Albatross (15 page)

At ten to one she tidied her work away, slipped into the staff cloakroom to do her hair and put on a little make-up. She was used to walking in Charlie's spectacular wake, and it didn't annoy her any more. Ivan had given her confidence in her looks and Lomax was a man who noticed.

When she came back to the office she saw that her sister was on the other side of the door, talking to Tony Walden.

‘Davina? You didn't tell me you had such a beautiful sister. Does she always keep you hidden, Mrs Kidson?'

Charlie giggled; she loved being flattered.

One thing, Davina thought with unusual acidity, she doesn't pretend to be modest. ‘We're having lunch together,' she said, and Walden took his eyes off Charlie just long enough to say, ‘Oh, how nice. Why don't I take you both out?' Before Davina could protest, Charlie did something so uncharacteristic that she stared in amazement.

‘That's sweet of you, Mr Walden. Another time I'd love to – but I've got a lot of family things to talk to Davy about. Do ask me again, won't you?' And she smiled her seductive smile and gave the little sexy laugh that men found irresistible.

‘I'll hold you to that,' Walden said, and then added as an afterthought, ‘We'll ask Davina along too.'

Outside in the street, Charlie waved and immediately a taxi cruised up and stopped for them. She had that magic-wand capacity for getting taxis, tables in restaurants, seats on planes and hotel reservations when the rest of humanity waited, queued and argued in vain. It was as if life recognized a winner.

‘Where are we going?' Davina asked.

‘Claridges,' Charlie answered.

‘Charlie, for heaven's sake – don't be ridiculous! I can't afford –'

She interrupted Davina with a brightly determined, ‘I
can
, darling. I got a delicious dividend from poor Edward's settlement this morning, and I'm going to treat us both. Besides it's the Causerie, not the restaurant. That's always full of ghastly people these days, nobody nice can afford it. Here we are. All right, Davy, you can pay the taxi.' And she gave her sister an affectionate pat on the arm.

Inside the famous Causerie, with its magnificent table where the customers helped themselves, they chose a centre table, and Charlie ordered wine. She looked at Davina and said, ‘Do relax and enjoy it, Davy. Honestly I got a fat cheque this morning. I felt like celebrating, and we don't see each other all that often, do we?'

‘No,' Davina agreed, feeling ungracious and guilty, ‘we don't. It's a lovely idea. But you could have let Tony Walden take us out. I couldn't believe it when you refused.'

‘It's not like me to turn down an invitation from an attractive man, is it?' her sister added. ‘But I didn't feel like sharing you with anyone today. I made up the bit about family things, I couldn't think of anything else.'

‘I haven't been home for a while,' Davina said. ‘How are mother and father? I must go down and see them soon.'

‘They're fine,' Charlie assured her. ‘John and I went down to lunch last weekend and took Fergus. Mummy's besotted with him. They asked about you and Colin and I said we'd seen you and you were both well. They're very fond of him, you know.'

‘I know,' Davina said. ‘They were wonderful to him while he was convalescing. He's just father's type, of course. I suppose they asked when we were getting married?'

‘Not when, if. We said we didn't know. Why don't you marry him, Davy? You're out of the cloak-and-dagger thing now, you've got a marvellous job – that Tony Walden is madly attractive, by the way – don't you want to settle down? I'm sure Colin does.'

‘We're happy as we are,' Davina answered. ‘There's plenty of time.'

Charlie looked at her for a moment. ‘It's not Walden, is it? Not that I'd blame you –'

‘It's not anybody,' Davina said. ‘I shan't be working there much longer anyway.'

‘Why not? Aren't you earning a fortune? Don't tell me you're getting the sack, darling, you're the most efficient woman God ever put breath into!'

‘You always did make me feel like a computer, Charlie,' Davina said quietly. ‘I'm not getting the sack. I probably won't leave anyway.' She was irritated at letting the admission slip out. Even more irritated at her sister's suggestion that she was holding back because of Tony Walden. Madly attractive. Charlie would think so. He was just her type. She said, ‘How's John?'

‘Rather up tight at the moment. There's a lot of talk about Sir James retiring. You wouldn't have heard about it now that you've left, of course. But he's due to retire at the end of the year.'

‘He won't,' Davina said shortly. ‘He loves it. He wouldn't last five minutes if he wasn't pushing people around.'

‘John thinks he will,' Charlie said. ‘And actually, Davy, there's a very good chance that John will get the job.' She had beautiful eyes, smoky grey and very large. They gazed at her sister with sweet innocence. ‘Wouldn't that be marvellous? Don't you think he'd make a marvellous chief?'

Davina didn't answer for a moment. John Kidson to succeed as head of SIS. One suspect retiring, another taking his place. ‘What about Humphrey?'

‘Oh, Sir James rather hinted to John that he wouldn't be recommended. Do you know, Davina, I think you could have got the job if you hadn't walked out!'

‘Not in a million years,' Davina retorted. ‘There's never been a woman in the top job. There never would be, either.'

‘Would you have wanted it, though? Just supposing?'

‘No. I don't mind being responsible for myself. Whoever takes over from Sir James has to send other people out to do the dirty work. I wouldn't like that side of it; frankly I don't think John would either.'

‘He wouldn't mind,' Charlie said. ‘After all, somebody's got to do it. You could say the same about a general in the Army.'

‘That's why I wouldn't want to be a general, either. If John wants it, I hope he gets it. But I wouldn't bank on anything that man says, if I were you.'

‘You hate him, don't you?' Charlie asked her. ‘Why? Why, when you've worked with him for so many years? Just because of Ivan?'

‘He let Ivan die,' Davina said slowly. ‘When he was no more use, he just shrugged him off his conscience and let the killer track us down. I'll never forgive that, and I told him so. But it's not just that. Not just personal to me. It's the way he thinks and feels, or doesn't feel, I mean. He has no heart for anything or anyone. I should be very careful if he's dropping hints to John. He's got some scheme up his sleeve and, believe me, it isn't necessarily in John's best interests!'

‘You don't regret leaving then? I've sometimes wondered,' Charlie asked her.

‘I didn't have to go. I chose to. I'd had enough. And I didn't know how long Colin had left. I wanted to be with him, Charlie.'

‘I know you did,' her sister said. ‘Haven't you ever been back? To see any of your old friends?'

‘I didn't have any old friends. Except Peter Harrington; he used to take me out to the pub once or twice. Before he handed me over to the KGB. I haven't been back, no. What for? Charlie, I'm sorry, look at the time – I've got a desk full of work and it's half past two.'

‘If you're leaving,' her sister said, ‘why worry about being late?'

‘Because that madly attractive man is paying me a madly attractive salary,' she said. She left Charlie to pay the bill, and waited unsuccessfully for a taxi. She had not enjoyed the lunch.

Borisov had the confidential dispatch in front of him. Peter Harrington had been moved. It was imperative, the message said, that he was rescued and got out of England before he gave more information to Davina Graham. A rescue could be organized from Britain as soon as Borisov gave his sanction. Borisov considered for some time. He didn't send for Natalia; he weighed up the factors with his usual care. Albatross was desperate to protect himself; yet Borisov had already decided that his effectiveness was coming to an end. Suspicion was enough; sooner or later it uncovered clues, and though it might take long and patient investigation to produce an answer, any suspect was excluded from anything too confidential until his innocence was proved. Albatross was nearing the end of his service with the KGB. Peter Harrington was due for the reward promised him for his; release from prison and a haven in Moscow. Both agents were owed Borisov's support; the KGB never abandoned their servants, even if they were captured. Only defection was punished.

Albatross mustn't be exposed; his exit must be unobtrusive, leaving a vacancy for his replacement. Harrington mustn't be bribed or bullied into giving him away. He would sanction a rescue from the open prison. He spoke into his intercom. ‘Send Major Rakovsky in.'

Natalia's voice murmured back. ‘Yes, Comrade General.' He spent ten minutes with the major. His instructions were brief; he didn't bother with details, that was subordinates' responsibility. When Borisov had issued his orders, the major only asked one question. ‘How quickly do we arrange this?'

‘At once,' Borisov answered. ‘You have the resources; mobilize them.'

The major saluted and went out. A few moments later Natalia came into the office. She approached him timidly; her blonde hair was like a fluffy golden nimbus round her head as she came to his chair and laid a light hand on his arm. ‘Do you need anything?' she said in her soft voice.

Borisov looked up at her. ‘What I need must wait till tonight,' he said.

She blinked and smiled. ‘I've missed you. Don't be angry with me, will you? I know I shouldn't say that to you here.'

‘I've missed you too,' he answered. He put his hand up and stroked the front of her blouse. ‘We'll be together tonight,' he said. ‘I promise.'

‘I saw Major Rakovsky going out,' she murmured. ‘He looked full of purpose. You know the way a man walks when he's got something important to do? He walked like that.' She giggled slightly. ‘I said good morning and he didn't even hear me.'

‘He has other things to think about,' Borisov said gently. ‘Important things. I'll tell you about them this evening.'

‘I'd like that,' she whispered.

She went out of the office and Igor Borisov watched her go. The pain of his love for her was very hard to bear.

Restrictions at Shropwith were minimal. Most of the work was agricultural; there were no cell blocks, no high-walled exercise yards. The prisoners lived in barracks, each with his own cubicle, and a red-banded trusty was in charge.

The food was no better than inside the Scrubs, which surprised Harrington. With all the produce being grown and a bloody complex of heated greenhouses, you'd imagine they'd get some of it on the menu, he grumbled to another inmate. It went out to the local markets, was the explanation. Harrington had bitten back a jibe about living off slave labour. He didn't know or trust anybody in his new surroundings, and his contacts with the new governor confirmed the previous one's warning. He believed that treating men fairly and giving them responsibility brought an honourable response. But God help the man who tried to take advantage and abused his privileges. Harrington set out to be a model prisoner. It wouldn't be for long, he comforted himself. But how long, for Christ's sake, and when? There was no contact with the outside now. No successor to the human cliché Stephen Wood handing him books with his maddening cheeriness. No word, just the promise. And his service kept their promises. All he had to do was obey the rules with scrupulous attention, and be ready to move when the signal came.

He started passing the sleepless hours by trying to plan his own escape. The prisoners who worked in the greenhouses were lightly guarded by a single officer, who tried to be as unobtrusive as he could. The longer-term offenders with a good record worked in the open fields, unsupervised except by trusties. There were no wires, no barriers to prevent a break-out. And there were twice weekly expeditions into Shropwith, when the blue battledress was exchanged for civilian clothes, and money earned in the prison could be spent in the local shops. They drove into the little town in a plain bus, and were allowed to walk about in twos, provided they rendezvoused at the bus at a certain time. The man who was even five minutes late forfeited the privilege for a month. Harrington was given this opportunity to see the outside world after he had been at Shropwith a fortnight. His companion was a prison officer in plain clothes. He was marked as a special-category prisoner, and he wasn't allowed to roam without a warder by his side. The experience wasn't exhilarating. He found himself nervous and uncertain, not sure how to choose the cigarettes and chocolate bars in the supermarket. The check-out confused him and he felt like bursting into tears.

The officer was kind; he understood the effect that a sudden re-entry into freedom could have on a man who had been locked up in a top-security jail. He had seen men turn and run out of shops and stand shivering in the street, asking to go back to the bus. He sympathized with Harrington's shaking hands and hunted look. He believed very strongly in a reformed penal system where the more savage regimes of confinement and rigid discipline were replaced by centres like Shropwith. ‘Come on, just hand over the goods and pay for them,' he whispered. ‘Nobody's looking at you. Go on, it's nothing to worry about.'

Harrington stood his ground, paid, picked up his meagre parcel in a plastic bag, and shuffled quickly outside.

Afterwards, when the second and third visit had given him confidence, he decided that this was where he would be picked up and taken to freedom. A month had passed. He was what the governer called ‘settled in'. His guardian on that first outing had become quite attached to him. They sat together on the bus journeys and talked about snooker. ‘Pot Black' was a great television favourite with the staff and the inmates. Yes, Harrington convinced himself in the lonely night hours, they'd come for him when he was in Shropwith town. They were undoubtedly watching him already, getting a routine worked out to a split second. They wouldn't use violence. No fuss, no commotion. Just a lightning move to separate him, a planned jostle in the supermarket, say, and then the waiting car and the escape. There would be road blocks. Not a car then, a van maybe, with a compartment where he could be hidden. Or a helicopter – that would be best. He'd be lifted out of the place and beyond any chance of pursuit. The idea made him sweat. He didn't want a helicopter. He had been shut up too long, and his nerves cried out for something familiar like a car. He couldn't stand heights, and those things were like being suspended on the end of a string with nothing but boards under your feet and a plastic bubble holding you together inside. He hated bloody heights. Davina had been terrified of enclosed spaces … he didn't want to remember that. He put it out of his mind. She'd survived all right. Survived well enough to go off to Australia with her Russian and get married. They hadn't connected Albatross with the KGB's murder of Ivan Sasanov. He had heard about it, in his isolated cell, and grinned in satisfaction. That was something he could have told her. That was a clue she would have appreciated. Along with the other clues he hadn't given. Now he wouldn't have to tell her or that hard-nosed Scotsman anything. The investigation was off, they'd said. They'd enjoyed seeing him wilt and suffer. You'll have to go along with us and tell us everything, or you'll be left here for the next twenty-odd years.… He gurgled with silent laughter in the night, thinking of that. He felt almost hysterical at times, imagining her frustration, her disappointment. She wanted to revenge Sasanov's death. Hadn't taken her long to pick up with someone else though.… His thoughts were obscene, bitter. Not quite sane sometimes. But it wouldn't be long now. Albatross had put him in place. Moscow would do the rest.