Читать книгу December - James Steel, James Steel - Страница 11

From: firstclassdrycleaning.com

To: Customer 39789G

Date: Saturday 6 December

Customer notice: First Class Dry-Cleaning regrets to inform you there has been a problem with your order. Please contact our Customer Service division immediately for details.

‘Fuck,’ Alex muttered to himself as he stuffed his BlackBerry back into his jacket pocket.

What the hell was going on now?

This project already had him on edge, without their emergency contact route being used already. It was only the morning after his last briefing with Sergey.

He replied to say he would collect his dry-cleaning in twenty minutes and then legged it out of the door of his house and up the Fulham Road to the upstairs room of the Fulham Tup pub, which they had agreed to use as a meeting point.

Sergey had an arrangement with the owner to use the room, which was normally let out for parties only in the evening, during the day. It wasn’t perfect but they could both slip in via a back entrance and it was less obvious than Alex turning up at Sergey’s house, or his offices in Mayfair, which he was pretty sure were under observation by the SVR.

Alex squeezed through the back door, stamped the snow off his feet and ran up the stairs into a room filled with empty tables, the noise of his footsteps echoing on the floorboards.

Sergey was already there, sitting at a table away from the window, wearing an Aquascutum overcoat, his hair as tousled as ever. He rose as Alex came in and strode over to shake his hand, offering profuse apologies.

‘Alexander, I am so sorry to call you out of your house in this weather!’

Alex demurred and they sat down.

For once, Sergey seemed in a sombre mood. He looked at Alex in the wintry light from the window.

‘I’m not sure what is going on…’ he started hesitantly.

Alex waited for him to continue. Could this whole fucking madhouse scheme be about to collapse? A sudden urge within him hoped it would.

‘Krymov called me yesterday after you left; he wants me back in Moscow.’ Sergey pursed his lips and looked across at the window.

Alex frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

Sergey nodded. ‘They might know something. Gorsky, the SVR guy you met at the party, might have picked something up.’ He narrowed his eyes in thought. ‘No, it’s too quick, we haven’t done anything yet for them to pick up on.’ He looked at Alex candidly. ‘Krymov sometimes calls me in the middle of the night to discuss things. He trusts me.’ Having voiced his concerns, he seemed to have come to a decision. ‘No, he wouldn’t have taken fright so quickly; it’s nothing that I can’t smooth over with him.’ Having convinced himself that he was safe, he perked up again. ‘So, I will fly to Moscow today and see what it is all about. For you, just ignore it.’

Alex spoke calmly: ‘Well, I’ll need a week to get the team sorted out in Herefordshire anyway, so I guess you will know for sure by then what it is about?’

‘Yes, exactly! We’ll know for sure by then. I’ll keep sending you the all clear signal about the mail order,’ he waved his BlackBerry at Alex, ‘but if they do screw me over then it will stop and you will know to call off all the plans. If they start interrogating me then I have no illusions about my ability to resist the boys in the Lubyanka. They really know what they are doing in there,’ he said with grudging respect, ‘so I’ll tell all and they’ll just kill me quickly and the whole thing will be over anyway.’

Alex was disturbed by Sergey’s clinical assessment of the possibility of his own brutal death. He suddenly had a sense of the ruthlessness that had built Sergey’s vast business empire.

‘So, Lara will have to fly down to your house to check up on you on her own, eh?’ He cocked a knowing eyebrow at Alex, who responded with an innocent expression, even as he fought to control the surge of interest that this comment provoked inside him.

Alex had decided to assemble his team of mercenaries at Akerly. It still had a huge area of parkland around it and so was completely private. It was also snowbound, which would be good training for cross-country skiing and other drills he wanted to put the team through, plus it had sufficient accommodation and no outsiders need be involved. All in all, at short notice, it had seemed the perfect place.

The idea had been for both Sergey and Lara to fly down in Sergey’s helicopter to inspect the team, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen now.

Alex didn’t rise to Sergey’s bait. ‘Well, I’m sure we’ll manage without you.’

‘Hmm,’ Sergey mused. He didn’t seem to have given up on his game entirely. ‘Well, I brought you some Russian literature to read in the long dark nights by the fire.’

Alex groaned internally. He couldn’t stand it when people pressed their favourite books on him.

‘Oh, OK,’ he said in an unconvincing display of enthusiasm.

‘No, really, it’s good stuff!’ said Sergey defensively, as he pulled a slim paperback out of his overcoat pocket. ‘I told you you needed to read more Russian stuff to know what this coup is all about.’ He handed the book to Alex: We by Yevgeny Zamyatin.

‘It’s acknowledged by George Orwell as the basis for 1984,’ Sergey continued in a self-justificatory tone. ‘The fucker ripped off the plot completely. Written in 1920, really ahead of its time.’

‘What’s it about?’ Alex took an interest now, despite himself.

Sergey grinned a little too smugly for Alex’s liking. ‘It’s a story about a straightforward guy who falls in love with a crazy girl who is trying to overthrow a totalitarian state.’

He looked at the Englishman meaningfully. Alex blanched. He was beginning to learn that it was typical of Sergey to mix apparently trivial and serious issues.

Sergey shrugged apologetically. ‘Look, it’s OK. Just be careful, huh?’ He grinned. ‘In Russia, we tell folktales about Brother Wolf and Sister Fox. Now, what you have to know is that Sister Fox is the smart one and she always wins. Watch out for her, she’s a man-eater.’