Part 19 (2/2)
”Don't be silly, where would he go?”
Ivanov went out, and Lermov turned and smiled. ”So it's coming together for you, you think?”
”I think so. I know how the game should proceed, the moves the players would be required to make, but until I have spoken to Caitlin Daly and checked whether her cell has survived I can give you no a.s.surance of anything.”
”I understand. When do you want to leave?”
”The sooner, the better. The day after tomorrow, if possible, certainly no longer than the day after that.”
”I'll leave you now, to make your call.”
He opened the door and paused as Holley said, ”And which call would that be?”
”Daniel, as the Americans say, 'You can't kid a kidder.' You haven't asked for mad money to survive on, for accommodation while you're in London, or, most important of all, for weaponry. This can only mean you have a source in mind, someone with an encrypted mobile like you have now. Amazing things, mobiles. Within two minutes, you can be talking to someone anywhere in the world. Algiers, for instance.”
”You wily old fox,” Holley told him.
”It's been said before. I'll leave you to it.”
In the old Moorish house on the hill overlooking the harbor of Algiers, Hamid Malik lay on the bed in his bedroom, the windows open to the night air, the light wind stirring the fragrance from the garden below. He was reading a day-old copy of the on the hill overlooking the harbor of Algiers, Hamid Malik lay on the bed in his bedroom, the windows open to the night air, the light wind stirring the fragrance from the garden below. He was reading a day-old copy of the Financial Times Financial Times and wondering what the world was coming to. And then his mobile sounded. and wondering what the world was coming to. And then his mobile sounded.
”Who is this?” he asked in Arabic.
Holley replied in English, thickening his Yorks.h.i.+re accent. ”It's me, you daft b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I can't remember the exact words, but somewhere in the Bible it says: 'For this my son was dead, and is alive again.' ”
Malik, bursting with emotion, replied in Arabic, ”Praise be to Allah. I have always known what happened to you in Kosovo long ago. A man named Lermov got in touch with me.”
”So I understand. He tells me you've been a valuable a.s.set.”
”Purely business. Arms for Somalia, or wherever the Russians are stirring up trouble.”
”So the death business is booming?”
”As always, partner. So when can I see you back in Algiers?”
”I'm not sure. There's a rather unusual mess in London that the Russians want me to clear up.”
”Blood in the streets, you mean?” Malik groaned. ”Daniel, you are closer than a brother to me. When does it end?”
”As Allah wills, old friend,” Holley said. ”There's a debt to pay here if I'm to be set free.”
”I see.” Malik thought about it for a moment. ”What if you went ahead with this venture, got to London, and simply disappeared? This would be easy for me to arrange. You know I have blood relatives living in England. Connections of every kind in the Islamic world.”
”Russia is one of the most powerful nations on earth, with round sixty thousand GRU members worldwide. One way or the other, I'd be hounded down if I did a runner. I must go with the tide on this one and hope for the best.”
”So how can I help you?”
”I'll need a banker, and weaponry. Your cousin with the antique shop in London in Shepherd's Market, is he still alive?”
”Selim Malik? Very much so.”
”That would be fine. The Albany Regency is just round the corner. Tell him to book me a studio suite there from the day after tomorrow. Nothing too ostentatious. I've always found that staying in a reasonably expensive cla.s.s of hotel is the best cover of all.”
”I'll take your word for it. Anything else?”
”They've recovered my old pa.s.sport for me, but they're putting together another one. Daniel Grimshaw, born in Leeds,” Daniel said.
”I must admit that sounds Yorks.h.i.+re enough. You are presumably using an encrypted phone?”
”A British Codex.”
”Give me your number.” Holley did. ”Now we are truly linked like brothers. Just as in the old days.” Malik laughed. ”Stay well, my friend, and stay close.”
The following day, Ivanov took Holley to GUM, a store which seemed to be able to supply every human need, and, as the clothes had to support Holley's role as a prosperous businessman, he went for top of the range in everything, somewhat to Ivanov's alarm. Ivanov took Holley to GUM, a store which seemed to be able to supply every human need, and, as the clothes had to support Holley's role as a prosperous businessman, he went for top of the range in everything, somewhat to Ivanov's alarm.
”The prices here are shocking.”
”You've got the card Lermov gave you, so who's counting?” He got an excellent suitcase, a black single-breasted suit, a navy blue blazer and gray flannel slacks, four s.h.i.+rts, two pairs of black shoes, underwear, a collegiate-looking striped tie, and a black raincoat that Ivanov said was outrageously expensive but had a reinforced inside pocket lined with soft leather in which to carry a concealed pistol.
”You're sure that's it?” Ivanov asked as he produced the card and paid.
”Why didn't you get something for yourself while we're here?” Holley asked.
”That would be dishonorable,” Ivanov said as they walked out, and then he smiled. ”Besides, better to wait. The pound was down again in the paper this morning. Much cheaper to shop in London.”
”A sensible point of view.” They were walking towards the limousine. ”Obviously, I haven't fired any kind of weapon recently. Is there a firing range at headquarters?” Holley asked.
”In the cellars. I'll arrange it, but I shouldn't imagine you'll have a problem.”
”You're right, of course, but it would be sensible to test myself,” Holley said as they drove away.
The firing range was the same as such places the world over. The sergeant in charge was named Lisin, a hard old soldier favoring cropped hair and a GRU tracksuit. There was a bad scar on his left cheek that could only have been caused by a narrow miss-”the kiss of a bullet,” as the old-timers put it. was the same as such places the world over. The sergeant in charge was named Lisin, a hard old soldier favoring cropped hair and a GRU tracksuit. There was a bad scar on his left cheek that could only have been caused by a narrow miss-”the kiss of a bullet,” as the old-timers put it.
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