“Ambiguous? Where’s the ambiguity in killing your own agent and leaving a police officer to be murdered?”
The Special Branch man looked away. “It’s way out of order. I agree.”
“I appreciate this Jim,” said Morton. “And I won’t ask you for anything else.”
“It’s no bother. Anytime.” He picked up his paper and walked away towards the station. Morton got up and walked out of the gate over towards the theatres. He found an empty coffee shop and sat down, mindful of anyone that may be following him. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he sat down in the corner.
“Morton speaking.”
“Deputy Commissioner Bailey is on the line for you.” The phone clicked and buzzed as Morton waited to be connected.
“Morton?”
“Ma’am.”
“I’m only going to ask you this once. Why the hell have your detectives been sent to Hong Kong?”
“To help out a colleague Sir.”
“Matt Harper is not your colleague, do you understand that? He’s nobody. We’ve wiped his file. He never has existed and never will exist. I told you to back off from that case and you chose to ignore me. You’re suspended.”
“Suspended? You can’t do that.”
“I can and I have. And I’m warning you Morton. If you don’t get Cohen and Russell back here soon, you’ll be the one sitting in Belmarsh.”
Cohen and Russell ducked under the police tape and followed Detective Li further up the tunnel. The road was clear of traffic and the sound of the strip lights buzzed up above.
“They found another load of bodies up by the market in Kowloon,” said Li. “Some Russian professor from Hong Kong University and two unknowns.” He pulled out his camera phone and showed them some pictures of Ruminenko and the dead agents. “Either one of them this guy you’re looking for?”
“No,” said Cohen. “Neither one is Harper.”
Li waved his badge at one of the uniforms standing near the cars and turned back round to face them. “Just pretend like you should be here. Morton’s an old friend and I’m happy to help. But take a look at what you want quickly and let’s get out of here. I’d prefer if I didn’t have to explain you to my chief.”
Cohen walked over to the Land Rover and bent over to get a better look inside the back window. The gunman was still impaled on the shard of glass, his eyes staring blankly ahead. “It’s not him,” said Cohen.
Russell approached the front of the car, where Nikolaev’s body was still crumpled up inside. “There’s not much of this one’s face left, but it’s not him either.”
Li noticed the uniform speaking into his radio and walked over and started to talk at him in rapid Cantonese.
“Wait,” said Russell, beckoning Cohen over towards Nikolaev’s body. “I recognise this bloke. It’s the FSB hood from Moscow that shut down our meeting with Katusev.”
Cohen looked a bit closer at Nikolaev’s face and tried to imagine him with his cheekbone still intact. “You’re right.”
Li’s conversation with the uniform became more animated, both men pointing and shouting towards the end of tunnel.
“You think Harper did all this?” said Russell, keeping his voice low.
“I don’t know. That’s not a theory I’m planning on pushing with the Hong Kong police.”
“I think that’s wise.”
Li split off from his conversation and ushered them back towards the tape. “You need to get out of here now.”
“What’s the rush?” said Russell.
“There’s been a city-wide alert put out for two suspended British detectives matching your description.”
“We’re not suspended,” said Cohen.
“The alert says you are. The order is to arrest you on sight.”
“Jesus,” said Russell. “Who put out the alert?”
“The request came from London.”
- Chapter 35 -
Out of the Shadows
A security guard was tapping on the window of one of the black Mercedes as Varndon walked out the front door of the British Consulate General. The sky had blackened and threatened to tip a deluge all over Hong Kong Island. Ashansky stepped out of the first car and peered up at the clouds. “Looks like a storm,” he said, leaning on the roof of the car and pointing upwards.
“Maybe,” said Varndon. “I thought I told you not to come here.”
“What? Are you embarrassed of us?”
“No. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come here.”
Ashansky grunted. “So, let’s walk.”
“Fine. Just move the cars will you. It looks like a bloody mafia funeral out here.”
Ashansky tapped on the roof of the car and they pulled off. The two men crossed the street and started down the hill towards Queen’s Road East. The Russian pulled out his sunglasses and put them on. “Nikolaev and his crew are dead.”
“All of them? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” said Ashansky. “Their corpses were scattered all over Kowloon.”
“You think they found Vitsin?”
“There was no sign of him, but the body of some old professor of his was mixed in with a load of dead KGB.”
“You mean FSB?”
Ashansky shrugged. “Same difference.”
Varndon fished his umbrella out of his coat as a few raindrops started to fall onto the pavement. “What was the professor doing there?”
“He’d been hiding the boy in the basement of some café. They must have followed him there and taken Vitsin.”
“But now they’re dead.”
“Now they’re dead. And the boy is missing.”
Varndon took a piece of paper from his inside pocket and handed it to Ashansky. “This message came through to the Consulate today. And it was addressed to us both.”
Ashansky held the paper under Varndon’s umbrella to keep it away from the rain. I have Vitsin. I want to make a deal. Meet on the last ferry to Macau tomorrow. Come together. No weapons. Any sign it’s more than the two of you and I’ll happily hand him over to the Russian embassy. Harper.
Ashansky screwed up the note and put it in his pocket. “Looks like little Mishka is playing a new game.”
“I don’t like it. He’s acting like he’s got nothing to lose.”
Ashansky laughed. “Believe me, he’s got plenty to lose. When he is tied to a chair and I allow Gershov to demonstrate some of his more creative skills with a razor blade and a blow torch, he will know he has plenty to lose.”
“How many men can you get for tomorrow?”
“As many as you need.”
“Good. The FSB will have another team out here in 48 hours. We need to finish this before they have chance to react.”
“Oh, and I got someone to pay a visit to little Mishka’s flat in London yesterday.”
“And?”
“Turns out he has been visiting a rather expensive head doctor.”
“Really. Get someone over there. I want to see his files.”
“I’m way ahead of you.”
They reached the main road and Ashansky put his hand in the air. One of the black Mercedes pulled up in front of them and Gershov emerged onto the pavement and opened the door for his boss. He eyeballed Varndon, who held his gaze.
“Just remember that Harper is mine,” said Ashansky.
“He would have been yours already if your help was more efficient.” Varndon didn’t flinch as Gershov snarled in his direction. “I’ll be in contact tomorrow. Don’t bring these people to the Consulate again. We’ve got standards to keep up.”
Tamara Wainwright put her spectacles down on the table and rubbed her eyes. The front door slammed and she watched her last patient of the day meander down the path and cross the road. She felt sorry for the man as he disappeared down the street and round the corner. His voice had cracked with emotion throughout the whole hour. Resisting the urge to walk over and put an arm round him was hard, but there had to be a line. Physical contact invited confusion into the relationship in a male patient’s eyes. She had seen him on the evening news a few weeks before. He was the head of a major company and a regular talking head on the television. This was not a man many would guess was being bullied by his own staff and his wife and teetering on the edge of a breakdown. His issues would take time to resolve. She just hoped that he had time.