Jack Higgins: The wolf at the door

Holley sat there, thinking about it. So Chekhov must have been in touch with Lermov the minute he'd put the phone down, which explained Lermov knowing about the Monica Starling business. Well, that was all right. He was reminded of the old Mafia saying: "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer."

He closed his eyes, dozing, and after a while there was a tap on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes and found Harry standing there in his white uniform.

"We're ready for you in the pool now, Mr. Grimshaw, all those special exercises. Lots to do."

Holley got up and followed meekly, for it was filling the time admirably until the final act of the drama. And so time wore on and the evening came, and then it was time for bed. He slept lightly, too much on his mind, braced for the calls, until finally he was fetched awake by his Codex. He glanced at the bedside clock and saw it was two in the morning. "Daniel," Chekhov said. "I've had a call from Potanin in New York. It's not good."

"Tell me."

"The business at Quogue, Ivan Bulganin was observing from a clump of trees. He saw Flynn shoot Johnson as the boat came in, but Johnson managed to shoot him in return. Flynn went into the water. Bulganin couldn't do anything about it except get the hell out of there, and, as he left, he heard the sound of emergency vehicles arriving."

"And Frank Barry?"

"Miller left the Plaza to go for a walk in Central Park. Barry followed him, and Potanin stalked them. Barry tried to jump Miller, and Miller had what looked like an ankle holster. He shot Barry in the knee and walked away. Potanin couldn't risk any involvement and cleared off."

"Christ, what a bloody cock-up."

"I haven't finished. Barry called in on his mobile from Mercy Hospital. He told Potanin he'd better get him out or else."

"And what did Potanin do?"

"Sent Bulganin round dressed as a doctor and stuck a hypo in him. Some nurse arrived, he punched her and got clean away."

"A total disaster," Holley said.

"It could have been worse. Barry's dead, and Bulganin made sure to pocket his mobile. There's no connection to Belov, or to us."

"Well, that's something, I suppose. Have you informed Lermov?"

"Not yet, but I obviously must. He's at a late dinner at the UN."

"Hardly a good time."

"I understand he's coming back to London tonight."

"Yes. He won't want to confront Putin with this kind of news, but you should tell him, if only to cover yourself," Holley said.

"And Ivanov?"

"He'll find out anyway."

"What about the woman? Has she called? Do you know how things are going here?"

"I told her I'd contact her in the morning, but I meant a more civilized hour than this."

"Well, I think you should tell her about New York as soon as possible."

"You're right, I suppose. I'll call you back. In the old days, they sometimes killed messengers who delivered bad news." Holley's laugh had a certain grimness to it.

"Not nice, Daniel, not nice at all. You'll put me off my breakfast."

Holley got out of bed, put on a robe, then went and sat in an easy chair beside a window that overlooked the terrace and called her. She answered almost instantly.

"Is it you, Daniel?"

"Yes, Caitlin."

She seemed to hesitate, then carried on. "Is there news from New York yet?"

"Where are you?"

"I came over from the presbytery. There's no one round in the church at this time of the morning. I've locked myself in the sacristy."

"Sitting down, I hope, because I've had my friend Chekhov on with news from his security people in New York, and bad news it is."

"Go on," she said in a strangely calm voice.

So he told her.

When he was finished, she said wearily, "Well, God wasn't on our side, that's for sure."

"What happened in London?" Holley said. "Tell me the worst."

"Ferguson and Pool and the limousine. A premature explosion before they got in. Pool had a remote control, so he must have mishandled it, and he was closer to the Amara, so he was killed and Ferguson was simply blown over. Hardly singed, let alone killed."

"And the Salters?"

"I drove Docherty down there myself and hung round to see how he got on. He seemed to get in the pub all right, but after a while there was a disturbance, and he came running out with somebody after him. He got in that old van you mentioned, started up, and drove straight along the jetty into the Thames. I don't know what went wrong. He must have panicked. I got out of there fast and came back here."

"A total failure. Barry and Flynn dead in New York, Pool dead, Docherty very probably. What happened to Cochran?" Holley asked.

"I think we may have struck gold there. He got in the garden and was disturbed by a man who beat him up pretty thoroughly. He said he looked like some ghoul in a horror movie."

"The chemotherapy man," Holley told her. "I walked past the house yesterday, to check it out from the outside, and saw him emerge from a side entrance."

"Another man, Cochran said, came out of the house on the terrace and called: 'Are you all right, Alex?' "

"Alexander Kurbsky, it has to be, and the other guy would be Yuri Bounine. What happened?"

"This Alex relieved Cochran of his wallet. He was distracted by the arrival of his friend, so Cochran managed to run for it, scrambled over the wall, and got away. He also heard women's voices, and one did call out: 'Alexander, are you well?' "

"That's it," Holley said.

"Not quite, Daniel." She was silent for a moment. "We even lost when I lied to you."

In a way, he knew what was coming, and said, "Spit it out."

"Monica Starling." She took a deep breath and told him. "So there you are, and God's curse on me for what I did. She's all right, though."

"And how in the hell would you know?"

"Murray dumped the truck into a tree farther along and went back through the wood along the side of the road. He watched police and ambulance at the scene. There was an old boy with her who'd been bandaged up, but she seemed fine."

"No thanks to you," Holley told her.

"So what happens now?" she asked wearily. "I suppose the Russians will be interested to know that Kurbsky is alive and kicking, if that weird-looking man really is him."

"I'd stake my life on it. I think this strange appearance is just a very clever disguise. If you look at photos of Alexander Kurbsky, he's a long-haired, bearded cavalier of a man, a swagger to him. It was an absolutely brilliant idea on the part of whoever thought it up to disguise him as the exact opposite."

"So you'll pass the information on to the Russians? What would they do? Kidnap him, I suppose?"

"To do that, they'd have to lay hands on him, and I very much doubt that's going to happen. Charles Ferguson and his friends have just experienced a personal and very organized series of attacks. They're not going to take any chances." Holley shook his head. "Ferguson is going to fear the worst when Kurbsky reports in. He'll make arrangements to get him and the women out of there and pack them off to somewhere safe and secure. Perhaps out of the country."

"Where do you think?"

"Oh, who the hell knows? They're very close with the Americans, they'll probably help. One thing you can be certain about, it will happen today and very quickly."

"So what now?"

"I'll not run out on you."

"I'm glad to hear it. Just before everything hotted up last night, I had a strange call from a man who asked me if I knew where you were. He said he was a Captain Ivanov."

"What did you do?"

"I was up to my eyes with everything. I said I didn't know what he was talking about, and he laughed in a very nasty way and said maybe he should come and see me. I closed down on him. Who is he?"

"I told you I had the Russians behind me in this and asked if it bothered you. You said it didn't and that they were a means to an end. Peter Ivanov is a GRU captain. He's turned out to be a truly bad man. He doesn't like me and thinks he should be the one running things, not that there's much left to run. I'll deal with him."