A Spy's Life (51 page)

As he kicked off his shoes and removed his own clothes, she began to weave about him, nipping at him with her teeth, clawing him gently, holding him to her to find the tightest fit. She didn’t need to tell him that she loved him or that she had often replayed the way they made love in her mind because everything was as it had been, only more urgent, more serious.

He watched her moving to a climax, lifting her head from the bed and opening her eyes with a look of surprise.

About an hour later the phone in the sitting-room began to ring. Harland awoke and wondered furiously what time it was. He groped for his watch but found he’d left it in the other room and decided not to answer. But the phone went on ringing and after a couple of minutes, by which time he was fully awake, he dragged himself out of bed and went to pick it up.

‘Mr Harland. This is Professor Reeve. I have the information you wanted.’

‘Yes,’ said Harland, and cleared his throat.

‘Well? Do you want it?’ demanded Reeve. ‘After you sent me the report, I went to considerable trouble to get this information for you.’

‘No, no – of course I want it, sir. Let me just get a pen.’ He reached for his coat pocket. ‘Right, I’m with you now.’

‘From the information that you gave me,’ said Reeve briskly, ‘my contact was able to identify the likely location of the massacre site. So write this down – the position is forty degrees and two minutes north, nineteen degrees and thirteen minutes east. Computer models of the local topography confirm that the picture you sent me was taken by someone facing the mountains of the Javor and Javornik ranges. The profile of the mountains that you can see is about twenty-five kilometres north-west of the site.’

‘Thank you,’ said Harland, groping for the maps he had used with Tomas in the hospital. ‘It’ll be useful to be able to pinpoint the place in the report.’ He paused, opened the map and quickly ran his finger to a spot not far from the road that meandered through the mountains.

‘Are you there?’ said Reeve, who had been explaining that his contact was a CIA target-spotter who was familiar with the terrain in the Balkans.

‘I’m with you,’ he said hastily. ‘I was just glancing at the map and wondering whether it would be possible to learn if the grave was known to the authorities in The Hague.’

‘You don’t have to bother,’ snapped Reeve. ‘I’ve already checked on the data base we have. This site is new to us and will be to the people at The Hague. It was what Mr Griswald was undoubtedly working to expose.’

‘Well, I’m most grateful to you. My heartfelt thanks, Professor.’

‘But I haven’t finished. I rang now because this site has suffered some disturbance in the last twenty-four hours. My contact has been doing some research into this area with the usual resources at his disposal. And he noticed in yesterday’s pictures, which are exceptionally clear, that there was earth-moving equipment in the area. There is a two-hour gap between the first set which shows the equipment moving up a road toward the site and the second set which reveals the vehicles gathered round the site.’

‘The evidence is being destroyed,’ said Harland. ‘He’s digging up the bodies.’

‘Precisely. With the harsh weather in those mountains at this time of year, it’s unlikely that anyone would countenance carrying out large-scale construction work. The cold wouldn’t allow it. So that is the only conclusion to draw. Someone should get some photographs of what’s happening on the ground. But they’ll need to get there during daylight tomorrow. It won’t take long for those people to dig up and distribute the remains around the hills and then it will be a very difficult task indeed to prove that anything happened at that place.’

‘I take your point,’ said Harland

‘So, I leave it with you,’ he said. ‘Good hunting, Mr Harland. I’ll send you yesterday’s images. You’ll need them to find the exact spot. Let me know what happens.’ He hung up without saying goodbye.

Harland thought of going back to bed but then he began to look at the map. He could fly to Sarajevo, hire a car and be there by early afternoon. All he would need to buy was a camera – maybe a video recorder too.

It was just five o’clock so he made some tea and returned to Eva who was lying on her side, sound asleep. He sipped the tea while his eyes moved over her face.

Harland’s ears pricked up. Someone was moving on their floor. He put the tea down, crept to the door and peered through. The figure stopped and looked at the open map. As he moved against the glow of London in the window, Harland recognised The Bird’s profile. He called out softly so as not to wake Eva.

‘Hello, old chap. Sorry to wake you so early.’

‘You didn’t. What’s going on?’

‘Only the entire security establishment frothing at the mouth, but don’t let it worry you. I’m sure it’s all in a day’s work for you.’

‘What
are
you talking about?’

‘Radio stations across Europe are spewing out the code again – just one code this time, and the whole bloody lot is being blasted out at the rate of knots. Vigo is named – so too Brother Morsehead and Friend Lapthorne. Did you know they were tied up with Oleg Kochalyin from way back?’

Harland nodded. ‘I guessed.’

‘But you didn’t know that innocent-looking little fucker Morsehead was on his payroll. Apparently Morsehead used to pay Kochalyin. Come the revolution, Kochalyin paid Morsehead. It’s the end for him and his ambitions.’

‘Who’s been translating this stuff for you?’

‘The man you met after the races. The first broadcast came on the dot of midnight. Cheltenham went haywire. He was called in to trace it. Bobby, they’re sure it’s coming from London. Though they haven’t got the exact spot yet. I’ve told him to keep me posted.’

‘And you came to check it wasn’t us?’

‘It did occur to me that you’d rigged up some system here while you were canoodling away with the Bohemian Temptress.’

‘Well, it isn’t me.’

‘What about her?’

‘I don’t know. She’s asleep. I can wake her if you’re worried.’

‘Leave her,’ said The Bird, looking down at the map. ‘What’s this all about?’

Harland told him about Reeve’s call and his decision to leave for Sarajevo that day.

‘So you’re still pursuing this thing?’

‘Yes. In all the fuss everyone forgets that there’s a fucking war criminal walking about doing exactly as he pleases.’

‘Why don’t you let it drop, Bobby? This man is pure poison. You know that better than anyone. You’ll just get yourself killed if you go.’

‘It’s obvious, Cuth. Oleg Kochalyin has affected every part of my life. I want to see him nailed. I’m going to get pictures of that place if it’s the last thing I do.’

‘It will be,’ said The Bird. He examined Harland again. ‘Are you sure the transmissions aren’t your work, Bobby?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then who the hell is responsible?’

There was a noise in the passage leading from the bedroom. Eva appeared, wrapped in a towel. She looked at them in turn.

‘I know what you’re talking about. The answer is Tomas. I gave him help, but he did most of it himself. I told you, Bobby, he’s very clever. It took incredible willpower to do what he has done in the last two days.’

‘But how?’ asked Harland. ‘How could he possibly do it from his hospital bed?’

She sat down on the arm of the sofa. ‘He had stored everything in an electronic archive. The only thing he needed was the virus – but the codes and everything were there, waiting to be used. He learned to use that machine and we worked from there.’ She looked at her watch. ‘There’ll be another one soon. I believe he intends this to be his memorial.’

‘I’ll say,’ said The Bird, missing the point. ‘People aren’t going to forget this in a long time. The only mercy is that Fleet Street’s finest can’t read it on the bloody Internet.’

Eva looked down at the map. ‘Are you going there, Bobby?’ she said.

‘Yes, I’ve just had a call from Washington. The satellite pictures yesterday picked up some activity at the site.’

She was about to say something when the phone rang. The Bird answered and handed it to Harland. A duty sister from the hospital was on the line. Tomas had contracted a case of double pneumonia and was running a high temperature. She said they should get there as soon as possible.

The Bird drove them there in fifteen minutes flat and went inside with them because, as he pointed out, the danger from Kochalyin was now very great indeed. In Tomas’s room they were made to wear surgical masks. There were two nurses, each watching different monitors, and a woman doctor standing by his head. As Harland passed the end of the bed he saw the initials ‘DNR’ – Do Not Resuscitate – written along the top of his medical notes.

Eva made room for herself and sat by his bed, one hand touching his head, the other holding his hand. The nurses kept throwing glances in Eva’s direction, trying to gauge her reaction. The respirator groaned and clicked with its usual rhythm, but from Tomas there came a new noise, a rattle, almost a bubbling sound, from his chest, which the doctor said had been drained but was already refilling with liquid. Harland looked down at his son’s wasted limbs and then at the little knot of concentration in his forehead.

‘He’s exhausted,’ said the doctor. ‘His reserves are very low indeed.’ This was aimed at Eva – a warning that she should expect the worst. ‘The infection took hold late last night. We gave him some powerful antibiotics. But he was obviously in great pain and we have relieved that with diamorphine. The problem is that his defences are down, plus his stomach is reacting badly to the antibiotics.’

Eva took no notice. Her eyes were fastened on the clear plastic mask over his mouth and nose. Harland touched her on the shoulder and said he was going out. He went to find The Bird, who had made himself comfortable by a coffee machine and was absorbed in a nursing journal. He looked up and smiled sympathetically.

‘It’s not good news, is it?’

‘No,’ said Harland leadenly, ‘I’m afraid it isn’t.’

‘Terrible for you, old chap. I’m dreadfully sorry for you both.’

‘Thank you,’ said Harland, for no reason thinking back to the Embankment and the sudden shocking grief he’d experienced while waiting for the ambulances to arrive.

‘Well, at least you won’t be able to hare off to the bloody Balkans,’ he said. ‘No good can come of that.’

‘Yes, but it means that the evidence that Griswald and Tomas wanted to make public will be destroyed. Their work – their sacrifice – will be wasted. That does matter, Cuth.’

The Bird considered this. ‘Look at it this way. They both did a lot to expose the links between Kochalyin and our former colleagues. There’s going to be a dreadful stink when this gets into the system.’

‘Yes, I suppose so, but it doesn’t do anything to get Kochalyin.’

‘But what on earth can you do? Running off to some godforsaken mountainside in Bosnia with your Sureshot camera is not going to help.’

Harland didn’t argue.

Half an hour later, Dr Smith-Canon appeared and said he wanted to speak to Harland and Eva. It wouldn’t take long, but it was important.

They went into his office.

‘I’m not going to beat around the bush with you both,’ he said. ‘The situation is very serious. We might just be able to save him but it’s going to take everything we’ve got and even then we won’t know how long he’ll last.’

Eva nodded dully.

He waited. ‘You do understand what I’m saying?’

She nodded again.

‘We have your son’s wishes on record. You believe those are still his wishes?’

Without speaking she turned to the door. Smith-Canon searched Harland’s face for clarification. He nodded and followed Eva back to Tomas’s room. She settled by Tomas’s side again, and Harland stood behind her, holding her shoulder.

Tomas could feel very little. There was some small part of him that was making decisions and taking things in and communicating these things to the centre of his being. It was like a voice on a bad telephone line, becoming fainter. He knew that he was fading with it. What more was there to say? He was going and soon he would not be having these conversations with himself.

It wasn’t like this the first time. He had no sense of the definite surroundings of the coma. There was no stairway, no damp walls, and no warm place at the bottom where he could rest. But his mind was full of something – tiny firings of light and flickers of memory. They didn’t added up to much and he was tired of them.

One more time. He would open his eyes one more time and see who was there. It was difficult but he managed it, and when he focused he saw that his mother was very close to him. She looked so distraught that he almost didn’t recognise her. He saw Harland too, leaning forward into his field of vision. They were standing together – mother and father. That was good.

She spoke in Czech, which was a relief: he couldn’t handle anything else. She was saying how much she loved him and she wanted him to fight and struggle and beat the illness so they could go home together. She said she knew he could do it. He smiled to himself. She used to say that when he was small – she knew he could do it. But this time he couldn’t. He’d done his best and he was going to have a sleep.

He closed his eyes. Then there was noise in the room. Raised, angry voices. He felt the bed move. What was going on? He couldn’t be bothered to find out. No, he was tired and he was going to have a sleep.

The commotion started in the corridor. Harland heard Smith-Canon and The Bird’s voice rebuking someone. There were other voices. He didn’t turn towards the door because he knew the moment was near. Tomas had opened his eyes and gazed at Eva with pinprick pupils, then shut them with a flutter. The monitor on the other side of the bed had been showing an increasingly irregular heart beat.

A few seconds later the noise spilled into the room. Harland whipped round to see Vigo still in his overcoat march towards the computer stand which had been pushed against the wall. Smith-Canon came in followed by two other men who he realised must be Special Branch officers.

‘Do you hear me?’ hissed Smith-Canon, snatching at Vigo’s sleeve. ‘My patient is dying! You have no right to be here. You must leave now.’