So the moment Karpis lifted the axe, Kevin sprang up from his seat and threw himself at the Russian’s back with outstretched arms.
He caught Karpis’s arm just before it started to swing down on to the computers. The axe dropped to the floor but Karpis twisted his torso enough to stay on his feet, and as he turned towards Burgess his other arm came round and he fired.
By now the woman on the bench had launched herself at the Russian woman and had got her on the floor. Then the door of the changing room burst open and Reilly and the man from London rushed in. Each had a pistol in his hand, and seeing them Karpis let his own drop.
The noise was deafening. The fire alarm was screeching, Mrs Patricov was screaming and Reilly was shouting. In the middle of the chaos the two laptops sat undisturbed on the table. Kevin was lying on the floor in front of them and couldn’t see what was going on. He struggled to get up but couldn’t get on his feet; he seemed to have no strength. He didn’t know who was shouting and who was screaming. He hoped it wasn’t the woman on the bench. He heard new voices but couldn’t see who had come into the changing room so he missed the sight of Patricov’s wife and Karpis being bundled out in handcuffs. He was very cold and could feel the sticky blood oozing down his arm, then he felt the soft touch of something warm being thrown over him and a woman’s voice said, ‘Just lie there. You are a complete hero but you’ve been shot and the ambulance is on its way.’ And that was when Kevin passed out.
52
When Jasminder came in to work and read the message from Geoffrey Fane’s secretary, she felt interested but not particularly concerned. Would she pop in for a word with Geoffrey at three o’clock that afternoon? There was nothing ominous-sounding about it at all.
She didn’t have much time to speculate about the reason for the meeting as the morning was particularly busy. That meant too that she didn’t have time to worry about Laurenz and his increasingly bullying tone towards her. She hoped now he would be pleased when she told him the full name of her senior colleague – Bruno McKay – and pleased too when she said that it looked as if McKay might turn into an excellent source. He was a Russia expert, she’d say, who knew the Moscow Embassy well, and what’s more he drank a lot and talked freely.
But she sensed Laurenz would be angry that she hadn’t actually learned much of substance yet. Doubtless he would order her to sleep with McKay as soon as possible, as if that were a guarantee of being told classified information. Laurenz had already told her that she had two weeks to get him something of value. If she failed – and he said this with complete indifference, which made it even more dreadful – he wouldn’t be responsible for the safety of the little girl. Most chilling of all, though, had been his parting shot. Laurenz had said that he was under pressure from his boss Kozlov. You remember, he’d said, the charming gentleman you met in Bermuda. He says that if you don’t do better, he will come over here and personally give you a few lessons in persuasion.
Jasminder had put all this to the back of her mind when at quarter to three, just as she was thinking about getting ready to go up to Geoffrey Fane’s room, she had a call from his secretary to say that the discussion would be in the Personnel department as there was a big meeting going on in Geoffrey’s room. That struck Jasminder as a little odd. If Geoffrey had a big meeting, why didn’t he postpone his appointment with her? It couldn’t be anything so urgent that it couldn’t wait. Also she was a bit disappointed as she remembered his room from her first week when she’d had a series of introductory meetings with senior colleagues. It had struck her as quite beautiful, with its tall windows overlooking the river and its oriental rugs and antique furniture. It had completely changed her view of Geoffrey Fane, who until then she had thought of as cold and unapproachable.
She walked down to the second floor, and into the outer office of the Director of Personnel.
‘Hello, Jasminder,’ said his secretary, ‘Geoffrey’s on his way. Have a seat.’
A crawling feeling of anxiety was just beginning to spread through Jasminder’s mind. She was not sure what was going on but it was something out of the ordinary. Then Geoffrey Fane arrived and, taking her by the elbow, shepherded her along a corridor to one of a row of small meeting rooms. Two armchairs stood facing each other across a low round table, on which sat a box of tissues and a telephone.
Fane waved her to one chair and sat down in the other.
‘Well, Jasminder,’ he said, ‘I thought it was time I had a chat with you. You’ve been here a few months now, I think, and I hope you are enjoying the work.’
Jasminder nodded enthusiastically. So this was all it was. Just a catch-up conversation.
‘We’re all agreed that you’ve made a splendid start.’ Fane paused and considered her. ‘But recently it’s been noticed that you have been looking very tired – rather strained, in fact – and we have been wondering why that is, and whether anything in particular is worrying you.’
Jasminder felt her stomach give a lurch and her heart start to beat faster and louder; for a brief lunatic second she wondered if Fane could hear it thumping in her chest. She said, struggling to keep her voice steady, ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. It is hard work, but I enjoy it. I’m very happy here.’
Fane looked at her; his eyes were deep and somehow sad. ‘I was wondering,’ he went on, ‘whether it was your relationship with Laurenz Hansen that was worrying you.’
Silence fell between them. The name hung in the air. A cold sweat crept over Jasminder and her stomach clenched with nausea. She couldn’t think. ‘Who?’ she said.
Fane raised an eyebrow. ‘Before you say any more, I should tell you that this conversation is being recorded. Jasminder, it is very important that you tell me the truth. I can help you with many things but I can’t help you at all unless you tell the truth. Now please explain to me what your involvement is with this man.’
Jasminder was trying to recover, but she did not know what to do. How much did the Service know already? How much should she keep back? How had they found out? What had they found out?
‘Yes, I know Laurenz Hansen. He’s a banker.’
‘Is he? And how well do you know him?’
Jasminder tilted her head and looked down, a gesture intended to demonstrate shyness while giving her time to think. Eventually she lifted her chin and looked Fane in the eye. ‘For a time he was my boyfriend. But not any longer. Why do you want to know?’ she asked, trying to wrest some control from Fane.
But Geoffrey Fane ignored the question and said, ‘Tell me how you met him?’
‘He saved me from some muggers when I was walking home from the theatre in Islington.’
‘Does he live in Islington?’
‘No. He has a flat in Moorgate. It belongs to his bank.’
‘Did it not strike you as strange that he came along at just the perfect moment to save you?’
Jasminder was silent. It had never occurred to her at the time that there was anything staged about her first encounter with Laurenz in the gardens – he had saved her, after all. But now she knew the whole thing for what it was – a completely fabricated set-up. She had been hoodwinked and made a complete fool of. Laurenz had never cared for her at all. He had used her ruthlessly, and in her initial gratitude for being rescued, she had let him into her life, and then into her heart. How stupid and gullible she had been.
Fane was continuing, ‘I’m very much afraid, Jasminder, that you have been completely and utterly duped. Laurenz Hansen is not a banker and he is not Norwegian. But I think you may already know this. I think that may be why you have been looking so stressed and worried recently.’