Firewall (20 page)

It was quite strange seeing the place during the day. I'd never come in until last light during the recces for Val's lift; there was no reason to expose myself and the team to CCTV and the security setup for the EU conference. No matter what the environment, it's always better to recce in the dark, and in this place there was plenty of it.

The city looked older than I'd been expecting; the airport and Intercontinental were both modern buildings, and Tom's ranting about how cutting edge the place was had led me to expect a city full of buildings out of Blade Runner.

As we weaved toward the center, the heavy morning traffic jockeyed with the streetcar to gain ground, but was generally well behaved.

"I think it's time for Tom to pay attention now, Nick."

I gave him a shake.

"What? What?" His eyes opened and he stretched as if he was coming out of hibernation.

I pointed at my mouth, indicating to him that he'd do well to wipe the dribble from his chin.

"Cheers, mate." He looked outside at the traffic. "This Helsinki, then? Looks just like the virtual tour."

Liv smiled. "I think you will find the real thing a bit chillier."

We turned a corner, passing a large illuminated sign telling us that this department store was called Stockmann. She pointed at the large window displays as we drove past. "We'll meet in the coffee shop on the sixth floor. The station is just a couple of minutes' walk away."

We drove on a couple of blocks before stopping. As I got out, I felt the bitter cold for the first time that day. With the garage being a sealed, heated part of the house, the open air hadn't had a chance to get at us. She looked back at me through the rear doors as I put my hat and gloves on. "I'll see you both in Stockmann in two hours.

You'll need about half an hour to check out the station."

I nodded and turned to Tom. "We'll use the rest of the time to get our stuff."

I closed the door of the 4x4 and she drove off. Our breath hung in clouds in front of our faces and every inch of exposed skin prickled with the cold. Tom didn't like it one bit. "Arctic or what, Nick?

For fuck's sake, can we get inside fast?"

The station was in front of us. It looked like an East German prison, very square and imposing, faced with what looked like dirty brown concrete. It could have been used as a backdrop for 1984. I checked the clock tower with Baby G and they agreed to the minute: 10:22.

As we joined the rest of the pedestrian traffic waiting obediently for the little green man, Tom frowned and said, "Nick?"

"What?" I was concentrating more on looking for a gap between the streetcars that I could dash through. I had no intention of freezing to death, waiting for little green men.

"Do you trust her you know, Liv? You sure everything's sweet?"

Liv's advice about being truthful flashed through my head, thankfully not powerfully enough for me to take it. I tried never to trust anyone, and after what had happened in Washington, I certainly wasn't going to now. There might not be too much time to do this job correctly, and I might be desperate for the cash, but I wouldn't be doing anything until I'd put my own and Tom's safety net in place today.

The lights changed and we started walking. "Don't worry, mate, everything is fine. In fact, having a meeting point like this is one of the things that makes me feel better about her. It means these people are switched on and want the job done with no hassle. Don't worry about it."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but what can you do to guarantee we ain't getting screwed, know what I mean? Are you going to do what she wants? You know, come back here and give her the Think Pad with the download and take the money? Or are you gonna ask for more? I bet it's worth a fortune."

Even if the thought had crossed my mind, I wasn't going to admit it to him. "No, mate, I just want to do this right. Just exchange that little machine of yours for the money and get back to the U.K. That way everything stays safe and easy. Whichever way you look at it, it's still good money." All the time I had my smiley face on. I felt like I was trying to encourage a small child to eat his sprouts.

I was expecting more questions, but he just shrugged his shoulders again. "Only asking, mate. If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me. Tell you what, she's tasty, ain't she?"

I grinned. "Yes, she's very beautiful. Out of our league though, son." I somehow couldn't picture Liv kissing Juicy Lucy cards in Netting Hill, or spending her day sorting out my boiler.

The main doors to the station were heavy and wooden, with porthole windows protected by metal grills. We pushed through and immediately came face to face with Santa, who was ringing his bell and demanding money. We sidestepped him.

The interior looked more like a well-kept museum than a railway station, with clean, stone-paved floors, thick granite supporting pillars and unbelievably high ceilings. Little snowmen hung from chandeliers, and the place echoed with public announcements, people talking, cell phones going off all over the place and, in one corner, a performer who was having a crack at the Finnish version of "Good King Wenceslas" on his accordion. The smell of cigarette smoke and fast food was strong and everywhere.

A group of people with Santa hats on and sets of skis over their shoulders tried to squeeze past stressed-out businessmen in overcoats, furry Cossack hats, and cell phones glued to their ears. The strange thing was that you couldn't see or hear a single train-this was a cold-weather station and the platforms were outside.

Tom rubbed his hands together. He liked it in here. "Christ, I almost feel human again. What now then, Nick?"

Father Christmas carried on doing his stuff as we stood and got our bearings, and I thought "almost" was as close as Tom was ever going to get.

Liv's DLB was very easy to find and, like the one at the Langham, sited well. We were standing with our backs to the main entrance. In front of us was a wide stairway and escalators that led down into the metro.

The three sides of the stairway surrounded an open square of continuous wooden benches. The DLB was by a trash can on the left-hand side.

Tom followed as I walked between the DLB and the large ticketing hall to our left, heading for a newsstand. A teenaged girl was sitting reading a magazine, ears full of Walkman, mouth full of gum. She was wearing navy-blue down snow pants under a matching jacket which was open to stop her sweating.

I nodded at Tom just before we got level with her. "There it is, mate. See the girl in blue?"

He nodded back and we carried on past.

"Okay, if you put your hand underneath the bench, exactly where she's sitting, you're going to feel a plastic container attached by Velcro.

All you do is make sure no one's looking and pull it off, go away and write a note telling them where they can find you, and they'll come."

"Isn't this all a bit James Bond, Nick? I don't like it."

"It's just basic routine. You need to know what to do if it goes wrong. You know, suppose I break a leg and can't get back here? Then it'll be down to you to hand over the goods and get us our money."

"So long as there ain't no funny business. You know, fucking her about or anything? I don't want that, mate. I just want the money."

We stopped by the wall next to the newsstand.

"Tom, it's going to go like clockwork. You just need to know this stuff in case I get injured, that's all. You're my insurance policy, and I'll be yours."

He liked that. The girl got up and walked toward us, nodding her head in time to the music stuck in her ears.

"Go on, see if there's anything there yet."

"What, now?" He looked absolutely terrified. "While everyone's here?"

"It's never going to be empty, Tom. It's a station, for fuck's sake.

All you've got to do is take a stroll over there, sit down, put your hand under the bench and have a feel around. While you're doing that I'll go and change some money for you, all right?"

I didn't wait for his answer. I wanted him to go through the motions.

If he had to get here on his own, he'd at least know what to do.

I walked further into the station. Signs in front of me pointed to the platforms and the long-term luggage lockers. I'd be checking that out soon enough.

As busy-looking people passed through the large wooden doors, I saw snow-covered cars standing at each platform. To my right were stores and rest rooms, and, about fifty feet away, the exit to the bus station. To the left were more shops and the short-term luggage lockers, then another set of doors the same distance away that led out to the taxis. Behind me were the metro stairs and a very nervous Tom.

I went left, to the currency exchange, exchanged $500, then wandered back. As I neared the DLB I could see him sitting on the bench, looking very pleased with himself. I sat next to him, squeezing into the small gap between him and a rather large woman peeling an orange.

"Piece of cake, mate. Found it first time, look."

He started to bend down.

"No, no, not now, Tom. Leave it where it is and I'll show you how to tell Liv that you've put a message in there for her."

I stood up and he followed. The woman was delighted and spread herself out more. We went toward the platform doors and turned right, passing the rest rooms.

"Tom, go in there to write your message, okay?"

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the English edition computer magazines as we passed another newsstand, with yet more people wrestling with their luggage and skis.

I explained where to leave his DLB-loaded marker. "Just beyond this coffee shop, on the right, is a row of telephones. When the time comes, get yourself a marker pen from one of these shops and draw a line down the booth of the right-hand one, okay?"

It wasn't. "Why?"

"So Liv doesn't have to sit down and feel under the bench every time to check it. If the loaded sign the marker-pen line isn't there, she knows that a message isn't, either. Otherwise she'll look just a bit suspicious on Wednesday, won't she, sitting in the same place every hour on the hour?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "Tell you what, she could sit next to me every hour on the hour, know what I mean?"

I smiled. If the two women at the airport would have had him for breakfast, Liv would probably chew him up and spit him out without looking up from her newspaper.

We were closing the gap toward the bus station doors when they all opened at once and a busload of people surged toward us, dragging their skis and luggage behind them.

Thirty feet short of the doors was a bank of four phones fixed to the wall, divided by polished-wood booths. We stood against the nearest one, letting the bus party pass with a rumble of suitcase wheels and excited conversation.

"See here?" I said.

"Yeah, you want me to mark…" He started to wave his finger.

"Hey, Tom, in spy land nobody points." I pushed his hand down and tried not to laugh. "But yes, that's right, mate, a mark. But a line, a nice thick line. Make sure you pretend to be on the phone and make sure they" I nodded toward the flower shop opposite "don't see you."

Tom's eyes followed mine. "I get it, but you'll tell me what to say in the letter, yeah?"

"Of course. Now let's go and get cold."

We walked out through the bus station, a large square concourse littered with sheltered stops.

Once onto the pavement we cut half right in the direction of Stockmann.

I handed Tom 2,000 Finnish marks from the wad I'd got from the money changer. It worked out at about six marks a dollar. He thought he was rich; his eyes shone or maybe they were starting to be affected by the cold as we walked along cobblestoned streets. The rumble of tires and metallic rhythm of the streetcar wheels meant we had to speak louder than normal.

"Tom, I want you to give me your passport and wallet for safekeeping.

I've got an idea for a little extra insurance, but listen, this is between you and me. It's not that I don't trust her, but better safe than sorry, eh?"

"Nice one, Nick. Makes me feel better."

He handed them over without questioning. It made me feel suddenly more responsible for him.

"Besides, we want to travel light tomorrow night."

You could tell Stockmann was Finland's top people's store by the line of large black or dark-blue cars outside with their engines running, waiting for their V.I.P passengers to come out and load up their Christmas shopping. When we got closer, it was clear who the cars belonged to. Large men with no necks and square heads were waiting beside them. It looked as though the hit on Val last week, was making Mr. and Mrs. Mafia a bit nervous.

A group of heavies came out just as we approached the main entrance, surrounding a very young, beautiful blonde, who was wearing more fur than a grizzly. For a moment I thought it was Liv.

A limo door opened for her, and the three-car convoy zoomed off up the street.

Tom and I walked through large double doors straight into the perfume department. A little further on, in the luggage department, I picked up two small weekend bags, one dark green and one black, from a display, and two heavy car blankets.

Tom had his big wad of money clasped firmly in his hand and was looking happy. It was time to say my goodbyes.

"I've got things to do, Tom. Insurance." I tapped the side of my nose and winked. His big hamster cheeks beamed back. "I'll see you in the coffee shop in about forty-five minutes. Just get yourself some good warm clothes, the sort of stuff I told you about, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, no drama. Hey Nick, when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

I clapped his shoulder. "Remember, get a decent coat and boots. And by the way, if Liv turns up before I get there, just tell her I'm shopping, too."

I could see he couldn't be bothered to ask why, he just wanted to get spending.

"No drama. See yer."

Back in the cold, I took out my new bags and bulked them out with the blankets. Then I headed for the bus station again. I went past the telephones into Europe's most expensive rest rooms. It cost me over a buck to sit down in one of the stalls so I could get out the money from my organizer wallet what was left of the twenty-five grand in $100 bills which I'd brought with me. I removed four grand and then placed the wallet, plus my own documents and Davidson's, into the dark-green bag. You never know when even a burned ID can come in useful. Tom's documents and $3,000 went into the black bag, and I slipped the remaining grand into my pocket. I then dumped both at the luggage lockers and looked for a decent hiding place for the two tickets our own little DLB some-where that Tom would find easy enough to remember.