Confessional - Jack Higgins [48]
'Would you by any chance be sitting in bed watching the old Bogart movie on the television?' Devlin enquired.
'Dear God, are you going into the clairvoyance business now?'
'Well, you can switch it off and get out of bed, you old bastard. The game's afoot with a vengeance.'
Ferguson's voice changed. 'What are you saying?'
'That Tanya Voroninova's done a bunk. She's just phoned me from the Gare du Nord. Catching the night train to Rennes. Change for St Malo. Hydrofoil to Jersey in the morning. She thought the other routes might be blocked.'
'Smart girl,' Ferguson said. 'They'll pull every trick in the book to get her back.'
'She's going to phone me when she gets to Rennes. I presume, at a guess, that would be about three-thirty or maybe four o'clock.'
Ferguson said, 'Stay by the phone. I'll get back to you.'
In his flat, Harry Fox was just about to get into the shower before going to bed when the phone rang. He answered it, cursing. It had been a long day. He needed some sleep.
'Harry?'
He came alert at once at the sound of Ferguson's voice. 'Yes, sir?'
'Get yourself over here. We've got work to do.'
Cussane was working in his study on Sunday's sermon when the sensor device linked to the apparatus in the attic was activated. By the time he was up there, Devlin was off the phone. He played the tape back, listening intently. When it was finished, he sat there, thinking about the implications which were all bad.
He went down to the study and phoned Cherny direct. When the Professor answered, he said, 'It's me. Are you alone?'
'Yes. Just about to go to bed. Where are you ringing from?'
'My place. We've got bad trouble. Now listen carefully.'
When he was finished, Cherny said, 'It gets worse. What do you want me to do?'
'Speak to Lubov now. Tell him to make contact with Belov in Paris at once. They may be able to stop her.'
'And if not?'
'Then I'll have to handle it myself when she gets here. I'll keep in touch, so stay by the phone.'
He poured himself a whiskey and stood in front of the fire. Strange, but he still saw her as that scrawny little girl in the rain all those years ago.
He raised his glass and said softly, 'Here's to you, Tanya Voroninova. Now, let's see if you can give those bastards a run for their money.'
Within five minutes, Turkin had realized something was badly wrong, had entered the dressing room and discovered the locked toilet door. The silence which was the only answer to his urgent knocking made him break down the door. The empty toilet, the window, told all. He clambered through, dropped into the yard and went into the Rue de Madrid. There was not a sign of her and he went round to the front of the Conservatoire and in through the main entrance, black rage in his heart. His career ruined, his very life on the line now because of that damned woman.
Belov was on another glass of champagne, deep in conversation with the Minister of Culture, when Turkin tapped him on the shoulder. 'Sorry to interrupt, Colonel, but could I have a word?' and he took him into the nearest corner and broke the bad news.
Nikolai Belov had always found that adversity brought out the best in him. He had never been one to cry over spilt milk. At his office at the Embassy, he sat behind the desk and faced Natasha Rubenova. Shepilov and Turkin stood by the door.
'I ask you again, Comrade,' he said to her. 'Did she say anything to you? Surely you of all people would have had some idea of her intentions?'
She was distressed and tearful, all quite genuine, and it helped her to lie easily. 'I'm as much at a loss as you are, Comrade Colonel.'
He sighed and nodded to Turkin who moved up behind her, shoving her down into a chair. He pulled off his right glove and squeezed her neck, pinching a nerve and sending a wave of appalling pain through her.
'I ask you again,' Nikolai Belov said gently. 'Please be sensible, I hate this kind of thing.'
Natasha, filled with pain, rage and humiliation, did the bravest