“Ah, dobryj dyen, Sergei. There you are. Well done! I doubt they’d spot you there. Anything doing?”
“Yes, sir. His servant just went to get a car from a garage around the corner. He’s parked over there behind that van. At the end of that alleyway opposite is a back entrance to Voronov’s house. He’s been using it a bit.”
Grishin chewed on the end of his cigar. “Does that mean he spotted you?”
“I don’t think so, sir. A man like him – I should think he has plenty of enemies to avoid at the front door. Anyway, it’s not as if this back door is some sort of a secret passage – if he thinks it can’t be found, he’s deluded.”
“Huh! Deluded I suppose is one of many choice words we could use about Kyril Ivanovitch Voronov.”
Sergei Platonov was a cadaverously thin man, with a disproportionately large head that looked as if it might topple off his neck at any time. As his shoulders heaved with laughter at Grishin’s words, this possibility seemed ever more likely.
“I suppose it might be interesting to see where Voronov is going. I have my car down the street. Shall we—”
“If you follow me back down here sir, we can double back round to your car without Voronov’s driver seeing us.”
“Very well, Sergei. Let’s be quick. Here he comes. You are armed?”
Platonov opened his coat a little to display a revolver jammed in his trouser waist. “And I have a spare strapped to my back.”
*
The Count and the pilots had moved back into the hallway, which, together with all the ground floor rooms, was now completely filled with large crates.
“Have you got any weapons, Count?”
“Nothing apart from my old service weapon.”
Kubicki cast a concerned look at Kowalski. One of the workmen came over to Tarkowski and told him that everything had now been brought up from the cellar and that the transport should be arriving any minute.
Kubicki’s concern had changed to irritation. “But excuse me, Count. You say these Russians are ruthless people. Do you not think they will arm themselves? It would have been better, Jerzy, if you had thought this through and we could have brought something with us.”
Kowalski shrugged. “I wasn’t aware that these Russians posed such an immediate threat, Miro. Anyway, the transport will be here in a minute. It is broad daylight and we are almost in the centre of London. You are worrying unnecessarily.” At that moment, they heard the sound of an engine and creaking brakes. The Count opened the front door and looked out anxiously. “The lorry is here. Come on, let’s get everything aboard.”
*
“Kyril, over here!” Trubetskoi waved Voronov’s car down by a postbox in the middle of Snowdon Drive.
Voronov wound down his window and beamed at his partner. “I have come. All is well! And I assume these two fine gentlemen are the colleagues of whom I have heard so much.”
Billy and Jake stepped out from the cover of some bushes and touched their hats in acknowledgement.
“There really was no need for you to come, Kyril. We can handle it.”
Voronov opened the car door and hauled himself out onto the pavement. “No, Misha. It is a case of ‘all hands to the deck’, as the English say. And Maksim here was yearning for some adventure.”
Maksim, who remained in the driver’s seat, turned and offered a weak smile.
“What is happening?”
“A couple of handy-looking RAF pilots arrived at the house a while ago. Poles I should think. Seems like Tarkowski must have taken pains to have some extra security. He must know something is up. This is not going to be, as they say here, a piece of cake, Kyril. There are also plenty of men loading boxes onto the truck, which arrived a moment ago.”
“The gold?”
“What else?”
“And you all have your guns?”