Robert Harris - Archangel

Reluctantly, and with a final, wistful glance at Kelso, the young man got to his feet.

The corridor was crowded with figures in black leather jackets.

'It was love,' said Kelso, when Mamantov was halfway out of the door.

'What?' Mamantov turned to stare at him.

'Rapava. That was the reasotrI~ he didn't take me to the papers. You said he did it for the money, but I donk think he wanted the money for himself. He wanted it for his daughter. To make it up to her. It was love.'

'Love?' repeated Mamantov incredulously. He tested the word in his mouth as if it was unfamiliar to him - the name of some sinister new weapon, perhaps, or a freshly discovered world capitalist-zionist conspiracy. 'Love?' No. It was no use. He shook his head and shrugged.

The door slid shut and Kelso collapsed back in his seat. A minute or two later he heard a noise like a high wind roaring through a forest and he pressed his face to the window. Up ahead, across an expanse of track, he could see a shifting mass of colour that gradually became more defined as they drew alongside the platform - faces, placards, waving flags, a podium, a red carpet, cameras, people waiting behind ropes, Zinaida -SHE spotted him at the same instant and for a few long seconds their eyes locked. She saw him start to rise, mouthing something, gesturing at her, but then he was borne away and out of sight. The procession of dull green carriages, spattered with mud from the long journey, clanked slowly past then juddered to a halt, and the crowd, which had been festively noisy for the past half hour, was suddenly quiet.

Youths in leather jackets leapt from the train immediately in front of her. She saw the shadow of a marshal's cap move behind one of the windows.

The gun was out of her bag by now and hidden inside her jacket and she could feel the cold comfort of its shape against her palm. There was a ball of something very tight within her chest but it wasn't fear. It was a tension longing to be released.

In her mind she could see him very clearly, each mark upon his body a mark of his love for her.

'Who is your only friend, girl?'

There was a movement in the doorway of the carriage. The two men were coming out together.

'Yourself papa.'

They stood together on the top step, waving, close enough for her to touch. People were cheering. The crowd surged at her back. She couldn't miss.

And who else?'

She pulled out the gun very quickly and aimed. 'You, papa. You -,