Agent of the State (47 page)

‘Take a closer look and brief me at the rendezvous point,’ said Langton.

‘Stand by,’ puffed Melanie, as the house came to life, ‘and we have more punters arriving. One by taxi, coming right up to the door, two on foot. Looks like the party starts at seven and no one wants to be late.’

Behind Fargo the door opened quietly and he was suddenly aware of Weatherall at his right side. She slipped into the chair marked ‘Gold’ but stayed silent, simply nodding to him. Seconds later Bill Ritchie followed. He was taking a call on his mobile phone, listening intently and scribbling notes as he sat down beside Weatherall.

‘We have an address, ma’am,’ said Fargo.

‘Good work.’

‘With TSG units
en route
, RV point in Old Station Road. Do you need a briefing?’ he asked, as the messages flooded in.

‘Is John Kerr aware?’

‘On the scene, ma’am.’

‘And dealing, presumably,’ she said, folding her arms with a glance at Ritchie. ‘Just tell me what I need to know.’

Fargo was taking another message. ‘Claire Grant on the move, ma’am. Just walked out of the Home Office. No car or driver, off towards Horseferry Road.’ He fired an acknowledgement, then turned to Ritchie. ‘She hailed our black cab, Red Seven. Asked for Waverley Road, which is adjacent to Pentland Crescent.’

There was a tap on the window behind them and Ritchie turned to see Donna in the observation room with Philippa Harrington. The MI5 director-general looked angry as he slipped through the intercommunicating door, but he held out his hand anyway. ‘Philippa, what brings you here?’

‘Why didn’t you notify us of this operation?’ she demanded, gesturing through the glass.

Ritchie had his notepad with him, checking something. ‘Why would you need to know?’

‘I want to see your boss.’

Ritchie perched on the desk and laughed. ‘Don’t bullshit me, Philippa. We’ve known each other too long.’ He glanced at his pad. ‘The lease on the house we’re looking at is assigned to Medlock Estates, which is part of the Rockville Group . . .’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘. . . which is wholly owned by Transcapital. That’s the cover name for the business legends used by the National Crime Agency.’

‘So speak with Theo Canning.’

‘You can have a word with him yourself, if you like.’ He turned to see Weatherall looking for him. She tapped on the glass, ignoring Harrington. ‘He’s about to get arrested.’

Fifty-seven

Thursday, 27 September, 18.58, 154 Pentland Crescent, Chiswick

Karl delivered Olga and Yuri Goschenko dead on time, but tension filled the Mercedes for the entire journey. Olga knew Goschenko was trying to keep things light, but he seemed nervous, as if this was to be his big night. He told Karl to take the rest of the night off, saying he would make ‘other arrangements’ to deliver Olga home safely. ‘So tonight you can have a drink and no one will mind,’ he said, reaching forward to grip his shoulder. Olga wondered whether he was being generous or provocative. From Karl’s hard look at her in the rear-view mirror, it was obvious what he was thinking. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll spend the evening with my family.’

Karl accelerated away without another glance at Olga as soon as he had dropped them outside the house. Goschenko offered her his arm as they walked up the sweeping drive to the double front doors, which made her acutely conscious of Langton’s magic bracelet against his sleeve. She resisted a look back, hoping Kerr and Jack would be watching every move.

The lobby was spacious, as large as a room. The broad staircase lay fifteen paces in front of them, and she saw a room to the left with the door closed. The two Turkish overseers Olga remembered from Marston Street welcomed Goschenko with deference, but ignored her. They were ushered through a set of double doors into the reception room to the right. With its armchairs and sofas removed for the occasion, the square room looked huge, with high ceilings and its original ornate fireplace, cornices and wooden floor. There were two giant chandeliers and the window onto the street, a sweeping bay, was covered with thick, purple velvet curtains.

Faces heavily made up, their bodies fattened up and dressed for sex, three young girls stood mutely by the door with trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne. Olga watched them moving forward in turn to offer canapés and champagne to each arriving guest. Had she first seen them as the pinched, half-starved creatures smuggled across the North Sea in metal containers, she would never have recognised them now.

When they had met in Starbucks, Kerr had told Olga what she needed to know about Theo Canning, and shown her a photograph so that she could identify him. Scanning the room, she counted seven early arrivals, but immediately recognised Canning. He was unmistakable, the life and soul before the party had even begun.

More guests were arriving now, and the room buzzed with laughter and conversation. Another woman, a politician Olga recognised from TV, made a beeline for Canning, who greeted her with a peck. When Olga edged Goschenko alongside, Canning greeted him with a nod but kissed her warmly. She made her body exude warmth and sexual promise, but kept her mind ice cold and calculating. Within stabbing distance of Tania’s murderer, she laughed and sparkled, made him smile at her, and silently vowed he would never leave the house alive.

When Goschenko said he had to speak with the Turks, Olga waited a few seconds, then wove out of the room behind him, intent on reconnoitring the house. The hallway was crowded now, with people arriving all at once. She saw one of the overseers leading Goschenko towards the kitchen at the rear, leaving the heavier man alone by the main doors.

There was a closed door adjacent to the reception room. Beneath the sweeping staircase was a cloakroom with the door ajar. Olga could see a desk and chair squeezed inside with a TV monitor. Sneaking inside, she silently pulled the door shut. When she rotated the monitor, she recognised the face that had smiled from millions of televisions and newspapers over the past five days. Dressed in school uniform, Sara Danbury was sitting on her bed, her face made up to look like a woman’s, looking straight at the camera.

‘Jack, Jack, are you there?’ she murmured into the bracelet.

‘I hear you, Olga.’

‘Sara is here, in one of the rooms upstairs. I am going to find her now.’ Langton said something urgent in reply, but she had already slipped back into the lobby, unnoticed. She wafted up the sweeping staircase as if she was looking for the bathroom, instincts driving her to the deserted landing. The first floor had a bathroom and four empty double bedrooms, all unlocked, so she kept climbing. On the top floor she found herself on another landing, long and narrow, with a couple of storerooms to one side under a sloping ceiling. But then she saw the door at the very end, crudely secured with a mortise lock and three heavy bolts. Jack’s voice was in her earpiece again. ‘Olga. Can you speak?’

‘All right. I am on the top floor and I think I have found her prison cell for you. Now I have to go back to the party this instant or they will be wondering.’

‘I’m outside on the roof. Listen, at the end of the landing is a door.’

‘No, there is nothing,’ she said.

‘Olga, it must be the other end, the opposite end to the cell. It’s bolted, so you have to come and let us in, otherwise it will be too noisy.’

‘I will try.’ Lifting her dress above her knees, Olga raced to the other end of the landing, which had a small wing to the left and a half-glazed door with a lock and three bolts. She could see Jack with Kerr and Melanie crouching outside in the darkness. The second she turned the key and unslid the bolts they slipped inside and, without a word, half carried her back down the landing, their movements smothered by the noise of laughter and excess two floors beneath them.

‘She is here,’ she said, outside the locked door. ‘I saw her on the TV screen with my own eyes. They are going to kill her, I am telling you. Just like they did to Tania.’

‘What’s happening downstairs?’ asked Kerr.

‘Still the champagne.’

‘How many?’

‘Nearly twenty by now. Only one woman. They have girls serving drinks.’

‘What about the man in the photograph I showed you?’ persisted Kerr. ‘Is Theo Canning there, Olga? We didn’t see him arrive.’

‘I cannot be sure,’ she lied, ice cold again.

‘What about Rigov?’

‘No. Definitely not. Something bad is going to happen, I am telling you. These people are bastards, all of them.’

‘Olga, we’re about to move against this place,’ said Kerr. ‘It’s going to get very rough, so you need to get out now. We have another officer on the roof. He’ll lead you to safety.’

As Kerr spoke Olga was already heading for the staircase. ‘No. I stay here in the house. I can let you know what is happening, tell you the best time to break in. But do nothing until I tell you,’ she replied, her mind fixed on Canning. ‘This is your only chance.’

‘Olga, come back. You can’t go down there again,’ said Melanie, but Olga was already out of their reach.

Three stairs down she paused and looked back at the three of them. ‘Everything will be all right. You must stay up here until I say.’

As Olga scampered downstairs, Kerr quietly slid back the bolts while Langton took out his key kit. They could hear whimpering inside the room as Langton dealt with the lock. To avoid appearing on the CCTV they stayed by the door as Sara Danbury stared at them, stupefied.

‘It’s all right, Sara,’ said Melanie quietly, beckoning the child to her. ‘We’re here to take you home. Bring your blanket and come to me.’

‘Please help me,’ she whispered when she reached the doorway, looking up at her.

Melanie wrapped her in the blanket. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe now.’ She lifted Sara in her arms and hurried back down the corridor with Kerr, while Langton resecured the door.

Melanie made it outside to the roof in less than three minutes. The night was cold and Sara seemed paralysed with fear as they edged along a drainage gully to the fire escape. Kerr went first, then Langton, with Melanie and Sara climbing last. On the ground, Melanie picked her up again and raced from the building to the safety of the Alfa. ‘All units, listen up,’ said Kerr, as he drove away, ‘we have Sara Danbury. Taking her to the RVP now. ETA three minutes for a briefing of raider units.’

‘All received,’ came Fargo’s voice in acknowledgement. ‘And Gold is aware.’

Inside the house, Olga knew she had to work quickly if she was to achieve justice before Kerr launched the raid.

Before rejoining the reception she slipped back into the cloakroom and pulled the plug from the TV monitor. She was taking a great risk, for she guessed the screen would be regularly checked. By the time she returned to the party the atmosphere had transformed. Another girl had been introduced into the room, but the canapés were forgotten. It was a scene Olga had witnessed countless times in her professional life. High on champagne and coke, inhibitions gone, the guests would soon be making their choices from the girls before drifting to the bedrooms. She had very little time.

From the other side of the room, Yuri Goschenko was beckoning her. Olga held up five fingers, mouthed something back to him and nodded across the room in the vague direction of Theo Canning. She eased off Langton’s magic bracelet and hid it deep in her bag: for the next few minutes she had words only for one man. She took out a red silk scarf and moved across the room. With a deep smile at the woman standing beside him, she draped the scarf around Canning’s neck. He gazed back at her, mystified.

‘I am directed to entertain you as the special guest of honour,’ she said, leading him away by the scarf, ‘so you must follow.’

‘Starting early tonight,’ he said, with a backward glance at his companion. ‘Shan’t be long.’

With Langton in her ear, Olga took Canning to the first floor and entered the farthest bedroom. There was a kingsize bed with red silk sheets, a nightstand, and a couple of upholstered chairs. Locking the door, she moved in close, playing with the scarf, kissing his neck. She checked out his eyes and traced her hand around his erection. High on cocaine, hard on Viagra, she guessed. She slipped off his jacket and gently eased him backwards onto the bed. ‘Now you must lie down while we make you ready.’

She kept her eyes fixed on his while she took a second scarf from her bag and loosely tied his hands together in a slip knot, a trick of the trade she had picked up early in her escort days, so casually that he scarcely noticed. ‘Tonight I give you something different, yes?’ She smiled, loosening his shirt and trousers, but Canning simply nodded, his eyes wide, breathing rapidly in anticipation. ‘This will be a new treat,’ she said, loosely hanging the tied scarf over the iron headboard, ‘beyond your wildest dreams.’

As Canning twisted his neck Olga suddenly reached over and pulled both ends of the scarf, jerking the knot tight and lifting his arms above him. Canning signalled alarm, but Olga was still smiling down on him, relaxed and reassuring. ‘Just another moment. Be absolutely still.’

She casually unbuckled the belt, pulled down his trousers and then, in one practised move, secured it tightly around his ankles. Canning had no time to react and she saw fear in his eyes. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he demanded.