Confessional. Part 31

Martin put a finger to his lips to the girl, brushed past her and went into the galley. A small ladder led to the forward hatch. He opened it and went out on deck as he heard Turkin start down.

It had begun to rain, a fine mist drifting in from the sea as he stepped lightly across the deck to the entrance of the companionway. Turkin had reached the bottom and stood there, gun in his right hand as he peered cautiously into the

saloon. Martin didn't make a sound, gave him no chance at all. He simply extended his pistol and shot him neatly through the right arm. Turkin cried out, dropped his weapon and staggered into the saloon and Martin went down the com-panionway.

Tanya moved to join him. Martin picked up Turkin's gun and put it in his pocket. Turkin leaned against the table, clutching his arm, glaring at him. Shepilov was just pulling himself up and sank on to the bench with a groan. Martin swung Turkin round and searched his pockets until he found his gun. He turned to Turkin again.

'I was careful with the arm. You aren't going to die - yet. I don't know who owns this boat, but you obviously meant to leave in it, you and chummy here. I'd get on with it if I were you. You'd only be an embarra.s.sment to our people and I'm sure they'd like you back in Moscow. You ought to be able to manage between you.'

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' Peter Turkin said in despair.

'Not in front of the lady,' Alex Martin told him. He pushed Tanya Voroninova up the companionway and turned. 'As a matter of interest, you two wouldn't last one bad Sat.u.r.day night in Belfast,' then he followed the girl up to the deck.

When they reached the Peugeot, he took off his jacket gingerly. There was blood on his shirt sleeve and he fished out his handkerchief. 'Would you mind doing what you can with that?'

She bound it around the slash tightly. 'What kind of a man are you?'

'Well, I prefer Mozart myself,' Alex Martin said as he pulled on his jacket. 'I say, would you look at that?'

Beyond, on the outer edge of the marina,L'Alouette was moving out of the harbour. 'They're leaving,' Tanya said.

'Poor sods,' Martin told her. 'Their next posting will probably be the Gulag after this.' He handed her into the Peugeot and smiled cheerfully as he got behind the wheel. 'Now let's get you up to the airport, shall we?'

At Heathrow Airport's Terminal One, Harry Fox sat in the security office, drank a cup of tea and enjoyed a cigarette with the duty sergeant. The phone rang, the sergeant answered, then pa.s.sed it across.

'Harry?' Ferguson said.

'Sir.'

'She made it. She's on the plane. Just left Jersey.'

'No problems, sir?'

'Not if you exclude a couple of GRU bogeymen s.n.a.t.c.hing her and Martin off the Albert Quay.'

Fox said, 'What happened?'

'He managed, that's what happened. We'll have to use that young man again. You did say he was Guards?'

'Yes, sir. Welsh.'

'Thought so. One can always tell,' Ferguson said cheerfully and rang off.

'No, Madame, nothing to pay,' the steward said to Tanya as the one-eleven climbed into the sky away from Jersey. 'The bar is free. What would you like? Vodka and tonic, gin and orange? Or we have champagne.'

Free champagne.Tanya nodded and took the frosted gla.s.s he offered her. To a new life, she thought and then she said softly, 'To you, Alexander Martin,' and emptied the gla.s.s in a long swallow.

Luckily, the housekeeper had the day off. Alex Martin disposed of his shirt, pushing it to the bottom of the garbage in one of the bins, then went to the bathroom and cleaned his arm. It really needed st.i.tching, but to go to the hospital would have meant questions and that would never do. He pulled the edges of the cut together with neat b.u.t.terflies of tape, an old soldier's trick, and bandaged it. He put on a bathrobe, poured himself a large Scotch and went into the sitting room. As he sat down, the phone rang. His wife said, 'Darling, I phoned the office and they said

you were taking the day off. Is anything wrong? You haven't been overdoing it again, have you?'

She knew nothing of the work he'd done for Ferguson in the past. No need to alarm her now. He smiled ruefully, noting the slash in the sleeve of the Yves St Laurent jacket on i the chair next to him.

'Certainly not,' he said. 'You know me? Anything for a i quiet life. I'm working at home today, that's all. Now tell me ' - how are the children?'

AT CAVENDISH SQUARE, Ferguson was seated at the desk holding the telephone, face grave when Harry Fox came in from the study with a telex message. Ferguson made a quick gesture with one hand, then said, 'Thank you, Minister,' and replaced the receiver.

'Trouble, sir?' Fox asked.

'As far as I'm concerned it is. The Foreign Office have just informed me that the Pope's visit is definitely on. The Vatican will make an announcement within the next few hours. What have you got?'

'Telex, sir. Information on the Task Force's progress. The bad news is that HMSAntelope has finally sunk. She was bombed by Skyhawks yesterday. The good news is that seven Argentinian jets have been brought down.'

'I'd be happier about that if I saw the wreckage, Harry. Probably half that figure in actuality. Battle of Britain all over again.'

'Perhaps, sir. Everybody claims a hit in the heat of the moment. It can be confusing.'

Ferguson stood up and lit one of his cheroots. 'I don't know, sometimes the b.l.o.o.d.y roof just seems to fall in. I've got the Pope coming, which we could well have done without. Cuchulain still on the loose over there, and now this nonsense about the Argentinians trying to buy Exocet missiles on the black market in Paris. Orders have gone through to pull Tony Villiers from behind enemy lines in the Falk-lands?'

'No problem, sir. He's being off-loaded by submarine in Uruguay. Flying from Montevideo by Air France direct to Paris. Should be there tomorrow.'

'Good. You'll have to go over on the shuttlf. Brief him thoroughly, then get straight back here.'

'Will that be enough, sir?'

'Good G.o.d, yes. You know what Tony's like when he gets moving. h.e.l.l on wheels. He'll sort the opposition out over there, no problem. I need you here, Harry. What about the Voroninova girl?'

'As I told you, sir, we stopped off at Harrods on the way from Heathrow to get her a few things. Only had what she stood up in.'

'She'll be broke, of course,' Ferguson said. 'We'll have to tap the contingency fund.'

'As a matter of fact that won't be necessary, sir. It seems she has a very substantial bank account here. Record royalties and so on. She certainly won't have any difficulty in earning her living. They'll be clamouring for her, all the impresarios, when they know she's available.'

'That will have to wait. She's very definitely to stay under wraps until I say so. What's she like?'

'Very nice indeed, sir. I settled her into the spare room and she was having a bath.'

'Yes, well don't let's make her too comfortable, Harry. We want to get on with this thing. I've heard from Devlin and it seems another of McGuiness's hatchet men, the one who was supposed to be keeping an eye on Cherny, has turned up in the Liffey. He doesn't waste time, our friend.'

'I see, sir,' Fox said. 'So what are you suggesting?'

'We'll get her over to Dublin now - this afternoon. You can escort her, Harry. Hand her over to Devlin at the airport, then get back here. You can go to Paris on the morning shuttle.'

Fox said mildly, 'She might just feel like sitting down for a moment. Taking a deep breath. That sort of thing.'

'So would we all, Harry, and if that's a subtle way of telling me how you feel, then all I can say is you should have taken that job they offered you at your uncle's merchant bank. Start at ten, finish at four.'

'And terribly, terribly boring, sir.'