The Traitor's Story (17 page)

If the atmosphere stumbled at all, it was when they were discussing Sweden, as if Finn and Hailey had just been on a long-planned break there, and Adrienne said, “But I don’t understand, Hailey, I thought Jonas was your boyfriend?”

There was a tense pause. Hailey looked at Finn, who gave a minimal response, making clear he didn’t know where the comment had come from, and then she laughed.

She shook her head and said only, “Adrienne!”

Adrienne laughed, too, and shrugged, looking almost envious as she told Cecile in French about Jonas. Finn didn’t catch it all but something earned another “Adrienne!” from Hailey. Adrienne laughed all the more, and then the boys both mimicked the outraged “
Adrienne! Adrienne
!
”

Finn had often dreaded coming here, no doubt rather less than Mathieu and Cecile had dreaded him coming, yet as the evening unfolded he realized he was more relaxed than he’d ever been in this apartment. It was late in the day to see that they were a good family, just as he was in danger of no longer being a part of it.

Hailey saw it, too, and before going to bed, she said to Finn, “Thank you so much for bringing me here.” It was as if the events of earlier in the day had been forgotten, as if Paris had been their sole objective.

“You’re welcome. Sleep well.”

Adrienne looked on, suspecting some ulterior motive even after the good humor of the evening, not believing the details of the Finn Harrington who’d turned up here. She didn’t bid him goodnight, simply made eye contact, her gaze lingering for a second before she turned and walked away with Hailey.

Mathieu was the last to leave him alone with his bedding and his sofa, but just before he left, Finn said, “Mathieu, do you still have that old laptop you had at Christmas?”

Mathieu nodded but said, “It’s no good. The battery. You have to plug it in the whole time.”

“That’s fine, it’s only to go through a memory stick—I don’t want to take it away with me.”

“Oh, I see.” He smiled. “I’ll get it for you.”

A few minutes later, he’d left Finn again. Finn plugged in the laptop, opening it up on the coffee table in front of him. As it booted up, he retrieved the memory stick from his bag and stopped briefly to listen, making sure the rest of the apartment was done for the evening. Adrienne was one thing, but this was where he’d really find out, he supposed, what the future had in store for him.

Chapter Twenty-One

Much of what Hailey and Jonas had intercepted was effectively gibberish—discreetly crafted messages, the same words often repeated, a catalog of boredom as Gibson reported daily on the absolute lack of activity by their target. Finn could only guess as much, without knowing the exact meaning of the coded words, but he was convinced that was what he was looking at.

One of these missives mentioned the Albigensian Crusade, Gibson perhaps hoping that he’d finally stumbled on something,
that Finn had inadvertently broken cover. In response, he’d received
a quiet rebuke telling him to ignore any such references in the future.

The messages received by Gibson were by far the most interesting. There were no names, but the tone suggested they’d all been sent by one person. It was in these that Sparrowhawk was mentioned, in these that Helsinki came up more than once, and Karasek, and in these that the puzzling line appeared:
Imperative to identify Jerry de Borg
.

The messages sent to Gibson seemed ridiculously indiscreet, almost as if the person sending them was intentionally spilling information. Finn toyed with the idea that he’d been meant to see this, that they were throwing out bait for him, but there was no way they could have anticipated him getting his hands on it.

The tone reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. He tried to think back. It might have sounded like Ed Perry, but his career had ended with Sparrowhawk. Unless, of course, Perry was out on his own, but that didn’t square with financing a two-year surveillance operation.

Finn found a Word document that Gibson had transferred from one computer to another. It contained the number codes Jonas had mentioned—about twenty of them in a row, with just one name at the top—and more than anything else he’d seen, this set Finn’s heart beating a little faster.

The name at the top was Aleksandr Naumenko, and Finn knew that the numbers were not code, but the identifiers for Swiss bank accounts. He knew this, because one of them was his own.

They knew about the money; they knew about his links to Naumenko. This was what he’d been looking for and had hoped not to find, a suggestion that the surveillance had been part of some retrospective examination of his record, that they were coming after him because they’d finally uncovered his business relationship with a Russian oligarch.

He heard a noise somewhere in the apartment, and automatically shut the laptop and pulled the memory stick out of the USB port, slipping it into his pocket. He looked at the time, realizing he’d been poring over the files for an hour.

He heard the soft pad of footsteps, and Adrienne came in wearing a long white flannel nightshirt. He didn’t think he’d seen it before, but she looked great in it, the material showing off her curves, teasing around the movement of her breasts.

The part of him that was always at a step’s remove noted how clichéd it was to be newly attracted to a partner after an enforced separation, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d seen her beauty afresh since the moment she’d opened the door earlier that evening, and now that beauty was magnified further by being stripped down to the simplest of garments.

For the briefest of hopeful moments, he imagined her putting a finger to her lips, pulling the nightshirt over her head. But even if Finn had succumbed to cliché, Adrienne had not. She sat on the edge of the coffee table, close enough to whisper but still at a distance. He simultaneously admired and resented her for it.

She’d had something in mind, but looked down at the laptop and said, “That’s Mathieu’s old computer—what are you doing with it?”

“Not very much, as it happens. Mathieu did warn me.”

“I have mine here—you could have borrowed it.”

“It doesn’t matter now. Couldn’t you sleep?”

It was the most innocuous question but the response was flinty. “Yes, you told me a very nice story earlier this evening, about helping Debbie and Ethan, about going to find Hailey.”

“Go on.”

“Only, you did wish so much that I hadn’t imagined things about your past, that it was really all my fault that Debbie came to you. Is that not so?”

He nodded, knowing what was coming, his expression one of capitulation as much as anything else, and he was amazed and frustrated by his inability to stop messing up.

“So, Hailey was talking to me in the bedroom, about how I’d been right all along, about you being a spy. I pretended it was nothing, of course, but I was so angry. I lay awake, waiting for her to fall asleep.”

“I couldn’t tell you this evening because everyone was milling around, and there was a lot to tell—other stuff, I mean.”

Her whisper became rapid and angry. “Why could you not tell me a year ago—two years? Why could you not tell me when I guessed? You were a spy, maybe you’re still a spy for all I know, because I know nothing about you, it seems. I know less than this Gibson who I also find out has been watching our apartment.” She stopped, but almost instantly struck another seam. “And how do you think
that
makes me feel, that everything of our life might have been recorded, people watching us?”

“It wasn’t that kind of surveillance—just my computer, probably phone calls, maybe my movements about the city.”

“How can you be so sure?”

It was an accusation he couldn’t counter.

She looked up at the ceiling with a hint of frustration. “All this time, and you give me nothing. I learn what I suspected all along from a girl. I’m the last to know.”

He shook his head, saying, “You’re not the last to know. They don’t know anything, only that I have a background in intelligence. It’s something I never told you about because—well, hey, despite my form over the last few days, it’s something you’re not really meant to talk about. And I didn’t tell you because it ended badly, because it’s not a chapter of my life that I’m particularly proud of.”

She looked skeptical. “Is there a part of your life that does fill you with pride?”

“When you put it like that—I don’t know. I had a few good years in my late teens.”

Despite everything, she laughed a little, and he was absurdly grateful for that, suggestive as it was that there was still something to hold on to.

“I’m sorry, that was unfair.”

“No, Adrienne, it wasn’t. I’ve been a lousy boyfriend. I’ve held back with you and not been straight, and I didn’t realize how much I loved you until I got back and found you gone. If I’m honest, it even took me a while to realize it then.”

“I’m flattered.”

“But I am in love with you, Adrienne. That has to count for something. Okay, not very much if you’re not in love with me anymore.”

“Of course I am!” The words came out almost as a gasp, and she looked hurt and emotional that he could have even doubted her love. He thought again of the tears Jonas had told him about, wishing he could undo them.

He moved closer, putting his hand up to her cheek, her skin soft and hot to the touch.

“You’re hot—are you okay?”

She smiled. “I’m fine. But thank you for saying I’m hot.”

He smiled, too, and said, “Oh, I don’t even need to say that you’re
hot
.”

He let his hand slip down across her shoulder, then traced his fingers across her breast. Her body seemed to respond to his touch, but almost instantly she reached up, grabbing his hand and holding it firm over her heart.

“No more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” he said.

“Then tell me what’s going on. Why are they watching you? What’s on the USB stick?” He looked surprised. “Yes, she told me
about that too, so you don’t fool me—it’s why you have Mathieu’s
laptop.”

He looked at her, earnest as he said, “I can’t tell you.” She pulled his hand away from her and let it drop. “Not yet, because I’m not even sure myself what it’s about. I left under a cloud six years ago, but I thought it was done, finished with.”

“And it isn’t?”

“Maybe not.” She looked frustrated again, and he said, “I’m not being evasive, Adrienne, I just don’t know what’s going on. They appear to be raking over the past, but I don’t know why. I don’t even know if I need to do anything about it.”

“How can you do nothing? People are spying on you. I can’t come back to an apartment like that.”

“So you might be coming back?”

Almost involuntarily, she shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can believe you anymore. I don’t know how much of the person I’ve known is a lie.”

“Most of it.” She looked shocked, as if she might have misheard. “I only thought about it the other day . . . I don’t know how you stayed with me for so long. I’m cold, distant, I keep secrets—and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to not keep secrets. I know it must seem like I’m not even there most of the time.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.” Then she thought about it and said, “But all those things are true, most of the time, and I’ve loved you in spite of them. I’ve loved you in spite of them but I can’t anymore. It’s not even about secrets, although if I
were
to come back there could be no more—it’s about living, about the way we never discuss . . . getting married, having a family.”

“Is that what you want?”

She laughed, perhaps at the hopelessness of it all, and after a moment she said, “You know, there’s a quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, about love not being a matter of staring into each other’s eyes, but both staring out together in the same direction. With you, it feels like we’re both looking in different directions.”

She stood up abruptly. He tried to reach out for her again, desperate for her not to go. Even being admonished by her, in ways and for things he did not fully comprehend, he still wanted just to be with her. But she moved away too quickly, and how could he explain that, despite his continuing need for secrecy, he would be different, that something about this last week had changed him.

“Adrienne—” She stopped and put a finger to her lips. Quieter, he said, “Will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Will you?” He smiled, acknowledging the point, finally reduced to its most concentrated form. She hesitated then, near the door, and said, “Do you remember the last time we spoke, when you called from Béziers?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember what I said to you?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

She smiled—a smile tinged with sadness—as she said, “Because I said almost nothing at all. I had things I wanted to talk to you about, but you didn’t ask me anything, just told me about your research and your hotel and the journey and the hire car. It was the final thing, to make me decide, so I came here, where people would want to talk with me about the things I wanted to talk about.”

“We could talk about them now.”

“But I don’t want to, not anymore. Goodnight, Finn.”

He watched her glide away, then turned and looked at the laptop. He took the memory stick out of his pocket, but decided against looking at the material again tonight, doubting there was anything more he could learn, not even wanting to think about it.

That memory stick now seemed to represent the final, perhaps insurmountable, obstacle to Adrienne’s return. She still loved him, a revelation of beauty in itself, one that amazed him—and there had been something there, an understanding that he wanted to be more open with her.

But the memory stick remained, its cryptic contents speaking of secrets he couldn’t share with her, not yet and maybe not ever. It represented an obstacle in another way, too, because until he found out what they wanted from him, he wouldn’t want her to return. How could he, when he had no idea how safe either of them would be?

History

Monday was a long day for him, and Louisa hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told him he’d have drudge work to do. For most of the morning, the rest of the office was conspicuously quiet.

At lunchtime, six extra bodies arrived from London, including one, Rachel Rose, who’d worked with him before.

She popped her head around his door and said, “Hello, stranger.”

He got up, and she came into the room and kissed him on both cheeks, reverting to their old Mediterranean routine. She was one of those people who had a slightly crumpled, just-woken-up face; he always imagined she’d age badly, but the effect for the time being was to make her all the more attractive somehow.

“You’re looking good, Rachel.”

“You’re looking . . . okay. Better than when we were married.”

He laughed. They’d never been married, but had acted it a couple of times for work purposes.

“You here for this Sparrowhawk business?”

She nodded and said, “You not in on it?”

“Long story, but no, I’m leaving.” She did a double take and he added, “Longer story. I have a girlfriend, too, local journalist . . .”

“Good for you. But even so—” Someone called her from along the corridor, and she smiled and said, “Let’s catch up, if we can, before the weekend.”

“Sure. Good to see you, Rachel.”

“You too, Finn.”

She walked out and he went back to his desk. Both of them knew they were unlikely to have a longer conversation in the coming week, and not just because the operation would use up all her waking hours and eat into her sleep.

Finn was on the outside now, and over the next few days, as the team’s ties strengthened, his exclusion would become all the greater. It was the culmination of a process that had begun years before, when he’d started working with Naumenko—and there was some irony in Rachel being here now, because she’d been with him the first time he’d met Alex.

Very soon, this would no longer be his world, and he felt that keenly now, a passive observer as the preparations for Sparrowhawk ebbed and flowed around him.

Louisa wasn’t around, but Castle had reappeared and seemed to be running things at an operational level. He didn’t once acknowledge Finn’s presence, even when passing him in the corridor, although Finn sensed this wasn’t just for the sake of preserving his cover. For whatever reason, Castle didn’t like him—maybe just because he was quitting.

Midway through the afternoon, Finn received an email. It was from a Gmail account in the name of “Brodsky1051” and was phrased as if he was one of Finn’s regular contacts, with the message signed off “BB.” Finn had never heard from him before, and doubted he even existed.

The email confirmed that the
Maria Nuovo
would arrive in Kaliningrad sometime after midnight in the early hours of Saturday morning, gave the precise location of the dock that would be used, even the license-plate number of the truck that would be meeting it. A couple of supporting documents were attached.

He’d find out tomorrow how keen Karasek was to believe it, a decision he guessed would be more about his desire for the girl than about getting his hands on a ton of cocaine. Finn doubted even Louisa appreciated how deranged Karasek was over Katerina.

He was getting ready to leave just before five, when Harry stopped by, his coat already on.

“You leaving?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Finn. “You’re not, though, surely?”

“Just for a few hours.” He looked out into the corridor before saying, “I’m going home to eat, but I’ll be back later. Walk with me?”

“Sure.”

They walked casually enough as they left the building, and Finn didn’t bother to look for a tail because he was certain there would be one. As ever, the temperature had crashed with the onset of evening, and Harry looked all the happier for it—Finn had never known anyone to like the cold more than Harry.

Finn said, “What do you make of Rachel?”

“She’s okay. You used to work with her, didn’t you?” Harry glanced
at Finn, who gave him a nod in response. “Must be weird for you,
something like this kicking off and you’re sitting on the sidelines.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s hitting home. But then I can afford to be sanguine—can’t imagine Ed taking it so easily.”

“As far as I know, Ed doesn’t even know this is happening, and he’s been held up in Moscow, won’t be back until Friday. It’ll almost be over by the time he gets back.”

“Won’t stop him claiming the glory.”

“If there is any. I have a feeling Jerry de Borg’s likely to make an appearance before this week’s over. It just has that . . . smell about it.”

“Harry—”

“Finn, there’s something I need to say.” He looked over his shoulder, checking the street behind them, and Finn wished he hadn’t because it would have immediately raised the suspicions of whoever was tailing them. “I put the spare key for my apartment in your inside overcoat pocket earlier, while you were out of the office. Obviously, I’m heading back now because she’ll be worried, but I’m not gonna be around much for most of this week, probably not until late at night.”

Finn couldn’t feel the key, hadn’t been aware it was there, but he could suddenly sense it in his pocket, resting against his chest, and all the danger it represented. Harry wanted him to call in on Katerina, something he could hardly do without putting her in danger.

“I can’t.”

“I don’t mean stay with her, I just mean call in on her, check she’s okay.”

They walked a few paces without speaking, and in that time Finn decided Harry already knew too much to hold back now.

“I’m being tailed, Harry. Less I tell you the better. You know how intense it’ll be this week—I don’t want you to know anything that might slip out.”

Harry didn’t respond physically, keeping his gait natural, his face fixed ahead, but he said, “You can at least tell me who’s tailing you.”

“Karasek’s people. The bait Louisa used to draw him in, it’s complex, but Karasek’s under the impression I could lead him to the girl.”

Harry laughed, finding some tainted humor in the situation, and said, “Don’t tell me, Louisa doesn’t have a clue how close to the truth she is on that?”

“You’re the only other person who knows. Even Alex doesn’t know who the girl is.”

That revelation seemed to fill Harry with doubt and he said, “Promise me she’ll be safe with him, Finn.” His tone was oddly possessive, making Finn uneasy in some way.

“I trust him completely.” As he said it, he thought back to the conversation he’d had with Louisa, about trusting no one.

“Well that’ll have to do, I suppose. But look, if you can shake the tail off—I mean, if you’re sure of it—try to call in and see her. She’d really appreciate it. So would I.”

Again, Finn felt a little uncomfortable with his tone.

“Sure.” They’d been walking toward Harry’s place, but now Finn realized it wasn’t wise to walk all the way there. “But listen, I should leave you in a minute, head off home, not give the tail any ideas.”

Harry nodded but didn’t respond, looking deep in thought, then finally he looked at him as he said, “I’m falling for her, Finn.”

“What?”

“I know it’s crazy, but—”

“Crazy? She’s thirteen years old. She’s a child!” Harry looked ready to stop walking, all the better to explain himself, but Finn, even with anger and fear building up inside him, remained casual as he said, “Keep walking. Keep it natural.”

Harry nodded, like a drunk, not fully comprehending but going along with the order.

“Finn, I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t, obviously.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief, to know that my best friend isn’t a pedophile.”

“Jesus! Why do you have to talk like that? I don’t mean anything sexual. Oh, what’s the point? You wouldn’t understand.”

“Tell me, Harry, because I have to understand. It has to be something that I can understand.”

“I don’t know. I love being around her. She’s smart, she’s interesting, she’s just . . . a beautiful person. And yeah, if she were six years older, it’d be different, but . . . I just hate the thought of not seeing her again after the end of this week.”

“You know that’s how it has to be.”

Finn looked at him, and Harry turned and said, “I know. And Finn, I haven’t touched her. I wouldn’t. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I know.” But he thought of the way everyone liked Harry, of how young he looked, of the stability he’d given this girl over the last few days and how she might view it. “Promise me though, even if she says something or—she’s a kid, Harry, a kid who’s had a tough run, you have to remember that.”

“I do. I do. And I promise, you have nothing to worry about. I just needed to tell someone.”

“I know,” said Finn. And though he wished he hadn’t been told, he said, “I’m glad you told me. Okay, you gave me a bit of a scare for a minute there, but I’m still glad you told me. Now I’m taking a right—keep it casual.”

He veered into the street and Harry raised his arm and said, “See you tomorrow.” Finn waved back but he was struggling to keep his cool.

The one thing Finn couldn’t change about the coming week was the timetable, and yet he was overpowered by a growing sense of urgency. Without being any closer in real terms, it felt as if Karasek was homing in on the girl. And now Harry was going to pieces on him, and Finn felt responsible in some way, feeling he should have picked up on the signals.

He took a left and went into the Hotel Regent, a sleek business hotel that had good public phones in the lobby. The receptionist was checking someone in, and there were a couple of businessmen sitting on the minimalist sofas, their luggage beside them.

Finn made his way to one of the phones, but turned to face the entrance before making the call. It would be hard for the tail to follow him in without being conspicuous, particularly if he wasn’t in business clothes. No one came in.

When Alex came to the phone, he said, “It sounds like people are having fun in Tallinn.”

“You heard?” Someone came into view outside in the street, peered into the lobby but almost immediately backed away when he saw Finn looking out. It had only been a glimpse, but Finn thought it was one of the guys who’d been playing cards on Saturday. “It doesn’t involve me, anyway.”

“Of course it doesn’t. But you still want to meet?”

“I still want to meet. I’ll be in Stockholm early on Saturday morning.”

“Good, then we can indulge in our favorite subject. I’ll be in the Vasa Museum all morning, so come and find me there.”

“You’ll let me know if anything changes.”

Alex laughed. “I’m in good health, Finn. See you on Saturday.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Alex’s comment said it all. Only a health issue, or death, could force Aleksandr Naumenko to change his plans. He’d already reached that point of being almost untouchable—none of his former rivals powerful enough to take him on, governments going out of their way to court him.

Finn felt more confident as he walked the final stretch home through the busy streets, no longer concerned by the tail now that he knew he was only leading him home. Speaking to Alex, even just to confirm the details, had made Katerina’s escape seem within reach again.

There were still plenty of things that could go wrong, but he was determined they’d be on the Friday-night ferry from Tallinn, even if it meant risking his own position. Because he’d talked a couple of times about trust these last few days, but now, for the first time in the eighteen months they’d known each other, he was wondering if he could really trust Harry.