Transition. Part 14

"Yes."

"And without penalty?"

"Yes. The monies will stop being paid, that's all."

"Call it ten K a month and I'll think about it."

"That is more than Mr Noyce receives."

"Well, if you don't tell him, neither will I," I said. She was silent for a few moments. I spread my arms. "That's my price, Mrs Mulverhill."

"Very well. The first payment will be delivered forthwith. We'll mail you the account details."

"Like I say, I'll think about it." I wanted to talk to Mr N some more. This was too weird to just jump in on, given what I knew so far.

"Of course. Decide in your own time."

"Is that it?" I asked. This had all been too easy. I strongly suspected I'd underpriced myself.

"That's it," she said. She just sat there, didn't go to shake my hand or produce a contract or a letter of agreement to sign or anything.

"Our agreement to be reviewed annually," I said.

"If you like."

"Uh-huh." I nodded for a bit. Still just sitting there. I sat forward in my seat. "So, Mrs M."

"Adrian."

"Tell me who you work for."

"The Concern," she said smoothly. "You can call us the Concern, Adrian."

"And who are you really?"

"We're travellers."

"What, like gypsies?" I said, with a fake smile.

"I don't think so. Well, maybe a little."

"Russian?"

"No."

"No?"

"Definitely. No."

"CIA?"

"No."

"Some other American... organisation?"

"No."

I took a breath. This time she jumped in on me before I could speak. "Don't bother, Adrian. You'll never guess."

"You reckon?"

"Oh, I'm pretty certain." She flashed the veiled smile again. "We should celebrate," she said, "that you're thinking of joining with us. Would you like that? Where shall we go?"

"I can't imagine there's much happening in this Pripyat place."

"It is is a little quiet," she agreed. "Shall we go to Moscow? The plane will have been refuelled by now. Yes? I want to show you something." a little quiet," she agreed. "Shall we go to Moscow? The plane will have been refuelled by now. Yes? I want to show you something."

Seemingly my watch had to go forward yet another hour, though I still left the Rolex alone.

"Adrian," Mrs M said as we settled into the jet's plush seats, "Connie and I have much to talk about. Can you amuse yourself?"

"Certainly. No, wait a minute."

"What?" Connie asked.

"What if you keep me up past my bedtime?" I smiled.

Connie looked at me. "I understand there are hotels in Moscow."

"What a relief," I said.

They started talking some language I couldn't even begin to unscramble. I left them to it and watched the ground slide by beneath. I'd hoped to see Chern.o.byl itself from a safe height, obviously but didn't. It was only another hour's flight but by the time we arrived in Moscow it was almost dark. Outside, on the tarmac of the airport, the wind felt cold enough for snow and smelled of jet fuel. A big black Merc was waiting. This time the driver had a cap and tie and everything. We went straight to a tall wire gate with a small guardhouse. A uniformed Customs/Immigration guy took the briefest look at our pa.s.sports, exchanged a few words with Connie S. and waved us through to join chaotic traffic on a packed four-lane road.

My moby was happy again, reconnected to civilisation. I texted a couple of pals back in the big smoke to say where I was, and felt happier too.

The Novy Pravda was a club housed in a new-build block within sight of what I guessed was the Red River or whatever big river it is that runs through Moscow. Frankly I had no idea where we were. In something called the Central Administrative Okrug, which was not a vast amount of help. If we hadn't driven through what was obviously Red Square with the big Disney church and stuff I'd only have had Mrs M's word for it that we were even in Moscow.

The club was in a big black cube of a building. Lots of UV and dark purple lights on the outside, outlining it. The air shook with m.u.f.fled music. Valet parking. Front of the line, two big bouncers with armpit bulges. Straight in, greeted by some guy in a very flash suit who took Mrs M's long fur coat, fake-kissed Connie on both sides and gave me a small bow. I was in what I'd been wearing since I'd got up: black Converse, black 509s, a purple Prada shirt and a peach-soft thin black leather jacket. I felt underdressed for the first time that day.

"Kliment, how are you?" Connie said as the guy kept pace with us down a broad corridor lined with mirrors and what looked like blobs of mercury running down bronze mazes behind plates of gla.s.s.

"I am well, madam," Kliment said, sounding very Russian. "You are well too, I hope."

"Very. This is Mrs Mulverhill, my employer," she told him.

"An honour, madam."

"And this is Adrian. He's from London."

"Adrian. Welcome. I love London," he said.

"Smashing," I said.

"This is Kliment's club," Connie told me.

I looked round. The sounds were getting loud and the light level dropping as we entered a big s.p.a.ce with slowly flashing lights on the ceiling. A flunky came up, bowed to Kliment and took Mrs M's coat and Connie's jacket as well as my own to a coat-check counter staffed by two astoundingly beautiful girls, all high cheekbones, long black hair and sultry, unimpressed looks. The thudding music and faster flashing lights were coming from a big fluted archway ahead. "Tasty," I said, smiling at Kliment. He nodded appreciatively, I think.

"Please," he said. "We have your table."

Vodka and champagne, caviar and blinis. We proceeded to get very drunk in our semicircular table facing a giant multi-level dance floor. I danced with Connie, then with Mrs M, who had a weird all-over-the-place way of dancing. In her black-bandages outfit and veil yep, still with the veil she got a lot of looks. Appreciative ones, too, and I could see why. She danced like she could move bits that other women didn't even have. Connie was a lively bopper too. The two of them kept turning away bottles of bubbly from distant tables.

Connie leant over as they were opening our third bottle of Salon. "Come to the toilets. We'll do some c.o.ke, yeah?"

By this time I'd drunk enough for this to seem like a good idea, and for the prospect of some white stuff to have taken on a sort of sensible, even medicinal quality, i.e. if I took some it'd sober me up a bit. Not to mention the fact that both Connie and Mrs M had only got even better-looking and more devastatingly attractive as the evening had gone on, and here was one of them inviting me to the loos. Well, why not? I looked from the gorgeous, blondely shining Connie to the shadowy Mrs M. Connie grinned and shook her head.

Mrs Mulverhill must have overheard, or guessed. She waved one hand. "Enjoy," she said, watching the ma.s.s of people pulse and surge around the dance floor.

No eyelids were batted when we entered an extremely posh Ladies and commandeered a cubicle. We took turns snorting from a handily placed gla.s.s ledge. Good gear, almost uncut.

We stood up, grinning from ear to ear at each other. "Another dance?" Connie suggested.

I leant back against the wall, gave her a long look up and down. "We in a hurry?"

She laughed, shook her head. "Too sordid. Let's away."

I thought she might have meant Let's away to somewhere quieter Let's away to somewhere quieter, but she just meant back to the dance floor and then the booth and the table where Mrs M was knocking back another deep-chilled vodka and looking as sober as when we'd walked in. She nodded at me. "We dance now," she told me, rising.

"Can I catch my breath?" I asked.

She shook her head and took my hand.

It was quite a s.e.xy dance. There were slow bits in the tune and she moved round me, curling and uncurling and rising and falling, circling about me like she was caressing my personal s.p.a.ce. I'm not a bad dancer many compliments received, know what I mean? But Mrs M was something else. Maybe it was the booze and toot, but I seriously felt I was in the presence of bopping royalty.

She sidled up, pressing herself against me. I felt the heat of her body through her black-bandage outfit and my own clothes. She was half a head shorter than me. She put her veiled lips close to my ear as I leant down to her. "Adrian," she said loudly, just audible over the music, "I want to take you somewhere. Will you come with me?"

I pulled back, showed some amused, pleased surprise and then bent to her ear. "Really?"

"Really," she said. Then added, "Yes, that's a way of putting it." Which seemed unnecessary. "Follow me."

"To the ends of the Earth, Mrs M," I said as she took me by the hand. She laughed. Strange noise, almost like a bark. Her hand was very warm but perfectly dry. We slunk through the press of dancing people. She let go of my hand once we were clear of the dance floor and were heading for some cordoned-off steps. Not the loos again, then. Another pair of bouncers, nodded to. Down some wide, spiralling steps.

"This is called the Black Room, apparently," she said as a large door was opened for us by another wide-shouldered gent, this one in dark gla.s.ses. Fair enough, it was nearly black inside. From what I saw as we walked through it was a f.u.c.k club. Lot of humping and humping-watching going on in/around/on/over tables and big comfy seats. Warm, it was.

We walked on through to the far wall and another door. Yet another bouncer. Lady, this time. She was much bigger and wider than me. She handed Mrs M a key. We entered what looked like a dark hotel corridor. Mrs M let us into a dimly lit bedroom and closed the door behind her.

"People come here to have s.e.x, Adrian," Mrs Mulverhill said.

"You don't say," I said. From the way she'd said what she just had I was already starting to guess that wasn't why we we were here. I felt some disappointment, and just a tiny bit of nervousness. Still, I've always had, right from the first days when I started dealing, a completely reliable alarm system in my head for situations that might be about to turn genuinely nasty and threatening, know what I mean? And so far the alarm bells hadn't gone off. were here. I felt some disappointment, and just a tiny bit of nervousness. Still, I've always had, right from the first days when I started dealing, a completely reliable alarm system in my head for situations that might be about to turn genuinely nasty and threatening, know what I mean? And so far the alarm bells hadn't gone off.

"I do say. But you and I are not here to have s.e.x. I hope you are not disappointed if that was what you were expecting."

"Devastated, Mrs M."

"You are, I think, joking."

"Not entirely."

From somewhere in those bizarre clothes Mrs M produced two little pills. Smaller than any E pills I'd ever seen; nearer to sweeteners or something. She popped one herself, held the other out to me. "Please, take this."

"What is it?"

"It is a form of lifebelt."

"Well, that's a new one." I shrugged, popped it.

She watched my neck to see me swallow. Again, just a little worrying. She reached up and put her veil up at last. The light wasn't great but I could see a little more of her face. A very beautiful, strong, semi-Asiatic, semi-I-couldn't-tell-what face, with big, wide eyes. And with catlike slits for pupils, not round ones. Ah-ha. I'd heard you could have contacts like that and a few weirdos had even had eye surgery to get the same effect. Music thudded very distantly. She looked into my eyes and said quietly, "Nothing should go wrong, Adrian, but if we become separated I want you to think yourself back to here, to this room." She waved one hand. "Take a good look round."

I looked around the place, humouring her.

"Do it for real, Adrian," she said, as though guessing I was only pretending to. "Look at it, remember its visual details, remember the smell and the sound of this place. Will you be able to envisage it accurately again?"

The light in the room was amber, like sunset, subdued. The bed was queen- or king-size, with black satin sheets. There was a black couch, one ornate chair of red and gold, a mirror on the ceiling, a TV set into the wall and in one corner a black cube with the one word MINIBAR on it in blue neon. There was one other door, presumably leading to a bathroom. The bed had those unnecessary bedposts that are handy for tying people to with furry handcuffs or whatever.

"I guess," I said. Separated? What was she talking about? Still no actual alarm bells, but I was starting to think that I needed a second set to go off to tell me when the first lot had mysteriously stopped working.

Now Mrs M produced what looked like a tiny cigarette lighter.

"I shall apply this to myself first, then to you. It must happen in rapid succession," she said, bringing the device up to her neck and putting her free hand behind my head, fingers spread over my sweaty hair like some giant spider. "Please try not to flinch when I apply it to you. Then I will hug you tightly. Do you understand?"

"Got you." Must confess, my mouth was dry. The music stopped briefly, its thud-thudding gone, leaving only my heart.

"Then here we go."

She stepped up to me, her body tight against mine. I could feel her small, firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing into my chest and smell a scent somewhere between antiseptic and a musky perfume. She pushed the lighter up into her lower jaw and it clicked. A hiss. Her hand swooped from under her chin and came up to my neck. Pressure, another click and a hiss and a cold sensation in my neck and jaw like an infusion of ice. She wrapped her arms tight around my back, then wrapped her legs around mine too, rising a little on her feet and pressing her head side to side against mine. I put my arms around her. She felt good. There were stirrings down below. I was getting wood. I wondered if she could feel it. She would soon if she hadn't already. Then, very suddenly, it felt like my head turned itself inside out.

I must have closed my eyes. I swayed and staggered as I opened them again. There was a grey light all around us and the air was suddenly chill and fresh. Mrs M was releasing me from her grip but holding one of my hands so I didn't fall over and saying over and over, "It's all right, Adrian, it's all right, it's all right..."

But it wasn't all right, because not only was there was no dark, amber-lit room around us, there was no f.u.c.king building building around us. around us.

The Novy Pravda was gone and here we were in the grey light of a dawn that was hours too early on a low hill surrounded by marshes with a big river coiled across the landscape in the direction of the still-cloud-obscured rising sun. Great. Not just the room, not just the Novy Pravda. The whole of f.u.c.king Moscow had gone.

Scattered all about, stretching to the horizon, lay ruins.

I felt like I was going to keel over and we did a bizarre dance for a few seconds as Mrs M still held my hand and tried to stop me falling onto my b.u.m and I sort of staggered and revolved around her, trying to get my balance back and gasping as my shoes slipped on the tussocky gra.s.s on the cold hilltop. Finally I got my legs spread far enough apart to stop gyrating and Mrs M pulled me to a stop, taking me by both shoulders while I bent, breathing hard and fast and not believing what I was seeing whenever I took a look out across this deserted landscape of grey marshes and black ruins.

"I'm okay," I said. "I'm okay."

I straightened up. She kept one hand on my elbow.