“Good.”
The Ministry would not tolerate such interference. Not in a thousand years had anyone been allowed to disrupt the Ministry and its good works, and it surely wasn’t going to start now on his watch. He had a reputation to consider, not to mention the gravest responsibility to his fellow man.
How Steiner had allowed things to get out of control to such a degree would be addressed later, but for now all that mattered was the containment of the problem, and that meant neutralizing the threat posed by this Englishman. Whoever he was, he clearly had skills — in the last few hours he had evaded the Ministry’s attempt to frame him and the girl for the murder of Reyes, and extracted critical information from the dead professor’s apartment — information Steiner’s goon had failed to find.
Szabo admired the fighting spirit up to a point, but then it became just another problem to deal with. Now the Prefect replayed the clip as he studied the man’s face. Deducing nothing in particular he turned his attention to the girl. What did she know? Had Reyes let the cat out of the bag one night when they were together in bed? He had no way of knowing, but there was a certain haunted expression on her face which he recognised from others who had learned the dark secret. The terrible burden he had carried all these years.
“Where are they now?”
“Aleksi just called. They’re at a friend’s apartment in North Salamanca. Should I have him kill them both now?”
“No, we need to know if they’ve talked to anyone. We’ll have to… interview them both.”
“Of course.”
Szabo squeezed his temples and sighed.
The burden.
That was how his predecessor, the previous Prefect, had described it to him, and he looked like he’d meant it. Each Prefect carried the burden until he or she was too old or fragile to discharge the responsibility, and then a new Prefect was selected by the Minister. Most were lucky, never having to discharge that responsibility, but the luck had run out while Szabo was in the Big Chair, and now he had no choice but to see the whole nasty business through. While the Ministry itself was above the law, he tried not to think too much about God.
“Be careful with this one,” Szabo said. “He looks more dangerous than the others. There’s a look in his eye.”
“Yes, sir.”
And there was a look in his eye. Where did that look come from, he wondered? Some kind of Special Forces perhaps — or maybe the security services. There was a jaded quality about him that pushed Szabo towards the latter, but only time would tell. “Whatever that bastard Reyes hid in his apartment they now have in their possession. Follow them and make sure you aren’t seen. I want to know where the professor was pointing them to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you have the information Reyes stole from us, you are to terminate both of them, is that clear?”
“Kein Problem,” Steiner said flatly.
Szabo cut the call and leaned back in the soft leather seat, turning his face until he was observing the night time landscape outside his window once again. He peered at the blurred fields with something approaching disgust as he thought about the young Englishman and all the trouble he had caused the Ministry.
But it was ever thus. The Ministry had cleansed the world of greater men than this troublemaker. No, he was no threat, Szabo decided. As soon as Steiner had secured the stolen information, the Englishman and Reyes’s girl would be dispatched with the usual surgical ruthlessness for which Aleksi Karhu was so well known.
He smiled and returned his attention to the table where a cloud of steam was rising from his darjeeling, but the smile fell from his lips when his mind drifted back to the burden.
The terrible, dreadful burden.
ELEVEN
Harry Bane felt the cold air rush into his lungs as Lucia accelerated the Vespa along the side street and swerved out into the boulevard. “We need to find out what’s at those coordinates before whoever killed Pablo!” he yelled over Lucia’s shoulder. He tightened his arms around her waist as she weaved the moped in and out of the Madrid traffic which bustled all around them. “And I think we might need some help.”
“Like who?” she yelled over her shoulder.
Before he could say anything, she swerved the Vespa into a large park and drove along one of the footpaths. It was lined with horse chestnut trees and wound away into the dark ahead of them. He wondered if this was a good idea.
Known to Madrileños simply as El Retiro, the full name of the park was Parque del Buen Retiro, or park of the pleasant retreat, and belonged exclusively to the Spanish monarchy from its establishment in the late 16th Century until 1868 when it became public property. Its 350 acres were centred on a large artificial lake and an enormous monument to King Alfonso XII, which Harry and Lucia were now zooming past on their way to the main boulevard of the park — the Paseo República de Cuba, a wide footpath lined with dozens more chestnut trees stretching seven hundred metres in length and dividing the park in two.
Lucia swung right onto another wide footpath, this time the Paseo Paraguay, and now they were almost driving due west. She drove the Vespa right through the middle of a formal ornamental garden and then burst out of the park and back into reality again, only this time on the Calle Felipe IV, a smart, broad road lined with the square terracotta façade of the Royal Spanish Academy, and then beyond that the east gardens of the Prado Museum.
Lucia killed the engine and they coasted to a standstill under some trees in the Academy. “We should leave this here,” she said, parking it in the middle of a line of at least fifteen other scooters. “No one will find it here — where’s the best place to hide a tree, right?”
He smiled. “Good idea — but how the hell are we going to get into the Prado without breaking in? It’s after midnight.”
“This is not a problem if you are Lucia Serrano,” she said, and flashed him a sad, but mischievous smile.
They ran into the grounds of the museum and Lucia headed straight for the biggest entrance she could see.
“What the hell are you doing?” Harry asked. “I can probably get us in easily enough — but we need somewhere a little quieter than a main entrance.”
“Have faith, Harry — stay here.”
He watched her climb the steps and a few moments later a man in his thirties approached the door. The man studied her face, offered a half smile and opened the door. The two of them spoke for a minute and then Lucia waved for Harry to join her.
“This is Miguel,” Lucia said. “We were engaged to be married last year until he cheated on me. But I forgave him because he introduced me to Pablo.”
Miguel smiled awkwardly.
“Good evening, Miguel,” Harry said.
“He used to let me into the museum some nights and we would look at the art together.”
“Look at the art?”
Lucia looked at Harry. “He has helpfully decided to let us look at the art tonight.”
Harry smiled. “How kind of you, Miguel.”
Miguel didn’t look so happy. “She says she will tell my boss about our fun in the museum and show him some of the photos. I have no choice.”
“We rarely do in life, old man,” said Harry, patting him on the shoulder and walking past him into the vast museum. When they were safely inside, he turned to Lucia. “What about the other guards?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Miguel says they will be no problem. Most of them do the same thing.”
“Great,” he said, and pulled out his iPhone. “Let’s have a look at these coordinates again. I’m sure Pablo is leading us to something very important.”
Lucia followed Harry as he walked quickly along the corridor. His head was bowed down as he looked at the small screen of his iPhone and the coordinates Pablo had left in the book. “We’re getting closer.”