Reaction of the tiger, p.30
REACTION OF THE TIGEr, page 30
part #4 of André Warner, Manhunter Series
‘He’s a traitor, honey. He sells secrets to the Ruskies.’
‘What?’ Wharfe stared at me. ‘What did you say?’
‘You heard. You betrayed your county, and if I let you go free, back to England, you’ll go on doing it.’
‘You’re mad!’ Now he was agitated, clutching my sleeve. ‘I’m no traitor. Where did you get that idea? Who told you that?’
‘A reliable source.’ To Maura, I said, ‘Keep your eyes on the road, honey. If I can see them in the mirror you’re watching us not the road.’
I disengaged Wharfe’s grip. ‘Stay on your own side, Ivor.’
‘But you’re wrong, damn it! I’ve never sold secrets to the Reds.’
Using the word ‘Reds’ proved he was Old School. Nobody called them Reds nowadays.
‘Maybe he’s innocent after all,’ Maura ventured.
‘Don’t be naive. Do you expect him to admit it, when his life’s at stake?’
The track petered out, and a snow-swept expanse of mostly nothing came into sight ahead. This was the lake, frozen over, and now just a plain of snow.
‘Leave the engine running.’ I said. This wasn’t going to take long. I wagged the Beretta at Wharfe. ‘Any last requests?’
He shrank back. ‘No, you can’t do this. I’m not a traitor!’
‘The evidence says differently.’
‘Don’t do it, Drew,’ Maura said. She twisted around in her seat. In the darkened interior of the Audi her face was just a pale oval, but her eyes were clear, pleading.
‘You were prepared to do it on my behalf, weren’t you? What’s so different now.’
‘Is that really what you thought? That I could kill someone in cold blood. My God, no, I couldn’t have done that, not even to prevent you from doing it.’
‘Glad to hear that. All you have to do now is explain the pantomime with the car, leaving me in the middle of nowhere?’
‘I went to warn him, that’s all.’
While we were distracted by our petty squabble, Wharfe wrenched at the door handle and tried to open it. Too bad for him that the central lock was activated automatically when the engine was running. He struggled in vain.
‘Damn you!’ He sagged back against his seat. I let him look down the muzzle of the Beretta, to remind him who was in charge here.
‘Unlock the doors, Maura.’
‘I will not!’ Maura tossed the Smith & Wesson past me towards the rear cargo space, as if to symbolise her rejection of violence. ‘Let it go.’
‘He’s a traitor,’ I growled. ‘Keep out of this. It’s Government business.’
‘Even if he’s guilty he deserves a trial.’
‘I’m not guilty,’ Wharfe insisted. ‘If you’ve got evidence, as you claim, it’s false. Somebody’s trying to frame me and I can guess who.’
‘I’ve seen the documents, I tell you. Do you think I was hired to kill you just for someone’s amusement?’
Wharfe sat very still. ‘No, not for amusement. This is a cover up for the real traitor. Can’t you see, man? I’ve been set up, and so have you. We’re both victims.’
His accusations didn’t impress me. Only the vehemence of his denial made me hesitate.
‘All right, Wharfe. If you’re the victim, who’s the perpetrator?’
‘Let me ask you a question, whatever your name is.’
I gestured with the Beretta again. ‘Go ahead, if it’s relevant.’
He was sitting on the edge of his seat now, his eyes as wild as his hair.
‘Who hired you to …’ He stopped, shook himself. ‘No, wait … wait. Let me tell you who it was.’
‘Go ahead,’ I said with a shrug.
‘It was Dimeloe, wasn’t it? Tony Fucking Dimeloe.’
Twenty
The Pubi.Fi in Ivalo was as snug and as steamy as a sauna after the bleak outdoors and the driving snow. Crowded too, lots of Finns making merry to the best of their abilities. We sat at the end of one of the long rectangular tables immediately in front of the bar with the brick facade – Wharfe, Maura, and me – nursing our drinks. It was unbelievable. Only an hour ago I had been bent on shooting the man to death for treason. Now, here I was sitting around a table with him, having a cosy chat about the inhospitality of the Finnish climate.
We had driven to Ivalo rather than return to the Wilderness Hotel, putting distance between Wharfe and his team, in case of repercussions. After all, I had shot a government employee, my only excuse being that he was about to throw a plate at me. It was likely I would have to lie low. Fortunately, I could turn myself into another person by discarding the disguise and switching passports.
Wharfe was fretting about his colleagues, especially the wounded Marriot. They were possibly stranded out there without transport in what was shaping up to be a regular blizzard.
‘I’ll take care of it,’ I said.
I moved to the adjacent dining area, where it was quieter, and called Rocky. He was in his room at the Kultahippu, watching TV. No questions asked, he agreed to collect Wharfe from the Pubi.Fi and drive him to Nellim, where he would retrieve the rest of the NATO team, and transport them to the Wilderness.
‘It take me two trips. My car only hold four passengers at most.’
‘Make them fit somehow. Just don’t get snowed in.’
‘Ah, this nothing. A few flakes.’
I glanced out of the window. It was a near white-out. Still, as a Finn he should be used to it.
‘One of them will need a doctor,’ I mentioned.
Even this he took in his stride.
‘I know doctor in Ivalo. A special one. I bring the guy to him.’
‘I’ll be at the hotel here tonight. Don’t mention that to any of them, or that you’re staying there. Keep your mouth zipped tight.’
‘Hey, Mark. You think I not done this kind of thing before?’
‘One other thing. When you get to the Pubi, don’t come in. Just call me and I’ll send the guy out to you.’
He didn’t ask why. He was aware I didn’t want to compromise my altered appearance by letting him see me in it. People in our line of trade understand each other.
Wharfe thanked me, even though I was only putting to right the wrongs I had seemingly done to him and the others.
While we were waiting for Rocky, we returned to the subject of Tony Dimeloe.
It was tough for me to accept that my old friend, mentor, and saviour was, on the face of it, guilty of trafficking with the enemy. I found it impossible to think of him as a double agent. It hurt even more that he had misled me to get me to commit murder. Yet what Wharfe told us added up. It was plausible, and it was my loyalty to Tony not the laws of probability that made me reluctant to suspect him, let alone condemn him.
‘But what about the internal memos?’ I protested, thumping the table top. ‘The stuff signed by the Director General? I saw the original file.’
He had the answer to that.
‘All forged by Dimeloe. Did you ever speak to anyone else at MI6? Was Dimeloe your only contact, your only source?’
It was true. Tony had been my conduit and my only contact. That was how it worked at The Firm. My trust in him had been implicit.
‘Is it true, darling?’ Maura said, squeezing my arm. She didn’t know Tony, but she was astute enough to recognise the effect on me at being within minutes of killing Wharfe for a crime it seemed at least likely he didn’t commit. When I recalled too, how close I had come to picking him off at the roadside only yesterday, I shuddered inside.
‘Yes,’ I said, nodding. ‘Everything came through Tony. I had no reason to doubt his word and the documentary evidence he showed me.’
I remembered the MOST SECRET classification. Of course, Tony had security clearance to obtain or manufacture all the written evidence he needed to convict Ivor Wharfe. To make it convincing enough to fool me. I had been well-fooled, though memory of my desultory reservations came back to me. The niggle about how it was presented, the separate but related worry about Tony’s gambling addiction.
‘We’ve known for some time,’ Wharfe said, sipping his Scotch – Glennifiddich single malt – I had paid for it on my MI6 expense account, though whether I would be reimbursed was a moot point. ‘We’ve been feeding him faked intelligence to pass on to the Reds. This month’s drop will be the last.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘We won’t do anything as drastic as sanitising him though.’
‘You’d have to find someone else to do it.’
‘Look … Drew, is it? If you’re still not entirely convinced, would you take the word of the DG?’
‘The Director General?’ I shrugged. ‘Sure, I would. Is he here?’
Wharfe delved inside his jacket, tugged out a slender wallet, fingered a business card from it. ‘Call this number.’ He was writing on the back of the card as he spoke. ‘That’s Vauxhall Cross. Ask to be put through to Sir Peter Youngman. They won’t want to do it, but give them my name and emergency code 222. Go on, do it now.’ He thrust the card at me.
I didn’t need to make the call. It was enough that he was giving me the means to contact MI6 headquarters and speak to the top honcho of Britain’s security service.
‘All right,’ I said wearily, but took the card anyway. ‘Let’s say what you’re telling me is all kosher. Let’s say I’m prepared to back off, leave you be to deal with Tony when you get back to London. There’s another issue that won’t go away quite so readily.’
‘Which is?’
‘It doesn’t concern you. It concerns Maxim Maximov, who’s Tony’s controller at the Russian Embassy, though I guess you already know that. There’s something I have to settle with him.’
‘What?’ Maura said sharply, sounding suspicious.
‘Yes, what?’ Wharfe would obviously have a professional interest in anything to do with Maximov.
‘It’s separate from the Dimeloe business. Personal, really.’
‘Don’t upset any applecarts,’ he warned.
‘Or else what?’
He fell quiet, staring moodily into his empty glass. I didn’t offer to buy him another. He was the one with the genuine expense account.
None of us spoke until Rocky’s call came through. I described Wharfe and what he was wearing, and told him to stay in the car and flash his lights when Wharfe came out.
Wharfe stood up. I stayed seated. Maura was toying with her glass of liqueur and didn’t raise her head.
‘Goodbye, whoever you are.’ He proffered his hand. I hesitated, then took it.
‘Don’t try and find out whoever I am – from Tony or anyone else. I don’t like people knowing about me.’
‘Fair enough. I’m just grateful not to be dead.’
In his chinos and windcheater he was underdressed for the weather outside, but Rocky’s rental would be warmed up by now, and he could retrieve his topcoat when he got back to Nellim.
‘What’s this about this Maximov character?’ Maura asked, the moment Wharfe left.
‘Good question. When he finds out Wharfe is still alive, he’s going to be … er, disappointed, and maybe a little upset with me.’
‘Explain.’ Her lips, usually a Cupid’s bow, shapely and inviting, were set in a line that boded ill.
‘Accepting that Tony is the double agent, Maximov has to be his controller at the Russian Embassy. Wharfe was being set up as the double agent, which was why I was contracted to take him out.’
‘I worked all that out,’ Maura said, with no softening of her expression.
‘Well, Maximov wants Tony to stay in business, leaving Wharfe as the fall guy. Tony and Maximov had an equally vested interest in getting rid of him, to deflect any suspicion from Tony. Get it?’
She nodded. Still no softening.
I went on, ‘Maximov won’t be happy that Wharfe is still walking around, and, worse, is about to blow the whistle on Dimeloe, thus closing down his conduit.’
‘Should you care? Let’s get out of Finland, and back to England or wherever you’re hanging out these days. Forget Maximov.’
If only.
A reeling carouser staggered against Maura’s chair, his hip glancing off her shoulder. She glared up at him. He, presumably hetero, definitely loaded, appreciated what he was seeing.
With a leer pasted on his round, potato-fed face, he rattled off a few words that had the ring of a proposition.
I stood and tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Move along, or I’ll operate on your face without anaesthetic.’
‘Drew!’ Maura exclaimed, but the guy didn’t understand English. He made a spread-hand gesture of incomprehension, his eyes unfocused. Some of my venom must have impressed him though. He hiccupped, treated me to a wobbly smile, and staggered onward through the packed room towards the bar.
‘Don’t be so aggressive,’ Maura said, but I knew I was forgiven when she stroked my cheek.
‘Sorry. I’m just feeling bad about Tony.’
‘I know you’re upset, and I understand, but the last thing you want is a brawl and police descending on this place. You need to stay below the parapet.’
‘You’re right about that. Let’s go to the hotel, and I’ll tell you what I need to tell you.’
Though I wasn’t looking forward to it.
* * * * *
In our room at the Kultahippu, allowing my emotions free rein at last, I tore off the glasses and hurled them across the room.
‘Tony Dimeloe a traitor. Je-sus Christ!’
‘Don’t go throwing the moustache,’ Maura said. ‘You might not be able to find it again.’
It was too small and light to hurl anyhow. I peeled it off and transferred it to the compartment in my shaving bag.
‘Sit down, sweetheart.’
She removed her parka and sat on the edge of the bed. Hands clasped in her lap. Very demure. Appearances can be deceptive.
‘I can’t just walk away from Maximov,’ I said, my voice off-key.
Her expression grew wary.
‘Can’t you?’
‘Maximov is holding a friend of mine.’ I forced myself to speak naturally, as if it were no big deal. ‘Killing Wharfe was a condition for securing her release.’
She suddenly became very still. ‘Her?’
‘Yeah.’ My smile was meant to be reassuring but I felt it waver.
‘Someone special?’
I shook my head. ‘Not like you. But, for a while, after I accepted you weren’t coming back, I consoled myself with her.’
Her ‘Oh’ was small, deflated.
‘Sorry.’
She got up off the bed, paced a little. I watched her, admired her behind in the leather pants whenever she presented it to me. Lusted a little or more.
‘I didn’t console myself with anyone,’ she said at last.
‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ I said again. ‘I couldn’t live on hope indefinitely. Ultimately, I accepted your decision as final, the way people accept the death of a spouse. Life went on.’
‘Yes. Yes, I do see.’ She sat down again, on the stool in front of bureau. Farther away from me than before. ‘Drew … I’m not going to turn it into an issue, I promise. But I want to know, truly, sincerely, if she means anything to you. What’s her name, anyway?’
‘Jacqui. She looks a little like you.’
‘Aah.’ She nodded slowly, her understanding instant. ‘Should I be flattered?’
‘Very.’ I approached her, hauled her of the stool and kissed the tips of her fingers one after another. ‘She means as much to me as any friend in trouble because of my actions.’
‘It’s all right. Really. You don’t have to justify it. You’re a man of integrity. Leaving her in the lurch would be hateful to you, and I wouldn’t expect you to do it. In fact, knowing about it as I do now, I would encourage you to do it.’ Her smile broke out, like sunshine in a cloudy sky. ‘Not only that, but I’m going to be in it with you.’
I opened my mouth to protest but she covered it with her fingers.
‘We had this conversation a couple of days ago. You lost.’
My UK cell phone announced receipt of a text message. It was Tony.
All done and dusted?
Hasta la vista.
I let Maura see it.
‘What will you tell him?’
‘Nothing for now. Let him sweat, the bastard.’
‘That aside, what do we do next?’
‘Find out where Jacqui’s being held. It’s in a castle, someplace in Finland.’ I scratched the top of my head. The tinting stuff made it itch. ‘First though we need to get away from here. The two Supo guys with Wharfe aren’t going to let me off the hook for that shooting.’
‘Won’t Wharfe intervene?’
‘Not on my behalf. I wasn’t working for him. I wasn’t even working for MI6, though I believed I was until now. This was a private enterprise operation, that turns out to be illicit.’
‘They don’t know you without the disguise,’ Maura pointed out.
‘That’s right.’ My smile was grim. ‘Which reminds to destroy my Mark Andrews ID, and revert to being John Henley. But they know you. And we’re together.’
Her face fell as the implications sank in.
‘We need to split up, and the sooner the better. Oh, shit, it’s not fair. I’ve only just got here.’
‘More important, do Wharfe’s pals know your name? If they do we’re in trouble.’
‘I gave them a name, but not my real one. And before you ask, I wasn’t carrying my passport or any ID.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I’ve learned a lot from you.’
‘How to think like a criminal, you mean? Yeah, I ought to be proud of myself. Anyhow, we’re stuck here until tomorrow at the earliest. Nothing will be flying in this weather.’
‘I suppose.’ We looked at each other. A timeless message leapt across the space between us. She giggled. ‘How are we going to pass the time, do you think?’
When it came to the physical side, for once I wasn’t in the mood. The Dimeloe business had hit me hard. Maura was understanding and forgiving and consoled me with hugs. Even so, it was the small hours before I fell asleep that night.
