That memory stick now seemed to represent the final, perhaps insurmountable, obstacle to Adrienne’s return. She still loved him, a revelation of beauty in itself, one that amazed him—and there had been something there, an understanding that he wanted to be more open with her.
But the memory stick remained, its cryptic contents speaking of secrets he couldn’t share with her, not yet and maybe not ever. It represented an obstacle in another way, too, because until he found out what they wanted from him, he wouldn’t want her to return. How could he, when he had no idea how safe either of them would be?
History
Monday was a long day for him, and Louisa hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told him he’d have drudge work to do. For most of the morning, the rest of the office was conspicuously quiet.
At lunchtime, six extra bodies arrived from London, including one, Rachel Rose, who’d worked with him before.
She popped her head around his door and said, “Hello, stranger.”
He got up, and she came into the room and kissed him on both cheeks, reverting to their old Mediterranean routine. She was one of those people who had a slightly crumpled, just-woken-up face; he always imagined she’d age badly, but the effect for the time being was to make her all the more attractive somehow.
“You’re looking good, Rachel.”
“You’re looking . . . okay. Better than when we were married.”
He laughed. They’d never been married, but had acted it a couple of times for work purposes.
“You here for this Sparrowhawk business?”
She nodded and said, “You not in on it?”
“Long story, but no, I’m leaving.” She did a double take and he added, “Longer story. I have a girlfriend, too, local journalist . . .”
“Good for you. But even so—” Someone called her from along the corridor, and she smiled and said, “Let’s catch up, if we can, before the weekend.”
“Sure. Good to see you, Rachel.”
“You too, Finn.”
She walked out and he went back to his desk. Both of them knew they were unlikely to have a longer conversation in the coming week, and not just because the operation would use up all her waking hours and eat into her sleep.
Finn was on the outside now, and over the next few days, as the team’s ties strengthened, his exclusion would become all the greater. It was the culmination of a process that had begun years before, when he’d started working with Naumenko—and there was some irony in Rachel being here now, because she’d been with him the first time he’d met Alex.
Very soon, this would no longer be his world, and he felt that keenly now, a passive observer as the preparations for Sparrowhawk ebbed and flowed around him.
Louisa wasn’t around, but Castle had reappeared and seemed to be running things at an operational level. He didn’t once acknowledge Finn’s presence, even when passing him in the corridor, although Finn sensed this wasn’t just for the sake of preserving his cover. For whatever reason, Castle didn’t like him—maybe just because he was quitting.
Midway through the afternoon, Finn received an email. It was from a Gmail account in the name of “Brodsky1051” and was phrased as if he was one of Finn’s regular contacts, with the message signed off “BB.” Finn had never heard from him before, and doubted he even existed.
The email confirmed that the Maria Nuovo would arrive in Kaliningrad sometime after midnight in the early hours of Saturday morning, gave the precise location of the dock that would be used, even the license-plate number of the truck that would be meeting it. A couple of supporting documents were attached.
He’d find out tomorrow how keen Karasek was to believe it, a decision he guessed would be more about his desire for the girl than about getting his hands on a ton of cocaine. Finn doubted even Louisa appreciated how deranged Karasek was over Katerina.
He was getting ready to leave just before five, when Harry stopped by, his coat already on.
“You leaving?”
“Yeah, I am,” said Finn. “You’re not, though, surely?”
“Just for a few hours.” He looked out into the corridor before saying, “I’m going home to eat, but I’ll be back later. Walk with me?”
“Sure.”
They walked casually enough as they left the building, and Finn didn’t bother to look for a tail because he was certain there would be one. As ever, the temperature had crashed with the onset of evening, and Harry looked all the happier for it—Finn had never known anyone to like the cold more than Harry.
Finn said, “What do you make of Rachel?”
“She’s okay. You used to work with her, didn’t you?” Harry glanced at Finn, who gave him a nod in response. “Must be weird for you, something like this kicking off and you’re sitting on the sidelines.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s hitting home. But then I can afford to be sanguine—can’t imagine Ed taking it so easily.”
“As far as I know, Ed doesn’t even know this is happening, and he’s been held up in Moscow, won’t be back until Friday. It’ll almost be over by the time he gets back.”