Part 12 (1/2)

”And why do you like me, babushka babushka?”

”Because the truth about you is that you don't give a toss.”

”Absolutely right, babushka. babushka.” He was laughing as he walked away.

When he went into the interrogation cell, he found a police sergeant on either side of the door and Oleg and Petrovich sitting behind the table, still handcuffed. Ivanov was sitting near the door and jumped up. the interrogation cell, he found a police sergeant on either side of the door and Oleg and Petrovich sitting behind the table, still handcuffed. Ivanov was sitting near the door and jumped up.

”Prisoners present as ordered, Colonel.”

They were so drunk, they started to laugh, and Oleg said, ”Is he taking the p.i.s.s? I mean, this has gone far enough. We're lieutenants in the GRU, or hadn't you noticed?”

Lermov walked around the table slowly, the cigarette still in his mouth, and stood looking down at them, then gently stubbed it out, and said to the two sergeants at the door, who were looking grim and flexing their clubs, ”The left leg first on each of them, if you please.”

They moved in, clubs swinging, and both of the men howled and went down. The sergeants pulled them on their feet. Ivanov had seldom seen two drunks sober up so fast. Oleg was actually sobbing.

”Let's get one thing clear. The sergeants will be quite happy to move to your right leg and then each arm in turn, but I detest violence, so listen carefully. Captain Ivanov, if you please!”

Ivanov read the letter. When he was finished, Lermov said, ”My warrant from Prime Minister Putin gives me total authority over your destiny. I shall now question you on certain matters relating to your service in the London Emba.s.sy that involved you. If you do not tell me the exact truth about what happened, you will be reduced to the ranks and posted to a penal regiment.”

They stared at him dumbly, total dismay on their faces. Lermov held up the Putin letter. ”This warrant from your Prime Minister gives me the power to do this. I have no more time to waste. Give me your answer.”

”Anything, Colonel,” Petrovich mumbled.

”That's right, sir,” Oleg joined in. ”Just tell us what you want to know.”

”Then sit down and let's get started.”

From then on, it was easy, and they fell over themselves to pour out the truth. Colonel Luzhkov had offered them this very special job to kidnap an American, Blake Johnson, who had just arrived in town and was staying in a top-floor suite at a hotel in Mayfair. A truck that did laundry pickups in the area was available to them, and uniforms to go with it. They explained how they'd gone up in a service elevator, abducted Blake Johnson, returned to the truck, hid him in the rear, and driven away, their destination a private airfield at Berkley Down, where a Russian Falcon was waiting to fly him to Moscow and onwards to Station Gorky. it was easy, and they fell over themselves to pour out the truth. Colonel Luzhkov had offered them this very special job to kidnap an American, Blake Johnson, who had just arrived in town and was staying in a top-floor suite at a hotel in Mayfair. A truck that did laundry pickups in the area was available to them, and uniforms to go with it. They explained how they'd gone up in a service elevator, abducted Blake Johnson, returned to the truck, hid him in the rear, and driven away, their destination a private airfield at Berkley Down, where a Russian Falcon was waiting to fly him to Moscow and onwards to Station Gorky.

Then came the business of the truck being forced to stop, an unexpected pa.s.senger in the rear, the man in the black hood, who spoke the kind of Russian you'd expect from a Mafia lowlife, who shot Petrovich in the hand and blew away half of Oleg's right ear, then drove off with Blake Johnson in the truck and left them to phone the Emba.s.sy for help. Luzhkov had been furiously angry, had referred to the man in the black hood as someone named Dillon, because this Dillon had a reputation for shooting half an ear off people who offended him.

So that was it, all there, a perfect piece of the jigsaw. They sat there, broken and humble, and Lermov didn't even feel grateful. Animali, Animali, the Italian word for ”sc.u.m,” was the only way to describe them. Blake Johnson was the enemy, and Lermov knew him only by reputation, but that didn't mean one couldn't feel distaste for what had been planned for him. the Italian word for ”sc.u.m,” was the only way to describe them. Blake Johnson was the enemy, and Lermov knew him only by reputation, but that didn't mean one couldn't feel distaste for what had been planned for him.

He considered it all, then stood and said to the sergeants, ”Take these men to a holding cell.” He turned to Ivanov. ”Put the necessary doc.u.mentation in hand for their demotion to the ranks and transfer them to an appropriate penal battalion.”

Both men gasped in disbelief. ”But you promised, Colonel, that if we told you the truth, we'd be all right.”

”Yes, I lied, but you thoroughly deserve it.” He went to the door, which one of the sergeants opened for him, and walked out.

Back in the corner of the officers' bar, he sipped tea and reviewed the situation. It was certainly all coming together, thanks to patient questioning and sound detective work. They were almost there, and then Ivanov came in and sat down opposite him, an edge of excitement to him. He put a transcript on the table. of the officers' bar, he sipped tea and reviewed the situation. It was certainly all coming together, thanks to patient questioning and sound detective work. They were almost there, and then Ivanov came in and sat down opposite him, an edge of excitement to him. He put a transcript on the table.

”Just in from London. Excellent stuff, so I spoke to Major Chelek to confirm.”

Lermov poured another gla.s.s of tea. ”Just tell me.”

”GRU computer experts said the London Emba.s.sy can access Scotland Yard files, and no one named Ali Selim has a criminal record. The computer checked on other people of that name resident in London and found several, but one seemed particularly interesting-because he was dead.”

Lermov said, ”Explain.”

”Remember the Garden of Eden Garden of Eden sailed downriver on Monday afternoon? Well, this Ali Selim was fished out of the river at Wapping two days later.” sailed downriver on Monday afternoon? Well, this Ali Selim was fished out of the river at Wapping two days later.”

”Drowned, of course.”

”No, his throat was cut.”

”I see. What is the source of this information?”

”Grafton Street Morgue in Wapping, where the body was delivered by the paramedics who recovered it. It's all there in the morgue records. A brief report of the recovery of the body, ident.i.ty and address in a wallet found on the body. He lived at a place called India Wharf on the Thames. The autopsy report indicated that due to possible contamination of the body, cremation was urgent, and this took place at the morgue facility the same day.”

”I must say, Ferguson is definitely turning out to be the ruthless b.a.s.t.a.r.d of legend. Is that everything?”

”Major Chelek has gone down himself to this India Wharf where Selim lived to see what he can find out. He'll be in touch as soon as possible.”

”Then let's have something to eat until he does.”

An hour in the canteen, a heavy vegetable broth that was a meal in itself with black bread, and, once again, a gla.s.s of the rough red wine. a heavy vegetable broth that was a meal in itself with black bread, and, once again, a gla.s.s of the rough red wine.

”Peasant food,” Lermov said. ”In spite of the delights of the modern world, we still love the kind of food our grandparents enjoyed.”

They went back to the office, and, ten minutes later, Ivanov's secure mobile sounded. ”Put it on speaker,” Lermov ordered.

Ivan Chelek's voice was clear and firm. ”Well, here I am on India Wharf, looking out over the Thames, Ivanov. It's raining.”

”I'm here also,” Lermov told him. ”We'll make this a conference call. So where are we at?”

”It seems to be an anchorage surrounded by old Victorian warehouses, most of them boarded up just waiting for a developer to knock them all down. Four motorboats tied up for the winter with canvas covers. No sign of any kind of habitation.”

”So Ali Selim didn't live there.”

”Oh yes he did. There's a lane at the top with a few old terrace houses and a corner shop. I walked up, tried the shop, and struck gold.”

”Go on,” Lermov told him.

”The people living in the houses are all Islamics of one kind or another, and the shop was their general store, run by an aging Arab named Hussein. We had the place to ourselves. I'm an old Iraq hand, as no one knows better than you, so I went and locked the front door, took a pistol from my pocket and five hundred pounds in fifties, and put them on the counter. I told him in Arabic that he had a clear choice. He could answer my questions or I would blow his brains out.”

”And?” Lermov said.

”Proved a mine of information. Ali Selim was born in London. His father was a seaman off a freighter, in the old days when the Pool of London was thriving. He met and married a c.o.c.kney white woman. It seems Ali was a very frightening and violent man from his youth. He went to prison on many occasions for robbery, a.s.sault, that kind of thing.”

”And yet there is no police record on him at Scotland Yard,” Ivanov observed.