CHAPTER SEVEN

Everyone held their breath for a while when the Americans got their hands on Khordad. Harry was clearly expecting the worst. He had us on alert virtually around the clock, and even when no reprisal attack occurred, his temper remained on a hair-trigger. At one point he even tore into Ros – loudly, crudely, and in front of a petrified knot of stunned officers. Then he stormed back into his office, slamming the door shut with a violence that caused the walls to quiver, and leaving her, and us, gaping at it.

"You can't blame him." I thought someone ought to break the electric silence. "Khordad will want revenge; surely they're bound to try something."

Ros, her face white and hard, glanced at me and shook her head. "It would have happened by now. Besides, it's not just that." She glared at the others and raised her voice. "Well, what is this, a sodding game of musical statues or something? The show's over!"

The snapped words had a centrifugal effect. Everyone jerked into hurried movement in several different directions, all of them away from Ros. I returned to my own desk; she followed me and pulled up a chair.

"What the hell's biting him?" I murmured, surreptitiously watching Harry, who was now hunched confidentially over his phone, through his office blinds.

"I don't know." Ros picked up a pencil and stabbed it fiercely onto a notepad. "But there's been something on his mind for a while. Remember how he did a disappearing trick during that supposed dry run? And half the time when I talk to him he's only listening with one ear. Distracted. By … shit, I don't bloody know." She sounded anxious, which was so uncharacteristic that it caused me to feel apprehensive too. I took a breath to tell her about my suspicion that Harry had lied to me about whatever this bloody mysterious Sugarhorse was. Perhaps it would mean something to her.

"Ros, maybe - " at the very last second I hesitated, and she jumped immediately.

"What? Maybe what?"

Her impatience made me gulp back the words. "Maybe we could ask him what the problem is?" I suggested lamely.

Ros rolled her eyes. "Oh, silly old me. Now why ever didn't I think of that? Yeah, let's you and I just stroll in there and have a heart to heart with him over a glass of Glenmorangie, shall we?" She drove the pencil viciously into the pad and threw it into the bin in disgust when the point snapped. "Want me to call the UN, see if they've got a couple of spare Blue Helmets, just in case?"

I shrugged. For Ros, sarcasm was a defensive weapon as much as an offensive one; now it was an indication of how concerned she was. "Just an idea."

"A bloody bad one." She turned as Connie called her name. "Trouble?"

"That depends what you think of as trouble," Connie said, pertly. She handed Ros a sheet of paper. "Reuters, ten minutes ago."

I watched Ros speed-read the article. Her face grim, she handed it to me. Alexis Meynell in London: Is Your Bank in His Sights?

"Oh shit," I said. Rumours of this had been circulating for a while. Meynell was known for aggressive speculation and stock-market manipulation, and he specialised in attacking banks. In our current economic circumstances, his sudden appearance in London was the financial equivalent of the arrival of long-lost, estranged family members at the bedside of a fading wealthy relative. "Harry know?"

"Not from me." Connie also turned her gaze towards the office. "But I'll go and impart the good news."

"No!" Ros's tone was so sharp that I glanced at her in surprise and Connie's eyes flashed like newly polished sapphires. "I'll do it."

She walked swiftly to the office. Connie watched her go; once Ros was out of earshot, she tutted disapprovingly.

"Professional distance. She's too close."

"Sorry?" I said, puzzled.

"Rosalind. Far too close to Harry." Connie shook her head. "She needs to remember where she is. He's not her father."

No, he's not. Following Ros's cryptic references to her father, I had used some of the time I had been spending on researching eight years of current events to find out something about him. It hadn't taken me long to learn the facts – from leading light of the Diplomatic Service to wealthy and successful businessman, then mastermind of a serious attempt to overthrow the government, and now a guest of Her Majesty in Wormwood Scrubs. What I couldn't understand was how on earth Ros was still in MI-5, and section chief of the Counter-Terrorism Unit to boot, with a background like that, and what I certainly couldn't do was ask her. So I'd made it my business to take Jo and Ben out for a drink one evening after work. Both had been very reluctant to talk about Ros, but since I knew the basic facts about her father, Jo filled me in on the details – Ros's early support for the coup, her later role in stopping it, and how Adam Carter had engineered her transfer to MI-5 from Vauxhall Cross.

"God," I said. "That's one hell of a recruitment policy."

Jo had smiled wistfully. "Adam was unorthodox like that. Harry wasn't convinced, but Adam persuaded him that Ros was too good to be kicked out of the Service in disgrace. Said she deserved a second chance, and in the end, Harry agreed."

"And yet he trusts her completely now, doesn't he?" I thought of Sugarhorse. More than he does me.

"Oh yeah, now he does." Ben swallowed the remainder of his beer. "Even after that business with Yalta - "

He broke off with an indignant 'Ouch!" and glared at Jo, who, I noticed, was looking daggers right back at him.

"Yalta?" I enquired casually. I still hadn't managed to learn from either Harry or Ros why she had been in Russia, and it hadn't even occurred to me that she might have been wandering around the Black Sea.

"Classified," Jo said hastily. "You know."

I didn't, but I mentally filed the issue away for later, and switched back to Sir Jocelyn Myers. "From something she said to me, I got the impression she doesn't see her family much."

In her relief at the change of subject, Jo answered freely. "They turned on her when he was sentenced. Won't have anything to do with her. He won't let her visit, either." She toyed with her glass. "I do feel a bit sorry for her about that. I mean - " she shifted uncomfortably – "she can be a really nasty bitch sometimes, Ros, and after what she did to - " she glanced at Ben and stopped. "Still, it must be rotten, mustn't it, to have no family at all? Adam told me she really worshipped her dad, too. It must be awful to have him locked away in a cell."

I had agreed, offered another drink and dropped the matter. At least now I understood why Ros had reacted so viscerally to my tirade about conditions in Leshanko. Families mess with your head. Those hadn't just been empty words. I wished I'd known some of this before; I could perhaps have avoided turning the knife in her wounds.

I stared at the surveillance reports on my screen without seeing them. Connie wasn't wrong about Ros's attitude to Harry, either. I had caught myself thinking that they sometimes behaved more like father and daughter than boss and subordinate. Even when Harry was at his most difficult, Ros would instantly slap down the slightest hint of criticism of him, however justified, and her anxiety about him now seemed more personal than professional.

"LUCAS!" For the second time that day Harry's best parade-ground roar made the tea-mugs rattle, shattering my idle reflections which, I realised guiltily, had drifted a long way from the surveillance reports. I span my chair round so fast that I almost threw myself out of it. "Jo, Ben, you too!"

We almost tripped over each other in the rush to the conference room. Malcolm was already there, deep in conversation with Ros. Harry waved us to seats and barked: "Where's Connie?"

There was a nervous mutter of 'don't know, Harry'.

Harry's eyes narrowed, but he said crisply: "Right. Are you all up to speed about Alexis Meynell?"

Malcolm pulled a face of utter disgust, but Jo and Ben shook their heads uncertainly. Harry turned to Ros, and rapped, "Explain."

Crisply and briefly, she did; outlined Meynell's probable reason for coming personally to London, and explained what he was likely to try and do.

"The banking system's like a bloody house of cards at the moment," I said. "One good shove from him and the whole damned lot could come down."

"Isn't there anything we can do to stop him?" It was Jo.

"We'd need an insider," I observed. "Rock-hard evidence of his shenanigans. You know what the City's like; no government's going to go head-to-head with the likes of Meynell without it."

"We had an insider," Harry cut in grimly. "We turned one of Meynell's staff, and he ended up at the bottom of the Thames."

"Shit." Ben said quietly. "Not much chance of turning anyone else, then?"

"It will have to be an undercover job." Harry drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Meynell Holdings is due for a tax audit. We'll send someone in as a staff member. Observe, get his trust, then betray it."

"You're asking them to run a terrible risk, Harry." Unusually, it was Malcolm. "Meynell's no fool, and he's suspicious to the point of being paranoid. You'll need someone with nerves of steel. And a convincing actor, too."

"I know." There was an apprehensive silence. I met Ros's eyes. So does she.

"Ros will go in 48 hours from now. Malcolm, work on a legend with her. Make sure her back-story is absolutely watertight; they'll pick it apart. Ben and Jo, there are no outside mobiles allowed in Meynell Holdings, so I want you to work out methods of covert contact; clear them with Malcolm and Ros. Lucas," he turned to me, "you and I are going to talk to the Chancellor and make sure she knows what's going on and what will be required of her. This man is as big a threat to national security as any suicide bomber, and he could cause just as much harm if we don't stop him. So we will. Is that understood by everyone?" There was a hesitant series of nods. "Good. Remember there's a great deal at stake here." He gestured to me to remain where I was as the others left. Ros hadn't moved; she was studying her hands on the table in front of her as if she had nothing more to worry about than whether or not her nail varnish was chipped.

Harry slid the conference room door to. "Lucas, we think that Meynell may be zeroing in on Highland Life. I'm going to ask the Chancellor to come here first thing tomorrow morning, and I want you to get a presentation together – everything we have about what Meynell's done in the past and our previous … attempt … to infiltrate his operations. She's a politician, and she suffers from the politician's disease of commitment allergy. I want no loopholes she can wriggle out of, no way she can do a Pontius Pilate on us. Frighten her if you have to, but make it good. Any questions?"

I swallowed and then bit the bullet. "Malcolm's right, Harry. Wouldn't it – could I not go in this time?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ros's head snap up.

"Your concern is appreciated, Lucas, but Ros is the most appropriate person to manage Alexis Meynell," Harry said firmly. "Now, are you clear on what I need from you?"

"Clear," I answered reluctantly. Harry nodded in satisfaction.

"Good. Then get on with your jobs. I have some phone calls to make." He left the room.

It was a good thing I didn't have a pin with me, because if I'd dropped it I could have deafened the pair of us. At last, I said: "You do realise why you're the 'most appropriate person'?"

"I can't imagine," Ros said sardonically, as she got to her feet.

I bridled at her flippancy. "And you're perfectly bloody comfortable with that?"

She raised an ironic eyebrow. "Comfortable? This isn't some kind of New Age Find Your Inner Self retreat, Lucas. This is my job."

I gritted my teeth. "But you should have back-up. Meynell is - "

She cut me off. "Alexis Meynell is a greedy, arrogant, egotistical bully. I've met his ilk before. Trust me, I can deal with him. You handle your side of the operation properly and I'll have all the back-up I need." She held my gaze for a moment and then sighed. "Did you have someone holding your hand when you flew into Moscow?"

"That's different," I said stubbornly. "You're a - "

Her face tightened. "An MI-5 officer. Your superior officer. So do as you're bloody well told, Lucas."

She span on her heel, threw a defiant glare at me over her shoulder, and without another word, stalked out.

oOoOoOo

Harry was proved right about the reaction of the Chancellor, Gillian Caldwell. She was clearly very unwilling to sanction any attempt to shut down Alexis Meynell's operations without incontrovertible proof of what he was doing, but when he started a rumour campaign against Highland Life, pressure from Harry and pleas from the bank's chairman forced her hand. In her identity as Jenny Hunter, tax accountant, Ros was instructed to obtain the proof we needed, and then the waiting started, during which I tried not to dwell on the extent to which she must have been risking her neck in order to get her hands on it.

Her copy of Meynell's SIM card proved infuriatingly useless at almost the same moment as Francis Denham, the bank chairman, took his own life. Within the hour, Harry had dispatched me to Meynell's offices to meet Ros and to hell with roundabout communication; the pressure of time justified the risk, he said.

When Ros came down to reception you wouldn't have thought she was running any risk at all. She looked perfectly composed, despite the fact that Alexis Meynell himself was fewer than ten yards behind her. She gave me a flirtatious smile that contrasted sharply with the alert concentration in her eyes, and a warm kiss, under cover of which I quickly brought her up to speed. I saw a fleeting shadow in her eyes, and when she introduced her 'fiancé' to Meynell, my sense of foreboding about her position increased exponentially. She kicked his comment about her lack of an engagement ring into touch expertly, but it didn't seem to lessen his suspicions. Trying to disarm them, I accepted his invitation to the launch of his foundation; it would offer us another, desperately-needed opportunity to break through the security around his inner circle, and I would be able to keep an eye on Ros. She was no shrinking violet, but Meynell's part-hostile, part-proprietorial attitude towards her made my skin crawl. He was twice her size, and under the cold politeness I recognised barely-controlled violence. The presence of Jenny's 'fiancé' might help to cool his ardour.

However, when I picked Ros up later, I realised instantly that she had thwarted any protective intentions I might have entertained; she had changed into an elegant black halter-neck cocktail dress and high heels. Meynell's eyes followed her greedily around the room – which was no doubt exactly what she intended. He didn't even notice when we lifted his wallet. Ben vanished with his security pass and I stood with Ros half-listening to Meynell's address. I didn't expect him to get much of a reception – after all, this wasn't an audience known for its charitable generosity – but he seemed to have them under his spell. Incredibly, even Ros seemed genuinely impressed.

"You have to hand it to him, he's got something." She finished her champagne and looked up at me. "Give me a minute alone with him."

I opened my mouth to argue, but although her lips were still curving invitingly, there was steel in her eyes. The buzzing of my mobile swung it her way, and reluctantly I went out of the room to take Ben's call, noticing the seductive smile that Ros gave Meynell as he joined her. I snapped the phone open, determined to get back to her as soon as I could. She too had seen those pictures of our last agent – taken in the morgue - but whereas to me Meynell was a threat, Ros saw him as a challenge to her successful completion of the operation. And risk or no risk, I knew she was determined to do whatever was necessary to meet it. I was equally determined that she wouldn't have to.

"Ben. What have you got?"

oOoOoOo

Those five words and the one Ben gave me in return – Salma – changed the course of the operation and sent the speed of it into overdrive - in my case, literally, since they sent me racing in Ros's car straight back to the Grid. The revelation that Highland Life had been kept afloat by a loan from the Russian mafia, and was now to be sunk by a demand for its immediate repayment, joined all the dots at once. At Meynell's cocktail I had noticed a runtish, sallow-faced little man watching me. He had seemed vaguely familiar. The word Salma had helped me put a name to the face. Asa Darlak, heir apparent to the biggest Mafia Don in Moscow. I told Harry as much. He face turned grey.

"Did he recognise you?"

I shrugged. "I think so."

"With Ros." His fist thwacked into the palm of his other hand. "Where is she?"

I had no idea, so we broke our own comms protocol, and Harry phoned her mobile and asked her.

Meynell's hotel room. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the strain was audible.

"Are you all right?"

A taut, hoarse 'yeah' that I knew instinctively wasn't true. My stomach knotted. I glanced at Harry, but he avoided my eyes.

"Can we continue with the operation?"

I think so. There was a second's hesitation in which her quick, shallow breathing hissing from the loudspeaker was the only sound in the room. Then she began to issue instructions, swiftly and decisively, as if she were sitting at her own desk. When she had finished, she clicked the call off without ceremony.

"Is she insane?" Gillian Caldwell breathed.

I wanted to shout at her, 'No, she's alone, she's in danger, and God only knows what she's had to do to save your useless politician's hide' but Harry's eyes were on me, so I said nothing. When the Chancellor eventually left, he sent Jo and Ben home, then called me into his office.

"Harry, can't we for God's sake get her out of there?" I pleaded.

He looked at me sympathetically. "Ros will cope, Lucas."

"She's not a bloody robot, Harry!" I exploded.

He rubbed his hands over his face. "No, she's a very fine, loyal, brave officer, and - " raising his voice as I made to interrupt again, "and as of now the success of this operation is entirely in her hands. It has to come first. Of all people, Ros Myers will understand and accept that." He gave a weary sigh. "Sometimes this job requires us to do unpalatable things. Or to ask others to do them." He looked directly at me, and abruptly changed both his tone and the subject. "Lucas, I have a confession to make." I stared at him, bewildered. "When I told you I didn't know anything about Sugarhorse I was lying."

I know that. The knowledge had been gnawing away at me for some time, like an acid insidiously corroding the fragile trust in him that I had slowly been trying to rebuild. We stared at each other.

"What is it?" I asked.

I was prepared for him to be less than frank with me. But it was one twist of the knife too far when he still insisted that I try and remember in exactly what circumstances Captain Tukhachevskaya had questioned me about Sugarhorse and precisely what she'd said. Bile rose up in my throat. He had never asked me about it directly – he'd been bloody careful to avoid that, I thought bitterly – but he must know the details of what had been done to me in Russia. Ros would have told him, as she would have reported my bouts of claustrophobia and insomnia, the flashbacks, and my battle to suppress the memories. Yet even knowing that, he was still demanding that I take myself back to them … for some amorphous Greater Good. The same damned shabby excuse that justified ordering Ros to risk her life and had prevented him from even noticing that Jo Portman was slowly succumbing to a trauma he'd probably long forgotten about. You sanctimonious bloody bastard. The festering boil of resentment against him that I had carried since my return finally burst open in a torrent of bitterness.

There are limits to what you can ask of people, Harry. It cost me a mighty effort even to keep my voice under control. Even in our job. I yanked the office door open and stormed out. Behind me, I thought I heard him apologise, but there was a vicious buzzing in my ears and I wasn't sure. Worse, I didn't care. Anger and revulsion at the callousness of his request had driven out both reason and understanding.

I was still in a furious temper when I reached home. I took a shower to try and calm myself down, but since I had, as always, to be careful to keep the spray clear of my face and head, even that wasn't without its tormenting memories. When my mobile buzzed I rushed to it, praying it might be Ros, but at the sight of Elizaveta's number I switched the call to voicemail. She was as angry with me for using her as I was with Harry, and in my current mood I couldn't face her hostility. I stared out into the now darkened street and wondered helplessly where Ros was. Nobody but Harry knew which safe-house she was using, and by trying to phone her mobile I could expose her to even more danger. There was nothing I could do – about anything – until the final phase of the operation in the morning, other than go to bed and try to get some rest.

Inevitably, the poisonous cauldron of anger, frustration, hurt and worry bubbling in my mind doomed the attempt to failure. My head was throbbing and I didn't seem to be able to get comfortably warm however deep I burrowed under the duvet. When I did occasionally drift off it was only to blunder through a tangled mesh of nightmares where Ros and Meynell battled for supremacy with Elizaveta, Harry, and flashbacks to my interrogation sessions with Captain Tukhachevskaya. Usually they were horrific images, soundless and somehow all the more terrifying for it, like a silent horror film, but this time there was a jumbled babble of sound in the background, distorted and echoing like a poor-quality surveillance tape. ' Rasskazhi mnyeh … palomnik .. shto takoye palomnik?'

I woke up to the sound of my own voice screaming, unsure whether the sound came from the present or the past, jerked upright and sat for a moment with my head in my hands, trying to regulate my galloping heart rate. When I could breathe normally again, I rolled over and reached for the pen and notepad I always kept by the bed. My hands were still trembling, and the letters were shaky and ill-formed, but I wrote it down.

Palomnik. Pilgrim.

oOoOoOo

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