Agent of the State (22 page)

‘You’re angry, Nancy. I can understand that, but you shouldn’t make these calls in the car. It’s dangerous for you and the kids.’

‘Oh, wonderful. You walk out on me to fuck your latest tart and still think you can slag off my driving. Pathetic.’ There was the sound of a car horn followed by Nancy’s high-pitched ‘Go screw yourself!’ and he imagined the raised finger.

His wife had never handled traffic congestion well. Karl reflected how their roles had been reversed: throughout their married life, the calming influence had always been Nancy, not the hot-headed Karl. ‘I mean in front of the children,’ he said. ‘They shouldn’t be hearing this.’

‘You really are something else. You think they don’t know?’

In the mirror, Karl watched Olga advance on him. ‘OK, calm down, say hello to them for me.’  Then Olga almost disappeared from view, her breasts softly pressing into his back. ‘Tell them I’ll take them for a burger on Wednesday.’

‘Tell them yourself,’ snapped Nancy. Olga’s laughing eyes appeared over his shoulder and he suppressed a gasp as she gently cupped his balls. ‘Hi, Amy, hi, Tom.’

Two small voices pulled at his heartstrings. ‘When are you coming home, Daddy?’

He covered Olga’s hand with his, checking her, but stayed locked into her reflection. ‘Are they all right, Nancy?’

‘Ecstatic. Look, we’re nearly at school. Don’t be late on Wednesday. Try and do something right for once.’

‘I’ll call you tonight.’

‘Don’t bother.’ There was another horn, and Nancy disconnected.

Olga took the phone and led him back into the bedroom. ‘They all right, yes, the children? What did she want, this early?’ She sat beside him on the bed and eased him back against the pillows.

‘They’re fine,’ he said, glancing at the clock, ‘and she’s right. I’d better get to the office.’

Olga lay beside him and stroked his brow. ‘You poor baby, your wife put you on the guilt trip, yes?’

It was Karl’s third morning in Olga’s bed and he had not been back to his rented flat for the whole weekend, even for a change of clothes. Now he could feel himself hardening again, after less than an hour. He had called Olga from the Dorchester’s lift lobby in the early hours of Saturday, moments after shaking hands with a bruised, chastened Boris and escorting Rigov to his room. When he saw her again she was standing on the Welcome mat, naked under her robe and still towelling her hair. Forgetting the vodka, they had launched themselves onto her canopied bed. He had entered her modest apartment in Hammersmith within thirty-five minutes of leaving the hotel and penetrated her sweet-smelling body inside fifty. ‘Karl, my darling Tartar,’ she had laughed afterwards, admiring his sweating body, ‘you really are a gift from God.’

Flattered, Karl had given his most modest smile. Now Olga raised herself on her elbow as Karl’s eyes moved over her breasts. ‘You love my bosom, no? Can’t take your eyes off it.’ Olga was nothing if not classy. She told him her breasts had served her well because they were natural, her own divine gift. Silicone was for tramps, she said. True men preferred the real thing.

Karl Sergeyev could tell she fancied him as a soul mate and potential partner. As the weekend drew on she told him she wanted to resume the studies she had abandoned at eighteen and swore to reserve her assets for his exclusive use. They talked about it over shared vodka and, because Karl was such a jealous boy, she promised to tell the escort agency next week, or the week after at the latest.

His mobile rang just as things were getting interesting again. He saw Donna’s number on the screen and pushed himself up against the pillows. ‘It’s the commander’s PA,’ he told her. ‘I have to take this.’

‘It’s no problem,’ said Olga, kicking the duvet down the bed as she worked her magic. ‘Tell her you can work from home.’

‘Hi, Donna.’ The message was brief. Karl listened carefully, thanked her and cut the call. ‘I have to get going,’ he said, glancing at the clock. ‘Commander wants to see me at ten-fifteen and I need a change of clothes.’

Olga continued arousing him. ‘Ah, yes, to chide you about your life of immorality.’

‘It’s no joke, Olga. Not from what Donna says.’

‘All these women against you. But will you ask your friends about Tania today?’ she said, disappearing again down his body.

‘If I get the chance.’

He felt her lips pull away from him and her face reappeared above his, eyes on fire. ‘But you promised!’ she said, brushing her hair back and taking his head in her hands. Olga had been fretting about Tania all weekend, ever since her first call had gone to voicemail early on Saturday morning. Karl remembered her as the shy teenage girl perching on the staircase waiting for Olga to return with the champagne. Her disappearance was the only cloud over their otherwise perfect three nights and two days together. Olga told Karl she shared with three other girls in a small flat in Barons Court. She kept ringing every couple of hours, and with each failed call became more anxious.

This had never happened before, and she insisted something was wrong. Ever since Olga had befriended her, Tania would always text her to say she had reached home safely. That was the arrangement. She felt guilty about rushing off to have sex with Karl without first seeing Tania into a taxi: if anything bad had happened it would be her fault. And Karl’s too, partly, she added through her tears. The least he could do was use his contacts at Scotland Yard to help find Tania.

‘Look, I may not even see John today,’ said Karl. ‘He does a lot of work away from the office.’

‘No more excuses,’ she cried, dissolving into tears. ‘Bastard! You swear you love me and then you do nothing.’

His lover’s abrupt changes of gear were becoming a source of erotic fascination to Karl – he never knew where she would take him next. After two days and three nights of frenetic lovemaking, despite intervals of weeping about Tania, this was the first time she had actually applied the brakes. But with Olga, even restraint was arousing. ‘Tania will turn up, you’ll see. Don’t stop now,’ he moaned, gently pressing her head back down his body. ‘We’ve just got time.’

‘No! Something bad has happened,’ she shouted, banging his chest, ‘and you have to call your friends today.’ She got off the bed and picked up her robe. ‘Why will you not do this one thing for me?’

‘And what am I supposed to do with this?’ said Karl, staring down at his erection.

‘You really want me to tell you?’ she screamed, slamming the bathroom door.

Twenty-four

Monday, 17 September, 10.33, the Fishbowl

Tieless, sipping in-house black coffee from a paper cup, Kerr watched Karl through the blinds as he made his way down the open-plan office towards the Fishbowl. Word had already reached him through the grapevine about the latest love of Karl’s life. Minutes earlier Donna, always ahead of the game, had warned Kerr that Karl needed to see him and the news was not good. A few of Karl’s friends called to him, throwing around the usual banter. Karl, elegant in navy single-breasted suit, crisp white shirt and yellow tie, was smiling and courteous to the end, but hardly broke step.

Kerr waited for the knock on the door, then had to call twice before Karl’s head appeared, leaving the rest of him on the wrong side of the threshold. ‘You must be busy, boss. Shall I come back later?’

‘No, of course not.’ In fact, Kerr had been working non-stop since arriving in the office just after seven. Langton’s surveillance teams were in constant demand to monitor suspected terrorist targets, often operating beyond the capital, and Dodge would speak with him several times a day about complex undercover or agent operations. This morning he had drafted a statement for Kerr to sign about the siege in Hackney, in which Melanie was referred to as ‘Officer A’.

Monday morning was the busiest time for administration, which he hated. There were the previous week’s overtime claims to approve and the security authorisations for all covert operations to check, including Jack Langton’s late-night call-out by MI5 on Saturday. In addition, he had to disguise his officers’ work against Ahmed Jibril by showing them assigned to other surveillance targets.

He gestured Karl to a seat, shrugging an apology as he speed-dialled Kestrel, his MI5 insider, and left his third message. ‘I need an urgent meet with you, as in crash, so ring me back as soon as you get this.’ That would be the final call. In the past, Kestrel had ignored Kerr in order to assert the fiction that he was a volunteer, a free agent. But, as Kerr had made clear when he’d had Kestrel lifted off the street and brought to him, nothing could have been further from the truth. On this occasion, Kerr found himself wondering if the MI5 man’s reluctance was connected in some way to the suspicious things Kerr’s team was uncovering.

Kerr swung back to his desktop. ‘Just let me do this.’ When he had finished he locked his email, squeezed round the desk and dropped into the other chair. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s bad, John. Commander’s withdrawn my security vetting.’

‘You what?’ Kerr stared at him in surprise. Removal of the vetting status was effectively ‘game over’ for an officer on Weatherall’s side of SO15 because every intelligence post required national security clearance.

‘She’s going to transfer me to uniform. She gave me the kiss of death, John. I’m on gardening leave from now. Official. She told me I’m not to come anywhere near the Yard.’

‘And why do you think she’s done that?’

Uncomfortable, Karl shifted in his chair, looking for inspiration through the glass. ‘Well, to punish me, I suppose.’

‘For not keeping your dick in your trousers.’

‘It’s not like that. Her name is Olga. Christ, all I did was to fall in love and the commander practically gave me a bloody ASBO.’

‘You’re another victim in her drive for ethical correctness, I’m afraid. Conduct above reproach and all that.’

‘But I’m already separated from Nancy.’

Karl and Olga had collided in the early hours of Saturday; today was Monday morning, and it was a safe bet that Weatherall had none of Kerr’s informal channels of insider info – Kerr had picked up a rumour about Karl and an escort girl from another protection officer late on Saturday afternoon. As he spoke, Kerr was wondering how she could have got to hear about Karl’s indiscretion so quickly. ‘How did she find out about it? Who told her?’

‘Search me,’ said Karl, ‘but I’m not waiting around to find out.’

Kerr shrugged in sympathy. ‘Look, it’s not the end of the world. I know what she’s like. This is only temporary, till you move back home. Do yourself a favour, Karl. Live like a normal husband and father and she’ll change her mind.’

‘Like you?’

‘I mean it, Karl.’ Kerr’s landline buzzed, then his BlackBerry, but he ignored them both.

Karl was staring gloomily through the glass at his disappearing world. ‘She’s firing me but it’s none of their bloody business. It’s domestic.’

Kerr’s mobile beeped again. ‘No, it’s political, and I’m very sorry about it.’

‘Do you know the last time I was in uniform? Sixteen years ago. No way am I going back to that.’

‘You’re being hasty, Karl. We all need you here. Place wouldn’t be the same without you.’ Unable to resist any longer, Kerr picked up his BlackBerry, glanced at the screen and put it down. ‘Just hold on for a few weeks and everything will be fine.’

‘Too late. I just called Olga back. She’s really upset for me. Been making some calls since I left for the office. Says I can work for a friend of hers till things settle down.’

‘What sort of friend?’

‘He was at the party on Friday. A real high roller.’

‘A client, you mean.’

‘No way,’ said Karl, looking awkward. ‘An associate.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Yuri Goschenko. I’m going to do some driving for him, starting this afternoon.’

‘Hang on, Karl. What do you know about this guy?’

‘He has his own company. Eagle Security Services. Protection, bodyguarding, home alarms, that sort of thing. It’s just part-time.’

‘Moonlighting, you mean.’

‘Chauffeur to start, while I work my notice and get my life sorted. Better than doing nothing, John.’

‘I’m just saying don’t burn your bridges. We want you back here some day, so make sure you do some more checks on this guy before you get in too deep.’

‘You don’t have to worry about me. This is one Russian helping another, that’s all. Just like the English do.’

‘What’s Goschenko’s politics?’

‘Making money.’ Karl was beginning to sound irritated.

‘Both of us know he might be a hood, Karl, so watch your back.’

Alan Fargo was loitering outside the door with the padlocked canvas bag 1830 used to transfer top-secret documents between offices. Kerr gave him a thumbs-up and hauled himself to his feet. ‘Look, is there anything you need right now?’

‘I will be fine,’ said Karl, wearing his lopsided smile that said things would not be so bad, ‘and it’s been very good to work with you. I’d like to buy you a beer some time. Perhaps with Nancy. I know she’d like to see you again.’

‘Send her my best. Take care of yourself and let’s catch up soon,’ said Kerr, shaking hands. ‘And don’t be frightened to dish the dirt on this guy.’