Youre a good son, Max, always were. So its the same old thing as Paris?
No, I think this is rather more important. Theyve shown me a warrant from Putin.
Then God help us. She swallowed her vodka down and tossed the glass into the fireplace.
Onward from Moscow, the Falcon rose to forty thousand feet and moved on into the night, while Levin slept and Greta and Ashimov talked in low voices.
Whats the story on the boy wonder there? she asked.
His father was an infantry colonel, a military attaché at the London Embassy, his mother was English. Igor spent a couple of years at a posh public school in Westminster, London. He should have gone to university, but hes a strange one, marches to his own drummer. He went home on holiday and just decided to join the army without even consulting his father, who couldnt do anything about it because it would have looked bad.
Some KGB time was mentioned, the paratroopers and now GRU, she said.
Yes. He became a war hero, decorated twice. The thing that singled him out for a commission was when he took out a Chechnyan general.
As a sniper?
It was more complicated than that. Hes something of an actor, and made a very convincing Chechnyan. Worked himself close in, slit the mans throat and walked off laughing.
My God.
Thats the thing. He really doesnt care. Not about anything. His father was involved with Belov in the old days, so when the money started pouring in, he got his share. Ten million sterling, that kind of money. He was killed in a car crash with his wife the other year, which left Igor very well fixed and all nicely stashed away in London.
So Levin could be on the Riviera. Champagne, girls, a yacht? Why not?
He reminds me of Sean Dillon in a way, Ashimov said. Dillon is also well fixed in the money department. You could ask why he continues to live the life he does.
He poured Greta a glass of champagne while she thought about it. A kind of madness? she asked. A need to live on the dangerous edge?
You could have a point.
Well, if that means comparing him with Dillon, he must be mad. When I was involved with Dillon in Iraq, he seemed to be enjoying the whole business.
Igor Levin stirred and said, Its very simple. Life can be so boring. He tilted up his seat. If youve finished talking about me, Id like a glass of the old bubbles there.
Ashimov said, Ah, youre awake, are you? Well, first things first. Im going to need you, Igor, so I have something for you. When Billy Salter shot me at Drumore, my life was saved by a personal gift from Belov, a nylon-and-titanium vest. Even stops a forty-five. Fits nicely under your shirt. He took a package from his briefcase. My gift to you.
Levin put it on the seat beside him. Frightfully good of you, old boy, but Id still appreciate some champagne.
He spoke in an impeccable English public school accent.
Greta poured him a glass. Theyll love you at the Reform Club.
I should damn well hope so. He sipped some of the champagne. I must say, Dillon sounds rather like the twin I never had. I cant wait to meet him.
You wont have to wait long, Ashimov said. After stopping at Drumore, were off to London for you to take up your new duties.
Where I may be received with less than enthusiasm.
Not when the Ambassador sees your warrant from Putin.
Oh, good, Im to have that, am I?
He still spoke in that English upper-class accent. Ashimov opened a briefcase, took out a file and passed it across.
Heres everything you need to know on Dillon, Ferguson, Roper and the Salters. These people are bad news, my friend, as bad as youve ever known.
Levin flicked the file and it opened by chance at a printout about Bernstein. He went through it quickly. What a woman. This is an incredible record.
Well, dont fall in love with her. Shes the first one to go.
A nice Jewish girl, and you forget my father was Jewish.
Your mother was Christian, Ashimov said. You can only be a Jew through your mother.
An academic argument. All those wonderful genes. They never go away. If I was religious, Id say it was a blessing from God. Personally, Im rather proud of it.
Good for you. Now read the file and see what youre getting into. Ill fill you in on the IRA side of things later.
As you say.
Levin settled back with the file, while Ashimov poured Greta some more champagne and used his satellite phone to contact Liam Bell. He found him at Drumore Place.
Its me, he said. How are you?
Fine. Weve moved in, got things arranged. No trouble from the villagers. Life, shall we say, is back to normal. What about you?
Well, Ive a target for you, during the coming weeks.
And what would that be?
Sean Dillon, Ferguson and company.
Jesus! A tall order.
Well discuss it in detail when Im there. However, Im going to need someone from your side of the coin. A hit man wholl do the job, no questions asked, no argument, no sentimentality.
What you mean is youre looking for the original cold-blooded bastard.
No, thats you, Ashimov told him. What Im looking for is a reasonable facsimile. I know the Peace Process is supposed to have brought an end to the glorious cause of Irish unity, but I believe you do have sleepers in London. Young men and women in good suits who work in the stock exchange
No, thats you, Ashimov told him. What Im looking for is a reasonable facsimile. I know the Peace Process is supposed to have brought an end to the glorious cause of Irish unity, but I believe you do have sleepers in London. Young men and women in good suits who work in the stock exchange
And hanker after the romance of the struggle, Bell said. You might be surprised by how many of those there are. What would you be offering?
Oh, to you, a big payday. Funds for the organization, of course, not for the personal bank account in Spain. What you pay for him or, indeed, her to eradicate someone for me is your business.
Would you be involved?
Not personally. Ill be staying there for a while with Major Novikova. Im bringing a young colleague from Moscow wholl handle the London end. Hell work out of the London Embassy. The target is legitimate from your point of view. A high-ranking Special Branch officer whos put more of your friends inside the last few years than shes had hot dinners.
Itll be a pleasure, Bell said. Ive got ideas right away. Leave it with me.
Well see you soon.
Levin looked up. Dillon really is quite something. Now Im really looking forward to meeting him.
Make sure it isnt your last meeting, Ashimov told him, and poured another glass of champagne.
LONDON
4
When Igor Levin flew from Ireland to London, it was in a Belov International jet and Liam Bell flew with him, under a false identity. Levin didnt approach the Embassy, not then. He stayed in an indifferent hotel in Kensington next door to Bell, waited patiently while the man from Dublin made his arrangements with Mary Killane and Dermot Fitzgerald, and then, after the outcome, delivered Fitzgerald to Heathrow for the flight to Ibiza.
He wasnt impressed. In his opinion the whole business had been badly handled. The Killane girl, for example. Anyone with half a brain would find it too much a coincidence that she, the last person to treat the Bernstein woman, had been murdered so soon afterward and so close to the hospital.
Perhaps things were done differently in Belfast. Maybe the IRA had employed such fear, such power, that they thought they could get away with anything. Or maybe they were just used to getting away with anything.
Never mind, Igor, he mused, after delivering Bell to the airfield for his return flight. Youre just the hired help.
Hed already rented a Mercedes, but now, taking advantage of his wealth, he moved into a suite at the Dorchester Hotel overlooking Hyde Park.
Only the best, Igor, he said, and drove down to the Embassy of the Russian Federation situated in Kensington Palace Gardens. There was a snag at first, when he discovered the Ambassador was in Paris, but a further inquiry revealed that the senior commercial attaché, Colonel Boris Luhzkov, in reality Head of Station for the GRU, was lunching in the pub across the High Street. Levin went out the main gates, waited for a break in the traffic, then crossed the road.
Luhzkov was in a window seat on his own devouring shepherds pie, a half-empty glass of red wine before him. Levin got two more and went across. He put one of the glasses on the table.
You always like two.
Luhzkov looked astonished. My God, Igor, it is you. I had a message from Moscow this morning. It said you were joining my staff.
Not quite true, old son. In a way, its you who are joining my staff.
What on earth do you mean?
Levin took the envelope from his inside pocket, extracted the Putin warrant and passed it over. Read that.
He sat down and lit a cigarette. When Luhzkov handed it back, his hand shook. For Gods sake, youd better not lose it. But what does it mean, Igor?
That Im on a special assignment for the President himself. I need a front, so Im to be a commercial attaché. Any quarrel with that?
Of course not.
For the moment, I need an office and all that goes with it. I wont need an Embassy car, Ive hired a Mercedes, and I dont need housing Im staying at the Dorchester. Its nice to be back, isnt it, Boris, and what better place for a Russian intelligence officer to stay than the best hotel in London?
Luhzkov had totally capitulated. Anything you say, Igor.
Good. The shepherds pie looks delicious. I think Ill have some, and Levin turned and waved to a waitress.
Later, when the necessary office had been provided, he worked his way through GRUs computer records, cross-referencing them with the file Ashimov had provided him. Ferguson, Dillon, the Salters. Names, computer printouts, addresses. He even checked on Bells past and that of his men whom hed met at Drumore. An unsavory bunch, no finesse. On the other hand, Bell must have had something going for him to have become Chief of Staff of one of the most notorious organizations in the world.
Dillon was a totally different article; his exploits spoke for themselves. The thing that impressed Levin the most was that in all those years with the IRA, the police and secret intelligence hadnt touched him once. Levin was lost in admiration.
Even the Salters surprised him. They were far from the usual run of gangsters. Harry Salters aging face spoke for itself, and Billys deeds were remarkable. Men who didnt give a damn, the Salters and Dillon.