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“BURN THE VANS,” KRAMSKI said bitterly. “It’s over.”
Twenty Ford Transits stood wedged in the compound forecourt unable to exit. Incoming call after call said the same was happening at Securitavan branches across the UK. As far as he knew, not one had embarked. All that was left now was to get the men away and destroy as much evidence as possible. A helicopter roared overhead and hovered. It looked to be landing somewhere nearby.
“There’s a crowd on its way,” Rogozin said, wiping his hands.
“Close the gates and lock them with the chain,” Kramski said. “Get the men through the fire exit and tell them to make for the ports. I’ll contact Tebloev. Keep your phone about you.”
“What about the account books?”
“I’ll make sure they’re destroyed.”
“What about Orlov? You still going to spare him?”
“That was before.”
A stench of petrol hit them thick as a rug. A whoosh accompanied a billow of flame from warehouse six.
“Make sure it spreads,” Kramski said. “Wait till the men are all out then torch the fuel supplies.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Not until after you, old friend. A captain doesn’t leave a sinking ship till all his men are accounted for. Now let’s get busy.”
The helicopter touched down in a cul de sac two streets away from its objective. Bronstein was first out, followed by Fleming and Marcie, then it roared away as children waved. It was dark now, but they could see the blaze where they were headed.
They ran as fast as they could to the compound. An orange shipping container was parked across the entrance, but there was no sign of the lorry that must have brought it. The gates were chained and topped with razor spikes and behind them, twenty white vans stood abandoned, as if a Vesuvius had petrified them going about their daily business. Six warehouses flared like furnaces. A crowd was gathering and sirens blared in the distance.
“Is there any other way in?” Bronstein said.
“Not that I remember seeing,” Fleming said. “But there must be. At the very least, a fire exit.”
“They’ll all be abandoning ship then. Not that there’s much we can do. In any case, we’re here to rescue Orlov, not make arrests.”
“I don’t think we’re authorised to make arrests, anyway.”
A panda car pulled up and two policemen jogged over, jabbing torches. “Move away, please. Right now, move away.”
“We’re with MI6,” Bronstein said, showing his card. “Radio my security number over to base and they’ll confirm. Do you know where there’s another exit to the compound?”
Fleming scrutinised his mobile. “From the satellite, it looks like there’s one on the opposite side.”
“I - I think that’s right,” the policeman said.
“We need an armed response unit as soon as you can. Then get as many men over there as you can and arrest anything that comes out. It’s urgent, code one.”
“What’s code one?” Marcie whispered, when the policeman was on his radio.
“No idea.”
“I’ve a plan for how we can get in,” she said.
Bronstein nodded. “Have you got your gun, by the way?”
“In my pocket.”
“You know how to use it? We should have gone through this in the helicopter, but - ”
“I’ve seen how it works in films, Lieutenant Bronstein. You point the barrelly thing and pull the triggery thing.”
He smiled. “So what’s your big plan, wise guy?”
“There’s a gap in the gates. In the middle.”
“And you think you’re going to squeeze through, yeah? It’s too narrow.”
Fleming nodded. “Actually, I can see what she means. If we both push, we might be able to increase the width, and she might just be able to make it.”
Bronstein laughed. “Then what? We’ll have locked her in the den with the lions.”
“I’ll hotwire the van at the front and drive it against the gate until the chain snaps,” she said.
“You know how to hotwire a van?”
“I’ve got a criminal record,” she replied. “I know how to do anything evil.”
Bronstein thought for a minute against the sound of muffled explosions only yards away. “The fire’s spreading fast. It’ll eat that front van up in a flash and you might burn to death inside the cabin. I don’t want that on my conscience.”
“Then what’s your proposal?” she said.
He sighed. He hadn’t one. “You’d better be quick. If one of us two slips when you’re halfway through you’ll be snapped in two from crotch to forehead. And that’s before you burn to death in the cabin. You up for this, Fleming? She’s your girlfriend.”
“She doesn’t belong to me,” Fleming said.
Marcie stamped her foot. “We’re wasting time! Colonel Orlov’s going to fry if we don’t hurry up! Assuming he’s even alive!”
The two men went to the gates. They were wide enough from latch to pivot to make Marcie’s plan credible, but they were already hot to the touch. “On count of three,” Fleming said. “One, two, three.”
At first it looked like they were making no headway at all. Then a gang of teenage boys in hoodies came over and started laughing.
“What are you waiting for, you dorks!” Marcie screamed. “Come over here and get pushing!”
The boys shuffled forward looking cowed and started to push. She inserted herself into the slot.
“Harder!” she shouted, then she fell through with a laugh. “I’m inside! I’m inside! Thanks, boys!”
“Get away from the van!” Bronstein yelled as she went to yank the door open. “Shit, it’s on fire! Now what?”
The seats were burning. Bronstein realised that of course they were going to go up even faster than he’d thought with all that crumpled paper inside. They were no more than tinderboxes on wheels. He’d been an idiot.
“I tried my best!” Marcie shouted. She blew them a kiss and ran into the compound.
“Where’s she gone?” Fleming said.
“Does she even know how to hotwire a van?”
Fleming held his head in his hands. “She’d have tried. We could have told her what to do.”
“What’s her criminal record in?”
“Fighting, I believe. I don’t even think she’s much good.”
“We’d better find another entrance before they jump her.”
A fire engine screeched to a stop. Four men leapt out and started ordering people to stand back.
“Talk about the cavalry!” Bronstein said. He ran over. “Guys, guys! I’m with MI6. How long will it take you to cut a hole in that fence?”
The Station Officer climbed back into his cabin and flicked some switches. “About ten seconds, mate. First thing we’re going to do. Now stand right back if you wouldn’t mind, please.”
As far as Marcie could tell, there was no one left in the compound, which was a good job because a girl would probably stand out a mile. She guessed they didn’t have an equal opportunities policy.
A narrow gate right on the other side of the forecourt swung on its hinges. That was probably where they’d all gone. The warehouses growled like open kilns and blasts inside shook the metal walls on their rivets. If Orlov was in one of those, she was wasting her time.
She checked her gun and took it out and tried to fire it. Nothing. That must mean she hadn’t released the safety catch, the oldest cliché in the world.
She looked for it. Then realised she wouldn’t know it if it sprang back and snapped her fingers off. Some sort of hook?
She didn’t have time now. Anyway, if she needed a gun, Miss Demure would have told her how to use one. She put it in her pocket just in case she had to bluff or throw it at someone.
Assuming he wasn’t dead, where would they have put him?
There was an office-block, behind some of the vans. But no lights on and no signs of life.
And yet it was as good a place to start looking as any. She had no idea where else they could have taken him.
Kramski hurled six sealed bottles of petrol at the entrance to buy a few extra minutes. He went behind the office block and slit a gap in the fence wide enough to fit through, then pulled it together and smoothed it so it wasn’t visible unless you came looking for it. He went to the gate he’d just ordered Rogozin out of, locked it and set a fire going outside with another bottle of fuel and a match.
He looked about himself. It had been a bold idea and it had almost worked. But it was merely one battle and every campaign had its Sevastopols. It was time to burn the account books and kill Orlov. Not something he was looking forward to.
He swung open the door to the office block and mounted the stairs at a walk. He knew from experience not to call on his reserves of adrenalin by over-exerting himself prematurely. It had been a long day and, in a few moments, once he prised that gap in the fence apart, he was going to need every ounce of energy his body could muster.
He threw the door open. Orlov sat in the darkness with one side of his face bathed in the ghastly light of the burning vans outside. He turned to face Kramski and smiled.
“You said you were descended from a Russian nobleman. That wouldn’t be Count Rostopchin, by any chance?”
“Very funny, Colonel. You probably know why I’m here.”
“And yet I thought you weren’t a natural killer.”
“I don’t want you to burn to death, which is what will happen if I abandon you. If I untie you, you’ll try to overpower me. I killed your colleague and his girlfriend because they presented an obstacle. I’m going to kill you out of kindness. It’s far more of a reparation than a continuation. Have you any preference as to the manner?”
He was suddenly aware of a movement in the room – not just a stirring but a looming up of a substantial shape. From behind the desk. A young woman stood up with hatred in her eyes. Who - ?
He went for his gun, but she leapt over the desk and kicked his hand, then his thigh, then his shoulder. He fell backwards against the door and recovered and lunged at her with a chop. She evaded it as he expected, but she also evaded the stab from his right with which he’d hoped to gain the advantage. He rolled over and emerged by the desk and swept her feet from under her with a scything kick.
She fell expertly and kicked Orlov’s chair so it tumbled on top of him. As he cast it aside, her boot smashed into his jaw and he felt his teeth dislodge.
He spluttered blood. His energy was ebbing fast. There was only one way he was going to win. It had to be one apocalyptic burst, like he’d been shown in training. He sprang to his feet and aimed his best kicks and punches at her as fast and obliquely as he could, but he still couldn’t get through.
Change tactics again. His fist. Concentrate all his weight into one blow – shatter her defences by sheer brute power.
But in the small time he took to load the bolt, she kicked his solar plexus so hard he felt the skin tear and his soles leave the floor. The desk behind him half-broke his fall, but she came at him with the chair again, and almost before he had time to register the fact, she thrust him back-first through the window. He tried to grab the frame but realised with horror that it was too late. His fingers clutched empty space and, accompanied by a million shards of glass, he descended into the cold black.
It was no longer about waiting till the fire crew cut a hole through the fence. Not when someone was hurling Molotov cocktails from inside the compound. News crews arrived and unloaded cameras and presenters from vans.
“Come on,” Bronstein said. “There must be another way in.”
Fleming nodded. “Let’s go round to the rear exit. The police must have got there now.”
They followed the fence round its course, cutting through back gardens and a corner shop car park until they came to the back gate. The patch of ground around it was burning, but a crowd of police officers - some armed - looked as if they had it under control.
“Sir!” Fleming called.
Bronstein turned. Fleming was holding open a six foot slit in the wire.
“How the hell did you do that?” he said.
“I found it like this.”
Bronstein squeezed through and Fleming motioned for the police officers to follow. They took out their guns. They heard two shots in rapid succession from somewhere.
“Did you hear that?” Fleming said.
“There’s someone still in here.”
“Unless it’s Marcie?”
“Even then, she must be shooting at someone.”
Fleming indicated the office block. “I think that’s the nerve centre. If either of them is still in here anywhere, that’ll be where.”
“It’s where those shots came from, I think.”
They advanced crouching and paused to converge on the crumpled body before the front door. Kramski. Bronstein peremptorily felt his pulse. “Dead.”
They heard an ear-splitting scream from upstairs.
“Marcie!” Fleming yelled.
They charged upstairs and threw the door open and swept the room with their guns. Orlov sat on the ground next to Marcie. To one side of him stood an upturned chair swathed in ropes.
“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Marcie yelled. “I kicked a guy through the window and dislocated my hip, that’s all. We’ve just put it back in.” She rubbed her side and grimaced. “Whoo, man. Never again.”
“We thought we heard shooting,” Bronstein said.
“I shot through the Colonel’s ropes,” she said. “Lovely to see you fellows.”
Orlov turned to her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fight like that. Man or woman.”
She beamed. “I ... I ...”
They waited to hear her speech. But it never came. She stood there with her mouth open looking dazed and disorientated.
Bronstein put his gun away. “Yeah, well, can’t stand here gossiping all day.”
“Are you okay to walk?” Orlov asked her.
She nodded. Fleming gave her his arm for support. They descended the stairs in silence.
The fire brigade looked as if they were starting to get the blaze under control. The night sky was a shimmering mixture of reds and blacks. Marcie’s phone beeped a text. She took it out.
22.52 BST. Houghton and Sunderland South. Labour hold.
