“Man or woman?”
“A man.”
“Name? Appearance?”
“Mikhail. He didn’t give me a surname.” She smiled, though her fear remained evident. “Mid-thirties, I’d guess. Tall, short hair, muscular build. Immaculately dressed. Other than the fact that his hair was blond, he looked a lot like you.”
And a lot like the man Will had seen firing a big handgun on the bridge in Gdansk.
Will felt a moment of unease. “What did he say to you?”
Her smile vanished. “He asked me if I knew the identity of the man who’d told Lenka to abscond. I told him the truth: that I didn’t.”
“Was that the truth?”
“Yes.” Alina frowned. “Lenka was always a private man. Whenever he was with me, he’d prefer to talk about anything other than his work. I think his job sometimes embarrassed him.”
“You knew he was an intelligence officer?”
She answered in a whisper, “He wasn’t supposed to tell me, but he said he didn’t want there to be secrets between us.”
“Do you think he was cut out for the job?”
“I don’t think so.” She exhaled slowly. “We made plans. He was going to leave and come here to live with us. He said he’d apply for a job at the university.”
“What else did Mikhail say?”
Alina lowered her head. “He asked me the same thing you did-if I’d been in contact with Lenka during the last few days. I told him that I hadn’t.”
“And was that the truth?”
She was motionless, silent.
“What else?”
“He noticed the things you’d observed; the things Lenka had bought for me. He said that Lenka must have had another source of income, that no doubt he was being paid by the man who’d got him out of Russia.” She shook her head, and a tear ran down her cheek. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. Mikhail said that Lenka willingly absconded from Russia. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
She was now visibly upset. “But why? It’s so unlike him to do something like that. And he’s left a mess.” She swept an arm through the air. “As well as buying me things, during the last few years he’s also been contributing to the rent on this place and to the upbringing of Maria. He’s always been a good man. Always putting himself second, us first. But now he’s gone, and there’s no money.” She shook her head, her posture and expression strengthening. “Don’t misinterpret what I’ve just said. I’d rather have him back with no money than the opposite.”
Will leaned closer to her, and spoke with genuine sympathy. “I don’t doubt that. It’s obvious to me that you love him. Don’t be hard on him. He’s done something stupid, and though I don’t know why he’s done that, I’m sure it was for honorable reasons. Reasons to do with you and Maria.”
Alina seemed to be digesting Will’s observation. “I believe you’re right.” She glanced in the direction of Maria’s bedroom. The child was no longer crying and instead was emitting unintelligible words in between giggles. “She’s not frightened of you anymore.” Returning her attention to Will, she said, “The swan, the pike, or the crab.”
Will was silent. He had to let her come to her own conclusions.
“The Russian man. He scared me at first. But then I saw kindness. And you’re right. When I asked him what the Russians would do to Lenka if they found him, Mikhail said that he couldn’t lie to me, that Lenka would face imprisonment, but that incarceration would be a better fate than death by the hands of the men he’s with.” She nodded. “He seemed a good man. What differentiates the two of you is that he has no choice other than to deliver Lenka to jail, but you seem to have no such ambitions.” She frowned. “What has Lenka done?”
“He’s stolen a piece of paper from the SVR. I don’t know anything about the paper, other than it is of immense value and is extremely dangerous. Does that mean anything to you?”
Quietly, she answered, “No. Nothing.” She suddenly placed her head in her hands, rocked back and forth, and muttered, “Shit, shit.”
Will frowned.
“I wish you’d come earlier.”
She continued rocking, then removed her hands and looked up with an expression of exasperation. “There’s not just three of you involved.”
“What?”
Placing her nails to her teeth, she said, “Yesterday, I was approached on the street by a man. He gave me a note and asked me to read it and relay its message to Lenka. I took the note home and did precisely what the man asked me to do.”
Will’s mind raced. “Nationality of the man?”
“I could tell from his accent that he was foreign, but other than that I don’t know. He spoke to me in Belarusian. Looked European.”
“How did you communicate the message to Lenka?”
More tears rolled down Alina’s face. “He has a cell phone that only I know about. I sent an SMS to it.”
“Has he replied?”
“No.”
“Are you convinced he has the phone with him?”
“Yes. He told me that if he called me or messaged me from that number, then I could be sure that no one was listening or intercepting the message. He called it his ‘safe phone.’ It was his lifeline to me. He’ll have it.”
“And the note?”
Alina momentarily closed her eyes. “Does the name Will Cochrane mean anything to you?”
Will’s stomach knotted.
She opened her eyes. “Are you Will Cochrane?”
Will was motionless, determined not to betray any emotion, though confusion overwhelmed him.
“If you want to see the note, I have to know.”
Still, Will said nothing.
“I think I have made my decision, based on my judgment of you. But I can’t be sure unless you answer me.”
Oh dear God. Will had no idea what to say or do.
“It’s time for you to make a judgment about me and to choose.”
He stared at Alina. She seemed imploring, earnest, scared, confused. She seemed to be speaking honestly.
Finally, he answered, “Very few people call me by that name.”
She held his gaze for several seconds, nodded once, and said, “But some people do.” She stood up, disappeared out of the room, and reemerged a minute later holding a small piece of paper. She hesitated before handing it to Will.
Will examined both sides of the paper. It had been folded into quarters. One side was plain, the other contained printed black lines of text that looked as though they’d been written on a typewriter rather than anything more modern.
As Will read the note, he fought back every instinct to vomit.
To Miss Alina Petrova
Please forgive the rather crude manner in which this note was passed to you. The man who delivered it does not represent us, though we paid him to place it in your hands. We are desperate to reach out to our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Lenka Yevtushenko, because we believe he is in danger. Perhaps you have a means to forward the contents of this communication to him? We hope you do, and if so we implore you to get in touch with him with the greatest haste. The message you must relay to Mr. Yevtushenko is as follows:
We are sorry that in our business dealings with you, we misled you as to our real identities. We did that to protect you and when the time was right it was our intention to tell you the truth. That time never came due to unforeseen circumstances. No doubt you have since been told who we really are. That matters not. What does matter is that we continue to look out for your welfare and are concerned that you may now be in a vulnerable position. Be very careful because men are coming for you. The most dangerous of them is a British intelligence officer. He lives in West Square, Southwark, London.
His name is Will Cochrane.
Nine
The Lufthansa A321 Airbus touched down at Berlin’s Tegel Airport at 0920 hours. Will was sitting in business class, staring out the window at the dark clouds hanging over the airport and the rain that was pouring down from them. The men and women around him-Austrians, Germans, a Czech, two Englishmen, a Ukrainian, and three Italians-were all dressed in suits and were looking not at the airport but at the seat belt sign, waiting for it to switch off so they could stand, grab their cases, and make a dash toward whatever business beckoned them to the city.