66 Metres (37 page)

Katya gripped Nadia's hand under the smooth oak table separating them all, her eyes gravitating to the burly giant opposite. Two more of Kadinsky's men faced Nadia and Katya: Slick, who was still large but had hollowed out, adding a hungry, wolfish look to his already darkly threatening features, and a fit, balding man with dark rings framing bloodshot eyes. The latter looked as if he hadn't slept, and almost nodded off, until Slick elbowed him in the ribs. They must have been travelling through the night, the knackered-looking one had obviously been the pilot. Katya said they flew in a rented Lear to Bristol, then a chopper had brought them to the island.

The boat was underway, gently rocking from side to side, four more crew upstairs, the cupboards on the upper deck stacked with sub-machine guns and a box of grenades. Nadia had no idea where they were going, but they were tooled-up for serious business. The waves were long and smooth, so they were well out to sea, heading for the open ocean. Away from Jake, MI6 and any help whatsoever.

Slick, eyes sharp as a falcon, stared at Nadia like she was prey, clearly miffed that Lazarus had kept her alive. Meanwhile, the pilot gazed at the doorway to the main deck. No one spoke, everyone waiting for the Boss to come down. Katya had said very little, not letting Nadia know what was going on, not giving Slick any excuse to pistol-whip her across the jaw with his Glock. Lazarus glanced at Slick occasionally out of the corner of his eye. Nadia wondered how fast Katya's latest boyfriend could move.

She checked her sister's Rolex, and flinched one more time on account of the small bandage covering the stump where her sister's forefinger should have been.
9:35
. Jake should be in the hyperbaric chamber on the other side of St Mary's by now. Ben would either be… No, little chance of an ‘either'.

Katya winced. Nadia had been squeezing her hand hard. ‘
Prosti
,' Nadia said, massaging her sister's hand.

‘We're together,' Katya whispered, then gave her what must have been the tenth hug since they'd met. Nadia relished the contact after a year apart. But what had been the point of everything if they both got killed on this boat? Lazarus had little sway here. The Rose had been delivered. It sat right there in front of them, cleaned up and shiny, pulsing its sad little red diode.

A sledgehammer would do it wonders.

Either cops, the SAS or the Royal Navy would be breathing down their necks by now if they'd headed back to the Scillies. Elise would have gone to the police station, and there were corpses in the water. The coastguard would have alerted a Navy patrol boat. But MI6 was barely operational, and it was eerily quiet aside from the soft purr of the engine and the swishing of water split by the boat's prow. They could easily be in open ocean by now, hard to find. Once again, she was on her own. She tried to think of a way out, but it was difficult, and she had a feeling she was likely to leave this boat with a length of chain around her ankles. The only wild card was Lazarus. But he was outnumbered, and Slick had relinquished him of his weapon earlier.

The door to the upper deck swung open. Kadinsky thundered down the steps, bald, pot-bellied bastard that he was, gold jewellery draped from his fat neck and pudgy, powerful wrists. But his aura of confidence was gone. He looked edgy, his hands twitching, damp patches on his silk shirt under his armpits. Well outside his comfort zone. Which meant he was more dangerous than usual. He wasted no time. He planted his fists on the table, and his bulbous nose loomed close to Nadia's face.

‘Do you know why you're still alive, girl, after you sent me that jumped-up little text?'

Nadia didn't back away a millimetre. She shook her head.

He stayed in her face, his features creased like an angry gorilla, eyes full of contempt.

‘The buyer wants to ask you some questions.' He said it as if it was ridiculous. He moved back, swore, then lunged at her. His fleshy paw locked around her throat as he shoved the back of her head hard against the window. He squeezed, cut off her air supply. Her hands grabbed his wrist but he was strong. Katya pleaded with him. No one else moved or uttered a word.

‘Bah!' He let go.

She clutched at her windpipe, knowing there would be ugly bruises there tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow. She sucked air into her lungs, the first breath like discordant bagpipes.

‘The sooner this is over, the better,' he said, and headed back upstairs. ‘We're here. Bring her,' he shouted behind him, and Slick wasted no time in seizing her wrist and hauling her up the steps onto the main deck.

When she arrived topside she was taken aback. A huge cargo ship towered above them, its rust-coloured sides rising twenty metres to the deck, containers stacked four high at the front of the two-hundred-metre long vessel. Rock steady in the water, despite relentless waves and a constant, keen breeze. As the motor yacht pulled alongside a set of metal steps, she caught a glimpse of massive Chinese writing at the prow, and as they reached the main deck, sure enough there were Chinese sailors, some of them armed with Uzis. She counted four of the sub-machine guns, and they were only the ones she could see.

What was Kadinsky thinking?

They were ushered up several more flights of steps into the main bridge tower, a squat white block five storeys high. They entered a plush room that seemed to be a larger version of the motor yacht's lounge they'd just left. She'd travelled on one or two ships like this before, and recalled the ever-present hum and vibration of the engines, that constant aroma of oil and seawater. Usually space was a premium on cargo ships, luxuries minimal. But this room was different, like an airline business lounge. The centrepiece was a large oval coffee table made entirely of glass that had been shattered, like a broken windscreen, and then made smooth again. On the rear wall was a Dali, liquefied clocks dripping away time. Someone had taste, and serious money.

Facing front was a bay window that covered almost the full width of the room. Beyond lay the tall white foremast, then the stacks of different coloured containers. She wondered what was in them, then decided it was best not to know. The containers weren't flush, dark gaps between their corrugated metal sides. Perfect hiding holes for a sniper. From such a vantage point it would be easy to target anyone in this room. Like shooting fish in an aquarium. There was one blind spot, near the door, and maybe if she lay flat on the floor. But only her and Katya, maybe the pilot. The others were too large. A sniper would pick them off easily.

None of the sailors followed them into the room. But a tall slim man entered from a door at the back. He also looked Chinese, late forties, silver-rimmed spectacles, smart dark grey suit, collar-less shirt open at the neck, shiny black hair turning to grey around the ears. Businessman? Mafia? Government? Hard to tell. What struck her was that he was alone, no henchmen, and yet he had a quiet confidence. He moved forward and sat in a large cream leather armchair with his back to the window. His chair was more luxurious, and set slightly higher than the others that faced his, behind the table.

A throne.

He took in everyone around the room, gave them one by one a frozen smile betraying nothing. For once she gained as much attention as her sister, which was the same as Slick and the pilot, for that matter. The odd thing was that he didn't look at Lazarus, as if he wasn't there. No, as if he already knew Lazarus. Had they met? Whoever he was, he reeked of professionalism and discipline. It occurred to her that such people were rarely tolerant of others' sloppiness. No wonder Kadinsky was nervous.

No bodyguard seemed crazy, though, walking into this den of killers. Neither Kadinsky nor his men had been searched. Maybe this was real power. No one was going to mess with him. But Kadinsky was agitated like she'd never seen him. A bead of sweat clung to his left temple, and his eyes darted around the table. She soaked up his predicament, happy to watch him get a taste of his own.

Kadinsky placed the Rose on the tinted glass coffee table between them all. ‘As promised,' he said.

The buyer didn't reach for it. Instead he pulled out a silver case from his suit jacket and opened it, revealing a line of filter-less cigarettes. He extracted one, lit it with a matching silver lighter, inhaled, then exhaled smoothly. When he finally spoke, he did so incredibly slowly, enunciating every word, every syllable.

‘I wish to ask the girl some questions. We do not need so many people here. I am alone, and unarmed.'

Kadinsky's eyes shifted this way and that, then he blurted to Slick and the pilot. ‘You two take Katya back to the boat, and put on some decent coffee.'

Nadia made sure she didn't react. ‘Put on some decent coffee' was code for
break out the heavy weapons
. Kadinsky wasn't taking any chances after all. She watched Katya disappear with Slick.

When they were gone, Kadinsky added, ‘Lazarus, I believe you and Mr Cheng Yi have met before.'

Lazarus grunted, but said nothing. She watched the big man's eyes. They'd been shut again a minute ago, and she'd seen his hands go rigid, shaking slightly. He was in intense pain. But right now he was staring out the bay window, searching. Which meant he also believed there was a sniper. And the chairs in the room were arranged so that Nadia and Lazarus were to Cheng Yi's right, Kadinsky to his left. A sniper would have direct line of fire. Three shots. Two seconds. High velocity bullets might not even shatter the glass.

With the others gone, Cheng Yi got up to inspect the merchandise. Swapping his cigarette to his left hand, he pulled a small black contraption from his jacket pocket and plugged a cable into a tiny slot in the Rose. After a minute he unplugged it, and returned to his throne.

‘It does appear to be genuine.'

‘The money transfer, then, as agreed,' Kadinsky said, not hiding his irritation at for once not being the top dog in the room.

Cheng Yi held up his hand. ‘First, questions.' He turned to Nadia, reached into an inner pocket and pulled out two photographs. He slid the first one across the table in her direction.

She picked it up.
Her and Jake on a RIB, heading out to sea
. The image was grainy, so it had been taken using a powerful zoom lens.

‘Who is this man?' Cheng Yi asked.

She glanced at Kadinsky, who was glaring hard with a look she'd seen before, willing her not to piss on the deal. She wondered what the best course of action was. Truth, she decided. Cheng Yi didn't seem to be the type you messed around with. Besides, he'd not shown her the second photo.

‘His name is Jake Saunders. Used to be MI6. He helped me retrieve the Rose.'

Cheng Yi gave her a poker stare, then slid the second photo across the table. It was an attractive woman with Jake, on a boat. It looked familiar, and then she recognised it as the
Mirage
, the boat on the Thames where she'd come out of the water with the Rose to meet Sammy, less than a week ago.

‘I don't know her,' she replied.

‘MI6,' Cheng Yi said. ‘I need to know what they know.'

‘No idea,' Nadia replied.

‘So you say,' Cheng Yi said, staring at the Rose. ‘But my client needs to be sure.'

Kadinsky butted in. ‘But
you
are the client,' he said.

Cheng Yi waved his cigarette hand. ‘I am the buyer. I am not the client.' He turned to Lazarus. ‘Hold her.'

Nadia made to move, but Lazarus surprised her with his speed. She found herself clamped inside two giant hands.

Cheng Yi turned back to Kadinsky. ‘I understand the other one is her sister.'

Nadia tensed, but she was trapped inside a vice, her arms pinned to her sides.

He spoke to Kadinsky again. ‘If she does not answer me fully, please kill the sister.'

‘With pleasure,' Kadinsky answered. He sneered at Nadia, back in his comfort zone. ‘I planned to make the boat lighter for the return journey in any case.'

Nadia squirmed. Lazarus leaned close to her ear, uttered some Russian profanities, then whispered a single word.
Wait
. She stopped struggling. The vice eased off.

Cheng Yi tapped at his cigarette and flicked ash onto the parquet. ‘Who do they suspect? What do they think is the target?'

‘They don't know who was behind the cyber-attack,' she answered. ‘Best guess Chinese government, second best guess, Russian.'

Cheng Yi seemed disappointed, more interested in the coils of smoke.

She recalled Jake's outlier theory. ‘You're not representing any government are you?' Then the other part of the mystery slotted into place. ‘The cyber-attack on MI6. It wasn't a distraction, or a delaying tactic, or even a show of force, was it? It destroyed information. Something MI6 didn't even know they had. Pieces of the puzzle they hadn't put together yet. The identity of your client.'

Kadinsky was unhappy again, glancing between her and Cheng Yi as if it was a tennis match.

But Jake had said something else, back in that beachside cafe. She watched Cheng Yi carefully. ‘London,' she said. ‘Jake thinks London will be the target.'

Cheng Yi inhaled deeply, making the cigarette's end flare red. Then a long exhale through pursed lips. Through the coils of smoke he met her eyes, and she saw the awful truth. Jake had been right. This wasn't about leverage. The client, whoever they were, meant to
use
the Rose.

Cheng Yi didn't respond, except via a wan smile across his pale lips.

She turned to Kadinsky. ‘Ka –' She dipped her head, then raised it again. ‘Pyotr Aleksandrovich,' she said, using Kadinsky's patronymic for the first time ever, forcing some respect into her tone, trying to get his attention. ‘Whoever Cheng Yi is representing, they mean to use it.'

She watched Kadinsky's eyes flicker. He was probably deciding how to react, wondering whether she could be telling the truth, but also fighting his natural instinct to kill her there and then for spoiling the moment.