"And I'm the commander of the whole bloody plot," Holley told her. "Without me and the Russians, you wouldn't have an operation. Now you've still got one but without the killing of the woman."
Her reluctance was plain in her voice. "If that's the way it has to be."
"Don't mess with me on this, girl." His voice was hard. "I hold the cards here. I can have word sent to Potanin that it's all off, even order him to dispose of Barry and Flynn."
She was obviously shaken. "No, don't do that."
"I'll call round tonight after your six o'clock meeting and confirm this with you face-to-face. I'll be waiting in the back pew."
"All right. I understand."
He switched off his Codex and turned to Selim, who was looking grave. "Not good, I fear, whatever it is. Who is this woman, have I met her?"
"No, and you wouldn't want to. A deeply disturbed individual, but aren't we all? Now, how about some lunch? After all my exertions, I'm absolutely starving."
After lunch, Selim disappeared to indulge in a final massage of some description and an appointment in the hairdressing salon. Holley felt that enough was enough, although there was no doubt that he felt a lot better than when he'd arrived. He was sitting in the lounge bar, thinking about what had happened with Caitlin Daly, when Martha appeared to inform him that the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd arrived had all been valeted and were waiting for him in the allotted cubicle.
He found perfection. Even his tie had been pressed, the shoes shined. He returned to the bar lounge to find Selim still in a robe but with his hair trimmed and looking suspiciously black.
"You've had a dye job," Holley said.
"And you, my friend, look like a whiskey advert. For a man of forty-nine, you look remarkably fit, Daniel. It's not fair."
"Not much in life is," Holley told him. "Let's have a coffee, then you go and change, and I suggest we make tracks."
Selim waved to the barman as Holley's Codex sounded. Lermov said, "There you are, Daniel. Time we talked, I think."
"Where are you?"
"Moscow, but soon to leave for the Prime Minister's plane."
"Well, that's nice for you, so close to the seat of power. But remember Icarus. His wings melted and fell off when he flew too close to the sun."
"Ah, you obviously enjoyed the benefits of a classical education."
"Of a grammar school education, Josef, in my case the Leeds variety. What do you want?"
"Daniel, you mustn't go round shooting people, it won't do."
"So you heard about that? From your pet poodle Chekhov, I suppose!"
"Yes, and I know about the incident when Ivanov turned up at the church and tried to force you into the car. He was wrong."
"Glad you agree. But about yesterday's incident, I would point out he shot me first. I'm only speaking to you now thanks to the genius of the Wilkinson Sword Company, which made my bulletproof vest."
"I accept all that, but you've certainly had your revenge. Half an ear gone."
"Well, let's say he's made his mark in the world. I should imagine he'll look satisfactorily grotesque."
"You're a hard man, Daniel, even harder than I'd imagined."
"What you see is not what you get with me, Josef. You should have realized that just as you should have realized what Peter Ivanov is really like under that pretty uniform. He's broken your specific orders in this matter. We were to be voices on the Codex, that's all. He violated that by showing up at the church and yet again by making Chekhov take him to Bolt Hole. What was that all about?"
"I could ask the same of you. Who was your mysterious companion, of the Arabic persuasion?"
"You knew I'd need the services of a banker and weapons supplier, and that was he. I was interested after my discussions with Chekhov about Bolt Hole. It occurred to me that it might offer some sort of temporary sanctuary. He keeps a substantial motor yacht there. In such a vessel, France would be only a short run across the English Channel in time of need, if you follow me. After all, who knows how this thing will end?"
"I see your point. So you and your friend were simply assessing the situation?"
"And completely astonished when Chekhov and Ivanov appeared. The rest, as they say in a mystery novel, you know."
"So to come to what's important, everything is set for tomorrow?"
"Absolutely. You can tell the Prime Minister, if you like."
"I don't think so. I'm a cautious man. I like to be sure. I'd rather wait until it's actually happened and then surprise him."
"Of course, Josef, but do tell Ivanov to do as he's told."
"I already have. I don't suppose there's anything else you need?"
"Not that I can think of. Safe flight, enjoy New York. I trust it will be a memorable visit for you."
"In more ways than one," Lermov told him.
Selim had waved the waiter away and sat there throughout the entire conversation. Now he beckoned the barman back and repeated the order.
"Did you get all that?" Holley asked.
"A trifle one-sided, but what you were saying was interesting. I presume that the person you were talking to is Ivanov's superior?"
"Very much, and just appointed Head of Station for the GRU in London, Colonel Josef Lermov, to be precise. They lost his predecessor in the Thames. Lermov pulled me out of the Lubyanka to try and find a solution to the problem Putin had dropped into his lap. You'll be thrilled to know he's about to leave Moscow as part of Putin's entourage, flying with the great man to New York where he will speak at the United Nations tomorrow night."
"Daniel, I have got beyond being astounded at anything in this business." Selim waved the barman away after he placed the tray on the table. "I suggest we have our coffee and then go back to London, where I presume the final episode will take place. Not long now, I suppose, that's one good thing. The suspense is killing me. What next?"
"I'm expected in Kilburn at round seven o'clock by the lady I was talking to before."
"This is important?"
"Very much so, and also unpleasant, but it has to be done."
"You know, the time I have spent with you has been like a movie," Selim said. "Your story, all the things happening to you, I see only through your eyes and what you choose to tell me, but it's always only part of the story. I don't see what the others in your life do, except in that singular episode involving Chekhov and Ivanov. It's as if you were living life in a film noir seen only from your point of view, inhabited by cinema ghosts, and you are one of them."
"The entire story told in one hour and forty minutes," Holley said. "Just like Bob le flambeur."
"And look what happened to him," Selim replied, and he got up and went off to get dressed. Selim dropped Holley off at the hotel. "You're sure you don't want to borrow the car?"
"No, I'll be fine with a cab."
"As usual, I don't know what it is you have to do, but I trust it will go well. If you're free later, come and see me. The big day tomorrow may make you restless tonight."
"I know." Holley grinned. "The suspense is killing me now." Selim drove away, and Holley, discovering it was only four-thirty, borrowed an umbrella from the doorman and went around Mayfair for forty minutes, rain-walking in a private and enclosed world under the umbrella, but all he was doing was putting off the bad moment, he knew that, and he returned to the hotel and went up to his suite.
He half undressed, taking off his shirt so that he could put on his bulletproof vest again. He strapped on the ankle holster, decided against the Walther PPK for now but slipped the flick-knife into his left trouser pocket. So he was prepared, for it had to be done, though he was not looking forward to it.
He told the cabdriver to drop him at Kilburn High Road and walked through to the park, passing Hope of Mary Hospice and Refuge at half past six. He stood there, umbrella raised against the interminable rain, then walked back to the church through the darkness, left his umbrella in a corner of the porch, and went in.