Ed nodded, glancing to his right, and Finn wondered if he was judging the distance, working out if he could make a run for it.
“I didn’t set out to come after you, Finn. Karasek was the one who was obsessed, the sick bastard, even after all this time. But imagine how I felt when I found out you’d been in business with Naumenko all along. Finn Harrington, falling on his sword to try to expose me, letting people think he was a traitor, the ultimate double-bluff . . .”
“I was never a traitor, Ed. I was corrupt.”
“And there’s a difference?”
“I thought so.” Across the lake the ice cracked, splintering and grinding against itself. Finn looked toward the noise, then back at Perry. “It’s a long time since you were in the field, Ed, and that was a poor decision, going out on the ice.”
Ed was dismissive as he said, “That cracking doesn’t mean a thing—I know this lake, I know how strong the ice is.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. I’m sure the ice is strong enough, but it still doesn’t give you any cover.”
Perry looked down at the ice before meeting Finn’s gaze again.
“I’m asking you not to do this, Finn. I’m not asking for myself. I have a wife now, I have . . .” His throat seemed to snag. “I have a baby girl.”
Finn found himself wondering how old Perry was—mid-forties, he guessed—and said only, “I didn’t know that.”
“She’ll be two in June.” He shook his head and looked across the ice to the house, stubbornly out of reach. He sounded emotional as he said, “It’s all I was trying to do, Finn. When I found out about the money, I . . . It wasn’t about you, it was about my little girl, security for her, her future.”
Finn felt sorry for him suddenly. He looked small and vulnerable standing out there on the ice, a man desperate to be with his young family. And thinking back to the way he’d been in Tallinn, the care and concern he’d shown for his people, Finn could imagine him making an indulgent father. If only that had extended to the children of other families.
Perhaps Perry sensed that Finn’s resolve was weakening, because he said now, “We can end this here, Finn. We’ve both made mistakes, but . . . I’m just asking you to show some compassion, that’s all. Show some compassion.”
Finn nodded and thought back to Tallinn again. He thought of Katerina and wished he’d asked Alex after all. He wanted to know that something good had come of her, that maybe she was the one person in the world who was still grateful that he had walked into her life.
He raised his gun, took aim, and shot Perry in the chest. Perry staggered back a little, then fell to his knees. Finn stepped onto the ice and walked toward him. He looked down at him. His eyes were looking as if at someone lying on the shore, his mouth moving through a silent attempt at final words.
Finn could think of some final words of his own, of the many things he’d wanted to say to Perry but hadn’t. But what was the point of final words between them? What had been the point of any of it?
He raised his gun and shot Perry in the head. The wound didn’t produce much blood and the body crumpled sideways onto the ice. Finn stood looking down at it for a moment or two, then across the lake. The woods looked lost in night now, and even the sky was falling away into a deeper blue.
He turned and walked back to the shore, and along the shore to the house. There was a Volvo in an open garage to the side of it. Finn went inside the house and checked the kitchen first, then the other rooms, looking for the keys. He went back outside and found them in the ignition of the car.
He drove back to Helsinki, taking it easy in the darkness, stopping a couple of times to off-load the gun and then the unused magazines. He left the car on a side street and walked the final leg back through the city center to the hotel.
He hesitated in the lobby, looking through to the bar, which was lively as ever, but he didn’t go in—it would only remind him of Harry and the days when this had all seemed like fun. It was time to go home. He booked a seat on the early flight to Geneva the next morning. In every sense, it was time to go home.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The plane arrived on time the next morning, just after ten, the weather once again benevolent. He walked through the arrivals gate, saw the people standing there waiting for passengers, and almost walked past the suited driver holding a card with his name on it.
It wouldn’t have mattered because the guy had spotted him.
As Finn stopped, he said, “Good morning, Mr. Harrington, I’m your driver—I’ll be taking you to Lausanne.”
“Will you now?” Finn walked on and the driver fell in with him. “Don’t suppose my publisher sent you?”
“Funny you should say that, sir, I’d like to read one of your books. History.” He said no more, as if that word was enough in itself, which Finn supposed it was.