The Traitor's Story (12 page)

“Why are you doing this?”

“I have reasons. Why does anyone do it? Why does Perry?”

Karasek didn’t answer, but he was focusing on the details now. “You mention three or four people, but what about on the ship?”

“The guys on the ship won’t be armed, but here’s the really good thing—you can wait until the ship leaves if you like. See, they won’t hang around because they don’t want the authorities in St. Petersburg to know they stopped somewhere.”

“When?”

“Probably late Friday. You should have your people ready from Thursday onward.”

Karasek thought about it, probably realizing there was a drive involved, imagining the various places along the Baltic coast where a ship could be docked without anyone knowing about it, maybe even finding his way mentally to Kaliningrad.

He stared at Finn then, his eyes flitting about as if he was wired on something.

“A quarter of a million dollars—you could have asked me for that just for the girl.”

“True, but you’re putting things the wrong way around. I don’t care if a ton of cocaine goes up the collective noses of you and your class, so it’s a good payoff for me. I’m reluctant to give you the girl, and frankly I think you’re sick in the head, but I see it’s a way of guaranteeing my safety, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”

Karasek produced a brief contemptuous laugh, more high-pitched than he probably would have liked, and said, “That’s typical of you English—so principled, so full of morals, but you’re happy to turn blind if it’s good for you. Anyway, I told you, it’s not what you think.”

“What really concerns me, Mr. Karasek, is the possibility of it being worse than what I think, but you’re right. If we conclude this business successfully, I will turn a blind eye.”

“Then we have a deal. When will I hear more from you?”

“Monday or Tuesday. I’ll call in to get an update on the photograph. I won’t have anything before then anyway.”

Karasek stood, and Finn followed suit.

“And, if you please, some evidence. For my own peace of mind, so I know this isn’t some sting operation.”

“Evidence shouldn’t reassure you of that—we can fake the evidence—but sure, I’ll print up the emails and bring them along.” Karasek had walked around the table but Finn didn’t move, close to him now and staring into his eyes as he said, “You have to believe in me—not always, but as far as this is concerned. If you don’t, then you’d be a fool to go through with it, and like I said, you’re no fool. So if you don’t believe me, just walk away.”

Karasek smiled, superior again as he said, “Relax, Mr. Harrington, all I want is accurate information.”

“I’ll leave through the club. If anyone’s watching they might think it suspicious, me leaving by the side door.”

The body was gone from the green room and so had most of the men. One was mopping the floor, another was sitting at a different table playing solitaire. He looked up at Karasek and shrugged, dismissing the earlier bloodshed as one of those things, which Finn guessed it was for people working for Karasek.

He left through the club and was surprised to find himself emerging into daylight, his mind tricked after being in that resolutely nocturnal atmosphere. And as the winter sunlight hit his skin he felt nauseous, not because of the tightrope he’d just walked on Louisa’s behalf, but because in some intangible way he felt his own aims for the week ahead had slipped further away from him—and with them, Katerina’s safety.

Chapter Fifteen

Winter still had a hold on Uppsala. There was snow on the ground and a fierceness in the air. It reminded him of his former career more than the winters in Switzerland did, perhaps simply because he knew he was back in the north again for the first time in six years.

That in turn made him think of Harry Simons, a name which had been a certainty all this time, and one of his biggest sources of regret, but which was now causing more confusion than anything else that had happened these last few days. It was a simple enough question, whether Harry was dead or alive, but neither answer made complete sense.

Harry had died in Kaliningrad—he’d been told that as a fact, by more than one person, including Louisa Whitman. But if Harry was dead, how had they heard about Jerry de Borg? Had Finn and Harry been under surveillance by their own people long before Sparrowhawk? It didn’t seem feasible, not from what he remembered of the events and meetings and conversations that had preceded the operation.

So maybe Harry had survived, a fact they’d kept from Finn for whatever reason. But, no, he couldn’t have lived. Harry was the only other person who knew about Jerry de Borg, but he also knew that there could never be anything imperative about identifying him—with some relief, Finn realized Harry couldn’t be part of this, even if he was still alive.

He reached the river, the water wild and dark below. He’d glimpsed the cathedral a few times, but seeing it now, rising up above him, somehow made the whole town feel familiar. He knew he hadn’t been to Uppsala before, and wondered if it reminded him of somewhere else in the Baltic. Maybe he’d just seen it in a Bergman film.

He crossed the bridge and found his way to Domtrappkällaren, a salmon-pink building that was under the cathedral as much as it was beside it. The snow was banked up against the railings at the front, with only the steps to the door cleared.

The lights were on inside, and now that the sun was low and the afternoon was fading, the snow developed a blue tinge in the shadows and the temperature seemed to drop another couple of notches. He stepped inside. There was no one in the small reception area, so he walked through into the white-domed cellar of the dining room, where even this late in the afternoon there were still people eating.

A waiter was standing chatting with the people on one table, but he saw Finn and left them, smiling and talking as he came over.

Finn said, “Hi, I was wondering if I could book a table for tonight.”

“Sure,” said the waiter, slipping seamlessly into English. “We’re pretty busy tonight, but if you can be flexible . . . How many people is it for?”

They had made their way back to the reception desk and Finn said, “Just one. I’m here on business and had this place recommended.”

“Yes, it’s very good.” The waiter smiled then, saying, “One person is good, too—what time?”

“Eight o’clock?”

“That’s not a problem. Your name?”

“Harrington.”

He scribbled it down and said, “We’ll see you at eight o’clock.”

“Good. And if I could, a table back in the corner.” He pointed through the arch, spotting a place that had a good view over the dining room whilst allowing him to blend into the background.

“Of course.”

“Okay, thanks.” Finn turned and headed to the door, and the waiter looked set to walk back into the dining room. But then Finn said, “Oh, one more thing. You might be able to help me.” The waiter stopped and turned, though he didn’t look inclined to continue the conversation. “I was just curious. I see all these students about, but there doesn’t seem to be a campus as such—where do they all live?”

“Most of them live in Student Town.” The waiter caught Finn’s quizzical expression and added, “You were probably at Ekonomikum—if you keep going in that direction you’ll come to Student Town.”

“Thanks.” Finn thought of adding something to make his inquiry sound less suspicious, but it was obvious the waiter didn’t care, so Finn smiled and left.

The sun had gone even from the upper reaches of the buildings now, and a sharp wind kicked along the street. Finn walked quickly, up to the cathedral, making his way around to the entrance. It was warm inside, and he immediately felt at peace in there.

Again, he was surprised that even this late in the afternoon and at this time of year there were still a few tourists wandering around, some of them taking pictures—it was one of his pet hates, each camera flash like a little piece of carelessness.

He sat for a while, a few pews behind a middle-aged woman who appeared deep in prayer. Religion fared badly in so much of the history he wrote about, and yet he was constantly surprised by how much solace he gained from places of worship. It wasn’t redemptive, nothing to do with conscience—more the strange sense of meaningful emptiness he found in these places, a quality that allowed him to disappear effortlessly.

The woman stood up and left, nodding to him as she passed, as if sensing a fellow pilgrim rather than just another trigger-happy tourist. He stood himself, and walked around the cathedral, stopping to look at the tomb of Gustav Vasa and two of his wives.

He left then, finding night had set in while he’d been in the cathedral, though now that the darkness above was total, the combination of lights and snow gave the city a picturesque, illuminated look. He would come back here, when he was finished with the Cathars—if he ever finished with the Cathars.

He’d avoided writing about the north until now, wanting in some way to keep his past at bay. But that past had followed him to Switzerland, and now he was drawn to Vasa and all the other stories he’d been ignoring unnecessarily, as if the ghost had been exorcised by coming here.

He asked for directions to the Ekonomikum, and once he was there he stopped a couple of young female students and asked them for directions to Student Town. They pointed the way for him, and as he walked he noticed he was part of a small migration, students with ruddy faces, more vigorously wrapped up against the cold than he was, most of them wearing gloves and woolen hats. A couple of times he saw a hat bobbing along that reminded him of Jonas, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Apart from the snow, the accommodation blocks could have been part of any university, anywhere in the world. He looked at the lights appearing in windows, people here and there sitting at their desks or moving about their rooms, preparing for the evening ahead, some of them perhaps preparing for the meal at Domtrappkällaren.

He guessed the blocks would have some sort of security to prevent strangers getting in. He didn’t want to check—there were plenty of students moving about in the shadows as they headed back to their rooms, and he didn’t want to stand out any more than he probably already did.

But if Anders Tilberg was in one of those blocks, then Finn’s original thought, which had been to pay him and Hailey a visit first thing in the morning, might not be practical. He’d probably have to intercept them between leaving the restaurant and arriving back here, a simple plan that would leave him with a big headache—what did he do with Hailey overnight?

He’d deal with that when the time came, he supposed, but he thought of her now and appreciated how exciting it all probably
seemed, to be immersed in this student world. She was probably
a little nervous, too, that she might be out of her depth, that she’d be found out, but this would be a story she’d tell for years to come, how she once ran away and lived for a while with a boy at Uppsala University.

She was out there right now, perhaps in one of the blocks in front of him, perhaps elsewhere in the city, living life. And though she was living life a few years too early, and though he disliked the way she’d treated her parents and Jonas, in some way he envied her, for doing what he had neglected to do for too many years.

Chapter Sixteen

It was eight fifteen by the time Finn got back to the restaurant, but he could see immediately that Hailey’s party wasn’t there yet. On the other hand, although there were a few tables empty, they were all set for four people, not the large student party he was expecting.

A waitress showed him to his own table, the room lively enough with cheesy music and people chatting over each other that no one paid him any attention. She left him, and he stood again and walked down the small arched tunnel to look into the back room, full but also with small parties.

He’d no sooner got back to his table than the waiter from earlier in the day came down some stairs and directly across to him.

“Hello again. Are you ready to order?”

“No, I’ve only just arrived.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll give you a little while. Something to drink while you’re waiting?”

“Just some water for now—I’ll look at the wine list.” He looked around the room and said, “I thought it would be busier.”

The waiter glanced at the room, a little confused as he said, “Well, it’s busy enough. Those tables are reserved, but we had a party cancel so that made it easier.” He smiled awkwardly. “I’ll get your water.”

The waiter made off, exchanging chatty comments with some of the diners as he went. With one group those comments were in English, so the slightly standoffish air Finn was picking up from him was nothing to do with Finn being foreign. He wondered if he was acting suspiciously, if his casual questions were coming out as forced or strange, whether in the last six years he’d lost the knack for this.

Of course, that was possibly the least of his problems. “Remember Isandlwana,” one of his old history tutors had been fond of saying. “Never forget to laager your camp.” It had been a catchall piece of advice, essentially boiling down to: “Prepare for all eventualities.”

And Finn had spectacularly failed to laager his camp. If the party that had canceled was that of Hailey and Anders Tilberg, he’d be left without a lead. He didn’t even have a number on which he could contact Jonas. He’d be able to dip back into their Facebook pages, but beyond that he’d be left with the even more suspicion-inducing option of asking the university office for Tilberg’s address.

The waiter headed back with a jug of water, and Finn looked quickly at the menu and ordered while he was there. He seemed better disposed now and said, “You’ll enjoy the reindeer—it’s great.”

“Good, and I’ll have a bottle of the Côtes du Rhône to go with it.” He pointed at the wine menu.

The waiter nodded, smiling in appreciation. In some way, ordering good food and a decent bottle of wine had brought Finn back on side. He wouldn’t ask any more questions, not for now, but the change in mood was so marked that he probably could have asked the waiter outright for Tilberg’s phone number.

The wine came first, and during the small ceremony of approving it, the clock reached the half-hour and a small party came in and occupied one of the vacant tables. It was two couples of about Finn’s age. No one else came in during the fifteen minutes it took for his first course to arrive.

The room was still lively, but it was looking increasingly as if the party he was there to observe was the party that had canceled. With some dread, Finn imagined the next call to Ethan and Debbie, but at least that could wait until tomorrow. When he got back to the hotel he’d check Tilberg’s Facebook page. And if necessary, he could go to the university administration office early enough in the morning that the Portmans wouldn’t be wondering at his failure to call. It wasn’t a disaster, just a setback.

He noticed a couple of people heading up the stairs at different points and realized that was where the bathrooms were situated. He got used to seeing people coming and going during the meal, but then as he finished the reindeer loin, he glanced up because someone was coming down the stairs, someone he hadn’t seen going up.

The guy was smiling as he walked around to the reception area. He spent a while chatting there, then came back in and went up the stairs again, still smiling as he folded a long receipt and put it into his wallet. He had floppy fair hair, longer than in his picture, but there was no doubting that it was Anders Tilberg.

There were tables upstairs, something Finn should have checked earlier in the day, and Tilberg and his friends hadn’t canceled, they’d been early. Now that he was aware of them, his hearing separated out the noise and he realized a fair amount of it was coming from up those stairs.

The waitress who’d shown him to his table had just finished seating a party at one of the other vacant tables. Before she could leave, Finn gestured to her and she nodded and came over.

She picked up his plate and said, “Everything was good?”

“Really good.”

“The dessert menu?”

“No, thank you. I’ll just finish my wine, but could I have the bill now please.”

“Of course.”

She walked off and he listened for signs of movement upstairs. Their bill was paid, so they could leave at any moment. The waitress was quick and he could still hear settled laughter from up above, but he paid in cash to ensure he didn’t get caught out by a slow credit card transaction. He counted out notes and told her to keep the change, then settled back with his wine.

It was another ten minutes before he heard a collective movement of chairs being pushed back, and a few minutes more before the first person came down the stairs. He was followed by a girl, but it wasn’t Hailey.

A second girl emerged, her hair short and blonde, throwing Finn for a moment. He was no longer even confident he’d be able to pick Hailey Portman out of a group. But the girl with the short hair spoke to the others in Swedish, jolting Finn’s memory into seeing she looked nothing like Hailey.

And when Hailey did come into view, almost at the back of the group, he realized he should never have doubted himself. She looked older, it was true—very much a young woman, fashionable, the short hair giving her face character—but easily recognizable.

She didn’t see Finn, didn’t see anybody in the dining room, and as soon as she reached the bottom step she turned to say something to the last person in the group of ten, Anders Tilberg. He smiled, said something back and gave her a fleeting kiss, and as they moved toward the reception he rested his hand on the small of her back as if they’d been a couple forever.

Finn had to admit to himself that they looked good together—two attractive people who also formed what seemed an obvious and natural unit. It was clear, too, that Anders Tilberg had no idea of her true age. Even more surprisingly, as briefly as he’d seen her, Finn had seen nothing in Hailey’s manner or expression to suggest guilt or confusion or uncertainty—if anything, he’d never seen her looking so at ease, perhaps only because he was now seeing her not around adults but living as one.

They were slow to get themselves together, and once they’d left he gave it another thirty seconds before leaving himself. They were moving quicker once outside in the cold but they were still within sight. They were in high spirits, too, so it was easy to stay on them, the voices and laughter telling Finn where they were even when he let them disappear from view.

Only once did he hear Hailey’s voice, clearly saying, “Oh my God, you have to come to New York.” Again, it was very much a student talking, not a schoolgirl. Finn wondered if she was claiming to come from New York City or just talking in general terms—as far as he knew she’d never lived there, and hadn’t lived in America at all since infancy.

Finn turned a corner and stopped. Ahead of him, only twenty yards off, they’d reached an impressive-looking townhouse and were piling inside. Tilberg was clearly a wealthy young man, given that he’d just bought dinner for ten people, so it made sense that he might live somewhere like this instead of in regular student accommodation, but Finn wanted to be sure.

Once the door was closed and the lights came on inside, he walked along and stood on the corner of a narrow side street facing the house. As it did at home, the snow gave everywhere a deceptive look of coziness, but he didn’t need to stand for long before the cold started to bite.

He heard a burst of laughter from within the house, then music,
but only faintly. He looked up and down the street, checking there wasn’t a bar or coffee shop that might provide a better surveillance post,
but he was drawn back to the house by another light coming on.

It was on the second floor, what looked like a large bedroom. Hailey walked into the room, threw something that might have been a coat onto a bed or chair, then crouched down. When she stood again she was holding a cardigan that she put on, quickly checking her appearance in a mirror. Finn smiled, recognizing it as one of the items she’d bought at Fate.

She turned, in response to someone, and Anders Tilberg came into the room. They kissed, briefly at first but serving only as a trigger for something more passionate. Perhaps someone called from downstairs, because they broke apart then and laughed, and Tilberg called something over his shoulder. They kissed again, a promise, and left the room, turning out the light.

Finn returned the way he’d come, confident now that he would get Hailey back in the morning, and hopeful that in the process he’d find out why they’d had him under surveillance for two years.

Yet something about the evening had left him in surprisingly low spirits. His mind flitted about, trying to identify the cause, thinking of Sparrowhawk, the USB stick, his threatened career. The catalyst, though, had been something simultaneously more mundane and more profound, and he felt ludicrously forlorn when his memory landed on it again.

It had been nothing more than that simple act of intimacy between Hailey and Tilberg in the restaurant: the fleeting kiss, the two bodies moving seamlessly together toward the door, his hand finding the small of her back. It was just one more thing that made him want to call Adrienne, albeit with little idea of what he would say to her.

Perhaps they had once appeared like that to onlookers, a couple comfortably wrapped up in each other, but at some level he now felt that it hadn’t been true, because he had been a fake. He’d held back more than he’d ever given to Adrienne, taking for granted that it would be enough—maybe it had for a while, but he supposed four years was a long time for anyone to live with a shadow.

Of course, despite appearances, Hailey was also holding something back, and though it was probably of little consequence in the grand scheme of things, he doubted her fledgling relationship would survive that revelation when it came. Finn imagined the kitsch little heart being removed from their Facebook pages, his immediately in horror and embarrassment, hers more reluctantly.

It was too bad. He’d had little sympathy for Hailey Portman so far, and at some level he knew he should still have none, but after seeing her tonight, after seeing the appeal of the lie she’d constructed for herself, he regretted that in the morning he would have to bring that idyll to an end.