‘Lock, I’m tired. I don’t need this …’ Vorontsyev shifted his body in the rear seat, wincing with pain, breathing in snorted, nasal breaths. ‘We’re already in the blind alley, and our backs are against the wall. The plane is the gate we didn’t expect to be there. We have to get away from here, right away. Can’t you see that?’
Lubin was in the terminal building, dressed in a cleaner’s overalls he had commandeered. Dmitri was somewhere on the terminal roof, watching the road by which the scientists would be brought to the airport, if they came. Marfa was scouting the hangar which housed Turgenev’s Learjet, and the dispositions of the GRU. Listening to their occasional reports over R/Ts they had stolen from a secure locker in the police room in the terminal increased Lock’s sense of the utter futility of their presence.
Vorontsyev’s crazy scheme of hijacking Turgenev’s plane and flying out of Novyy Urengoy seemed hardly more impractical than any alternative.
What alternative?
‘Well?’ Vorontsyev prompted. ‘What’s your answer?’
‘That’s crazy I’
‘What else is there?’
They glowered at one another like sparring animals, cats with raised backbones, stiff fur. Then Lock relaxed, sipping at the coffee in the plastic beaker. The warm, sweet liquid trickled down a narrow unfrozen track in his gullet.
‘I don’t see it that way,’ he said quietly. ‘Turgenev may not come — we don’t know he’s going to be here!’
‘Lock — listen to me.’ Vorontsyev’s left hand gripped the sleeve of Lock’s coat like that of a remonstrative parent. ‘Do you want to walk out of here, or not? Does it matter to you, staying alive?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m not here by myself, that’s why!’ He snorted.
‘Look, I probably care almost as little as you do about what happens next, but I have a responsibility to the other three. I had enough trouble persuading Lubin he wasn’t abandoning his wife and kid! None of my people deserves obliteration. Understand?’
His eyes were hot and bleak, his lips quivering with rage.
‘I won’t let you do that. You owe Dmitri your life, damn you!’
Lock tugged at the damp scarf around his throat.
‘This idea of mine,’ Vorontsyev continued, ‘may be lunacy, but it’s safer than any other way.’
‘It depends on Turgenev being here! Otherwise, they’ll just shell the plane with that tank or the self-propelled gun! Christ, haven’t you thought of that?’
‘I’ve thought that if Turgenev does come, you’ll kill him out of hand, and then they’ll simply cut us down. I’ve thought of that, Lock. Have you?’
‘What if he doesn’t come?’
‘Then if we can get aboard the aircraft, quickly enough, without giving ourselves away, we might just make it anyway.’
Vorontsyev looked down, as if shamefaced at a lie he had told.
‘If Turgenev doesn’t come himself, I won’t come with you.’
‘I know that.’ He was silent for some moments, and then he said: ‘I might not make it myself.’ He was staring down at his broken arm, tightly buttoned inside his topcoat and at the slack, uncomfortable posture of his body in the seat.
‘This is your only way back, Lock — take it,’ Vorontsyev announced after another long, tense silence. ‘You agree on that, at least?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right. What time is it?’
‘A little after seven. Dawn.’
Vorontsyev clumsily picked up the R/T that lay between them on the cracked plastic seat. He pressed it against his cold, unshaven cheek.
‘Dmitri — anything?’
The howl of the wind behind Dmitri’s small voice. ‘Nothing, Alexei.’
Vorontsyev craned to peer through the rear window, out towards the runway. The old car, with its weight and disguise of snow, had become unsuspicious, parked with other cars belonging to airport staff. The snowploughs remained stationary at the end of the runway. Their last run had been an hour earlier, headlights staring through the snow and darkness, the snow flung aside in great fountains.
Panshin was dead. Lock had told him that. Turgenev didn’t know they had been told of the airport and the flight to Tehran.
‘OK. Keep watching, old friend. Lubin?’
The young man’s voice was a hoarse, secretive whisper. ‘Nothing, Major. No increase in activity, no increase in tempo. Idle bunch of bastards,’ he added, as if to dispel his own nerves rather than to reassure.
‘OK — Marfa?’
Again the howl of wind, audible to both himself and to Lock, who instinctively rubbed his gloved hands together against the thought of the cold.
‘They’re still carrying out the routine patrols. The aircraft’s been inspected, but it hasn’t been fuelled-‘ Vorontsyev felt a sick hollow in his stomach. ‘I haven’t seen any sign of the pilots.’
She, too, was whispering.
‘Where are you?’
‘In the hangar. Behind some crates of spares.’
‘Has food been taken aboard?’
‘I think so.’
‘Stewards, cabin staff — any sign?’
‘Just one. No, thefe were two, a man and a woman. They’re on board now, I can’t see them — waitV Her excitement jolted both of them. Then she was whispering less audibly. Lock leaned towards Voiontsyev to try to hear. ‘A car’s just pulled into the hangar, two people getting out — uniforms, caps.’ A tense pause, then: ‘They’re going aboard. Small suitcases, charts — the pilot and copilot?’
‘Must be. Don’t move, but keep calling in. Dmitri, stay where you are until you can see something you can confirm. Lubin, get back here now!’ Vorontsyev glared triumphantly at Lock.
‘They must be coming, mart! They have to be.’ He chuckled, but the sound turned to a painful cough. He waggled his hand, and continued breathlessly; ‘Turgenev’s providing us with the rope we can hang him with!’
Lock looked round wildly at the noise of big engines starting.
One of the snowploughs was on the move. ‘Can we take the scientists inside the hangar?’
‘Where will they fuel up?’
‘In the hangar or — ‘ He watched the second snowplough begin to rumble towards the runway. The first snow was gouting from the leading machine in a great wave. ‘Maybe the runway. It’s safer, out in the open. Where, how, Vorontsyev?’
‘Alexei — two vehicles. A Mercedes and a small bus, by the look of it. Blacked-out windows. Turgenev’s car?’
‘Keep watching, Dmitri!’ Vorontsyev sounded breathless.
‘Major, an APC has just pulled up at the hangar, soldiers getting out of it!’ they heard Maria report. ‘Eight, ten\ Spreading out’
‘Shit!’ Lock raged. ‘Where now, Vorontsyev? Uh — how?’
‘Yes, Bakunin. We’re heading directly for the hangar. Where are you?’
Over the car telephone, Bakunin sounded as if he were donning a familiar, stiff, subordinate uniform.
‘Half a mile from the airport.’
‘Our friends — where are they?’
‘Lost them, temporarily. I have given orders, made dispositions.
They’re hiding out somewhere. It won’t be long before ‘
‘Panshin?’
‘Dead.’
‘What did they learn from him?’
‘Nothing that will be of any use. He wouldn’t have talked. He was aware we were outside, had the place surrounded. He would have been too frightened.’
‘Very well.’ Turgenev rubbed his nose. The thought of Lock’s continuing freedom irked but did not unsettle. ‘Check the whole security operation and then let me know when you’ve done so.