Cameron Young was not deterred. ‘No, we don’t want anything like that. We have to have maximum media coverage, so we need a photogenic backdrop.’
‘Well, maybe you should try an oil rig, then,’ suggested Jack Grantham, wondering to himself just how mad this was going to get.
He, too, had underestimated Cameron Young. ‘No, we considered that option. But it’s always a nightmare getting people to and from rigs, and they can’t cater for the number of visitors we had in mind.’
‘And just think what would happen if the weather got up, and you suddenly found several chopper-loads of dignitaries stuck on a rig overnight with all the media jackals,’ said a man from the Ministry of Defence. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Precisely,’ said Young. ‘We need a controllable environment. And we think we’ve found just the one…’
24
Wentworth
Carver watched as Zorn’s Bentley disappeared behind the gates of his mansion. He rode back up the road a few hundred yards, then pulled into a lay-by, took off his helmet and checked his phone. There was one missed calclass="underline" Grantham.
‘Learn anything?’ the MI6 man asked when Carver got through to him.
‘Yes.’
‘Anything you want to share with me?’
‘Well, I have one question. Zorn’s never been married, right?’
‘No.’
‘Thought so. Just checking.’
‘You want to tell me why?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Have you worked out what you’re going to do: method, time, location and so forth?’
‘Yes, pretty much.’
‘And…?’
‘And as soon as I’ve finalized everything, and worked out exactly what I need, I’ll tell you.’
‘Big of you,’ Grantham said. ‘Meanwhile, Zorn’s not going to Wimbledon tomorrow, correct?’
‘That’s right. What of it?’
‘I’ve got another little job for you.’
‘Just because I’m not tracking Zorn tomorrow doesn’t mean I won’t be busy,’ Carver objected. ‘I’ve got a lot to prepare, and bugger all time to do it in.’
‘You help me, and I’ll lend a hand with that. I have ways of saving you a lot of time. Access to resources, you might say.’
‘We’ll see about that… what do you want?’
‘Zorn’s given some interview to the BBC. He says the next big thing is energy terrorism — eco-loonies blowing up oil rigs and so forth.’
‘That old chestnut. I spent half my time in the SBS freezing my tits off in the North Sea, climbing on to oil rigs and pretending to kill terrorists who’d occupied them. I’ll bet they still train for that. But we’ve never had a single terrorist on a single rig.’
‘Be that as it may, the PM’s got his knickers in a twist. He’s decided to hold some bloody stupid summit meeting tomorrow morning…’
‘So what do you want from me?’
‘I need you to go. Strictly speaking this is a domestic issue, so our Security Service friends are being annoyingly territorial and saying it’s their responsibility, not ours. That means I can’t send anyone on an official basis. But I need someone there, someone I can trust.’
‘And you think you can trust me?’ Carver asked, with just a hint of amusement in his voice.
‘Not much.’
‘But what’s the point? What can I achieve there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Grantham said, with an exasperation that was principally directed against himself. ‘But this meeting wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for Malachi Zorn. I’m not sure he planned for it to happen: I don’t care how brilliant he is, he couldn’t have predicted that the PM would respond to his interview this way. But he wouldn’t be going on about energy terrorism — and this isn’t the first time, apparently — if he didn’t have a bloody good reason for it.’
‘So this is basically an unknown element in a plan that’s still a total mystery. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes, if you want to put it that way.’
‘And you have no idea what good it will do me, or you, if I’m there?’
‘Correct.’
‘Well, if I go, you’d better give me precisely what I need for the Zorn job. And some of it you won’t like.’
‘Well, naturally, the Service can never condone violence, torture or the harming of soft, furry animals…’
‘Naturally…’
‘And there’s one other thing,’ Grantham added.
‘You don’t know when to stop, do you?’
‘That’s why I’m where I am, and you’re not. It’s to do with this Magda Sternberg woman…’
‘Yes?’
‘We’ve been doing some digging. She’s an elusive girl, our Magda. But my people think she’s Polish. If she’s who they say she is, she was born Celina Novak. And here’s the interesting bit
that you might be able to help me with. She was sent to Russia to be trained by the KGB.’
‘So what?’ asked Carver. ‘Lots of kids from Warsaw Pact nations spent time in the USSR. It was the communist answer to finishing school.’
‘Yes, I do know that,’ snapped Grantham impatiently. ‘What interested me were the dates. It seems that Celina Novak was quite the young beauty. So her training appears to have involved teaching her to take advantage of her natural assets…’
Carver had an unnerving premonition of where this was going. ‘Don’t tell me…’
Grantham laughed. ‘Oh yes, the dates match perfectly. Celina Novak was an exact contemporary of the young Alexandra Petrova.’
‘And you want me to ask Alix about her?’
‘Well, you know her better than anyone else.’
‘It’s been a while.’
‘Nonsense. She’ll greet you like a long-lost friend.’
‘Doesn’t she have a man in her life? That Ukrainian who’s investing in Malachi Zorn — isn’t he the reason you spotted her at that party?’
‘Dmytryk Azarov? I don’t think that true love is running too smoothly at the moment. According to the gossip columns he’s holed up at the Ritz with a series of, ah, “mystery companions”.’
Carver sighed. ‘I’ll put in a call.’
‘Thought you might,’ said Grantham. ‘Meantime, I’ll email you instructions for tomorrow. And when you’re ready, send me your shopping-list, I’ll see what I can do.’
25
‘ So the Prime Minister blinked,’ said Ahmad Razzaq, as he stood admiring the view from the window of Zorn’s study, entirely unaware of Carver’s presence less than five hundred metres from where he stood.
‘Sounds like it,’ his boss agreed, barely looking up from his bank of trading screens. ‘He’s ordered some kind of instant anti-terrorism conference. Orwell heard about it this afternoon. They’ve asked him to go along. Downing Street wants the US Ambassador to attend, too. And the EU Energy Minister is in town to give some speech tonight. I heard the Prime Minister called her personally to get her to come along.’
Razzaq turned his head towards Zorn. ‘Maybe Orwell should go. He can tell us what they talk about… and also where this event is taking place. I cannot get a location out of anyone.’
‘Me neither.’ Zorn nodded. ‘But Nicholas Orwell…’ Zorn pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, you could be right. He was going to do breakfast with Karakul Sholak, the Kazakh-’
‘Who is himself a terrorist.’
‘Yeah, he’s a rich one, and that’s all that concerns me. Ah, what the hell, his money’s in the bag. I’ll tell him Orwell’s been called away on top-secret government business, and promise he’ll hear all about it at the launch party. That should keep him happy, right?’
‘Absolutely… now he will be able to stay in bed all the longer with his whores.’
Zorn gave an indifferent shrug of the shoulders. ‘Again, that doesn’t concern me. OK… so I’ll call Orwell, tell him to say yes to the invitation. He’s not going to object, not with the number of TV cameras they’re going to have pointing in his direction.’
Razzaq frowned. ‘I cannot understand it. Orwell was Labour. The Prime Minister is Conservative. Why give publicity to an enemy?’