The Oktober Projekt (26 page)

Sitting by the side of the track as depot workers crowded
around, Nick called in the contact on his phone. Returned to the maisonette in
the back of a British Transport Police van, Nick found Danny receiving
attention from a paramedic.
 

‘Caught her trying to call for a cab,’ Danny said, pushing the
paramedic’s hand away, gesturing with his thumb to the back of an unmarked
police car.

As though waiting for the start of a parade Anastasiya sat
regally back, staring at Nick. Apart from not having her glasses on, which
she’d lost in the struggle, or the black eye she’d received from Danny, she
didn’t seem overly concerned.

• • •

Half a dozen radios echoed into the
night. For Rossan there seemed an inordinately long pause before members of the
Met’s tactical firearms unit burst out of their positions and ran towards a
neat semi-detached on Brunner Road, Ealing. The house door had already been
battered open, and the noise of more vans and cars screeching up had woken the
whole street. As more officers piled up through the small ornate garden Rossan stood
back, waiting for his invitation to join the party, making a series of calls
just as Nick had requested.

When Nick arrived, a police cordon extended to three streets
around the semi and a news blackout was in operation. Driven through the cordon
in a Range Rover with tinted windows, Nick reported to a firearms sergeant on
the front step. After an exchange of radio traffic Roly Blackmore appeared.

‘The man himself, Nicholas, the all action hero. Better come
in, we can’t have a flaming scene on the step can we?’

‘No,’ agreed Nick reasonably.

There were traces of blood behind the door and a pile of broken
glass. In amongst it all, a child’s pushchair with a crushed rattle that
Blackmore shunted aside with his foot as he gave the sergeant fresh
instructions before turning his attention to Nick.

‘I’ve been placed in operational control, got it. Paul’s been
sent off to think about his actions. You’ve caused a proper stir. The Chief is
not best pleased.’

‘Casualties?’ Nick wondered stepping over the blood.

‘One of the entry team got a nasty cut,’ he explained, drawing
Nick after him down the hall. ‘He’s had a plaster on it, he’ll live.’

Hammering and shouts came from every part of the house. Carpet
lay in heaps, and in the front room Nick saw the same destruction; at its
centre a woman crying silently as she rocked her baby.

‘I’m starting to think you’re not in Moscow’s pay,’ Blackmore
said, gripping Nick’s arm ready to steer him along, but Nick could only stare
at a girl about four as she stroked her mother’s hair, guarded by a police
officer. Around their feet a pile of birthday presents prematurely ripped from
their paper.

The small girl tried to reach a doll in a box but the police
offer held her back. Breaking from Blackmore, Nick went over took the doll and pressed
it into the child’s hands.

‘Let her keep it,’ he said, knowing he had broken a dozen
different rules.

‘How touching,’ said Blackmore, only to be silenced by Nick’s
glare.

‘Where is he?’

‘Our Georgs Lauvas has flown the nest, in the wind, on a ferry,
half way back to Moscow, who knows?’

‘Someone does, someone tipped him off, he’s the registered
keeper of the BMW.’

‘Let’s not start with the speculation again, remember you carry
no authority here,’ said Blackmore, continuing the tour ushering Nick into a
back sitting room.

In here they’d been at work too, clear evidence sacks lay
tagged waiting for removal, even the bookcases had been cannibalised noted
Nick. And now they were moving onto the walls, tapping them, crashing into the
plaster if they scored a hollow note. Give them until morning he thought,
pushing by two of them and the house will be uninhabitable. Out in the hall,
Nick heard Sir Martin Bailrigg’s languorous voice rise and fall as he issued
instruction on his way into the kitchen with a number of others trailing in his
footsteps. Putting Blackmore behind him, Nick walked straight in without
bothering to knock.

Gathered loyally around Bailrigg were his two acolytes, Jane
Stratton and Hawick.

‘Bit late to take an interest,’ Nick said loudly to the back of
Bailrigg’s head. Three faces turned to him. ‘Well, isn’t it?’ he added,
knocking Blackmore’s hand from his shoulder. Unable to keep his passion and
indignation down, Nick slammed his fist against the door. ‘Well?’

‘Haven’t you caused enough problems?’ Hawick snapped. ‘May I
remind you that you are wanted by the police for murder and assaulting a senior
officer, namely myself,’ he said, turning on Nick releasing his rage.

Again Hawick’s unremitting hate gathered in his eyes, and it
brought a fresh rush of colour to his cheeks.

Whipping forward, Nick had Hawick by his jacket collar ramming
him backwards into a freezer, spilling fridge magnets across the linoleum
floor. Pinning him there Nick pressed forward. ‘You upset me one more time and
you will certainly regret it,’ Nick spat.

‘Nick…Nick….’ Blackmore prised Nick’s hands loose, walking him
away as Hawick worked his head one way then another as he adjusted his collar.

A long silence drew round the kitchen pressing and sharp, with
no one inclined to step into its space. Everyone had turned to Bailrigg,
expectantly waiting his answer. Outside the hammering too had ceased, and the
only sound came from a kitchen clock beating steadily on, one thunderous tick
after another.

‘If you’ll excuse me gentlemen… and Jane,’ Bailrigg said
graciously, and gripping Nick’s arm walked him briskly out of the kitchen.
‘Upstairs,’ he insisted. Hawick on their heels came to an abrupt halt as
Bailrigg swung round on him. ‘You remain down here and keep out of the damn way,’
he snapped, closing the door softly.

There were three bedrooms and the first they came to belonged
to the children; cold with the smell of baby powder and stale nappies in the
air. The cot lay dismantled in a corner its mattress separated from the vinyl
cover. Over the floor the contents of cupboards were jumbled in unequal piles
of toys and clothes and Bailrigg assigned himself the base of a child’s divan,
under his feet the torn sections of an animal freeze and a clown night light
pulled apart.

‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ he said with conviction. ‘Hear
me Torr? I don’t give a damn if you deserve a thousand and one explanations.
You do not attack a senior officer.’

Nick heard him out, sliding back a thumb catch he put all his
effort into forcing up a sash window, the night air hitting him in a freezing
rush, bringing with it the sounds of traffic far away.

‘Do I get to finish this now?’

Picking up a glass bubble, Bailrigg shook it hard bringing a
flurry of artificial snow to the tiny figures outside a plastic stable.

‘I’m not offering any apologies, Torr, because I have nothing
to apologise for. I was reacting to the facts you understand, and they were not
in your favour. Now is a different matter, you have proved Moscow’s presence,’
he said, shaking the snow scene once more, this time quite viciously. ‘And the
blood spots found in the rear of the van have been identified as belonging to
Juris Valgos. Rossan who has a lot to answer for, asked me to pass that on.’

‘Get a written apology do I?’

‘You get an understanding, an agreement, call it damn well what
you like. You work on your own CO8 mandate and report to no other damn souls
but me and Jane from now on. What you’ve got so far may have whet my appetite,
but if you expect me to turn this Service inside out to prove Lubov was
betrayed by one of us, I need a damn sight more before I officially commit. I’m
not in the habit of offering a panacea for the comfort they bring either,’ he
said, disheartened by the snow scene. ‘If it’s official sanction you want, then
you’ve got it, but you’d better start to listen up because that’s all I’m
giving and it’s bitter pill and it probably won’t make the slightest
difference.’

In the ochre glow seeping in from a street lamp, Bailrigg had
become a vague shadow; his face robbed of its clarity, its definition, all that
remained was a featureless expression, a realisation that he had taken a
decision that could ruin the Service.

‘Moscow might be doing more than protecting an asset,’ said
Nick, watching as more sacks went into the back of a police van. ‘Thought about
that?’

‘Then find the asset for a start,’ Bailrigg said rising with an
effort to his feet. ‘You don’t deliver and the sharks are going to tear you
apart. And you’ll have Teddy on their tails nibbling vindictively away. You
remember that, hear me? I said remember that?’

‘I will,’ Nick assured him and they stared at each other for no
more than a couple of seconds.

‘You keep your investigation low-key, no resources other than
Redman can be spared.’

‘There’ll be no compromises.’

‘I know,’ said Bailrigg with a hearty sigh. ‘This isn’t your
personal El Dorado or Golden Fleece, you’ve got to share.’ Bailrigg frowned and
his whole sad face appeared ready to collapse. Below them the girl continued to
whimper.

‘Oh, I will.’

‘You’re back on semi-official status now, Torr, bear that well.
You’ve a brief, a point of contact, which is through Jane, and Jane alone.’

‘Why Jane?’

‘I don’t have to answer that, Torr,’ said Bailrigg. ‘But as
we’ve reached an agreement, I’ll tell you. Jane is a fine officer, probably one
of the best we’ve got, should be in my shoes within ten years.’

‘Politics again.’

‘Damn right it’s politics, which you don’t understand. And, may
I remind you, we have to work within the law when you’re operating on home
turf, which is something new for the CO8 ethos to come to terms with, but
you’ll have to get used to it. And that’s why you’re only going to liaise with
Jane, because she’s got the gumption to keep you under control.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

‘No you won’t, you’ll bloody obey it. I don’t enjoy my officers
talking to outsiders, particularly those involved with the JIC, no matter if
they’re old friends and distinguished company. You prove anything and it has to
be writ in triplicate. You make a case that is thrown out and both of us take a
long time to walk to the pavilion. No previous scores, no previous success to
be included. Fail and we’re out. For good,’ said Bailrigg weakly, utterly
consumed by the night’s events.

Nick pulled down the window and the whole frame rattled as he
brought it home. They each remained in their different quarter of the room, the
heavy presence of Moscow separating them.

‘As long as I know,’ said Nick and very quietly walked out.

Downstairs they were gouging out sockets and switches from the
walls, someone had brought torches and their beams swayed through the darkness
and dust. A young officer in overalls tacked up a necklace of bulbs, while a
companion started a portable generator in the back garden. They were determined
to pick the house clean thought Nick, a thorough and professional display to
reclaim some pride. By morning, there would only be a carcass left.

In the front room the woman and children were gone, Jane and
Roly locked in a serious conference under temporary lamps. Seeing Nick at the
door, Jane touched Roly’s arm and came over.

‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ she said.

‘Have I?’

‘I thought I was a good friend? Isn’t that what we agreed in
Devon?’

Shrugging, Nick asked, ‘Any leads?’

Stepping to one side pulling Nick with her, Jane stared at him,
trying to work out his reticence, this sudden retreat into a defensive shell.
‘They moved in five years ago, introduced themselves to the neighbours using
the worknames Janis and Brigita Voldes. Told them he was a freelance photographer,
away a lot, and the neighbours say they’d see him some weeks, then not again
for a while. Between looking after the kids, she ran a stall at one of the
antique markets held in St. James’s churchyard Piccadilly.’

‘She a Lat too?’

‘Russian Lats,’ Blackmore chipped in, joining them. ‘My money
is on them being a genuine Mr. and Mrs., especially with the sprogs. GRU
sleepers I’ll wager, illegals doing what or with whom we don’t know. They could
have been ruddy watering and feeding the Moscow team you allege was here for
all we know. She’s pretty scared, caught cold and doing some talking, but
that’s probably on account of the sprogs, make sure she keeps them, get to go
home together.’ And Mr. and Mrs. Voldes had been exceptionally fast to react to
a demand of help from Moscow’s mole, reasoned Nick. Once they’d been briefed on
Nick’s false admission that he had a Latvian lead, things had moved apace,
including the luring of Juris to his fatal meeting with the GRU team from
Moscow. Nimble footwork all round.

‘We can’t be certain of anything yet,’ Jane said, fixing
Blackmore with a grievous stare.

‘Well, they weren’t here on their hols anyway. Not with a short
wave radio, three mobile phones, Canadian, US and Irish passports, £70,000 in
euros, the equivalent in sterling and dollars, all tucked away,’ Roly retorted,
sounding quite pleased.

‘So how come we missed him?’ demanded Nick, his tone scathing.

‘Didn’t come home, clever boy,’ said Blackmore, ‘tell him,’ he
suggested to Jane.

‘They’d worked out some signals between them. Whoever was at
home was responsible for security, using a kid’s night light in the upstairs
window. Two different warnings for day and night. If it wasn’t sitting there
during the day, whoever was out had to stay away. No light at night meant
danger, if it was burning bright they could come on in.’

‘And tonight?’ Nick asked, already knowing the answer. ‘It was
switched off wasn’t it?’ he demanded, his patience utterly sapped.

Neither Jane nor Blackmore felt inclined to confirm and Nick sadly
shook his head, setting off down the hall.