Jack Higgins: The wolf at the door

"I could ask the same of you. Who was your mysterious companion, of the Arabic persuasion?"

"You knew I'd need the services of a banker and weapons supplier, and that was he. I was interested after my discussions with Chekhov about Bolt Hole. It occurred to me that it might offer some sort of temporary sanctuary. He keeps a substantial motor yacht there. In such a vessel, France would be only a short run across the English Channel in time of need, if you follow me. After all, who knows how this thing will end?"

"I see your point. So you and your friend were simply assessing the situation?"

"And completely astonished when Chekhov and Ivanov appeared. The rest, as they say in a mystery novel, you know."

"So to come to what's important, everything is set for tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. You can tell the Prime Minister, if you like."

"I don't think so. I'm a cautious man. I like to be sure. I'd rather wait until it's actually happened and then surprise him."

"Of course, Josef, but do tell Ivanov to do as he's told."

"I already have. I don't suppose there's anything else you need?"

"Not that I can think of. Safe flight, enjoy New York. I trust it will be a memorable visit for you."

"In more ways than one," Lermov told him.

Selim had waved the waiter away and sat there throughout the entire conversation. Now he beckoned the barman back and repeated the order.

"Did you get all that?" Holley asked.

"A trifle one-sided, but what you were saying was interesting. I presume that the person you were talking to is Ivanov's superior?"

"Very much, and just appointed Head of Station for the GRU in London, Colonel Josef Lermov, to be precise. They lost his predecessor in the Thames. Lermov pulled me out of the Lubyanka to try and find a solution to the problem Putin had dropped into his lap. You'll be thrilled to know he's about to leave Moscow as part of Putin's entourage, flying with the great man to New York where he will speak at the United Nations tomorrow night."

"Daniel, I have got beyond being astounded at anything in this business." Selim waved the barman away after he placed the tray on the table. "I suggest we have our coffee and then go back to London, where I presume the final episode will take place. Not long now, I suppose, that's one good thing. The suspense is killing me. What next?"

"I'm expected in Kilburn at round seven o'clock by the lady I was talking to before."

"This is important?"

"Very much so, and also unpleasant, but it has to be done."

"You know, the time I have spent with you has been like a movie," Selim said. "Your story, all the things happening to you, I see only through your eyes and what you choose to tell me, but it's always only part of the story. I don't see what the others in your life do, except in that singular episode involving Chekhov and Ivanov. It's as if you were living life in a film noir seen only from your point of view, inhabited by cinema ghosts, and you are one of them."

"The entire story told in one hour and forty minutes," Holley said. "Just like Bob le flambeur."

"And look what happened to him," Selim replied, and he got up and went off to get dressed. Selim dropped Holley off at the hotel. "You're sure you don't want to borrow the car?"

"No, I'll be fine with a cab."

"As usual, I don't know what it is you have to do, but I trust it will go well. If you're free later, come and see me. The big day tomorrow may make you restless tonight."

"I know." Holley grinned. "The suspense is killing me now." Selim drove away, and Holley, discovering it was only four-thirty, borrowed an umbrella from the doorman and went around Mayfair for forty minutes, rain-walking in a private and enclosed world under the umbrella, but all he was doing was putting off the bad moment, he knew that, and he returned to the hotel and went up to his suite.

He half undressed, taking off his shirt so that he could put on his bulletproof vest again. He strapped on the ankle holster, decided against the Walther PPK for now but slipped the flick-knife into his left trouser pocket. So he was prepared, for it had to be done, though he was not looking forward to it.

He told the cabdriver to drop him at Kilburn High Road and walked through to the park, passing Hope of Mary Hospice and Refuge at half past six. He stood there, umbrella raised against the interminable rain, then walked back to the church through the darkness, left his umbrella in a corner of the porch, and went in.

He stood in the gloom, at first by the door where religious pamphlets of one kind or another were displayed. There was a selection of prayer cards of various kinds, all at a price to help church funding, and there it was, that special "we who are ourselves alone" card. He helped himself, meticulously dropping a couple of pound coins into the box provided. He went and sat on the end of the rear pew and waited.

It was very quiet, the church smell, the guttering candles, but there was no one by the confessional boxes, and the lights had been turned off, probably to save on the electricity bill. There was a gloomy, medieval atmosphere about the place that some might have found menacing, and, in the darkness, things creaked.

A door banged from the direction of the sacristy, and she appeared by the altar and walked towards him, an old khaki trench coat over her shoulders. Her steps echoed hollowly.

He stood to greet her. "So there you are, Caitlin. You've done what I asked?"

She stared at him, proud and bitter. "If it's what you want, then let it be so. I'll not pretend to like it. That she shot dead one of our own while working with Ferguson is a known fact, and I think it's illogical to treat her differently because she's a woman."

"It's what I need, Caitlin, it's as simple as that. So you give me your word that Murray has your orders to abort?"

She crossed herself. "I swear it on my soul, and I'll swear it on anything else you wish-the Bible, if you like."

"I'll be content if you swear it on your own symbol of the prayer most precious in your life above all things." He held up the card. "Swear it on this."

"I swear before God and with all my heart that I have spoken to Patrick Murray in front of his comrades, who can confirm that his mission concerning Monica Starling is aborted."

She held out the card to him, and he said, "No, I'd prefer you to keep it."

"Then if you don't mind, I'll take my leave of you," Caitlin Daly said. "A great day tomorrow, God willing. Will we see you in the evening?"

"I think not," Holley said. "I'll leave it to you and the cell. Saturday will be the day to see what's been achieved."

As he turned to go, she caught his arm. "You still don't truly believe in all this, do you?"

His laugh was harsh and genuine. "A bit late in the day to ask me that sort of question. I stopped believing in myself years ago. Once you've made a discovery like that, it's difficult to believe in anything else, but it's your day if it's anybody's. I'll leave it to you and contact you on Saturday morning."

He went out, and she said to herself, "I thought so." There was a slight creak as one of the doors opened in a confessional box, and a man came forward holding a pistol in his right hand. "You heard all that, Patrick?"

"I could have shot him easy."

"Don't be stupid. What would we have done with the body? It would have ruined everything."

"So what happens now? Does what you told me in front of the others still hold?"

"Of course not. Go back to the original instructions and kill the bitch. Now, go on, get out, and keep this to yourself."

He withdrew, the door banged, and it was so quiet, only the Virgin Mary floating in a sea of candlelight, watching her. She looked down at the prayer card. She tore it into little pieces, her face quite calm, then walked back to the sacristy. Although not of the faith himself, Daniel Holley had seen enough of how important Roman Catholicism was to Irish women to believe that the oath she had given him, sworn on the Virgin herself, would be binding. The memory of his years with his beloved mother was enough to convince him. In the cab during the return journey, he felt considerable relief. He called ahead and told Selim he was on his way. A certain burden had been lifted, and it showed when he got to the shop and rang for entrance.