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.Lock shut the door, and for a moment the two men looked at each other, neither having the right small talk for this very particular occasion.Lock looked harrowed.His hair was greasy and uncombed and he had a small sore, purplish red, at the corner of his mouth.He hadn’t shaved since London.Webster scanned the room: the bed unmade, the ashtray half full, the bottles of Scotch on the bedside table, one nearly empty.The window was closed and the air smelled of smoke and sleep and whisky.‘You have the chair,’ said Lock.‘I’m afraid we don’t stretch to two.’‘How are you doing? Why don’t we go and get some lunch? I’m hungry.’Lock walked to the window and looked out, standing a foot or two from the glass and leaning back.He turned to Webster.‘I’d like to talk here if we can.There’s been.I’m not feeling very safe.’‘Why not?’Lock told him about the hairs on the doors and the man with the cap.Webster kept his expression steady but felt a short sting of anxiety: either Lock was beginning to imagine things or this was alarming, and what made this so difficult was that both were credible.‘Perhaps it was housekeeping.’‘The room wasn’t made up.I had the Do Not Disturb sign out.’‘Then we shouldn’t talk here.If you’re right.’It took Lock a moment to understand.‘Shit.Yes.Of course.God, I hate this business.I don’t know how you put up with all this crap.’Webster smiled but it was clear Lock wasn’t joking.In an Alsatian restaurant in Mitte they sat on wooden chairs at a plain wooden table and ordered food.Lock drank beer, Webster water.They took a table towards the back of the long narrow room, Webster facing the door so that he could reassure Lock that no one threatening had entered.Walking there Webster had looked for a tail and seen nothing.Lock was uneasy; he didn’t eat.Webster quizzed him about his movements since London: had he followed the plan? Had he driven straight from Rotterdam? Where had he stopped along the way? What had he done since he was here? When Lock got to the point where he contacted Nina, Webster thought he understood.Someone was listening to her phone.It was even possible they were monitoring Marina’s line.He didn’t tell Lock what he was thinking.‘And since Nina?’‘Since the call? I went and bought these shoes.Not far from here.Then I went and had dinner – and noticed the man in the black cap when I was leaving.I did what you said but he didn’t follow me, not that I could see.Then I went back to the hotel.’‘And you stayed there till when?’‘Till this morning.I left at about seven-thirty to get breakfast.I didn’t sleep well.And when I got back, about eleven, the hairs weren’t there.Then I called Malin.’‘You called Malin?’ Webster struggled to keep the incredulity out of his voice.‘Yes.’‘Why on.What for? I don’t understand.’‘I didn’t think about it.I just wanted to tell him to leave me alone.’‘And did you?’‘Yes.’‘What did he say?’‘He tried to persuade me that I’d be safe in Moscow.That.that in a year’s time all of this would be forgotten.’‘What do you think about that?’‘I don’t want to see Moscow again.And I don’t believe him.I have a feeling I’ve crossed the line.’ Lock looked detached, almost curious, as if he could picture the line somewhere behind him and wondered why he hadn’t seen it before.‘What did you call him on?’‘That.’ Lock pointed to one of his dismantled phones on the table.‘Well, we can throw that away.And if he wasn’t following you he will be now.’ Webster sat and chewed for a moment.‘Tell me about Nina.’‘There’s not much to say.She told me to sod off.Nicely but firmly.’‘How well do you know her?’‘I’ve had dinner with her three times.I think it’s three.We got on but I wouldn’t say we bonded.’‘All before Gerstman left Malin?’‘Yes.’‘So she sees you as Malin’s man?’‘She does.For sure.’Webster took a drink of water and tried to decide how to get Nina to open the door to him.She knew that they wanted the same thing: Malin exposed.He was sure of that.The question was whether she would engage.‘All right.I’ll talk to her.If she’ll see me.If she thinks you’re a wanted man she may soften.Let’s go.’‘We can take my car.’‘If you’re right they may have seen it.We’ll get a cab.’Webster had the driver pass Nina’s flat slowly, Lock lying down across the back seat.He couldn’t see anyone.It wouldn’t be easy to keep a watch here.The street was one-way and her building halfway down, which meant that you couldn’t rely on a car alone.And this was the sort of place where neighbours were observant and vocal.He kept one eye on the cars that lined both sides.They were all empty.It was still possible that Lock was imagining things; he was no longer the most reliable witness.The driver thought they were mad and said so.He let them out two blocks away in a street parallel to Nina’s.Webster paid him and looked at Lock standing by the cab.There was fear and expectation in his eyes.He looked crazed, a mess.Have I done this to him? At best I’ve accelerated it.When we’ve seen Nina he can start to recover himself.‘We need to make you presentable.Can you do something about your hair? Smooth it down a bit.Maybe button your coat right up.OK.That’s better.Come on, let’s go.’The icy channel worn through the snow on the pavement wasn’t wide enough for both of them and Lock walked slightly ahead, Webster carefully scanning the cars and the houses.Ahead of them, ten yards from the turning into Nina’s street, a man was crouching down on the pavement next to a car.With one gloved hand he was taking the plastic covers off the wheel-nuts; in the other he held an L-shaped cylindrical spanner.As they approached, he stood up, took a step backwards and looked down at his work.He was tall and wore a grey overcoat.Webster put his hand on Lock’s shoulder to slow him down.He heard a step behind him, the faintest crunch on the ice, and before he could turn felt his knees buckle under him.As he slumped a dull crack sounded in his head.Pain shot behind his eyes.He fell forward on his knees, the ice and grit stinging his hands.Another crack and then darkness.He heard voices first.When he opened his eyes he saw grey snow, the wheel of a car beyond.A strip of bright pain ran from the bridge of his nose round to the back of his skull.There was cold against his cheek and in his clothes.He closed his eyes again.These were German words.Some of them he knew.He raised his head and the pain seemed to flow to a point, like water.A hand touched his shoulder and he turned on his side and looked up, squinting into the light.‘Sind sie verletzt?’‘Was ist passiert?’An arm reached round him and pulled him up until he was sitting.His trousers were wet against his thighs and there was the taste of iron in his mouth.He reached up and felt his forehead, his temple.Above his ear the hair was warm and clumped.He took his hand away and looked at the blood, frowning.Lock.Christ.Lock.He tried to stand but his feet couldn’t find purchase on the ice.I have to find him.‘Bewegen Sie sich nicht.Wir haben einen Krankenwagen gerufen.’There were three people.A man was squatting by him and two women stood close by, their faces full of concern.He put his arm round the man’s shoulders and pushed with his legs.The man stood with him.‘Wirklich.Er kommt gleich.’Webster looked down at himself.His body didn’t feel like his own.His head reeled and he fought the urge to be sick.I have to move.For a moment he stayed leaning on the man for support and then set off in the direction of Nina’s flat, moving each leg with deliberation, his hand outstretched to find the wall.There were protests behind him.‘Danke,’ he said, turning [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]