Jack Higgins - A Darker Place

“To the Motherland, and to Vladimir Putin, Prime Minister of the Russian Federation.”

He emptied his glass and turned it upside down on the bar and said to Ivanov, “We’ll go now. There is a Mercedes due from the Embassy. Speak to the concierge.” He led the way out.

AT THE ÉLYSÉE PALACE, they were checked at the main gate and passed through to the courtyard and parking area. Kurbsky and Ivanov left the others and joined a sizable crowd of people pushing toward the main doors of the Palace.

All life was there, a mixture of uniforms and civilian attire, and the Palace guards in their gorgeous outfits. There was a great hubbub as they went in, chandeliers sparkling over the incredible opulence of it all. A colonel in the dress uniform of the Foreign Legion standing at the entrance to a cordoned-off section of the crowd saw Kurbsky and beckoned.

When Kurbsky approached, he said in English, “Mr. Kurbsky, this is an honor. We’ve been worried-your embassy was supposed to be in touch an hour ago to confirm you were on the way. It’s a good thing I saw you. Is this your aide?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Ivanov.”

“Right, he’ll be seated in one of the three back rows. You’ll be in the front row, of course.” He offered Kurbsky an embossed card. “Give this to the usher up there.”

Ivanov said, “Good luck, Comrade.”

Kurbsky went along the aisle and offered the card to some sort of majordomo, who examined it and led him to his seat, which was at the very end of the front row on the right. It meant that Kurbsky only had the person on his left to make small talk with. The man was very old and wrinkled, with a shock of white hair.

He smiled when the man looked sideways at him and spoke in German, which unfortunately was not one of Kurbsky’s languages. He said something unintelligible, so Kurbsky said, “Hello, how are you?” in Russian.

He seemed alarmed, and Kurbsky tried English. The old man immediately looked wise and said, “Who are you?” very slowly, taking his time with each word.

“Alexander Kurbsky.”

“Why are you here?”

“To receive the Legion of Honor.”

“What for? What do you do?”

“I write books. I’m a novelist.”

There was a nod of puzzlement. “I have never heard of you.”

Kurbsky laughed out loud, and people turned to look. “What about you?” he asked. “Why are you here?”

“For the Legion of Honor. My name is Hans Kruger.”

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a nuclear physicist.”

“Well, that’s all right. I haven’t heard of you either.”

And then voices hushed, there was a fanfare of trumpets, and the proceedings began.

IT TOOK a long time, and there were speeches and more speeches that numbed the mind as well as the backside, as the whole thing dragged on. Recipients were called in turn, and it all began to be slightly reminiscent of a conveyor belt, and Kurbsky wasn’t even aware of the magic moment. He certainly was there when the President pinned on the insignia of the Legion of Honor and words were said, but what they were he could never be sure.

And then it was all over. The President moved on and Kurbsky went with the flow, the crowd of people searching for the food. Ivanov was tugging his sleeve. “Wonderful. Great stuff.”

“You know something, I’m not certain you and I have experienced the same affair. What’s the time?” He glanced at his watch. “Good God, it’s half past nine already. Where have I been?” He shook his head. “Where’s the buffet?”

Ivanov had it all worked out and led the way. At that point, Kurbsky realized he was clutching a box of Moroccan leather in his right hand and had been for some time. He looked at it, puzzled, then realized what it was and opened it, unpinned the Legion of Honor from his lapel, and put it inside.

“You shouldn’t take it off, you should wear it with pride,” Ivanov said, but Kurbsky put it in his pocket and they pushed through the crowds, got plates at the buffet, and took their turn. It was hardly worth it, for people, as people do in crowds, were tending to become difficult. He managed a few sausage rolls, then said to Ivanov, “I’ve had enough. Let’s have a drink.”

They found the champagne bar and had a glass, and the Foreign Legion colonel found them. “Where is it-you haven’t lost it already?”

“No, it’s in my pocket.”

The colonel took a glass of champagne himself. “Mind you, I suppose it’s just another gong to you. You must have earned plenty.”

“And you,” Kurbsky said politely.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s all about?”

“Every day of my life.” Kurbsky emptied the second glass of champagne Ivanov had handed him and said, “Good night, it’s been a sincere sensation.” He patted the colonel on the shoulder and turned to Ivanov. “Let’s go.”

THEY FOUND THE Mercedes and the others and left, reaching the Ritz at ten-thirty. He dismissed the driver and went inside. Ivanov said, “A drink, perhaps?”

“No, I’ve had enough. To be frank, I want my bed. If two of you lads want to have something, feel free, but I’m going to the suite. Who’s coming with me?”

Ivanov helped things along, impatient for the joys of Olga to come. “It’s been a big night and one I’ll always remember, but I’m ready for bed now too.”

Kokonin said, “Well, in the circumstances, I’ll take the first half of the night, if that’s all right with you,” he told Kurbsky.

“Fine by me. We’ll go up, then.” They all got in the elevator and went up together.

In the suite, Kurbsky went to his bedroom and left Kokonin to settle himself in the sitting room. He decided against locking the double door leading into Ivanov’s room, because if Ivanov wanted to see him for some reason, finding the door locked might give him pause for thought.

The television was on in the sitting room, he was aware of that, and he opened the door of the bedroom a crack to listen. He was all worked up and impatient. He checked his watch and saw it was ten forty-five. If he was early at the station, what did it matter? It was a waste of time and opportunity to wait like this. He took his jacket off and put the bathrobe on and walked out into the sitting room. Kokonin had a movie on and glanced up in surprise.

He started to move, and Kurbsky said, “Don’t get up, I just want something from the room bar.”

Kokonin eased down again. Kurbsky passed behind him, turned and delivered a rabbit punch to the neck with extended knuckles, then, as Kokonin moaned, held him with one hand and squeezed his thumb into the carotid artery, until Kokonin slouched over the arm of the big easy chair.

Kurbsky darted into the bedroom, tearing off the bathrobe, revealing a silenced Walther in a belt clip at the small of his back. He pulled on his jacket, took his leather coat out of the wardrobe, went to the door of the suite, and opened it. The corridor was quiet. He moved out, locked the door, and in seconds was at the door opening to the stairway. Four flights down, and he’d never descended stairs so quickly in his life. He emerged into the foyer and walked straight out of the hotel door. It was raining hard now, but there was the taxi rank.

At that moment, Olga, with thoughts of her split shift starting at eleven and Ivanov waiting, was hurrying to the staff door. Seeing Kurbsky, she paused in the shadows, felt puzzled. The doorman offered him his umbrella.

“Taxi, sir, where to?” They walked to the first cab.

“Gare du Nord,” Kurbsky said.

“And which gate, sir?”

“Midnight express to Brest.”

“That would be gate three,” the porter told the driver, opening the door for Kurbsky and accepting the tip he gave him.

The taxi drove away and Olga, still puzzled, went in through the staff entrance and clocked in for her shift.