The Wolf at the Door. Jack Higgins

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СКАЧАТЬ surprised Dillon, because Blake had said he’d be there, but maybe he’d decided he just had better things to do. Vladimir Putin said nothing that he had not said before. The usual warning that if the US went ahead with a missile defence system, the Russians would have to deploy in kind and implying that the Russian invasion of Georgia was a warning shot. Delving deep into history, he warned the US about over-confidence in its military might. ‘Rome may have destroyed Carthage, but eventually it was destroyed by barbarians.’

      ‘That’s a good one,’ Miller murmured.

      ‘I know,’ Dillon said, ‘though I don’t know if equating Russia with the barbarians is really a good idea for him.’

      Putin then moved on to Britain, turning to look at the British Ambassador to the UN as if addressing him personally. Britain was guilty of granting asylum to some who had been traitors to the Russian people. London had become a launching pad to fight Russia. In the end, it seemed impossible to have normal relations any more. And on and on.

      Many people sitting there obviously agreed with him and there was applause. The British Ambassador answered robustly, pointing out that British Security Services had identified Russia as a menace to national safety, the third most serious threat facing the country, after Al Qaeda terrorism and Iranian nuclear proliferation.

      At the champagne reception afterwards, Miller said, ‘The trouble is, Vladimir Putin is dangerously capable. Afghanistan, Iraq, Chechnya, not to mention his career with the KGB.’

      ‘I agree,’ Dillon nodded. ‘But in a way, the most significant thing about him is that he’s a patriot. He believes what he says. That’s what makes him the most dangerous of all.’ He nodded towards the Russian delegation, who were hanging on Putin’s every word as he spoke to a Hamas representative. ‘Anyone of special interest over there?’

      ‘Actually, there is,’ Miller said. ‘The scholarly-looking man with the rather weary face and auburn hair.’

      ‘Grey suit, about fifty?’

      ‘Colonel Josef Lermov, new Head of Station for the GRU at the London Embassy. At least that’s the whisper Ferguson’s heard. He only told me yesterday and pulled out Lermov’s photo.’

      ‘I see,’ Dillon said. ‘So they’ve given up on finding his predecessor, dear old Boris Luzhkov?’

      ‘It seems so.’

      ‘It’s hardly likely they would have succeeded, considering he went into the Thames with a bullet between the eyes. Ferguson had the disposal team fish him out the same day,’ Dillon told him.

      ‘Ashes to ashes?’ Miller said.

      ‘If he couldn’t take the consequences, he shouldn’t have joined. Lermov is coming this way.’

      Lermov was. Even his smile seemed weary. ‘Major Miller, I believe? Josef Lermov.’ He turned to Dillon and held out his hand. ‘So nice to meet you, Mr Dillon.’

      ‘How flattering to be recognized,’ Dillon told him.

      ‘Oh, your reputation precedes you.’

      Miller smiled. ‘How’s Luzhkov, still on holiday?’

      Lermov gave no sign of being fazed. ‘I understand he is in Moscow, being considered for a new post as we speak.’

      ‘What a shame,’ Dillon said. ‘He loved London. He must regret leaving after all those years.’

      ‘Time to move on,’ Lermov told him.

      ‘And his number two man, Major Yuri Bounine? Was it time for him to move on?’ A loaded question from Miller if ever there was one, considering that said Yuri Bounine, having defected, was being held by Ferguson in a secure location in London.

      Lermov said patiently, ‘He is on special assignment, that is all I can say. I can only speak for my own situation in London and not for Moscow. You spent enough time serving in British Army Intelligence to know what I mean.’

      ‘Oh, I do.’ Miller beckoned to a waiter. ‘Now join us in a glass of champagne, Josef? We could celebrate your London appointment.’

      ‘Most kind of you.’ A brief smile flickered, as if he was amused at Miller’s familiarity.

      Dillon said, ‘It isn’t vodka, but it will do to take along.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Vladimir Putin. That was quite a speech.’

      ‘You think so?’ Lermov said.

      ‘A bit of a genius if you look at it,’ Dillon said.

      Miller smiled. ‘Definitely a man to keep your eye on.’

      Lermov said, ‘Your friend, Blake Johnson, I expected him to be here, too. I wonder what’s happened to him? Ah, well, I suppose he’s moved on also.’ He smiled that odd smile and walked away.

      At Mercy Hospital on the Upper East Side, the man known as Frank Barry lay in a room on the fifth floor where he had been prepped to get the bullet out of his knee. His eyes were closed and he was hooked up to everything in sight, the only sounds electronic beepings. A young intern entered, dressed for the operating theatre, a nurse behind him. He raised the sheet over Barry’s left knee and shuddered.

      ‘Christ, that’s as bad as I’ve seen. This guy’s going to be crippled.’ Barry didn’t move. ‘He’s been thoroughly prepped, I take it.’

      ‘The anaesthetist on this one is Dr Hale. The guy was in such agony, he was begging for mercy. Mind you, I caught him making a phone call earlier in spite of the pain, so I confiscated it. It’s on the side there. He said his name was Frank Barry and he lived in the Village. Mugged in Central Park.’

      ‘Just when I thought it was safe to go there,’ Hale said. ‘The police have been notified?’

      ‘Nobody’s turned up yet, but they’ve been told he’s going into the O.R., so I suppose they think they can take their time.’

      ‘OK,’ the intern said. ‘Twenty minutes.’ He went out and the nurse followed him.

      It was quiet in the corridor. The man who emerged from the lift at the far end wore green scrubs, a skullcap and a surgical mask. He took his time, checking the names on doors almost casually, found what he was looking for, and went in.

      Barry was out, there was no doubt about that, as the man produced a hypo from his pocket ready charged, exposed the needle and injected its contents in the left arm. He stood there, looking down for a moment, noticed Barry’s mobile phone on the bedside table, picked it up and turned to dump the hypo in the bin. The door opened and the nurse came in.

      She was immediately alarmed. ‘Who are you? What are you doing?’

      He dropped the hypo in the bin and punched her brutally, knocking her to the floor. He went out, hurried along the corridor and, as an alarm sounded behind him, didn’t bother with the lift, but took the stairs, plunging down fast, finally reaching the basement parking area. A few moments later, he was driving out.

      Upstairs, of course, it was pandemonium on the fifth floor with the discovery of the unconscious nurse, but it would be some time before she would be able to explain what had happened. The СКАЧАТЬ