Liz Carlyle - 07 - The Geneva Trap (36 page)

Eventually he said, ‘You know, I’ve been thinking. I’m not sure how much longer I want to stay in this line of work.’

‘Really?’ Liz was surprised; Martin had never said anything like this before.

‘Yes. I’m thinking it might be a good time for a change.’

‘What would you do?’

‘I’m not sure. Something calm and normal, if that were possible. Something where I didn’t have to feel that people’s lives depended on what I did.’

‘Wouldn’t you miss it?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s not that I’m bored, and I’d certainly miss the challenge. Though even that seems less exciting. Last week I didn’t think about Milraud once.’

‘I’d call that progress.’

Martin smiled. ‘I’d still like to catch the bastard, but if I don’t, it no longer seems like the end of the world.’

This was a side to Martin Liz had not seen before but, listening to him talking, she thought she had a good idea what had brought it on. She said, ‘I’m glad they found Kubiak. Though what a horrid way to die. ‘

‘Yes, but remember what he did to you.’

‘I don’t think he’d planned it at all. I think he panicked when he saw me, and acted on the spur of the moment.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. But anyway, he’s gone now, thank God.’

She nodded. Then, after a pause, said, ‘And my nightmares have gone too.’

‘Nightmares?’ he asked innocently.

‘Yes. I know you knew I was having them. But thank you for not mentioning it. I saw the office psychiatrist this afternoon. DG wouldn’t let me take on any new cases till she’d signed me off.’

‘How did it go?’

‘Fine. She said I was clear. But I’ve got to go back to see her in three months, just to be sure. By the way, I was talking to Isobel this week,’ she added.

‘Oh, yes. What about?’

‘That man Antoine from the commune, the one who’s in prison here. They’re applying for extradition, but I think he’ll be tried here first for the attack on Edward and Cathy.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

Liz hesitated, then said, ‘And she told me what happened when you raided the commune.’

He said nothing. Liz went on, ‘You didn’t tell me about René and the gun. Isobel said it was a close-run thing.’

Martin sighed and said, ‘I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve had enough to deal with without bothering about me. Anyway, Isobel saved my bacon. Did she tell you that?’

‘Not in so many words, but I got the impression that she turned up just in time.’

He didn’t respond and she wondered if he was annoyed that she’d mentioned it. There was silence in the car for a few miles, then he said, ‘I don’t know if René would have killed me. Thanks to Isobel I didn’t have to find out. I feel lucky to be here. But my scare was short-lived, yours lasted hours.’ He paused then said, ‘I’m just tired of having to deal with people like René and Antoine and Kubiak. I can’t forget the sight of you tied up in that van. I keep seeing you in there and thinking what would have happened if we hadn’t found you.’

So he’s having nightmares too, thought Liz. But at least he’s talking about it, which must be a good thing.

And having started talking, he didn’t want to stop. ‘It’s funny. I’ve been in dangerous situations before – including twice in Marseilles, believe it or not. But I’ve never felt so close to death. I was afraid, I really was. And that makes me angry. Angry with myself; angry with the man who scared me. I’ve never felt that way before, which makes me think perhaps it’s time I got out of the business.’

Liz didn’t think there was anything she could say. A few more miles passed, then he said, ‘You know, it seems completely surreal to be sitting here next to you, going off for a nice weekend in the country. I can’t believe it’s true. ‘

‘It is true,’ she said. ‘This time the bad guys are safely locked away, or dead. We’re very fortunate.’

‘Yes. You’re right. We’re very fortunate,’ he said happily. Then he placed an affectionate hand on Liz’s shoulder. ‘Let’s stay that way – just drive a little slower, will you?’

Chapter 60

It had been a lovely weekend. They’d walked along the river in the sunshine after lunch in the village pub, then later had dinner round the kitchen table in the gatehouse. And after dinner, sitting in the garden as the sun went down, they’d talked to Edward about everything that had happened recently to him and Cathy, and – in a censored fashion – what had happened to Martin and Liz. Susan Carlyle sat and listened, shaking her head from time to time at what she was hearing.

She knew by now that Liz needed the excitement, the feeling of playing her part in things that mattered. But she could also see that this time things had been too exciting even for her daughter. Both Liz and Martin looked tired and Edward was still recovering from the injuries that dreadful Frenchman had inflicted on him. Later, Liz and Martin had gone to bed and slept soundly for the first time in weeks, cosily wrapped together, sleeping under a sketch of the pony Liz had ridden as a girl.

Early on Monday morning Liz dropped Martin off at Heathrow on her way back into London. London was sparkling in the late spring sunshine. Tourist buses lined the Embankment, and the boats on the river were already full of Americans and Japanese seeing the sights from the water. The change in seasons had caught her unawares, and she realised how absorbed she’d been in this latest case.

In her office she found a message from Geoffrey Fane, asking if she would join him and Bokus at eleven o’clock for a meeting he knew she would want to attend. Unless he heard otherwise, he’d pick her up in a car at Thames House at 10.45.

She smiled to herself. Trust Geoffrey. How he loved to be mysterious.

They got out of the car at the north end of Kensington Palace Gardens just as Bokus arrived and together walked past the gatehouse and down the tree-lined avenue to the grand Russian Embassy building, where Geoffrey Fane announced their names. The large black door was open by the time they’d climbed the steps. Kirov himself was waiting in the entrance hall, at the foot of the large, impressive staircase. They shook hands, and he said, ‘Come upstairs to my office.’

This was no ordinary office but a grand reception room, furnished in a heavy formal style with much gilt and brocade. The large windows overlooked the lawns and trees of Kensington Gardens. After the formalities and the offer of coffee had been completed, Kirov cleared his throat and began to speak. ‘Thank you for coming. After our last meeting,’ he said, looking at Fane and Bokus, ‘I conducted the enquiries I promised, and I have some information for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Fane.

Kirov continued addressing him. ‘I told you then that my country had no part in the infiltration of your Ministry of Defence, and I can confirm that information.’

‘What about this character Kubiak?’ enquired Bokus, unable to restrain himself. ‘That’s who we want to know about.’

Kirov’s discomfort was obvious. ‘Mr Bokus, I have to say that that is a different matter.’ I’ll say, thought Liz, thinking of the faceless corpse dragged out of Lake Geneva, but she said nothing. Kirov went on, ‘He was involved, but not on our behalf.’

The three visitors looked at him and waited. There was more to come.

‘I think it is important to be frank with you. Ten years ago Kubiak was posted to Pyongyang. Our relations with North Korea fluctuate, as I am sure you understand, but we have a core staff there. At some point during that posting he was recruited by one of the North Korean Services. Kubiak had an unpleasant vice – he was attracted to very young girls. They blackmailed him. He should never have been sent there and those responsible have been disciplined.’

‘What did he do for them?’ asked Liz.

‘A variety of things over the years, we believe. But on this occasion he was acting as the paymaster for the operation to infiltrate your project. I know that you, Mr Bokus, informed your masters in Washington that it was Russia who was meddling with the communication system of your drones. That was not true and it was a very dangerous misinterpretation of the situation.’

Bokus scowled but said nothing.

Kirov went on, ‘The North Korean regime has begun to operate in the West more than it ever has before. It had found out about your Clarity project.’ He dropped the top-secret codename casually, though all three visitors noted it and knew that nothing he said was accidental. ‘The North Koreans wanted to get ahead in the area of unmanned predators, and stealing your latest development seemed to them to be the way to do it. However, secure covert funding for a sophisticated operation in the West was an issue. They needed to move money around without its being detected. That’s what Kubiak was doing for them. Laundering their funds in and out through Switzerland and the former Soviet Republics, then moving them into France through a fake messenger service he had set up. By the time the money was actually spent, it was almost impossible to trace where it originally came from.’

Liz knew that what Kirov was saying merely expanded on what Herr Bech had already learned from the Bank Difault-Légère in Zurich. That suggested that Kirov’s story overall was probably true.

‘With these funds, the office in Marseilles, which was the hub of the North Korean operation, was set up and run. Rent, salaries – these all came from Kubiak.’

He turned to Liz then. ‘I understand that you suffered serious discomfort at this man’s hands, Miss Carlyle. I wish to apologise on behalf of my government.’

‘Thank you,’ said Liz. I was nearly killed, she thought but didn’t say. She looked innocently at Kirov and said instead, ‘I take it that Mr Kubiak is now in the custody of your colleagues. May I ask what will happen to him?’

She knew, as did everyone in the room, that the Swiss police had put out a public request for information about a man with serious injuries fished out of the lake. They all also knew that no response had come from the Russian Embassy in Switzerland, and that on the same day that Kubiak’s body had been discovered, a Mercedes car with no number plates had been discovered in a public car park in Geneva. The scratches and traces of paint from Steinmetz’s car were no longer there, but from the chassis number Leplan had identified the car beyond doubt as Kubiak’s.

Kirov’s face was expressionless. ‘All loose ends have been tied up,’ he replied.

But Liz still wasn’t satisfied. There was another person she wanted to enquire about. She couldn’t forget that all this had started at a seminar years ago when she, a history student, had attracted the attention of a young Russian visiting lecturer. She knew that Kirov must know about the part Alexander Sorsky had played in setting off this investigation, but she hesitated to mention his name in case it somehow made things worse for him. So she said, ‘There was an officer at your Embassy in Geneva who was taken ill and shipped home. Has he recovered?’

‘Ah, yes. Our colleague Alexander Sorsky. I gather you knew him some time ago. At the University of Bristol as I understand it.’

Liz’s heart sank. She knew what Kirov was telling her. Sorsky had been interrogated and had told them everything. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We met quite by chance many years ago.’

‘And then again, I think, more recently.’

‘Yes,’ said Liz. No point in denying it. ‘That’s true. He is a brave man. He wanted to avoid your country and ours …’ she indicated Fane and Bokus ‘… misunderstanding each other. He was concerned that there was even a risk of conflict. And judging by what happened,’ she said, looking at Bokus, ‘I think he was right to be worried.’

‘That is perhaps true. But he was not authorised to make those decisions or to take the action he did.’

‘Well,’ said Liz, feeling her face flush, ‘I don’t think we will agree on that. Please give him my thanks and my regards.’

Kirov looked at her; his stare was steely. ‘That would not be possible.’

‘What has happened to him?’ she asked, unwilling to let the subject drop.

No one in the room spoke or moved. Then finally Kirov stood up. The meeting was over. He walked to the door, opened it and stood back to let them go through. As she passed him he said quietly to Liz, ‘As I told you, Miss Carlyle, all the loose ends in this affair have been tied up.’

A Note on the Author

Dame Stella Rimington joined the Security Service (MI5) in 1968. During her career she worked in all the main fields of the Service: counter-subversion, counter-espionage and counter-terrorism. She was appointed Director General in 1992, the first woman to hold the post. She has written her autobiography and six Liz Carlyle novels. She lives in London and Norfolk.

www.stellarimington.com

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