Stella Rimington - Breaking Cover

‘We’re not trying anyone here,’ Fane said sharply. ‘The rules of evidence don’t apply, or any presumption of innocence. There’s already enough here to get her out of the Service, just on her failure in the first place to declare this Laurenz Hansen. And now he’s turned out to be a Russian, she may well be looking at a long prison sentence.’

Liz could see that Peggy was about to jump to Jasminder’s defence so she broke in with, ‘Hold your horses, Geoffrey. We don’t know whether Jasminder knows Laurenz is Russian. What do you suggest we do about her?’

‘There’s only one thing to do. We need to sit down with Ms Kapoor and wring the whole story out of her. Plus,’ he added, ‘get Charlie here to take her phone to bits and see what that tells us.’

‘I’d want to inform C before we called her in.’

‘Of course. And actually, I wasn’t suggesting you interview her,’ said Fane. ‘This is a Six matter so we’ll look after it.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Liz, ‘but we need to coordinate the timing with our investigation in Manchester. It’s important not to alert Laurenz Hansen, or Karpis or whoever he is, before we move up there. If you tell Jasminder you want to talk to her, she may warn him and he’ll skip.’

‘What are you proposing then?’

‘Hansen is in Altrincham now, at Patricov’s estate. I think it would be best if you could interview Jasminder, with no advance warning, at just the same time as the police move in on Altrincham. She may tell you something of value to us when we interview him and vice versa.’

‘When are the police proposing to go in?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon, assuming Hansen stays at the estate. Otherwise they’ll arrest him if he moves out.’

‘Are you planning to be there?’ Fane asked sharply.

‘Yes. I want to interview him myself. The police don’t know all the background. But I was wondering if you would come up too, Bruno. You have more up-to-date Moscow knowledge than I do.’

Bruno sat up suddenly, looking surprised. Then a broad grin spread over his face. ‘I will be delighted to lend you a hand,’ he replied. ‘It will be quite like old times.’

Kevin Burgess was tired, and his brain, which was never very sharp, was duller than usual. He’d worked the overnight shift at the Patricov estate, then, just as he was leaving for home and bed, Reilly had asked him (told him, really) to come back at noon to work the afternoon shift as well. Apparently some people were coming and Reilly needed the whole security team on duty. Kevin hadn’t got his head down till nine-thirty in the morning as he’d had to take the dog out first as usual, and today of all days she’d rushed off after a rabbit – it had taken him three-quarters of an hour to get her back. So he’d only had an hour and a half’s sleep, and had snatched a cup of tea and a jam sandwich before getting back to work just on noon.

He’d found both the other two security men, Morgan and Webster, already there. Reilly was in his office on the phone, speaking quietly but urgently, and waved the three of them away, out of earshot, indicating they should wait till he was free. When eventually he came out, he allocated a position to each man.

‘We’re about to have some visitors. They’re official – Special Branch and a couple of people from London. Mr Patricov is away, but his wife is here and so is Mr Karpis. I want you to watch the entrances as usual; there may be police officers posted there with you. You are not to let anyone in or out without the officers’ agreement. If anyone tries to rush you, stop them and press the alert on your intercoms. I’ll be in the monitor-room, watching. Is that all clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ murmured the men, and Kevin asked, ‘Does that include Mr Karpis and Mrs Patricov?’

‘Yes, everybody. No one is to leave without police say-so.’

Reilly gave each man his post. Kevin Burgess was told to take the back gate leading into the woods that bordered the estate.

Standing at the gate, Kevin reflected that he had never liked Karpis. He was a cold fish, arrogant and rude. Kevin decided that he would be more than happy to stop the Russian leaving the estate if he got the chance. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d do it as Karpis was taller than him and looked very fit. Well dressed and polished he might be, but something about him reminded Kevin of the sort of high-class thug you got in some of those TV dramas. He hoped that the arrival of Special Branch had something to do with Karpis rather than Patricov. Kevin liked the oligarch. OK, he was very Russian, but at least he seemed human and always spoke to the outside staff in a friendly way when he came across them, not like Karpis who was always unpleasant.

An hour went by and nothing happened at the back gate. No one tried to come in or leave. Kevin had gone into a sort of standing-up doze when he heard a police siren. He listened to hear if it was approaching the estate but gradually it faded into the distance. He was wide awake now and tensed at the sound of movement outside the gate. Someone was coming along the path through the wood, not trying to hide their approach – he could hear twigs cracking and dead leaves being shuffled underfoot.

He walked up to the gate and saw on the entry-phone camera a large pock-marked face. The gate was rattling as a man tried to open it.

‘Who’s there?’ asked Kevin.

‘Special Branch, mate,’ came the reply, and a warrant card was shoved up against the camera. Kevin opened the gate and was joined by a large man in dark trousers and a leather jacket.

‘Afternoon,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘I’m Tom Parkinson, Detective Sergeant. I’ve come to join you.’

‘Glad to see you. What’s this all about?’

DS Parkinson shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, mate. Some Russian they want to haul in. Do you know the bloke?’ He lit a cigarette.

‘The owner’s a Russian. Do you mean him?’

Parkinson shook his head. ‘No. They said he’s abroad. It’s some geezer works for him.’

‘That would be Karpis. Nasty piece of work.’

‘Well, I need you to be my eyes then if he tries to scarper. They showed us a photo of the bloke but it wasn’t very clear.’

‘Don’t worry, I know him all right.’

‘The big guns are here,’ said Parkinson. ‘You know, the funnies, from London. And my chief’s here as well. Must be important. They should be in the house by now.’

Kevin Burgess stood with Parkinson and waited. The only sound was a pair of blackbirds in the poplar trees and an occasional car on the far side of the woods. Kevin tried to stay alert, telling himself he had to be ready for something dramatic. But all that happened was Parkinson smoked a cigarette and stood scuffing his feet in boredom.

Then he heard something: approaching footsteps. Someone was walking fast towards them from the direction of the house. Kevin was standing square on the path ready for whoever it might be when Reilly appeared round the bend, looking hot and breathless, with another man – a blond-haired gent in a blazer, presumably one of the funnies from London, though he looked fit and big enough to hold his own in a fight.

Reilly said, ‘Have you seen him?’

‘Who?’

‘Karpis!’

‘No one’s been this way.’

‘What about a woman? Have you seen a woman?’ It was the other man. He had a posh-sounding voice – officer type, authoritative, urgent.

‘Do you mean Mrs Patricov, sir?’ replied Kevin. ‘She’s not been here.’

‘No, I don’t mean her. It’s someone else. English. Raincoat, navy trousers, brown hair tied back, five foot seven.’

‘No, sir. No one’s come this way, man or woman, have they, Sergeant?’