Perry said, “That’s enough, Trelawney.”
“Oh, Ed—Jack’s only venting his feelings.” She brandished the papers. “This will have to be investigated, as will the entire operation and the parts we’ve all played in it, and people rather more senior than me will decide upon the most judicious course of action. Either way, I suspect Harrington’s life is about to become rather uncomfortable.”
Trelawney, frustrated by Louisa’s relaxed tone, said, “It’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s why he resigned before all this—because he got paid off. All these bogus rumors about one of our team working for Naumenko, and it turns out Harrington was working for Karasek right under our noses. He’s betrayed his country, but he’s betrayed all of us, too. Even you, Louisa.”
Louisa nodded, apparently accepting the unshakable truth of it, then said, “Shame—I rather liked him.”
“Me too,” said Perry, though in reality he’d never really warmed to him. Harrington hadn’t been much of a team player—affable enough, but always a little distant, a little cold, at least with everyone except Harry, who he’d inadvertently sacrificed here tonight. But whether or not Harrington got the bullet in the head that Trelawney wanted, Louisa was certainly right about the way things would pan out for him now.
To be a traitor was one thing; to be stupid enough to get caught, and in such a careless way, that was another. To be a traitor and bring about the death of someone like Harry Simons raised it to another level. The future would be grim for Harrington, and the contempt and vengefulness he’d face would be nothing less than he deserved.
Perry glanced over his shoulder but couldn’t see whether the two medics were still struggling to keep Harry alive. They were lost in shadow, ominously still.
He looked at Louisa again and said, “I suppose this is the end of Sparrowhawk.”
“Take a look around you, Ed. What do you think?”
She turned and walked away, and he stood there in the sleet in the middle of the night, the dead and injured littering the dockyard. Yes, with absolute certainty he could say that this was the end of Sparrowhawk, the end of Harry Simons, and in one way or another, the end of Finn Harrington, too—no less than if he’d been here and taken a bullet himself.
Chapter One
Lausanne—six years later
Finn took a taxi from the station, and as it approached his building he spotted the concierge standing outside staring up at the sky, which even this early in the year had the promise of spring in it.
Finn paid the driver and said, “Bonjour, Monsieur Grasset.”
Grasset looked as if he hadn’t expected Finn to return, and smiled as he said, “Monsieur Harrington, it’s nice to see you back. A research trip?”
“That’s right. Béziers, mainly. I stopped in Paris for a night on the way home.”
“Ah, so you’re writing about the Cathars.” Finn nodded. “Very interesting.”
“I hope so.”
Finn made to move on, but Grasset stopped him with a regretful look. “Monsieur Harrington—your wife . . . she left.”
Finn heard the words as if they were a skillfully constructed riddle. Did he mean she’d left, or gone away? Finn had only been traveling for eleven days and she’d sounded fine the last time he’d spoken to her . . . seven days ago.
Unsure how to respond, and irritated by Grasset’s kindly invasion of his privacy, he said, “She isn’t my wife.”
Grasset nodded, looking a little embarrassed, and in turn Finn felt he’d been churlish, that the old man had meant no harm. Finn searched for something mollifying to say, perhaps a suggestion of where she might have gone, but he could think of nothing.
“Do you know where she went?”
Grasset shrugged. “To the station. She looked upset, but . . .” More hopefully, he added, “Perhaps someone in her family is sick?”
“Could be. Thanks for letting me know.”
Finn left Grasset outside, took the elevator, and let himself into the empty apartment. He left his case in the hall and walked into the kitchen and then the study, the two places she might have left a note. There was nothing in either room. He put his laptop case on the desk, then took his suitcase into the bedroom and hoisted it onto the bed but didn’t open it.
For a few moments, he studied the rails of clothes in her closet, trying to estimate how much was missing. Apart from her current favorite coat, he wasn’t sure, and he struggled even to remember what she’d been wearing when he last saw her.