Arctic Firepath

Next stop was the fridge. While chewing a cheese sandwich, he reflected on what he had learnt from the Russians. He picked up the phone.

'I want to speak to Margret.' There was nobody in the Section called Margret, but they liked their agents to follow procedure.

'Margret here, what can I do for you?'

Sean swore they sounded more like the Americans every year. 'I have some interesting info for you today.' Without the keywords 'interesting' and 'today', Sean would not have got any further. Now that the Section were aware he was not under duress, they connected him straight to signals. Sean didn't need to tell them his position — they could easily trace the line.

'Murdock, I’ve got some info on the Russian team. There are four of them, names coming up. First is Maxim Desny. He seems to be the leader of the group, possibly police, maybe investigations or detective branch. Second is Yasha Petrov, very quiet, keeps to himself. Speciality unknown, but probably connected with the army. Third is Mila Urilenko. He's a bloody psychopath, but no longer breathing. Fourth is Gavrilovich Markow from FSB. He's alive, but out of the game.'

Sean gave them the location of the farm. 'I overheard them talking. I now know for certain they are being run by Zlotnik. I also know they haven't found Khostov yet.'

'Thanks, we'll get on it straight away.'

'There’s a detective at the Met, name of Anita Marshall. Pass all the details along to her. I need a complete set of clothes, including trainers, a car and a phone. And I need some sleep — don't let anyone disturb me for the next four hours.' This was one of the few luxuries of working in the UK — superb backup and support. He went upstairs, crawled into bed and was asleep in seconds.

* * *

'Wakey, wakey!' Sean's profound slumber was disturbed by a deep raspy voice. He opened his eyes a fraction to see Lomax place a steaming cup of coffee on his bedside table.

'No sleep for the wicked.'

Sean wasn't in the mood for the trite phrases and bonhomie. His finger throbbed; his limbs were stiff and he hurt like hell all over. In particular, his eyes felt as though they had been rubbed with the sandpaper from the bottom of a budgie cage. He struggled up. 'I told them I didn't want to work with you.'

'They sent me anyway,' Lomax smiled. 'Beggars can't be choosers.' He squatted on the bed. 'I've brought you some clothes and a phone,' nodding to a suitcase in the corner of the room. 'I've also got bad news to pass along,' he said in a more serious tone. 'Finch is dead.'

'Bloody hell, I saw him go down' Sean said sadly. 'What was he doing?'

'Warning you. Our friends at SIS cocked up and sent for a helicopter to smoke out the Russians. He was trying to call you off.'

'I told the Section to stand everyone down!' said Sean angrily.

'I know how you like to work, and I hate to say this. Seems you were right all along.'

Sean shook his head. 'Poor bugger. What about his family?'

'They've been told.'

'And the farm?'

'All gone — clean as a whistle. No forwarding address'.

‘Don’t forget to look in the cesspit.’

Lomax got up from the bed, stuck his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window to look out. 'I know about Natasha,' he said softly without turning round.

'What do you know?'

Lomax used to be an agent for the Section when he suffered a break down and was invalided out of the service. Before Sean was given his last mission, they brought Lomax back as Sean's Executive. It was a raise in status for Lomax, and for a while it worked well for the two of them. Towards the end of the operation Sean discovered Lomax had been given a separate and confidential briefing in exchange for the promotion. His directive called for the removal of Natasha. Despite Sean's original misgivings, he had grown rather fond of her and had to warn Lomax off. But by following his secret orders, Lomax had betrayed the trust of his agent.

Lomax turned to eye Sean. 'I know she's still alive.'

'And you still work for the company.'

'I've matured somewhat,' Lomax replied quietly. 'I hear she's recovering well'.

'I want to keep it that way' Sean grunted. 'Anyway, how come you know?'

'I always check. Believe it or not, I take an interest in my agents.'

'I hope you remembered my warning. I meant what I said.'

'I — .' Lomax broke off when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He went to the door. 'I brought someone to see you — come in DD!'

Sean smiled. At least here was one face he could trust.

'What's this? It's like a scene from a Noel Coward play!'

Sean laughed and got out of bed with difficulty. When DD saw the bruising on Sean's face and legs, he stopped smiling.

'You two go downstairs and rustle up some food while I get dressed.'

Five minutes later Sean hobbled down the stairs still feeling like he had been in a car crash. While they ate DD brought them up to date.

'A detective contacted the Section, asking for you, Sean.'

'Who?'

'Anita Marshall. She said you’d met.'

'Yep, she’s been assigned to the Yakov murders. What did she say?'

'She discovered Yakov had a yacht moored in Weymouth. Well he did have one, and now it’s gone.’ DD sat on the bed. 'The yacht's called the Anastasia. I've alerted everyone I can think of, including the French. No reports so far, though.'

'Its unlikely Khostov's travelling under his own name. So he might be using his previous alias Vassily Maskhadov, or even Yakov's name if he has his passport. We should alert neighbouring countries as well' he suggested. 'The Channel Islands, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany.'

'OK. Let's assume that Khostov went to France. What's his next move?' Lomax asked.

'He wants to lose himself. Shake off the Russians' replied Sean.

'What would you do?'

'Go to Paris.'

'But Khostov isn't like you Sean,' interjected DD.

Sean glanced at him, smiling at the younger man's temerity. 'What is he like?'

'He's a nuclear physicist, not a soldier or an agent. He's bound to think differently.'

'I admit he has different skills and experience. Even so, Physicists understand mathematics — they have to.'

'What's that got to do with Paris?'

'It's all about probability and risk. If you are in France, you would go where the risk of detection is least. You would stand out more in small towns and villages, whereas the chance of discovery in a big city is minimal. The bigger the city, the smaller the risk.'

Lomax nodded. 'I think Sean has a point DD. We still don't have any leads and there's no harm in going. If he's not in Paris at least we will be closer to him, and Paris has the best travel links in the country.'

DD was not convinced. 'He could have gone to any other French city; Lyon, Marseilles…'

'He could, but we're starting in Paris' said Lomax confidently.

'I just hope I'm wrong' muttered DD.

* * *

For the last 24 hours he and Lomax had haunted the train stations, bus stations and metro for any signs of Khostov. Sean’s intuition told him this type of random search in a city of over 2 million souls was going to be fruitless. With no other leads forthcoming, the project was rapidly looking like a disaster in the making.

But Sean would not give up, though he felt exhausted. At the moment he was sipping a strong espresso at a café on the Gare du Nord. Normally he tried to avoid any drink containing caffeine on a mission. Granted the effects were immediate, but they didn’t last. However if he ever needed to be alert, surely the time was now. While checking the passengers, he dashed off a quick txt to Natasha.

sorry delayed

will visit u in states

sean x

He surveyed the crowds passing in front of the window. People of all ages passed by. Khostov only had to change a few items or wear spectacles for example, and Sean could miss him. His mobile rang.