss could see that Rossiter had been wrong, that it was in fact serious. His face had the hue and texture of lard, except at his lips where a veiny blue was apparent. His eyes rolled like those of a horse after a fall. Purkiss took his hands, prised them away from his chest, bringing the soaked wad of cloth with them. Rossiter was in shirtsleeves. The front of the shirt was wallpapered to his chest, apart from low down on the left hand side where a ragged tear started to weep fresh blood as its covering was removed. Shreds of cloth from his shirt were mingled with the torn flesh.