59

 

Kell slept on and off for only a few hours, dreaming of Rachel, waking with his body drenched in sweat at two, then again at half past four. He had switched off the rattling air-conditioner in his room and it was stultifyingly hot. He climbed out of bed and opened both windows onto the tree-lined colonnade. It was still dark outside, no birdsong. He took a shower and ordered a room service breakfast. By the time Kell was ready to leave, it was not yet six o’clock. A sensationally long-legged, slim-waisted girl in a nonexistent miniskirt was coming up the broad staircase on the arm of a short, shaven-headed middle-aged man who flashed Kell a triumphant smile of lust and conquest. It was all Kell could do to prevent himself muttering: “You get what you pay for,” but he continued down to the lobby in silence.

He emerged onto the broad pavement outside the Londonskaya. A couple of teenagers were sitting on a wooden bench under the plane trees, kissing. A woman wearing a dark blue pinafore was sweeping street dust with a broomstick. Kell turned east toward the Potemkin Steps. A horse and cart, newly painted in white, had parked at the edge of the square, the horse eating from a bag of grass, the driver asleep with a rug spread out across his body. A single taxi was waiting on the rank at the junction with Ekaterininskaya, a Humvee and a stretch limo parked alongside. Kell checked his phone. There were four messages. Danny, Javed, and Nina were awake. According to Elsa, Serenissima was delayed by an hour. Alicia had translated a message sent by the Odessa Port Authority giving the ship clearance to dock on the western quay. Neither Elsa nor Harold had picked up a syllable of local SVR chatter.

Kell continued past the Steps, encountering a pack of stray dogs asleep on the ground in front of a pale yellow building on the far side of the square. Somewhere in the distance a generator was running: perhaps the local grid was experiencing one of Odessa’s frequent power cuts. Kell lit a cigarette and walked to a metal footbridge overlooking the port. Cranes as far as the eye could see, no ships docked at the terminal. Hundreds of padlocks had been attached to the railings, love tokens rusted by rain and sea air. An old man with a corrugated nose stopped close by and tucked in a loose section of his shirt, nodding at Kell as he went on his way. Then, out of nowhere, a familiar voice behind him.

“Waiting for a ship?”

Kell turned to find Harold and Danny coming toward him.

“Gentlemen,” he said.

They stood on either side of him. Both were dressed in jeans and polo shirts. Harold had a gray nylon jacket looped over his arm.

“So,” Harold said. “Is she on time?”

“Slight delay,” Kell replied. “An hour, max.”

“Maybe they hit an iceberg.”

Kell stubbed out the cigarette. “Who is it in Greek mythology that waits for a ship?” he asked.

“Aegeus,” Danny replied instantly. Kell had a flash image of Aldrich at home in Guildford, poring over books and encyclopedias. A pub quiz brain. “Theseus, his son, went off to slay the Minotaur. Told him that if he was successful, he’d change the sails on his ship from black to white…”

“But he forgot,” said Kell.

“Exactly.” Danny looked out at the Black Sea. “Aegeus saw the ship, saw the black sails. Reckoned he’d lost his son. So he killed himself.”

“This is what people forget,” said Harold. “They didn’t have cell phones in those days, so Theseus couldn’t call ahead.”

Kell put his hand on Harold’s shoulder, laughing.

“We’ve got time to kill,” he said. “Coffee?”