The Wolf At The Door Part 29

He did not see what happened, that was the terrible thing. He drove to Kilburn, parked the Mini Cooper some distance from the church, and could see a small crowd of people standing there in the dusk of early evening, an ambulance and two police cars, policemen taking statements. Monsignor James Murphy was in a dark cloak, talking to one officer, and, from the look of him, greatly distressed. There was a medium-sized truck with one front wheel over a curb, a shaken-looking man in a leather jacket leaning against it, obviously the driver. what happened, that was the terrible thing. He drove to Kilburn, parked the Mini Cooper some distance from the church, and could see a small crowd of people standing there in the dusk of early evening, an ambulance and two police cars, policemen taking statements. Monsignor James Murphy was in a dark cloak, talking to one officer, and, from the look of him, greatly distressed. There was a medium-sized truck with one front wheel over a curb, a shaken-looking man in a leather jacket leaning against it, obviously the driver.

Holley stood at the back, and said softly to an old man in a cloth cap standing next to him, "What happened?"

"A terrible business. Monsignor Murphy's housekeeper came running down the path and straight out into the road. I saw the whole thing. Quite a few people did. The driver never stood a chance. I don't know what possessed her."

An older woman in front looked back over her shoulder. "I heard her shouting at somebody. She was saying: 'Get away from me.' "

"And where is she?" Holley asked the man.

"In the ambulance, but she's dead. Like I said, the police are taking a lot of statements. It's a terrible thing, but that poor sod was in no way to blame." He nodded towards the driver.

Holley backed slowly away as more people appeared, drawn to the crowd by the drama of it. He turned and walked back to the Mini Cooper and sat behind the wheel for a while. She had been running from Peter Ivanov. That had to be the explanation.

His anger was very real because he was to blame. He sat there, breathing deeply and gripping the wheel hard, then he called Chekhov. There was no background music, no impression that others were there.

"It's Daniel," he said. "Where are you?"

"At the apartment."

"Do you know what Ivanov's up to?"

Chekhov was obviously reluctant to talk. "He was here a while ago, after he'd discovered that there was no one at Belsize Park. He turned up in a cab, and he had Kerimov with him. The ape-man was wearing big gloves because of his bad hand so he could drive. Ivanov had been drinking."

"What did he want?"

"He said they needed to know where Alexander Kurbsky was, and the obvious person to ask was Monica Starling, because she'd been involved with him from the beginning."

"And that was it?"

"No, he told me he wanted me to lend him one of my Mercedes limousines. I keep three in the underground parking downstairs. He said he didn't want to use an Emba.s.sy car."

"To do what?" Holley demanded.

"He was just talking nonsense. He said if he could get his hands on Monica Starling and take her for a ride in the country, he could soon get the truth about Kurbsky out of her." Chekhov laughed uneasily. "Just crazy stuff, Daniel."

"Max, he made threats against Caitlin Daly bad enough to frighten her to death. I've been up to Kilburn, and she was already in a body bag in the ambulance, cops all over the place, the old priest, Murphy, in tears."

"Jesus, Holley, I don't know anything about that. I swear it."

"Okay, then what do do you know? What did he say about where he would go?" you know? What did he say about where he would go?"

"That was drunken nonsense. He was rambling on about Bolt Hole, and he said there was a full moon tonight and it would be perfect to go for a sail."

"Which is exactly what the drunken fool intends. Now, this is what you're going to do, and if you let me down, I'll kill you."

"Anything, Daniel, I'll do anything."

"I'm going to ring off. You will call him, a.s.sess the situation, and call me. Now, get on with it."

Chekhov was back within five minutes. "He's really tanked up. I asked where he was headed, and he said he already told me. Then he said he had to go now because he had precious cargo in the trunk."

"The stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he's actually gone and lifted her," Holley said.

"What are you going to do?" Chekhov asked. "Give Ferguson a call? Miller and Dillon will go crazy when they find out about this."

"No, I've got to think of me here as well as her. I can only bring them into it by delivering myself into their hands, and I'm d.a.m.ned if I'll do that. I've had enough of prison bars to last a lifetime. I'll just have to handle it alone."

"You're crazy, it isn't your business."

"Oh yes it is, Max. I told you before, it's a woman thing with me. I'll go now. I'll have to hurry, but they tell me a Mini Cooper is built for speed, so we'll see."

At least he knew the way, thanks to the day out with Selim, and there was the Sat Nav to follow. He drove fast but stayed alert. The last thing he needed was a police car to stop him for speeding. He had a good fast run to Guildford and all the way to Chichester, had just pa.s.sed through, when his Codex sounded. He pulled in at a convenient lay-by, turned off his engine, and answered. the way, thanks to the day out with Selim, and there was the Sat Nav to follow. He drove fast but stayed alert. The last thing he needed was a police car to stop him for speeding. He had a good fast run to Guildford and all the way to Chichester, had just pa.s.sed through, when his Codex sounded. He pulled in at a convenient lay-by, turned off his engine, and answered.

"Daniel? Lermov here."

Holley checked his watch and found it was almost ten-thirty. "Where are you? I understood you were getting in at midnight."

"I am," Lermov replied. "I'm calling you from the Falcon. I know everything, including the death of Caitlin Daly."

"You're well informed. Chekhov's been on the phone to you?"

"He knows who his real friends are and not you. You're a loose cannon. I should have realized that."

"The only loose cannon in this whole matter has been your boy wonder, Peter Ivanov. He's responsible for the death of Caitlin Daly because he didn't follow your orders."

"And he'll have to answer for that."

"So what happens to Monica Starling? Obviously, Chekhov must have told you what's going on."

"I've just spoken to Ivanov. It seems they've almost reached their destination. I've ordered him to release her."

"And you think that drunken pig will? He's got to dispose of her, because if she goes free he'll have Charles Ferguson, Miller, and Dillon thirsting for his blood because of what happened to her, and I think you'll find they're not particularly well disposed towards you."

"I'd be very careful where you're taking this, Daniel," Lermov said.

"Ah, Station Gorky awaits, does it? You'll have to catch me first, and I'm still going to Bolt Hole. Peter Ivanov's a dead man."

"Don't be stupid. He knows you're on your way. He'll be expecting you."

"You told him?"

"Chekhov already had."

"I might have known. You're finished, Josef, unless Ivanov puts a bullet in that woman's head and dumps her over the rail of Chekhov's yacht with a few pounds of chains round her ankles. I believe that's what you've told him to do. I, of course, intend to see that he doesn't."

Lermov shouted, "Don't be a fool. He knows you're coming," but Holley cut him off.

He switched off the engine at the narrow approach road leading to the small headland and advanced on foot, keeping to the fringe of trees, taking Selim's Zeiss binoculars with him. There was a single light at the end of the jetty and there was the Mercedes. The canvas stern cover was in place on the yacht, and Monica Starling sat on a folding beach stool, her hands bound behind her. She wore a sweater and slacks, obviously the clothes she'd been wearing when kidnapped, and was facing him so that he could see that her mouth was taped. at the narrow approach road leading to the small headland and advanced on foot, keeping to the fringe of trees, taking Selim's Zeiss binoculars with him. There was a single light at the end of the jetty and there was the Mercedes. The canvas stern cover was in place on the yacht, and Monica Starling sat on a folding beach stool, her hands bound behind her. She wore a sweater and slacks, obviously the clothes she'd been wearing when kidnapped, and was facing him so that he could see that her mouth was taped.

He was standing by a small bench seat, there was a footfall behind him, and something nudged him in the back. Kerimov said in Russian, "We've been waiting, me and my friend, the Makarov. It seemed obvious you'd start off here to see what was going on, so I thought I'd greet you. Get your hands behind your neck or I'll blow your spine away." His roaming left hand found the Walther, which he slipped in his pocket. "Now the ankle holster. Put your foot on the bench." Holley did exactly as he was told, and Kerimov found the Colt and put that in his pocket also.

"Satisfied?" Holley asked, still with his right foot on the bench.

"I will be when you're dead," Kerimov said, and he pushed Holley hard so that he fell over. Kerimov kicked him in the side.

"On your feet, you piece of s.h.i.+t, the boss wants a word before I kill you."

Holley found the flick-knife in his left sock, pulled it out as he got up, turned to face Kerimov, pressing the b.u.t.ton, and the razor-sharp blade sheared up under the chin into the brain. Kerimov went down hard and kicked for a while, and then was still.

Holley recovered his weapons, wiped the knife, and put the Colt back in the ankle holster. He searched Kerimov briefly and found car keys, which he a.s.sumed were for the Mercedes. He started down, the Walther in his left hand. There was no sign of Ivanov. There was a light in the wheelhouse, but it seemed empty. There was soft music playing, a light at the portholes. Perhaps Ivanov was below?

Monica saw him coming and shook her head vigorously, which didn't help at all. He started towards her, a finger to his lips, then took his knife from his right pocket. There was a maniacal laugh behind him, and a bullet caught him squarely in the back and he half turned, and Peter Ivanov was standing up in the wheelhouse.

"Fooled you, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Holley dropped the Walther, and Ivanov shot him in the chest, sending him back over the rail into the water. He went down, surfaced, and kicked out into the darkness while Ivanov was still negotiating the companionway to the deck. Holley pulled his way around to the prow, and, at that point, there were a few stone steps up to the jetty. He freed himself from his raincoat and knelt on the bottom step, listening.

"I've killed the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, did you see that?" Ivanov was obviously addressing Monica, but then he raised his voice and shouted, "Kerimov, where are you?"

Holley pulled the Colt from the ankle holster, was up the steps in a moment. Monica saw him first and couldn't help reacting. Ivanov swung around in alarm, and Holley said, "This is for Caitlin Daly."

He shot Ivanov between the eyes, the hollow-point cartridge imploding in the brain, instant death, as he went back over the rail.

Holley picked his knife up from the deck and cut Monica's bonds. She tore the tape away and gagged. "G.o.d, that hurt. I don't know who the h.e.l.l you are, but I should warn you there's another one." up from the deck and cut Monica's bonds. She tore the tape away and gagged. "G.o.d, that hurt. I don't know who the h.e.l.l you are, but I should warn you there's another one."

"Not anymore. He jumped me up there in the trees. I've taken care of him."

"Permanently?"

"I'd no choice."

"Never mind that. What I'd really like is an explanation. Earlier this evening, I went out to visit a local corner shop in Mayfair when this Mercedes drew up beside me. Before I knew what was happening, they had a bag over my head and forced me into the trunk of the car."

"I should imagine two hours of that must have been h.e.l.l."

"But who are they, where am I, and who are you? Though thank G.o.d for you."

"Your brother is Major Harry Miller, the man in your life is Sean Dillon. Tell them Caitlin Daly is dead, and the man I've just killed was responsible, a GRU captain named Peter Ivanov who worked for Colonel Josef Lermov. They'll know what it's all about, believe me."

"And you?"

"Just call me Daniel." He went to the steps, recovered his raincoat, and found the car keys he'd taken from Kerimov. "I think you'll find these are for the Mercedes. If you're up to it, I'd drive it back to London if I were you."

"But where am I?"

"In West Suss.e.x, a place called Bolt Hole owned by an oligarch named Max Chekhov. The car's his, too. I think you'll find he's not unknown to your people." He took out his Codex. "A good job these things are water resistant. I think you'd better give them a call. They'll be worried. I'm going to get my car."

She was still on the phone when he got back. He took his suitcase with him, went below, dumped his wet clothes, and changed. Both his pa.s.sports had survived the soaking, thanks to their plastic covers, so that was all right. There was a wardrobe with a wide range of clothes. He helped himself to a fawn trench coat and went back on deck. when he got back. He took his suitcase with him, went below, dumped his wet clothes, and changed. Both his pa.s.sports had survived the soaking, thanks to their plastic covers, so that was all right. There was a wardrobe with a wide range of clothes. He helped himself to a fawn trench coat and went back on deck.

She was still on the Codex, paused, and said, "He's here." A moment pa.s.sed, and she held it out to him. "It's Sean Dillon."

Holley took it from her, and said, "She'll be fine."

Dillon said, "Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

"There are days when I'm not too sure myself. A cinema ghost, a friend calls me, though you won't know what that means. I don't know where Kurbsky is, but give him my respects. Ivanov and his sergeant actually gained entrance to Chamber Court earlier and found it empty. There's how close it came."

"So there's nothing more I can say or do?" Dillon asked.

"Yes, there is, actually. Alexander Kurbsky's situation is a big problem that would seem beyond solving. I think I've got a solution, and I'd like you to pa.s.s it on to Blake Johnson."

"And what would it be?"

The telling only took a couple of minutes, and, when he was finished, Dillon laughed. "Do you know something? I think that could very well be an answer. I'll pa.s.s it on."

Holley turned off his Codex. "I'll get moving, and so should you." He pa.s.sed Monica a plastic bag he'd found in the bedroom below. "One Walther, a Colt .25, and a flick-knife. I'd never get through customs with that lot. Give them to Dillon. He'll know what to do with them."

She accepted the bag and held out her hand. "What can I say?"

"Good-bye would seem to be appropriate." He smiled. "You're one tough lady, Monica Starling." He got in the Mini Cooper and drove away.

She stood there, listening as the noise dwindled. Strange, the sense of loss she felt, and she turned, went to the Mercedes, and drove away herself.

Holley left the Mini Cooper in the long-stay car park at Southampton Airport, booked in a hotel overnight, and flew out on an early flight to Paris. Unable to sleep very well, he'd phoned Selim and told him what had happened. in the long-stay car park at Southampton Airport, booked in a hotel overnight, and flew out on an early flight to Paris. Unable to sleep very well, he'd phoned Selim and told him what had happened.

"A terrible business," Selim said. "What do you think Ferguson will do?"

"He's always had a very efficient disposal system. Rather like undertakers, the people he employs pick up the bodies left over from unfortunate incidents such as this. Ivanov and Kerimov will be reduced to a few pounds of gray ash quicker than you can i magine."