The Spanish Game (22 page)

‘Sorry, Tom.’ Philippe d’Erlanger had only a faint Belgian accent and he was speaking quickly. ‘I am coming backfrom the toilet and I meet Ayesha and we do a little dance together and I was delayed. Hello, I’m Phil.’

‘Good to meet you.’ And now Ben was shaking the hand of a drunkBelgian who ran eastern European prostitutes out of a restaurant in Covent Garden. It worried him that a part of him found this exciting.

‘You are Mark’s brother, yes? Benjamin?’

‘Benny boy!’ Macklin corrected, a clammy hand going backonto Ben’s shoulder. He could feel the weight of it, the sweat, and wanted to throw vodka in Macklin’s face.

Raquel was laughing as he said, ‘That’s right, I’m Ben. Mark’s younger brother.’ D’Erlanger sat down.

‘So you workat Libra?’ he asked, noting a tiny particle of cocaine at the base of the Belgian’s nose.

‘Used to, in the past,’ he replied. ‘Now I own a restaurant. This is Ayesha, by the way.’

The Indian girl was perched delicately on d’Erlanger’s lap, her fingers playing gently in his hair. She looked at Ben and flirted shamelessly, eye contact that he felt as an energy moving right through his body. Her thighs were slim and dark, the left leg crossed over the right so that the light cotton of her dress rode up almost to the waist. Ben nodded at her and tooka sip of his drink.

‘So you two were dancing backthere?’ he asked.

‘Yes, it was very agreeable.’ D’Erlanger was grinning inanely. ‘They have a separate area where you can be more private. VIP, I thinkthey call it. Very Important Persons.’

He laughed uproariously at his own joke, but Ben noticed the exhaustion in his face, tired, jaundiced skin and bruises beneath the eyes. A nocturnal creature. Stress-driven. Greedy.

‘So this is better than Moscow, no?’ he was saying, this time to Tamarov. ‘More relaxed, I think.’

‘What do you mean?’ Tamarov asked.

D’Erlanger turned backto Ben. His attention was everywhere.

‘We’ve just been in Moscow,’ he said. ‘Have you ever been, Benjamin?’

Ben said that he hadn’t.

‘Well, I will tell you…’ he rubbed his nose, wiping sweat off his cheek’… everywhere you go there are security persons, men maybe only twenty or twenty-five years old carrying guns and leather jackets, like they thinkthey are Bruce Willis or something. And not just in nightclubs, but in supermarkets, in cinemas, in shops. What are they called, Vladimir?’

‘Okhrana,’ Tamarov told him.

‘That’s right.
Okhrana
. The Muscovites are obses-sed with staying alive, with security. We go to one restaurant with Thomas and Juris - it’s called the Prado or Prago or something…’

‘Praga,’ Tamarov said.

‘Thankyou, yes, Praga, and this is a typical Stalin wedding cake near the Kremlin where you have maybe eight or nine different restaurants, themed and so on, and we cannot move because of all these clowns, these
clowns
with their Range Rovers and their bullet-proof vests and Walther PPKs…’

Again d’Erlanger laughed at his own joke. Ayesha smiled backadoringly, his oldest friend in the world. Then, when she thought that no one would notice, she stared intently backat Ben, a second moment of flirtation which tookhim by surprise. There was a promise of paradise in her eyes.

‘So Vladimir he books a table for us and we have to pass through metal detectors, body searchings, as if we are terrorists or something.’ Ben could hardly concentrate. ‘Can you imagine this at my restaurant, Benjamin? You come to eat at my place in Covent Garden and I have one of my waitresses take you into a backroom and maybe do a strip search before you can order a soup…’

Again d’Erlanger laughed hugely. Ayesha was still trying her best to lookamused but Tamarov had a face like stone. Movement at the opposite end of the table ended the conversation. Mark had stood up and was excusing himself from the Thai girl. Seeing this, Ben said, ‘I’m just going to the bathroom.’ Nobody paid him much attention. ‘You going too, Mark?’

‘Yeah, for a piss,’ his brother replied, passing behind Macklin’s chair. Ben nodded conspicuously at Tamarov as he squeezed himself out and walked with Mark to the gents.

Inside it was quiet, two doors separating them from the rest of the club. Ben checked that they were alone as Mark washed his hands at the sink.

‘I have to talkto you,’ he said. There was a note of urgency in his voice. ‘Something’s come up.’

‘Not now, brother,’ Mark whispered. ‘This is hard enough as it is.’

The door swung open and a stooped, elderly man walked into the bathroom. Mark moved away from the sinkand locked himself in one of two cubicles. Ben pretended to lookat himself in the mirror and adjusted his tie. The man left without washing his hands.

‘D’Erlanger has been to Moscow with Macklin and Tamarov. He must be involved in something out there…’

‘Ben…’

‘What were you talking to Duchev about?’ Mark came out of the booth. He was frowning.

‘What?’

‘You guys were talking about something while I was with Vladimir.’

‘He’s retiring. He’s bought some property in Spain. He doesn’t like the weather in Latvia and wants to build his own house south of Granada. Why?’

Instantly, Ben said, ‘Well, you could use that.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You could rob him of his dream.’ In the tight confines ofthe bathroom Ben was rushing on sheer adrenalin, eager to help out. ‘If Randall needs evidence on Kukushkin from within, Duchev would be the man to give it to him. They could recruit him as an agent, threatening to take away the land…’

‘What?’ Mark looked appalled. ‘What the fuckare you talking about?’

‘Just that. Just what I was saying.’

‘Have you done a line, brother?’

‘Of course I haven’t done a line. You think I’d do cokebefore something like this…?’

Mark was shaking his head, an exhausted, disappointed smile.

‘This was a big mistake, bringing you in on this. I didn’trealize how fucked you’d get. I don’t know what I was thinking…’

‘What?’

‘I should never have got you involved.’

Ben came towards him.

‘You got me involved because you can’t do this thing on your own. You need me to help you out, to do it for Dad…’

‘No.’ Mark was intractable. ‘I don’t need you to help me out. It’s not safe. I asked you along tonight so you could see the Russians for yourself, to prove to you that Bone’s letter was a fake. I didn’t get you along so that you could start playing I Spy like it’s a game or something. The two of us just being in here is bad enough. You shouldn’t have followed me from the table.’

Ben turned away, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

‘You’re drunk, brother,’ he said. ‘You’re paranoid.’

‘I am not drunk, Benjamin. I am not paranoid. You just need to calm down.’ Mark was very careful not to raise his voice. ‘Do you know anything
about
Duchev? Do you realize how dumb it would be to try to recruit someone like that? This is one of Kukushkin’s most trusted employees. This is a guy who, four years ago, tooka leading Moscow mafioso into the countryside in the boot of a car, found a nice isolated spot, chopped off his fingers, hammered out his teeth and then set fire to his vehicle. The bloke was
still alive
. That was just a job for Kukushkin, a favour. All in a day’s work. That’s what I’m dealing with, brother. This is the kind of person I’m up against.’

‘What about Tamarov?’

‘What
about
Tamarov? Go backto your paints and charcoals. He’s just sussing you out. Can’t you see that? He’s sussing
both
of us out. These guys, they value loyalty and honour above everything else. You make friends with him and he’ll become fucking
depraved
if he realizes what we’re up to. A man like Tamarov is either your best fucking friend in the world or the worst mistake you ever made. That’s what I need you to bear in mind so that you don’t fuckthis thing up.’

‘You should get out of this,’ Ben said calmly. ‘I can see you’re not…’

Mark flashed him a look of contempt.

‘Drop it,’ he hissed.

‘All I said was that d’Erlanger went to Moscow. That’sall I came in here to tell you.’

‘And?’ Mark’s hand was coiled into a fist, leaning on the bathroom sink. ‘You think that’s big news? What do you think MI5 do all day if they’re not tracking -‘

He did well to stop talking as quickly as he did. The internal door of the bathroom had shifted fractionally in a movement of air created by someone entering on the other side. When Tamarov came into the room his eyes narrowed in the brighter light and he stopped in his tracks. He looked first at Mark, then at Ben, and said, ‘Everything OK?’

Ben let his brother do the talking.

‘Oh, fine,’ Mark replied. ‘Fine. We’re just having a chat about one of the girls. You all right, Vladimir?’

‘Not too bad,’ Tamarov said, standing with his back to them at the urinal.

‘Good.’

‘So you like one of the girls?’

He had twisted his neckround and directed the question at Ben.

‘That’s right,’ Ben replied, falling gratefully in tothe lie. His pulse was sprinting like rain and he hardly dared lookat Mark. ‘Her name’s Ayesha. The one with Philippe. She’s nice, eh?’

‘Very beautiful, yes. I could tell you liked her. We are talking, Mark, and your brother is very interesting on the subject of modern art. But his eyes they keep moving to this girl. He cannot take them off her.’ Tamarov laughed, zipping up his flies. ‘But you have a problem, I think. Philippe is very drunk and he is carrying a lot of cash. You will have trouble persuading her to leave him.’

Ben smiled - though it looked to Mark more like a grimace - and did his best to keep up the charade.

‘Oh, that’s OK,’ he said. ‘One dance is enough for me. Besides, I’m married, Vladimir, and that American girl tookme a bit by surprise.’

‘Yes,’ Tamarov said, washing his hands at the sink. ‘By surprise. Perhaps this is what you were talking about when I came in.’

There was a dreadful silence, the sound of taps and muffled music, and they left the bathroom together. Mark allowed Ben to walkahead of them and tried to gather his composure. They were at a set of double doors leading backinto the club when Tamarov took hold of his arm.

‘Come with me to the bar,’ he said. ‘I want to speakto you in private.’

‘Sure,’ Mark replied coolly. He desperately wanted water, ice, something to take the dryness from the roof of his mouth. They were moving through the darkened VIP area, Ben up ahead and girls on all sides dancing in the laps of half-hidden men.

‘What will you have?’ Tamarov asked him at the bar.

‘Just something soft,’ Mark replied. He was still irritatedby Ben. ‘I have to be up early in the morning.’

Tamarov ordered two Cokes and jerked his head contemptuously in Macklin’s direction.

‘Thomas must also be awake early tomorrow,’ he said, looking across at the table. ‘We have important series of meetings on Saturday, no? But I thinkhe does not care.’

‘Oh, Tom’s all right,’ Mark said, thinking that a display of loyalty would play in his favour. ‘He just likes a drink from time to time. Likes to let his hair down.’

The barman set down two Cokes on the bar and Tamarov paid him with a stiff fifty-pound note. Then he trained his eyes on Mark, saying, ‘What has he told you about me? About who I am?’

Mark didn’t flinch.

‘That you’re a lawyer.’

‘But by now you understand how business works in my country? You understand that in order for your operation to succeed it has been necessary for Thomas and Sebastian to make certain arrangements?’

‘Sure,’ Mark said casually. ‘I understand that.’

Tamarov moved his mouth slowly from side to side, like a man tasting expensive wine.

‘So I want to speakto you privately today because we have not met before tonight and there are matters on my conscience that I need to discuss with you.’

‘On your conscience,’ Mark repeated.

‘Let me be clear.’ Tamarov straightened his back and swallowed a mouthful of Coke. ‘Your father was working for Sebastian at the time of his death. I am aware of this. We were all aware of it. This is how business is done.’

‘I’m not sure I’m following you.’

‘What I want to say is this.’ Now he reached out and put his hand on the shoulder of Mark’s jacket. It was like being touched by a priest. ‘When I heard about your father’s murder, I was shocked. It came to me as a surprise. It came to all of us as a surprise. Do you understand what I am telling you?’

For a time there was nothing between them but pop music and distant, idle chatter. Girls in peripheral vision and Mark calculating all the time. Under pressure, he made a decision.

‘Vladimir, if you’re trying to tell me that you work for Viktor Kukushkin, that you’re one of his lawyers, then that doesn’t surprise me.I’m a big boy. My father told me about Kukushkin’s organization and, to be honest with you, on my trips to Moscow with Tom, I put two and two together.’

Tamarov flattened down the dried curls at the back of his neckand seemed relieved to have cleared the air.

‘I appreciate your frankness,’ he said. ‘But I am trying to tell you something more than this.’

Now Mark did not respond. It was something Quinn had talked about at the safe house.
Page One, Rule One: If you don’t know what’s going on, keep your fucking mouth shut
.

Tamarov leaned forward.

‘I must askyou a personal question,’ he said. ‘I hope that you will not be offended by it.’

‘Go on.’

‘It is only that I hope you do not feel that my client was in any way involved in what happened…’

‘Jesus, no.’ Mark could not tell if the lie rang hollow. ‘Christ, that thought never occurred to me. You think I’d still be working for Libra if I thought they had anything to do with what happened? You think I’d drinkwith you at this bar?’

‘Then I am very relieved.’ Tamarov swayed back and removed his hand from Mark’s shoulder. ‘This has been a burden for me tonight, and for Juris also. As I was saying to you, your father’s tragedy came as a surprise to all of us in the organization.’

‘Juris also works for Mr Kukushkin?’ Mark asked, because he had to.