The Traitor's Story (7 page)

History

Harry called in sick the following morning. Perry seemed preoccupied for most of the day, like a man awaiting bad news, but he saw Finn after lunch and said, “Doesn’t look good, Harry taking a day off just after the news breaks.”

“Ed, he could just be ill. I’ll call in on him later and see how he is.”

“Even if he’s ill, tell him it’s better if he drags himself in here. Don’t give them anything to latch on to.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him.”

“Good. I’ve seen careers destroyed by this kind of question mark, and I don’t want it happening to anyone on my watch.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll see to it.”

Ed nodded absently and walked up the corridor. It made Finn realize he’d never really been cut out for this line of work anyway. It had always been too much of a game for him, and seeing the genuine concern Perry had for his team only reinforced how reckless and immature Finn had been.

Finn took a different route home to call in on Harry, conscious at the same time that he didn’t want to pass the church again. Stray flakes of snow were falling from the overcast sky, but it didn’t look as if they’d come to anything.

When he reached Harry’s place and rang the bell, there was a weighted silence before Harry finally answered. He looked perfectly healthy, of course, and ushered Finn inside.

“It’s okay, Katerina.”

She came out of the bedroom, smiling broadly when she saw Finn. She was wearing a new sweatshirt, but Harry had done a pretty good job of matching the style of the previous one.

“Hello, Finn,” she said, shy—either around him or around the language.

“Hello, Katerina, how are you today?”

“Good. Thank you.”

Harry smiled as if he’d performed a magic trick and said, “Actually, her English is pretty good. I think she was just so shocked and afraid when you found her.” Katerina said something in Russian and Harry smiled. “And we speak too quickly.”

Finn nodded, smiling at her but saying to Harry, “So you took the day off.”

“I couldn’t leave her. She was nervous about being left on her own—understandably so at the moment. Maybe tomorrow.”

Finn glanced at Katerina. “You went out to buy her clothes.”

“While she was still asleep.” He gestured to the sofa. “I didn’t have the best of nights.”

Finn looked at the sofa, and at the pillow and folded blankets on a chair in the corner.

He pointed and said, “You should have hidden those just now.”

“Oh wow, yeah, of course.” Harry went and picked them up immediately, taking them into the bedroom. “I can’t believe I left them there.” He sounded distraught at what, after all, was an easy enough slip to make.

Katerina looked at Finn, concerned. He smiled dismissively. “It’s okay.”

“Okay,” she said.

As Harry came back in, he said, “Sorry, Finn, do you want a drink?”

“No, I’m good thanks, I’m gonna head home. But look, I think it’ll be this time next week—is that okay?”

Harry shrugged, as if the question hardly needed asking. “Yeah, don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll call again, but don’t take any more time off. Don’t do anything to raise suspicions.” He got a nod from Harry and raised his hand, saying, “Bye, Katerina.”

“Goodbye, Finn.”

Her voice had that mournful, musical quality he so often found in Russians when they spoke English—it made her seem simultaneously fragile and much wiser than her years. He wanted to say something else, offer some further reassurance, but held back, guessing he was reading too much into it, and that for all that had happened in the last few days, it was nothing more than a matter of inflection.

He made his way home, and as he opened the door to the apartment he caught the smell of meat cooking, onions, and herbs. He’d forgotten Sofi had said she’d be earlier today, that she’d cook, and the combination of the aromas and the gentle clatter filled him with calm.

He saw his summer coat hanging on the rack in the corner of the hallway. He’d dropped the gun into the pocket when he got home the night before, and he reminded himself now that he had to get rid of it. For the time being, though, he didn’t even take off his overcoat, just walked on through.

She hadn’t heard him come in, and he stood in the kitchen doorway for a moment watching her. She was in her stocking feet, wearing her beige woolen dress; he didn’t know what it was called—a sweater dress, perhaps—but he liked the way it looked, the way it hugged her curves. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, something she only did when she cooked.

There had been some tension between them this last week or so, never spilling over, never descending into blame, but it was still there, the knowledge that he’d quit, that he’d soon have no job to keep him in Tallinn. Standing there watching her, he knew they had to find a solution, because he didn’t want to be without this woman, couldn’t be without her.

Throughout his twenties, he’d feared the prospect of “settling down,” a term that had always seemed possessed of its own claustrophobic menace. He’d been in love before, but in retrospect it seemed that one small part of his psyche had always held back, counting down the days, looking to the horizon.

Perhaps he’d even been like that with Sofi, treating it like a game. And only now did he see the folly of it, because only now did he fully understand that he wanted to spend his life with her, have a family with her, to become middle-aged and dependable.

As if hearing his thoughts, she finally realized he was behind her and she looked over her shoulder and smiled and said, “How long have you been standing there?”

“Oh, a little while.”

“I made a casserole.” She opened the oven and put the dish in, and as she wiped her hands he walked over and kissed her, then again, and put his hands on her hips and pulled her close.

She laughed a little and said, “Okay, I had intended on a bath, but . . .”

He pulled away so that he could look her in the eye and said, “I’ve decided on a solution, to our problem.” She looked at him quizzically. “I’ll stay.”

“In your job?”

“No, but I’ll stay here, in Tallinn.”

The quizzical stare turned to confusion. “But how? What about money?”

“I have a little money.” The lie of it stung him. He wanted to tell her, was desperate to tell her. “I’ve saved some money over the years, maybe enough to start my own business, or tide me over while I write a book—”

She was about to interrupt, but the doorbell beat her to it. They both hesitated and then Finn said, “Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course. I want us to be together.” She laughed, as if seeing that the problem really could disappear so easily. The doorbell sounded again, and she pulled away from him, releasing her hair from its ponytail at the same time.

“Don’t answer it,” he said quietly.

She smiled, shaking her head. “Easy for you to say—you know it won’t be for you.”

She made for the door, and he walked over and looked at the bottle of wine she’d taken out. Automatically, he resented whichever friend or relative or colleague had come calling, but after a barely audible exchange there was silence, and then Sofi appeared in the kitchen again.

She looked slightly bemused as she said, “It’s for you.”

He walked through into the hallway and took a second to identify the woman standing there, another second to appreciate the implications. He concentrated on staying relaxed as he said, “Louisa—I didn’t hear you were in Tallinn.”

He was annoyed with himself because they’d been waiting for him, because the car had clearly been on the street when he’d come in a short while before, and he should have spotted it.

“Hello, Finn.” She smiled, but it veiled over a much graver expression. He wondered if this was it, if the Kremlin source had proved too reliable, if he’d pushed his luck a little too far. Would they prosecute him? Again, he thought of his parents. “I only arrived this afternoon.”

Sofi came out of the kitchen and Finn said, “Er, this is Sofi, my girlfriend. This is Louisa from our head office in London.” They shook hands, exchanged greetings.

Then Louisa looked at Sofi apologetically and said, “I feel awful doing this but I wonder if I could borrow Finn, just for half an hour or so? Something smells delicious, so if you’re ready to eat I can come back later.”

“It’s a casserole,” said Sofi, only a hint of suspicion in her voice. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, not at all. We’ll go out, if you don’t mind, but I promise I’ll bring him back before supper’s ready.”

Sofi shrugged. “Okay. Would you like to join us?”

“That’s very sweet of you, but I won’t.”

Without being sure why, Finn wanted to stall, even made to say something, but he realized he still had his coat on, that there was no reason for him to delay going with Louisa.

He gestured toward the door and said, “Okay, after you.”

Louisa said goodbye to Sofi, and Finn turned himself before heading out. Sofi gave him a concerned look and he smiled reassurance,
an echo of his parting with Katerina, given with even less confidence.

They took the stairs, and as they descended Louisa said, “She seems nice. Terribly attractive. Journalist, isn’t she?”

He didn’t bother answering what hadn’t really been a question, but said, “So what brings you—”

“Let’s wait until we’re outside.”

“Of course.”

He didn’t like her tone, and could feel his heart beating a little faster now. He could feel a muscle fluttering under his left eye, too, though he knew from experience it probably wasn’t visible. Still, he had to control himself, in case this was still at the level of suspicion rather than accusation.

He thought of Katerina again. He’d promised he would help her and wasn’t sure how he could if they carted him off to London. He could rely on Harry, though, he was sure of that. If anyone else could get the girl to safety, it was Harry.

Once they were on the street, the sudden blast of cold relaxed him—the temperature had dropped dramatically even in the short time he’d been inside. He spotted the car now, too, and Louisa waved at the driver but set off along the street.

“There’s a little bar just around the corner—I thought we’d go
there.”

“Sure,” said Finn a little too gratefully, sensing they didn’t have anything concrete on him yet. She might be trying to trap him, to get him to confirm their suspicions, but for the time being it was no more than that. “So, can you tell me now what you’re doing here, why I didn’t know you were coming?”

“Ed’s the only person who knew I was coming. And officially, I’m here to sort out this whole bloody mess with the Kremlin mole and Aleksandr Naumenko. Tiresome. I’m having dinner tonight with the people at the embassy, just trying to calm them down, reassure them that our operations aren’t going to compromise theirs.” She pointed as she headed off across the street, as if Finn were the visitor. “This way.”

Finn laughed a little, and noticed as he crossed that the driver was following some way behind, on foot. More importantly, Finn had latched on to one crucial word in what Louisa had said, and he held on to it now with a little too much hope—he could feel his heartbeat skipping along again.

“You said that’s why you’re here
officially
. What did you mean by that?”

“You’re a smart young chap, Finn, what do you think? Kremlin moles! My only interest in that story is that it gave me a reasonably plausible cover for this visit.”

“So you don’t believe it?”

“Do you?”

Finn shrugged. “Point taken.” He was regaining control, his mind slipping into gear, responding as if there really was no truth to the story.

“No, the unofficial but primary reason for my visit is to offer you an opportunity—one last hurrah.”

“A chance to go out in a blaze of glory?”

They’d reached the bar, but she hesitated at the door as she said, “Not quite, but a chance to do a very great service for your country.”

She smiled, perhaps at how arch that line had sounded, then pushed open the door to the warmth and the hubbub of voices inside. Finn had been in here a couple of times—once with Sofi, once with Harry—but no more than that. It was a traditional place, but with a youngish crowd of students, creative types. It was half empty this early in the evening, and they were able to choose a table in the corner with clear views. As they ordered their drinks, the driver came in and strolled to the bar.

“Charming place,” said Louisa, then looked at Finn. “You’ll know the Russians arrested Demidov last week.”

“Of course.”

“And they’ve done a pretty good job on dismantling his little fiefdom. But in the process it’s given us the chance to collaborate and wrap up several different pieces of business.”

Their drinks arrived and they raised glasses, but Louisa didn’t drink from hers. Finn took a small sip and put his glass back on the table.

“We alerted the Russians that there was a small cargo ship bound for St. Petersburg with a ton or so of cocaine onboard. It’s due to arrive next weekend. The Russians decided to monitor it, use it as a chance to round up any of Demidov’s people who might have escaped the net. But then we picked up on something very interesting—it seems one of his men has decided to go it alone, because the ship is now going to make an unscheduled stop at a disused dock in Kaliningrad. So we suggested this might provide an opportunity to remove a thorn in their sides and ours. Hence this operation—Sparrowhawk.”

“I’m following, Louisa, but if you’re expecting me to second guess, I have no idea where this is going.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not losing your touch. This
is
complicated. But this part of the plan is quite simple, and it involves Karasek. We’ll talk through the cover story and the details later, but in short, you go to Karasek, tell him you’re leaving, that you want a retirement plan. You tell him about the ship docking in Kaliningrad—no one else knows about it, only you—giving him the opportunity to go in there and steal a nice big container full of marching powder.”

Finn laughed at her use of slang—he always imagined Louisa as the headmistress of a girls’ boarding school—but his thoughts were tumbling over each other. He wasn’t sure how he could decline her offer without arousing suspicion, but the parallels were frightening.