Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Also by Oliver Harris
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
‘MI6 have been running a top-level agent in the GRU for six or seven years. The codename’s MADRIGAL. Rumours are that it’s Vladislav Vishinsky himself. I don’t have proof of that, but Vishinsky met Callum Walker in Moscow in 2005.’ I improvised. ‘This agent’s valuable enough to Six that they refuse to close him down. He’s protected. I thought you should know, in case it makes what happens now more complicated for you.’
‘Vladislav Vishinsky?’
‘Or someone in an equivalent position.’
‘There’s no one in an equivalent position.’ Cherenkov stared at me. ‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know what to believe any more.’
‘Stay here.’ He called the guard back to watch over me. We were sitting there, admiring Putin, when I heard a commotion; voices at the front, some speaking English. My guard hesitated, drew his weapon and went to look.
I followed.
About twenty GL5 contractors blocked the road in front of the embassy. The men wore helmets, draped in webbing and pouched vests, AKs and MP5s at the ready. Cherenkov was in heated discussion with their team leader, voices raised. The British-accented GL5 boss seemed to be saying that it wasn’t safe, the Russians should stay inside. That wasn’t going down well. No one stopped me getting close enough to hear.
‘You have no jurisdiction,’ Cherenkov said. But nor did he. It was quite a stand-off. Then Walker appeared.
He climbed out of an armoured SUV, moved through the GL5 officers, pistol in his right hand. He approached me cautiously, as if I was the one who was armed. ‘Come on, Elliot. Let’s go.’ When he was a couple of feet away he lowered his voice. ‘This was what she wanted, what she spent years building.’ And, when he was even closer: ‘I tried to keep you out of it.’
I leaned in and whispered, ‘Thank you.’
Then I drove the base of my right palm into his face so that the cartilage of his nose crumpled. He began to fall. I gripped his wrist and unhooked the gun from his fingers, pulling him up by his thin hair and ramming the barrel of the Browning into the side of his skull. Blood streamed down into his mouth and he spluttered. His hired backup froze, staring. I turned to Cherenkov.
‘Go,’ I said. ‘Do it.’
But it was too late. More trouble pulled up with a screech: a crew of ten British SAS in two Land Rovers. They jumped out, taking up combat stance. Suzanna Ford appeared from among them. She saw me and Walker.
‘Elliot. We can take him off your hands.’
‘Please do.’