Merlin decided to get back to his own place that night, despite Sonia’s entreaties to stay. His shoulder was giving him gyp again and if he was going to have a sleepless night, he preferred to have it somewhere where his tossing and turning wasn’t going to ruin Sonia’s night as well. Feeling a little weary from his pleasurable exertions, he decided to walk to the Baker Street Tube and catch the Circle Line.
The raiders hadn’t gone home yet and, as he was approaching Marylebone Road, he became conscious of engine noise followed by an odd whistling sound. Moments later an apartment block on the other side of the road exploded. Merlin was blown off his feet and enveloped by a dark cloud of smoke. For a second or two he lost consciousness then, lying flat on his back and staring up at the gleaming disc of the moon and the black shadows passing across it, he confirmed to his own satisfaction that he was still alive. He was rising carefully to his feet, his body bruised but intact, when a shot rang out. The sound of running feet followed, then Merlin found himself on his back again, bowled over this time by a man hurtling into him from somewhere to his left. He stood up again with an effort and looked down the small side street from which the man must have come. He made his way stiffly along the street and came to the ruin of a building, which was still smouldering in parts and was probably a casualty of the day before. Merlin couldn’t quite decide whether it had been a residential building or an office. He walked carefully around a crater in the pavement, which the moon had helpfully illuminated and stepped gingerly through what he assumed had once been the front door. Suddenly he was aware of a murmur of voices and somewhere at the back of the building a cigarette glowed.
He took another tentative step forward and then another. The noises became clearer and he was able to make out a few words – “Bastard – get him – boxes” and some others clearly not English but too indistinct for him to identify the language. On his next step forward his foot got caught in something and there was the sound of shifting rubble.
“Who’s there? Come on, my friends, let’s get out of here.”
By the time Merlin had got his foot unstuck, there were no more voices and the men, whoever they were, had evidently disappeared. He thought for a moment about having a good look around, but decided that it was too dangerous in the dark and made his way back to Marylebone Road. Strangely, the pain in his shoulder had gone away completely.
Chapter 8
Monday, September 9
The all clear sounded again just after six. Voronov had slept soundly through the night in his own bed and was irritated to be disturbed by the siren at such an early hour. He looked over at his wife. She was wisely wearing black eyepads and earplugs. She didn’t share Voronov’s blind faith in his indestructibility, but had not wanted to upset him by not sharing his bed, so she had drunk half a bottle of vodka and several large glasses of a rather fine Bordeaux before retiring. Her mouth was half-open and she was breathing regularly. From experience, Voronov estimated that she’d be out of it till lunchtime. He tugged at a rope that hung on the wall on his side of the bed. Shortly afterwards a bleary-eyed Maksim appeared at the door.
“Ah. You’re still alive I see. Did you sleep well in the cellar?” Maksim shook his head.
“Hmm. Well, I slept particularly well until that infernal noise went off.” Voronov stroked his beard slowly.
“Very well. Tea, if you please. And quickly. I have a terrible thirst.”
Maksim disappeared and Voronov lumbered out of the bed. He walked over to the French windows in front of him, pulled back the curtains and stepped out onto the balcony. Everything seemed as it had been before. In the rapidly improving light, Voronov saw a milkman doing his rounds.