THEY abandoned the car a couple of kilometres from the M29 and made the rest of the way on foot. Effectively, they were operating behind enemy lines. They kept low, avoided open spaces, moved fast and tried to stay alert. Having holed up in a ditch, they waited until night to travel the relatively short distance to Katya’s house in Grozny, taking a parallel route to the road. It wasn’t ideal. Both of them were suffering from dehydration and exhaustion. By the time they reached Katya’s it was two in the morning. The street was eerily quiet. There was no lamplight. It felt as if the place was under curfew.
Tallis tapped at the door, nervous of making too much noise, hoping to God that Katya slept lightly. At first there was no response. He wondered whether she, too, had fled, and her home was empty.
‘Could break in,’ Darke murmured, his face silhouetted in the moonlight.
Then they heard the light tread of footsteps on a stair, the sound of Katya’s voice, low and clear. ‘Who’s there?’
At once the bolt was shot, the door opened. Rarely had Tallis felt such a rush of emotion. A myriad of images flooded his mind—Katya, blue eyes shining, her feet bare, the nightshirt, open slightly, revealing honeycoloured skin, hinting at the curves of her body, her expression serene and beautiful. He almost fell inside.
‘Dear God,’ she said, staring at both of them. ‘How did you get here? Since the assassination attempt the country’s been in lockdown, checkpoints everywhere, security forces, army and police all called in.’
‘When did this happen?’ Tallis said.
‘Five days ago. The Prime Minister was standing in for the President at a meeting of journalists. They’re blaming a Chechen doctor, but I’m not so sure. Anyway…’ She frowned. ‘Never mind all that. What happened to you? Are you badly hurt?’ she said, putting a cool hand to his face, which was burning. ‘Is this the man you went to find?’ she said, glancing at Darke. Seeing how wretched he looked, she told him to sit down. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I will get you water and something for your wounds.’
‘Somewhere to sleep and I’ll be fine,’ Darke said, gruff, slumping into the nearest chair. Now that they’d reached sanctuary, neither had a trace of energy between them.
‘And Ruslan,’ Katya said, standing on tiptoe, looking beyond as if he might materialise out of the night. ‘Where is he?’
Tallis swallowed. He’d broken this kind of news before, not often but enough to remember how dreadful it felt. But this was different. This was a woman who’d touched his heart, a woman he’d failed. She must have read it in his eyes for her hand slipped from his face and fell to her side. ‘Katya,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘What?’ The knuckle of her hand flew to her mouth, her expression wary and confused.
‘He didn’t make it,’ Tallis said.
‘He’s dead?’ Her voice was incredulous.
‘Yes.’
‘How?’ Her eyes filled with tears of helplessness and fear. He so much wanted to reach out and comfort her, but that wasn’t what she needed. Instinctively, he understood that Katya wanted information, cold, hard facts, not soothing words or bullshit about how Ruslan hadn’t suffered.
‘He was shot at a checkpoint. I tried to bring him back down the mountains, but…’
She turned away, running her fingers through her hair in distress. ‘I warned him not to go. I told him it was foolish.’
‘Yes, I—’
‘You should have sent him back.’ She whipped round, her eyes flaring with sudden anger. Her small fists balled. He thought she might hit him.
‘I tried.’ Had he? Exhaustion was playing tricks on him. He really couldn’t remember. Hadn’t it been more a case of using the boy to aid his cause? And what cause would that be? He felt crushed by guilt.
‘And will you avenge his death?’ The words were spat, not as a challenge but with facetiousness, as though she were alluding to the inevitability and pointlessness of the game that men played the world over. She stood tall, her arms crossed, her blue eyes pale and cold.
‘Katya, believe—’
‘Believe what? That you are innocent? That you have not killed? That your mission here is a peaceful one?’
‘It’s not what you think,’ Darke said, his voice small and tired.
‘I think I’m the mistress of my own thoughts,’ she said with a searing glance, heading upstairs. ‘You may stay here for the night. In the morning I want you out of my home.’
‘That went well,’ Darke said with a twisted smile.
‘I’ll find us some blankets,’ Tallis muttered.
‘Sure she won’t mind?’
‘Graham?’
‘What?’
‘Shut up.’
He was laden with bedding, poised at the top of the stairs, when he heard a noise. Creeping across the landing, he put his ear to her door, listened to her crying. Raw, he dropped his load and tapping gently on the wood, went inside. Katya had his back to her, shoulders shaking, face in her hands. Without a word, he slipped his arms around her, drew her close, felt her body freeze and tense under his touch. He became painfully aware of the state he was in—unwashed, unkempt and dirty. She half turned and pushed him away.
‘Get out,’ she cried, her voice thick with grief.
‘Please, Katya,’ he said, stepping back, spreading his hands.
The blow when it came took him by surprise. It was sharp, across his face, making it sting. Still he stood there. He reached out to her once more as if she were a frightened filly, trying to calm her, fearing that in her anguish she’d hurt herself. She hit him again, this time in the chest. Pain shot through his body. She was crying, harder now, raining blows, blaming him for Ruslan’s death and the shambles that her life had become. Her face was a mess of tears and crying. This was what conflict did to ordinary people, he thought grimly. It crushed them, sapped their spirit, and made even the most reasonable individual insane. It also made good people bad people. As she raised her hand again, he caught it, looked into her eyes, saw the defeat and shame and utter vulnerability; saw something else, something basic and human. When Tallis pressed his mouth to hers, Katya didn’t resist.
They both stared at each other in wonder. He was lying naked in Katya’s bed, her fingers lightly tracing the bruises on his body. It was as if a storm had passed.
When Katya asked about Ruslan’s death, he told the truth.
‘And you left him where?’
‘In a lean-to, out in the open, between Vedeno and Mahketi. Katya, I’m sorry.’
She gave a sad smile. ‘Ruslan is in good company. The Ossetians have a tradition of leaving their dead unburied in mausoleums, the poor among them left in stone huts.’
‘Unburied?’
‘Entire families are piled one on top of the other so that their mummified remains and clothes mould together, become as one. The huts are guarded by gatekeepers, usually women,’ she added. If this was some attempt to make him feel better, it wasn’t working. Macabre and strange seemed characteristic of the region. She stroked the side of his face. ‘Ruslan was always headstrong. Not like his father at all.’
More like Lena, Tallis thought, dreading how he was going to break the news when he finally returned. Suddenly England hurtled back into his mind, and with it the mission. He could hear Darke moving about downstairs. Whatever their injuries, whatever his feelings, they had to get back to Moscow. ‘The assassination attempt,’ he said, perching himself up on one elbow.
‘What about it?’
‘Have they detained anyone?’
‘Why, yes, a Chechen by the name of Dr Abzo Gaziev. I knew him. It’s unbelievable that he wished the Prime Minister harm, even if Ivanov is personally responsible for thousands of deaths and abductions that have taken place over the last decade,’ she said, a bitter note in her voice. ‘Abzo was a pacifist. He was well respected. The type of man who would treat wounded Russian soldiers and Chechen fighters without discrimination. It was reported that a letter was found on him declaring his intention to kill the Prime Minister, but I don’t believe it.’
‘Never mind the letter. Did they find a weapon on him?’
‘They didn’t need to.’
‘But, surely, with all those people in attendance, someone must have seen something.’
‘Confusion and panic do not generally reveal the truth.’ She shrugged and gave another sad smile. ‘But there were alternative reports from foreign news agencies that suggested a single shot was fired from a different aspect. Whoever it was got away, which in the Kremlin’s eyes means that there’s no tangible evidence. It suits them better. That way they can blame us and get the Russian people behind them.’
It had the ring of authenticity about it, but it wouldn’t stop the men in the FSB from investigating, not when Andrei Ivanov’s life was at risk, Tallis thought. The Kremlin would be unrelenting in its pursuit. ‘Katya, I have to get to the Embassy.’
‘Impossible.’
Nothing’s impossible, he believed, reminded of Grigori Orlov’s opinion of life in Russia. ‘Is there any way you can get to a phone?’
‘Maybe, at school.’ She wrinkled her nose, which made her look cute.
‘Right.’ He flicked a smile. ‘This is what I want you to do.’
That morning, Tallis told Darke that they could stay.
‘Kind of gathered that,’ he said with a teasing smile. ‘Don’t worry, I found my own blankets.’
They washed and shaved for the first time in days. Darke was almost unrecognisable. The scarring to his face had seen to that. With great care Katya splinted the fingers on his left hand and bound them together.
Later, after Katya had gone, and they’d feasted on bread and cheese and bottled fruit, Tallis told Darke of his plan. ‘Think it will work?’
‘Don’t see why not,’ Tallis said. ‘It worked coming in so why not going out?’
‘Things were different then.’
Yes, they had been. Ruslan was alive and he hadn’t met Katya. The idea of leaving her behind struck him with a clarity that made him wince. The thought was inconceivable. He glanced out of the window. Outside the birds sang, the trees were in leaf, sun sent a shimmer of gold across the neighbouring streets. Beyond lay the rest of ravenous Russia. ‘Graham?’
‘Yeah?’
‘How the hell did you get to be an intelligence officer?’
‘Could ask you the same.’
‘Long story.’
‘Got plenty of time.’
‘You go first.’
So Graham Darke did. He told Tallis that, abandoned and penniless after his disastrous love affair, he’d joined the army where he’d served with the Marines, becoming a sniper. Coincidentally, while Tallis had served in the army during the First Gulf War, Graham had gone to Bosnia as part of a UK team to protect UN convoys. ‘Fucking madness,’ Graham said. ‘After the peace agreement was brokered, I stayed on, was quite happy, but a visit from a bloke in a bar changed all that.’
‘You were head-hunted?’
‘Yeah. To be honest, I didn’t think I was the right kind of material. I’d always thought SIS blokes were sons of diplomats, like you had to go to the right school, know the right people, but they seemed pretty keen to have me on board. Looking back, I wonder now whether they always had me in mind for this mission. I mean, the bloke knew more about me than my own mother did.’
‘That wouldn’t be difficult.’ Tallis laughed.
‘Yeah.’ Graham grinned, getting the joke. ‘I suppose she’s still trundling on. You ever see her?’
Tallis studied him. How had Graham managed to excise his family from his life? What mental gymnastics did you perform for something like that? Again, he had that odd feeling about Darke’s ability to morally disconnect. ‘No.’
‘And your old man?’ he asked Tallis.
‘Died last year.’
‘You sorry?’
‘Not really.’
Darke nodded in understanding. ‘Mean sort of a bastard, wasn’t he? And what about you? They didn’t recruit you just to find me, did they?’
Tallis smiled and gave him a potted version of what he’d been up to for the past three years.
‘Jesus! You certainly get around in your tea break. So what’s your take on the current situation?’
‘Apart from the fact it stinks?’
‘Definitely looks like someone gave Christian Fazan dodgy information.’
‘Which is why we have to get you out and prove your innocence. One look at your ugly mug should do the trick.’ Tallis flashed a smile.
Katya returned. ‘It’s all arranged,’ she said, cool. ‘The pick-up’s tomorrow night.’
‘That soon?’ Impossible, given the current situation, Tallis thought. He was standing by the stove. Darke was upstairs, having a sleep. The truth was, Tallis didn’t want to leave.
‘Fly to Mozdok, collect a car there, and drive straight down. Go back via the same route. It’s a good plan.’
‘Right.’ He could feel the tension in the room. He knew she felt it, too. The way she was standing, at a distance from him, gave the game away. It revealed a facet of her personality for which he was unprepared.
She bit her lip slightly. ‘You are worried?’ She reached out, lightly touched his arm. It felt as though he’d been hit with an electrode.
‘It’s not that.’
‘Look, what happened last night…’
‘Are you going to say it was a mistake?’
‘No,’ she said with an awkward smile.
He’d never felt so gauche or full of injured pride. This wasn’t like him at all. ‘Come with me,’ he blurted out. ‘I could take you to Lena. I know people,’ he said, thinking of Viva and Rasu. ‘They could help you with finding asylum. Failing that, we could…’
She smiled, looked up into his eyes, cupping his chin in her hands like she’d done with Ruslan. ‘Hush,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’ He’d never felt so disappointed in his life. It was bizarre. He didn’t know this woman and yet the thought of leaving her was totally abhorrent to him. Had he been infected with madness while in the mountains?
‘I’m needed here. This crazy state of affairs won’t last for ever.’
‘It will. You know it will.’
‘It might,’ she conceded, ‘but if people like me run away, there’s no chance for peace. Teachers are vital to prevent our children from turning to the gun, essential to countering the hatred.’
‘But if you come with me—’
‘It wouldn’t work.’ She smiled sadly. ‘This is my home. That’s what I told Ruslan.’
‘Then I’ll come back.’
‘No,’ she said, resolute. ‘We’re different people, you and me. You believe in the power of the gun. I believe in the power of words.’
So that’s how she saw him, he thought, destroyed.
‘You’re a good man, Paul Tallis.’
‘But—’
She pressed a finger to his lips then kissed him.