He answered his phone at once, and Kurbsky said, “You’re probably the best friend I have in the world, so prove that friendship by telling me the truth.”
“But I believe I always have, Alex. What is this?”
“What if I told you Roper has succeeded in breaking into the secret files of Station Gorky and has discovered that my sister, Tania, was sentenced to life in perpetuity in 1989?”
“Yes, but you knew that, it was in the file with the DVD.”
“The Putin file. You defended him to me, I remember, said it had all happened before his time.”
“Look, Alex, where is this leading?”
“To my sister’s death from typhoid on March 7, 2000.” There was a moment of stillness. “He lied, Yuri, our beloved Prime Minister lied, and whoever put the file together lied. Was it just handed over to Luzhkov? Is it conceivable the bastard didn’t know?”
“I didn’t, old friend, on my mother’s soul I didn’t know. What are you going to do?”
“The big question is what Ferguson and his people are going to do. I’ve done plenty already. Killed Vronsky, the three lads on the midnight express, that bastard Basayev and his minder. And I sorted out Oleg and Petrovich.”
“So it was you?”
“I couldn’t tell you before when I was still supposed to be earning Tania’s freedom.”
“What are you going to do? Couldn’t you do some sort of deal with Ferguson?”
“You realize I’m the invisible man? I don’t exist. Theoretically, they could lock me up and throw away the key.”
“Damn it, Alex, you’re still Alexander Kurbsky.”
“Whoever that is. Who does Luzhkov think shot Oleg?”
“He’s convinced it was Sean Dillon. He’s incensed, Alex. Packing Johnson off to Siberia was going to be an unexpected gift to Putin.”
“I can see how it would upset him.”
“He’s gone slightly crazy. He’s been ranting like an old-fashioned Communist, talking about causing chaos and disorder in the West, overthrowing capitalism.”
“Careful, Comrade,” Kurbsky told him. “Don’t tell me too much. I’m an enemy of the State, remember.”
And Bounine, who had been on the verge of telling him of the night’s adventures with Luzhkov, hesitated and drew back.
“So what are you going to do, Alex?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Yuri, but I’d better get moving. I imagine Charles Ferguson will be sending somebody to arrest me at any moment. I’m surprised they haven’t already. I’ll go to ground somewhere.”
“What do I say to Luzhkov?”
“Tell the bastard it wasn’t Dillon, it was me, and tell him how things have worked out. To hell with Putin and to hell with Boris Luzhkov for what he’s done to me.”
He pocketed his phone and turned to find Katya leaning on the door, arms folded. “How long have you been there?” he asked.
“Long enough. Who’s Yuri?”
“My best friend and comrade from Afghanistan and Chechnya. He’s one of the good guys. When I got involved in this whole mess, I asked for him to be transferred from Dublin because I wanted a friend I could trust. He’s a major, and Luzhkov’s right-hand man.”
“Really-and your friend?”
“He thinks Luzhkov is rubbish.”
“So where are you going now?”
“I’ll hide myself somewhere and give myself some time.”
“I think you should simply walk to Holland Park, sit down, and talk it through.”
“That’s not on my agenda, I’m afraid. For all you know, I might decide to wait in the street one rainy night and shoot Boris Luzhkov in the head. What a wonderful thought.”
He opened the garage door, and she moved and caught his sleeve. “Please, Alex, don’t go.”
He shook his head and gently removed her hand. “Don’t waste your time on me, Katya. I’m a dead man walking.”
It was a terrible thing to say, and she took an involuntary step back. He got behind the wheel of the van and drove away.
BOUNINE SOUGHT LUZHKOV out and found him in his office. “Ah, there you are, Yuri,” Luzhkov said. “I’ve just had confirmation of the timing. One hundred guests will be arriving between noon and half past. Cocktails and a buffet. The four gentlemen involved arrive at one, which indicates, as we thought, that they will already have had most of their discussions. The Garden of Eden will slip its mooring at one-thirty, sail past the House of Commons, and passengers will disembark at Westminster Pier.”
“Have you informed Ali Selim of all this?”
“I’ve just come off the phone. He seems very happy, but then, he’s that kind of man. A hunter scenting his prey.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve something to tell you of great importance.”
“Perhaps it can wait, this other matter-”
Bounine cut in. “No, Colonel, this is far more important. I have a question to put to you. Tania Kurbsky was admitted to Station Gorky on January 25, 1989. Are you aware that she died there of typhoid on March 7, 2000?”
Luzhkov looked stunned. “What nonsense is this?”
“Not nonsense. The Putin file, the DVD, is all fake. A plot to persuade Alexander Kurbsky to follow the path you and the Prime Minister laid out for him.”
Luzhkov shook his head. “She is there in the camp, she has been for years. I’ve seen her.”
“On the DVD, and you know these kinds of things can be easily faked. Have you seen her in person? No, Colonel, because she did die on March 7, 2000, and I can assure you confirmation of that fact is in Station Gorky’s files.”
“So Kurbsky has done everything for nothing?” Luzhkov said hoarsely.
“I’m afraid so. It’s a good thing he’s not standing here in my place. He’d probably shoot you.”
“But I didn’t know, I swear it.”
With a certain pity in his voice, Bounine said, “I actually believe you. There’s one more thing you should know, however. The man in the black hood who saved Blake Johnson? It wasn’t Dillon after all. It was Kurbsky. He couldn’t stand the idea of someone else being shipped off to that same terrible place as his sister. I’ll leave you to think about what that all means and what his mood is right now. Oh, and I think you’ll find that by now, Ferguson and Roper have discovered that Kurbsky’s defection is false. Their mood probably isn’t much better.”
He turned and walked out.
DILLON AND MONICA drove down from Cambridge and made straight for Holland Park, where they were soon joined by the Salters and then Roper.
“This is a right carry-on we’ve been hearing,” Harry said. “You’re saying that Kurbsky saved Blake Johnson from being kidnapped by Luzhkov’s lot and shot two of them up?”
“Yes, there’s no doubt about it. It was definitely Kurbsky, because he got a knife wound in the left arm and Katya found him bleeding above the garage in Chamber Court.”
“Well, all I can say is he’s certainly done Blake a favor, and no bleeding mistake,” Harry said.
“And that’s not all,” said Roper. “I think he was the one who knocked off Shadid Basayev and his minder in that cemetery in Mayfair.”
Monica said, “But why would he do that?”
“Basayev was a Chechen general, a monster of epic proportions. He butchered people left, right, and center. Amongst them were men under Kurbsky’s command, tortured unspeakably. I think Kurbsky’s been under a lot of stress, and I think I’ve discovered why. He always believed his sister was wounded and then died in the rioting in Moscow in 1989, and was buried in a place called Minsky Park. Tapping away at my computer, I discovered she was secretly sentenced to life imprisonment in the Station Gorky gulag in Siberia. And she died there in 2000.”
They had been unaware of Katya standing in the doorway behind them, listening. She said now, “I’m afraid there’s much more to it than that.”
At the same moment, Charles Ferguson appeared behind her, just arrived and unbuttoning his coat. “What’s all this, then? Can anyone join in?”
ROPER BROUGHT HIM up to scratch, and Ferguson said, “It’s an incredible business. Katya, as I was coming in, I got the sense you had something important to add.” He turned to her. “Go on, my dear, we’re listening.”