Alex heard the rumble of an approaching train, and decided to try the jump on/jump off routine, to see if he could lose his shadow. As the train emerged from the tunnel, Alex moved towards the edge of the platform and waited. Suddenly, without warning, he felt two massive hands in the middle of his back, and with one tremendous shove he was propelled towards the track.
He had no way of stopping himself from falling in front of the train. If anything flashed through his mind at that moment, it was that he was about to die, and not a pleasant death. He didn’t notice a young black man racing towards him, who tackled him at the last possible moment, as if he was trying to prevent a touchdown.
The young CIA agent left Alex spreadeagled on the platform, while he set off in pursuit of the assailant. Another tackle, as he felled the man halfway up the steps. A moment later a second agent pinned him to the ground and handcuffed him. The assailant turned and looked at Alex, who was pushing himself up from the platform. Despite the noise and clamour of the train doors opening and the passengers streaming off, Alex didn’t need to translate his mouthed words, ‘You’re dead.’
18
Sasha
Cambridge
Sasha sat alone in a small, badly lit basement room that he’d previously only read about in a Harry Clifton novel. He wanted to turn the page and find out what was going to happen next.
The door swung open and DS Warwick, accompanied by a female officer, entered the room and took their places on the opposite side of the table.
‘I need to ask you a few questions,’ said Warwick, switching on a tape recorder by his side. ‘A serious allegation has been made against you, but I want to hear your side of the story before I decide how to proceed.’
The one thing Sasha did remember from Harry Clifton novels was that Derek Matthews, the bent barrister whose regular clients were all too familiar with this predicament, always instructed them to say nothing until he arrived. But Sasha wasn’t a criminal, and he had nothing to hide. He waited impatiently to discover what the ‘serious allegation’ was, aware that by withholding that vital piece of information, the detective was trying to make him feel uneasy and nervous. He was succeeding.
‘A Miss Fiona Hunter,’ said Warwick eventually, ‘has made a statement that on Thursday, November the sixteenth — last Thursday — you climbed the fire escape outside her room in Newnham College around ten o’ clock, entered her study on the third floor and stole a confidential file.’ He stared directly at Sasha. ‘What do you have to say about this accusation?’
‘What’s in the file?’ said Sasha.
The detective ignored the question. ‘Miss Hunter claims that she has proof you entered the country illegally after escaping from prison, having murdered a police officer.’
‘I did escape,’ said Sasha, ‘from the biggest prison on earth. I didn’t murder the KGB officer, but only wish I had.’
‘That may all be true, Mr Karpenko, but as Miss Hunter has made such a serious accusation, we are bound to follow it up. So to start with, where were you on Thursday evening around ten o’clock?’
Sasha knew exactly where he’d been on Thursday night. After attending a debate in the Union, he’d accompanied Charlie back to Newnham, and while she’d entered the college by the front door and gone straight up to her room, he’d made his way around to the back of the building, climbed the fire escape to the second floor and spent the night with her.
He had woken just before five the following morning, and after they had made love again, he had got dressed, climbed down the fire escape, and walked back to Trinity. He was in his room just before six, and spent the next couple of hours working on an essay that needed to be polished in time for his morning tutorial.
The only problem with Sasha’s cast-iron alibi was that if Charlie was to confirm his story, under Newnham College regulations she would automatically be rusticated, and sent home for the rest of term, making it impossible for her to sit her finals until a full investigation had been carried out, which was bound to conclude that she had indeed broken the rules. Not least because Fiona would be happy to report what she had seen, should her other ruse fail.
‘Last Thursday evening,’ said Sasha, ‘I attended a debate at the Union, and after I’d accompanied Mr Anthony Barber to the University Arms, where he was staying overnight, I returned to my college just before eleven. I went down to breakfast around eight the following morning.’
‘So none of the fingerprints we’ve found on the fire escape of Newnham College will match yours?’ said Warwick, raising an eyebrow.
Sasha suddenly wished he’d obeyed Derek Matthews’s golden rule, and remained silent. He pursed his lips and said, ‘I have nothing more to say until I’ve spoken to a lawyer.’
Warwick closed his file. ‘In that case, Mr Karpenko, I will require a set of your fingerprints before you leave. You will report back to this station with or without your lawyer at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’
Sasha was surprised when, after turning off the tape recorder, Warwick added, ‘That should give you more than enough time to sort this out.’
The next surprise came when Sasha left the interview room to find Dr Streator sitting on the narrow wooden bench in the corridor waiting for him.
‘Don’t say anything,’ he said, ‘until we’re in my car.’ He led his pupil out of the police station and across the road, where an ancient Volvo was parked. ‘Now,’ he said, once Sasha had closed the passenger door, ‘tell me what this is about, and don’t spare me the gory details.’
Sasha had almost come to the end of his story by the time they reached the fellows’ car park at Trinity.
‘Clearly the detective sergeant doesn’t believe a word of Miss Hunter’s story, otherwise he wouldn’t have released you. I suspect Miss Hunter spotted you climbing into Miss Dangerfield’s bedroom and saw an opportunity to derail your chances of becoming president of the Union,’ Streator said, as they climbed the steps to his study.
‘Could Fiona really be that ruthless?’ said Sasha.
‘Don’t think of her as Fiona, but as Sir Max Hunter’s daughter, and then you’ll know the answer to that question. But all is not lost. No doubt Miss Dangerfield will corroborate your story, which will make Miss Hunter look extremely foolish.’ Streator was clearly enjoying the prospect.
‘But I’ve already lied to Warwick in order to protect Charlie,’ said Sasha. ‘Why would he believe me if I suddenly change my story?’
‘He’ll be enough of a man of the world to understand why you did that,’ said Streator as he opened his study door.
‘But I don’t want Charlie to be rusticated, and unable to sit her exams.’
‘I expect Fiona was well aware of that, but if you don’t tell Warwick the truth, it will be you who’s rusticated, which will mean Fiona Hunter will have knocked out her only rival for the presidency. And even when you’re eventually proved innocent, there will always be those who believe there’s no smoke without fire, especially if you’re considering a career in politics.’
‘But I have to protect Charlie.’
‘You say you left her room around five-thirty?’ said Streator, ignoring the comment. ‘And returned to college immediately?’ Sasha nodded. ‘Did you see anyone you knew on the way?’
‘No. There weren’t too many people around at that time in the morning.’