66 Metres (29 page)

Adamson sighed. He stared at his other phone, the Blackberry, lying on the bed. Two missed calls from the Office, separated by an hour. If he missed the next one, that would seal it. They'd assume he was compromised or rogue. Either way they'd send someone to bring him in, with a silencer, just in case.

He wanted to call Sandy, but by now her phone would be tapped. Jorgenson knew that too, he was no idiot. Right now the less Sandy knew, the better. And the MI6 attack… The other buyer had some balls, and a lot of muscle to pull that off. He had to move quickly.
Fuck the weather
.

He dialled another number. ‘Charlie? Yeah… I'm fully aware what time it is.' He let Charlie utter some profanities, then cut in. ‘We need to go as soon as possible.' More swearing. ‘Double or nothing.' This time a pause, but a good one. ‘Look for the first half in your account in ten minutes.' He heard Charlie talking to the other guy, Buzz or Bud, Adamson couldn't remember and didn't care. He caught snatches of the guy's complaints: ‘It's dark, for Christ's sake… the viz will be shit… yeah I know the storm's calming down, but it's still Force Five out there…' Adamson waited. Whinging morphed into grudging acceptance. ‘Double? I don't know… I suppose… but only in daylight.'

Charlie came back online. ‘Dawn. Six a.m. Bring waterproofs. Wire the money like you said, or you can dive the wreck yourself.'

Adamson knew how to close a deal. No pauses. Absolute confidence. Like it would be a pleasure dive. ‘I'll be there.' Adamson clicked off the connection. He hadn't counted on being on the boat. He was a field operative, sure, but he hated boats, especially in rough weather.

Too bad.

The Blackberry rang. The Office. He stared at it, contemplating his twenty-five years of service for the CIA, the good times back in the early years, the bad times that had burgeoned in the last ten. He counted the phone rings. It would click to answerphone on the eighth. At two he picked up the phone. His thumb hovered over the answer button. There was still time to turn back, just. Already things weren't going to plan.
Third ring
. If things went any more wrong he could end up dead. Could he really turn back now?
Fourth ring
. He could say he was doing a sting operation, luring in the Colombians, but actually trying to manoeuvre it into US hands. He'd have to kill Danton, but that was on the cards anyway.
Fifth ring
. But what then? Go back to work, keep his head down until retirement in Burbville, buy a crummy condo on the coast, and watch the pennies here and there?
Sixth ring
. He had that same gnawing in his guts he felt too often at work, slowly dying of boredom and tired of being looked over in favour of younger talent, balls prized over experience.
Seventh ring
. He tossed it on the bed.
Screw you all
.
Eighth ring
. It clicked to voicemail. It was done. They didn't know for sure that he was double-crossing them. For all they knew, the Russian leak was false, and he'd been abducted or killed. They wouldn't move on Sandy. Not yet. By the time they did, she'd be gone.

Feeling better, he prepared for the boat trip, just a medium-sized waterproof bag so he could head across to Ireland afterwards – one of the local skippers would take him there, or at least up to Wales where he could grab the ferry. He picked up his Smith & Wesson, checked it, then found his small sheath knife and strapped it above his right ankle.

Logging on to his tablet, he booked a ferry ticket to the mainland, and a one-way flight from Heathrow to Jo'burg, neither of which he would take, then checked the Dublin ferry timetable. He wired the money to Charlie's Swiss account. It was almost all of his advance from the Colombian cartel. No matter. Soon he'd have more than he'd know what to do with. Last, he sent an encrypted message to his Colombian contact:
Package secured
.
Will meet in Bogota as planned.

One more thing: let no bad deed go unpunished. Like most high-level CIA operatives who'd lived long enough, Adamson had a mirror, someone on the Russian side, an agent in the Kremlin, who was his counter-part. He'd actually met him once at a function in St. Petersburg. Occasionally, one side would contact their mirror, and leak information. It could be real, could be shadow-boxing, or could be simply a way to avoid something escalating when formal diplomatic channels were blocked by media-fuelled posturing. This time, it was personal. Adamson sent him a direct message.

Kadinsky has the Rose. If he's not dealing with you, maybe the Chinese?

There. That would give Kadinsky something to think about.

Adamson leaned back in the armchair. Now he had some time to kill. He'd love a massage but that little bitch Nadia had ruined them for him, and a drink was out of the question. Instead, he called up photos of his family on holiday in Bora Bora the year before, and watched the videos of little Arnie skimming stones at the water's edge, Sandy coquettish in her sarong.

Happy times.

***

Nadia left them to it and retreated to her room – her presence wasn't helping. Elise had wanted to go straight to the police. There had been a screaming match inside Elise's room when Fi found out Elise had been abducted, and she didn't yet know the half of it. Nadia hadn't said anything, just looked in Elise's direction once or twice. Elise would be smart enough to know what would happen to Nadia, that she'd be arrested. She also knew for sure that Nadia had risked her life to save her. And Elise had fired the shot that killed Danton. But ice cold logic usually arrived later rather than sooner.

The rain finally stopped spattering the skylight, and the wind died down. Nadia was emotionally drained but needed to think things through. Five days since the heist. Danton was dead, but Adamson and his SEALs were still out there. The attack on MI6 and the storm would hold people at bay a little longer, but it wouldn't be long before helicopters and Navy patrol boats barrelled their way towards these sleepy isles.

Jake had said thirty-six hours before MI6 was operational again. That ended at nine am, in six hours' time. But at first light somebody – Fi or Elise – would call the police. Nadia's window to get the Rose was closing.

She wrapped her jacket around her. It wasn't that cold, but it was very late, or very early, and her body temperature was dropping. Her best case scenario right now was that Jake would help her find the Rose, then hand it over to the British authorities. Katya would die, and it had all been for nothing, the past five years merely a stay of execution. In which case she should have stayed put in Lubyanka jail.

Her phone pinged.
Kadinsky.
She'd been waiting for it. She'd exceeded her seventy-two hours. Her thumb hovered above the message, not wanting to open it. But she touched it, and a video screen opened, black at first, and then it played.

Katya looked like hell. Her lips trembled. She was trying not to cry. Someone in the background bellowed something at her, making her flinch. Nadia stood up, eyes glued to the small screen, holding her breath. Katya did the routine. Stroked the almost invisible scar on her temple, uttered the phrase ‘Still alive.' But her left forefinger was missing. All that remained was a bloody stump. Katya mouthed ‘sorry.' Tears slid down her cheek. The video blanked.

The phone slipped from Nadia's hand and fell to the floor. She stood there, her own breath suddenly roaring in her ears. She wanted to kill Kadinsky, put all her remaining bullets into his fat skull. But he wasn't there. She couldn't get to him. Katya's face was all Nadia could see. Nadia lifted her left hand to her chin, opened her mouth, and put her forefinger inside. Closing her eyes, she bit down hard, then harder, unleashing an anguished cry, venting all her frustration on her own body. She bit down till she tasted blood. Then she dropped to her knees, shivering with cold rage.

The Beretta lay on the bed. The only thing she had from her father. She'd always defended him. But now… She spoke to it, as if it was him.

‘Why? Why did you leave us? You left three women behind. How could you? What was so important that you deserted us?'

She sounded like her mother.

The phone beeped. A text message.

Next time her neck

Nadia crawled over to the bed, propped her back against the mattress. She had to get the Rose. Not with Jake. Ben, maybe, although she'd told him not to go there. She'd dive the Tsuba with him, or by herself. Whatever. The time for being prudent was over. She imagined her sister's corpse, her beautiful head at an ugly, twisted angle… She got to her feet, went to the sink, ran her finger under the cold tap, wrapped a hankie around it and pulled it into a tight knot. She gathered her stuff, chucked all her dive gear into her bag, and checked the magazine in her Beretta. One last glance around the room. Empty. Like she'd never been there.

She took the stairs two at a time. At the bottom she met Jake, a dive-kit bag by his feet, one hand on the bannister, blocking her path. She made to push through but he held firm.

‘Where are you going?' he asked.

‘You know where I'm going. Move or I'll break your arm.'

Jake stood his ground. ‘I'm coming with you.'

Her anger boiled over. ‘The hell you are.'

He looked at her hand. Blood seeped through the crude bandage. ‘What happened?'

‘You punched your own face, remember? My turn.'

He grabbed her wrist. ‘Is Katya still –'

‘For another few hours. Now, move your arm. I mean it.'

He removed his hand. ‘We'll help you find the Rose and get Katya back.'

‘I don't need your help.' She was almost at the door.

Jake's voice grew a sharp edge. ‘Do you really think this is going to save her? You find it, you hand it over, he kills you both?'

She opened the door. Her chest heaved. ‘Or you help me find it, Jake, then you give it to MI6 and Katya and I both die anyway.'

His voice softened. ‘I won't. I promise.'

She whirled back to him. ‘Promise on Sean's soul.' The words, fuelled by anger, poured out of her mouth. ‘If you betray me swear that he'll go to hell, where Danton and Janssen will be waiting for him.'

Jake stepped back, almost stumbled on the stair behind him. He gaped at her as if seeing something for the first time. Then his brow flattened. ‘I promise… on Sean's soul. And on my life. I will save you and Katya.'

Nadia was shaking. What had she just said, sounding like her mother, of all people? But she had to be sure of Jake. And now she was. She tried to regain her composure.

‘Do you have a plan?' she asked.

‘I do. But I need your phone.'

She hesitated, then handed it to him. ‘When do we dive the Tsuba?'

‘As soon as you send this text.' He began tapping with his thumbs. She noticed he wasn't very good at it.

‘But it's dark. The storm…'

‘We have torches. The storm has died down.' He looked up. ‘Better we arrive before anyone else does.' He went back to typing. ‘Claus and Gary are coming, Pete will be skipper.' He held up a hand without looking at her. ‘They volunteered. Claus and Gary have military training – nothing like you of course.'

She'd expected his voice to be laced with bitterness. It wasn't.

‘They could be killed,' she said.

He stopped typing, met her eyes. ‘They interrogated me after we brought Elise back, asked what the fuck was going on. So I told them.'

‘About the Rose?'

‘About a small but credible threat to the UK. One that would eclipse 9/11 by a long way.'

‘Your outlier theory.'

‘I hope I'm wrong, Nadia.' He handed the phone back to her. ‘Anyway, it's not up for negotiation. We need someone up on top while we're down below, someone to watch our backs.'

She looked at the text. Read it twice.

I'll have the Rose by 9am. I'll trade it for Katya. Here.

Not bad. Why the hell not… She hit
send
.

She wanted to apologise to Jake. In fact she wanted to do more. Instead she picked up her bag. ‘Let's go.'

As she headed for the door, her phone pinged, and she glanced at the text message from Kadinsky.

Already on our way. Mess up and I'll gut her myself

‘What is it?' Jake asked.

‘Your text worked,' she answered, and headed out.

Jake was silent on the way to Pete's shack, their footsteps on the cobbles the only sound as they trudged along the harbour wall. At one point, just as she saw the silhouette of the largest homeless person she'd ever seen, Jake distracted her by telling her something.

‘Elise called Ben. Told him everything. Then he asked to speak to me. He offered to help get you to the mainland if need be.'

Nadia wasn't sure about Ben's motive. And the offer only served to ratchet up her guilt. These people were risking their lives to help her, when they barely knew her. Most likely they were doing it for Jake. Still, if it had been as simple as stealing a boat and diving to find the Rose on her own, she'd have done it days ago, and not involved anyone else. But sixty-six metres, in open water… she just hoped they could retrieve it before Adamson and his spear-gun buddies headed out.

Jake cleared his throat. ‘There's a small price tag.'

Of course. Had to be.

‘Ben said you have to take the rap for killing Danton. Elise will deny it, say it was you.'

Nadia considered it. She had been about to kill Danton, after all. And she'd shot Janssen, though not the fatal bullet. Facing a jury, what would they see when they looked into her eyes?

‘Deal,' she said. ‘When will Elise call the police about the … abduction?'

‘First thing.'

She gazed outwards. The sea had calmed down, but there would be big swells out there, and if the wind came up again it could get tricky.

They arrived at the dive shack, a small light inside, and Pete came out. Claus and Gary were already there, the boat loaded up with tanks. Pete gave Jake a firm handshake, and nodded curtly to Nadia.