Confessional. Part 23

Which wasn't strictly true, for the bagman from London had flown in with more than the package containing the false pa.s.sport. There had also been a message from Ferguson for

Devlin personally. McGuiness and the Chief of Staff were hopping mad. As far as they were concerned, the leak was none of their doing. They wanted out and Devlin was to mend fences.

She put the packet and the card into her shoulder bag with some -reluctance. 'I'm sorry. You came a long way for nothing.'

'You've got my number,' he said. 'Call any time.' He stood up. 'Who knows, you just might start asking questions.'

'I think not, Professor Devlin.' She held out her hand. 'Goodbye.'

Devlin held it for a moment, then turned and walked back along the gardens to where Hunter was sitting. 'Come on!' he said. 'Let's get moving!'

Hunter scrambled to his feet and trailed after him. 'What happened?'

'Nothing,' Devlin told him as they reached the car. 'Not a b.l.o.o.d.y thing. She didn't want to know. Now let's go back to your place so that I can get my bag, then you can take me up to Charles de Gaulle. With luck, I might make the afternoon flight to Dublin.'

'You're going back?'

'Yes, I'm going back,' Liam Devlin said, and he sank down in his seat and tipped the rim of his black felt hat over his eyes.

Behind them, Tanya Voroninova watched them go, turning out into the traffic of the Rue de Rivoli. She stood there, thinking about things for a moment, then moved out of the gardens and started to walk along the pavement, considering the extraordinary events of the morning. Liam Devlin was a dangerously attractive man, no doubt about it, but more than that, his story had been terribly disturbing for her and events from a past perhaps best forgotten were trying to call her, as if from a great distance.

She was aware of a car pulling into the kerb ahead of her, a black Mercedes saloon. As she approached it, the rear door opened and Natasha Rubenova looked out. She seemed agitated. No, more than that - afraid.

'Tanya!'

Tanya turned towards her. 'Natasha - what on earth are you doing here? What's happened?'

'Please, Tanya. Get in!'

There was a man sitting beside her, young and with a hard, implacable face. He wore a blue suit, dark blue tie and white shirt. He also wore black leather gloves. The man in the pa.s.senger seat next to the chauffeur could have been his twin. They looked as if they might be employed by a high cla.s.s funeral firm and Tanya felt slightly uneasy.

'What on earth is going on?'

In a second, the young man beside Natasha was out of the car, a hand taking Tanya above the left elbow in a grip, light, but strong. 'My name is Turkin - Peter Turkin, Comrade. My colleague is Lieutenant Ivan Shepilov. We are officers of GRU and you will come with us.'

Soviet Military Intelligence.She was more than uneasy now. She was frightened and tried to pull away.

'Please, Comrade.' His grip tightened. 'You'll only hurt yourself by struggling and you have a concert tonight. We don't want to disappoint your fans.'

There was something in his eyes, a hint of cruelty, of perversity, that was very disturbing. 'Leave me alone!' She tried to strike him and he blocked her blow with ease. 'You'll answer for this. Don't you know who my father is?'

'Lieutenant-General Ivan Maslovsky of the KGB, under whose direct orders I am acting now, so be a good girl and do as you are told.'

She had no will to resist, so great was the shock, and found herself sitting next to Natasha who was close to tears. Turkin got in on the other side.

'Back to the Emba.s.sy!' he told the chauffeur.

As the Mercedes pulled away, Tanya held on to Natasha's hand tightly. For the first time since she was a little girl, she felt really and truly afraid.

NIKOLAI BELOV was in his fifties, a handsome enough man with the slightly fleshy face of someone who enjoyed the good things of life more than was healthy for him, the kind of good Marxist whose dark suit and overcoat had been tailored in London's Savile Row. The silver hair and decadent good looks gave him the air of an ageing and rather distinguished actor instead of a colonel in the KGB.

This trip to Lyons could hardly have been cla.s.sified as essential business, but it had been possible to take his secretary, Irana Vronsky, with him. As she had been his mistress for some years now, it meant that they had enjoyed an extremely pleasurable couple of days, the memory of which had faded rather rapidly when he discovered the situation waiting for him on his return to the Soviet Emba.s.sy.

He had hardly settled into his office when Irana came in. 'There's an urgent communication from KGB Moscow for your eyes only.'

'Who's it from?'

'General Maslovsky.'

The name alone was enough to bring Belov to his feet. He went out and she followed him down to the coding office where the operator got the relevant tape. Belov keyed in his personal code, the machine whirred, the operator tore off the print-out sheet and handed it to him. Belov read it and swore softly. He took Irana by the elbow and hurried her out. 'Get me Lieutenant Shepilov and Captain Turkin. Whatever else they're on, they drop.'

Belov was seated at his desk, working his way through papers when the door opened and Irana Vronsky ushered in Tanya, Natasha Rubenova and Shepilov and Turkin. Belov knew Tanya well. His official position at the Emba.s.sy for some years had been senior cultural attache. As part of that cover role he had escorted her to parties on a number of occasions.

He stood up. 'It's good to see you.'

'I demand to know what's going on here,' she told him pa.s.sionately. 'I'm pulled off the pavement by these bully boys here and...'

'I'm sure Captain Turkin was only acting as he saw fit.' Belov nodded to Irana. 'Get the Moscow call now.' He turned to Tanya. 'Calm yourself and sit down.' She stood there, mutinous, then glanced at Shepilov and Turkin standing against the wall, gloved hands folded in front of them. 'Please,' Belov said.

She sat and he offered her a cigarette. Such was her agitation that she took it and Turkin moved in smoothly and lit it for her. His lighter was not only by Carrier, but gold. She coughed as the smoke caught at the back of her throat.

Belov said, 'Now tell me what you did this morning.'

'I walked to the Tuileries Gardens.' The cigarette was helping, calming her down. She had control now and that meant she could fight.

'And then?'

'I went into the Louvre.'

'And who did you talk to?'

The question was direct and meant to entrap by causing an automatic response. To her own surprise, she found herself replying calmly, 'I was on my own. I didn't go with anyone. Perhaps I didn't make that clear?'

'Yes, I know that,' he said patiently. 'But did you speak to anyone when you got there? Did anyone approach you?'

She managed a smile. 'You mean, did anyone try to pick me up? No such luck. Considering its reputation, Paris can be very disappointing.' She stubbed out the cigarette. 'Look, what's going on, Nikolai? Can't you tell me?'

Belov had no reason to disbelieve her. In fact he very much wanted to. He had, in effect, been absent from duty the night before. If he had not been, he would have received Maslovsky's directive then and Tanya Voroninova would not have been allowed to stir from her suite at the Ritz that morning. Certainly not unaccompanied.

The door opened and Irana entered. 'General Maslovsky on line one.'

Belov picked up the phone and Tanya tried to s.n.a.t.c.h it. 'Let me speak to him.'

Belov pulled away from her. 'Belov here, General.'

'Ah, Nikolai, she is with you now?'

'Yes, General.' It was a measure of the length of their friendship that Belov missed out the Comrade.