Quiller Balalaika

'Stop! Stop right where you are!'

Waving the rifle up and down but he couldn't do anything with it unless he tried a face shot which was all he could see as a target but my head was pressed against my dancing partner's as we lumbered towards him and I wouldn't think he'd risk it, wouldn't think but didn't know, and if he did take a chance my brains would be spread all over the trunk of that tree and I hated the thought of a messy end, dance, you son of a whore, but oh Jesus Christ he was heavy now and the triceps were beginning to burn and I didn't know how long -

'Stop!'

Ignore, of course. I was waiting for him to do one thing and that would end the matter, waiting for him to make one mistake and I knew what it was and he might not, might not, so let us pray, sweat running into the eyes and half-blinding them in the glare, he was to the right of us now, Uri, slightly to the right so I watched his shadow on the snow, black as night now in the headlights because we were closer, a lot closer and the breath was sawing in and out of my lungs and my head was beginning to pulse, waves of dark and light washing across my eyes, music, it would have been a help if we could have done this to music, matched our rhythm to it, say Bach or Vivaldi, something measured, a stately minuet, close now, we were getting very close and I thought there could be a chance, a remote possibility of hallelujah, but we mustn't hatch our chick – count our hatch – watch it for God's sake you must not lose it now -

'Stop right there or I'll fire!'

Bullshit, you'll fire the moment you can see a clear target but I'm not leaving shelter and if you try getting round on my blind side I can turn my shield much faster than you can move and you know that. Keep up the rhythm, keep up the rhythm under this appalling weight, the muscles running with liquid fire now and the lungs gaping under the ribs as the sweat poured on my face and I began counting – one and forward again, come on you bastard, two and forward again and stop that awful bubbling noise, three and forward again and then Uri made his mistake and as he sprang to the side and swung the gun up I hurled the cadaver down and across the barrel with the last of my strength and the shots hammered into the trees and I moved in for the kill with my muscles light, released from their burden, and before Uri had time to bring the gun up for the final burst I was into him with a series of three interconnected strikes, driving the nose bone upwards into the brain and coming down with a claw hand to blind him if there were still sight left and then thrusting a half-fist into the throat, its force rising from the heel through the hip and into the shoulder as I felt the trachial sinews flex and snap as he reeled and fell with my body on top of him, blood springing in the glare of the lights, the snow cool against my face as I bit into it, the parched husk of my mouth receiving its bounty as suddenly the night came down in waves, washing over the spirit, let us rest, my brother, let us lie for a while in this vale of sweet oblivion.

16: LIFELINE

I signalled Ferris just before ten the next morning to debrief. He didn't pick up until the seventh ring and it worried me: he'd said that if there was no answer it would mean he'd been recalled from the field.

I needed him here.

'Yes?'

'Debrief?' He would have the scrambler on.

'Where?'

'We don't need to meet,' I said.

'Why not?' Debriefing isn't done much over the telephone.

'You'd be at risk.'

In a moment, 'You know the score.'

'Yes. All right, two men down.'

'Self-defence?'

'Yes.'

'What happened?'

'They drove me into the forest last night.'

Another pause. 'Who were they?'

'Sakkas' men.'

Hence the risk to Ferris if we met anywhere in broad daylight. He's uncanny, Natalya had told me, talking of Sakkas. Conceivably one or more of the Cougar's gym team could see me somewhere in the streets and move in; with Sakkas the risk was much higher: he could have landed in Moscow by now and the moment he heard that two of his men were missing he'd send out half his army to investigate. Last night's snatch had been reported to his communications base and even my cover name was in their computer.

'You've made contact with the target?'

'No.'

I could hear the snow ploughs working down in the streets. They'd been there since first thing, making their rounds. Overhead the sky was dull pewter, brooding, like a winter twilight two hours before noon.

'Do you expect to?' Ferris asked me.

Feeling his way carefully, his yellow eyes slightly oblique as he listened. I would have liked a rendezvous, yes, if it weren't for the risk. At this of all times I wanted Ferris here in Moscow, keeping the lifeline secure while I was away. During the remnants of the night I'd woken several times as my dreams, sometimes spinning like a vortex, sometimes leading me to consider in a waking state a plan of action, had left me with some decision-making by first light, and this had been done.

'No,' I said. Did I expect to make contact with the target?

'Have you made any progress?'

'No.' I knew the question had come from London. Progress, it was all they could bloody well think about. If I made any progress I'd tell them, wouldn't I? Head felt like a drum this morning, taut, vibrating, not terribly surprising, I suppose. I hoped it would feel normal again soon: I had to be operational as soon as I could manage it, you get trapped on the street by bad luck and you're feeling like a zombie and it's finito, I don't need to tell you that.

'Have you any leads?' I was letting Ferris put the questions: this was debriefing.

'Yes.'

'How promising are they?'

'Not very.'

'But you'll follow them up?'

'Yes.'

'We should really have a rendezvous.'

'No, I want to get on with things.'

In a moment, 'What can I report to London?'

I'd given this some thought, because inevitably he would ask.

'Nothing.'

'But you're committed to following up your leads?'

'Mentally. I'll need to work things out.'

In a moment Ferris said carefully, 'I could give it to Control personally, for his ears only. It needn't go on the board.' Didn't want to get the signals room in an uproar.

Sometimes an executive in the field will go native if he's pushed far enough by the mission, imagine his whole career will depend on one last trick and believe he can snatch success out of the red-hot coals, and then Control will start screaming at him through the mast at Cheltenham, trying to bring him down before he blows the whole of the mission into Christendom.

I wasn't going to do that.

'Look,' I said, 'I've decided on a slightly tricky move and it might come off and it might not. If it does, I'm going to give you the target for the mission and bring Balalaika home. If it doesn't, you won't hear from me again. Try telling Croder that, but stand well back.'

'By the sound of things,' Ferris said in a moment, 'he wouldn't allow it.'

'Damn right.'

'And nor should I.'

'You've got no choice.'

Rumbling of the ploughs below like the roaring of a riptide, ominous, getting on my nerves. When you're committed to moving right into a red sector with your eyes wide open you're prey to the visitation of auguries and portents. Ignore.

'You should know,' I heard Ferris saying, 'that I was ordered back to London at five o'clock this morning. I was packing when you signalled.'

In a moment I said, 'I need you here.' Waited.

'I'd like to stay on, if only to rake the ashes for what I can find.'