LATER, THEY WENT their separate ways. Sergeant Doyle had waited for Roper in the van that held the rear lift for the wheelchair. Ferguson had his driver, and Billy gave Dillon and Monica a lift to Dover Street in the Alfa.
Very useful, Monica told him as they moved through Mayfair. You being a nondrinker.
I get stopped now and then, Billy said. Young guy in a flash motor like this. Ive been breathalyzed plenty. Its great to see the look on their faces when they check the reading. He pulled in outside the Dover Street house. Here we are, folks. Youre staying, right? he asked Dillon.
What do you think?
Youre staying.
When Billy was gone, they paused at the top of the steps for Monica to find her key and went in. She didnt put the light on, simply waited for him to lock the door, then put her arms around his neck and kissed him quite hard.
Oh my goodness, Ive missed you.
Youve only been away four days.
Dont you dare, she said. Ten minutes, and if you take more, therell be trouble, and she turned and ran up the stairs.
He changed in one of the spare bedrooms, put on a terry-cloth robe, and joined her in her suite. Hed found a tenderness with her that hed never known he had-hed surprised himself as their relationship blossomed-and they made slow, careful love together.
Afterward, she drifted into sleep and he lay there, a chink of light coming through the curtains from a lamp in the street. On impulse, he slipped out of the bed, put on the robe, padded downstairs to the drawing room, took a cigarette from a box on the table, lit it, then sat by the bow window, looking out and thinking about Kurbsky. After a while, Monica slipped in, wearing a robe.
So there you are. Give me one.
Youre supposed to have stopped, he said, but gave her one anyway.
What are you thinking of? she said. Kurbsky?
Thats right.
I thought you might. He reminded me of you.
You liked him, I think?
An easy man to like, just as you are an easy man to love, Sean, but like you, theres the feeling of the other self always there, like a crouching tiger just waiting to spring.
Thanks very much.
What were you thinking?
What on earth we are going to do with him if we get him. He stubbed his cigarette out and got up. Come on, back to bed with you. He put a hand around her waist and they went out.
IT WAS TEN-THIRTY when Roper found himself in his chair back in the computer room at Holland Park. Sergeant Doyle said, Youve everything you need to hand, Major, so I think Ill have a lie-down in the duty room.
You should be entitled to a night off, Tony. What about Sergeant Henderson?
Hes on ten days leave.
And the Royal Military Police cant find a replacement?
But we wouldnt want that, would we, sir? A stranger in the system? Ill get a bit of shut-eye. If you need me, give me a bell.
Roper lit a cigarette and set his main screen alive, bringing up Svetlana Kelly. In her early years, shed been a member of the Chekhov Theatre in Moscow, which meant she was well grounded in classical theater. She hadnt been much of a beauty, even when young, but he saw handsomeness and strength there. There was a selection of photos from the early years, and then London in 1981. A Month in the Country at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket. Fifty-five and never married, and then shed met Patrick Kelly, the Irish widower and professor of literature at London University. Roper looked at Kellys photos-he was strong too, undoubtedly, and yet there was a touch of humor about his mouth.
Whatever the attraction, it was strong enough for them to marry at Westminster Registry Office within a month of meeting and for Svetlana to cut herself free of the Soviet Union. She would be seventy-one now. It was eleven oclock, and yet on sheer impulse, Roper phoned her. He stayed on speakerphone, he always did, and there was an instant answer.
Who is this? It was a whisper in a way, and yet clear enough, the Russian accent undeniable.
Mrs. Kelly, my name is Giles Roper-Major Giles Roper. He spoke fair Russian, product of an army total-immersion course just after Sandhurst, and hed kept it up since. Forgive the intrusion at such a time of night. You dont know me.
She cut in. But I do. I attended a charity dinner for the Great Ormond Street Childrens Hospital last year. You spoke from your wheelchair. You are the bomb-disposal expert, arent you? The Queen herself pinned the George Cross to your lapel. Youre a hero.
It was amazing the effect of that voice, so soft, like a breeze whispering through the leaves on an autumn evening. Ropers throat turned dry, incredibly touched. It was like being a child again.
He said in English, Youre too kind.
What can I do for you?
May I come to see you tomorrow morning?
For what reason?
Id like to discuss a matter affecting your nephew. Id have a woman with me, a Cambridge don who has just met Alexander in New York.
Major Roper, be honest with me. What is your interest in my nephew? You must know I havent seen him in nearly two decades.
To this woman, one could only tell the truth. Roper knew that nothing else would do. Im with the British Security Services.
There was a faint chuckle. Ah, what they call a spook these days.
Only on television.
You intrigue me. Tell me of your companion. Roper did. She said, The lady sounds quite interesting. If youre a spook, you know where I live.
Chamber Court, Belsize Park.
Quite right. My husband died ten years ago and left me well provided for. Here, I live in Victorian splendor supported by my dear friend and fellow Russian, Katya Zorin, who takes care of the house and me and manages to find time to teach painting at the Slade as well. Ill see you at ten-thirty. Your chair will not prove a problem. The garden is walled, but the entrance in the side mews has a path that will give you access to French windows leading into a conservatory. Ill be waiting.
Thank you very much, Mrs. Kelly. I must say, you seem to be taking me totally on trust.
You fascinated me at that luncheon. Your speech was excellent, but modest, and so afterward I looked you up on the Internet. It was all there. Belfast in 1991, the Portland Hotel, the huge bomb in the foyer. It took you nine hours to render it harmless. Nine hours on your own. How can I not take such a man on trust? Ill see you in the morning.
It was quiet sitting there, staring up at his screens, and he put on some background music. Just like comfort food, only this was Cole Porter playing softly, just as it had been all those years ago in the Belfast safe house not far from the Royal Victoria Hospital. It was a long time ago, a hell of a long time ago, and he lit a cigarette and poured a Bushmills Irish whiskey for a change and remembered.
ROPER / BELFAST
1991
3
Roper remembered that year well, and not just because of his nine hours dismantling the Portland Hotel bomb. There had also been the mortar attack on Number 10 Downing Street. The Gulf War had been at its height, and the target had been the War Cabinet meeting at ten a.m. on February 7-an audacious attack, and the missiles had landed in the garden, just narrowly missing the house. It bore all the hallmarks of a classic IRA operation, although nobody ever claimed responsibility for the attack.
In Belfast, meanwhile, the war of the bomb continued remorselessly, and in spite of all the politicians could do, sectarian violence plowed on, people butchering each other in the name of religion, the British Army inured by twenty-two years to the Irish Troubles as a way of life.
For Giles Roper, scientific interest in the field of weaponry and explosives had drawn him in even during his training days as an officer cadet at Sandhurst, and on graduation, it had led to an immediate posting to the Ordnance Corps. In ninety-one, he was entering his third year as a disposal officer, a captain in rank and several hundred explosive devices of one kind or another behind him.
Most people didnt realize that he was married. A summer affair with his second cousin, a schoolteacher named Elizabeth Howard, during his first year out of Sandhurst had turned into a total disaster. It was a prime example of going to bed on your wedding night with someone you thought you knew and waking up with a stranger. A Catholic, she didnt believe in divorce and indeed visited his mother on a regular basis. He hadnt seen her in years.
The ever-present risk of death, and the casualty rate among his fellows in the bomb-disposal business, precluded any kind of relationship elsewhere. He smoked heavily, like most of his kind, and drank heavily at the appropriate time, like most of his kind.
It was a strange, bizarre existence that produced obsessive patterns of behavior. On many occasions, hed found himself dealing with a bomb and indulging in conversation, obviously one-sided, demanding answers that werent there. It was an extreme example of talking to yourself. A bomb, after all, couldnt talk back except when it exploded, and that would probably be the last thing you heard. However, he still talked to them. There seemed some sort of comfort in that.
His father had died when he was sixteen. It was his uncle who had arranged for his schooling and Sandhurst, and maintained his mother at the extended family home in Shropshire. She was basically there as unpaid help, as far as Roper could see, but on army pay there wasnt much he could do about it, until the unexpected happened. His mothers brother, Uncle Arthur, a homosexual by nature and a broker in the city with a fortune to prove it, had died of AIDS and, lacking any faith in his sisters ability to handle money, left a considerable fortune to Roper.
He could have left the army, but found that he didnt want to, and when he tried to get his mother her own place, it turned out she was perfectly happy where she was. It had also become apparent that the perils of bomb disposal were beyond her understanding, so he settled a hundred thousand pounds on her, and the same on his wife, and left them to the joys of the countryside.
Before the Portland Hotel, he had been decorated with the Military Cross for gallantry, although the events surrounding it had only a tenuous link with his ordinary duties.