Later, much later when she was already asleep, he lay there looking up into the darkness and thought about it, and reasoned that it had been her. In some subtle way he knew she’d been going through the motions, that a small, isolated part of her brain had been elsewhere, perhaps only thinking of her parents, but perhaps more than that, of whether their future would hold through the end of his job. And sensing that she doubted, he doubted, too, fearing it would no longer be the same.
When he woke the next morning, the small lamp was on and he could hear the shower running. She always had breakfast first, and he could smell the coffee in the kitchen. When she came in, she saw he was awake and smiled and said, “Good morning.” She kissed him before retreating across the room, taking her robe off and hanging it on the back of the door.
She started to dress, throwing the occasional smile at him because she knew, and was bemused by the fact, that he found the sight of her dressing even more erotic than that of her undressing. For a moment he wanted to persuade her back to bed, however briefly, but the memory of the previous night stalled him.
He said, “I forgot to tell you, I’m away today, back Sunday morning.”
“Oh,” she said, looking concerned again. “Not this work you’ve been doing?”
She knew nothing about what he’d been doing this week, and yet something about it had unsettled her. Maybe it was just having met Louisa.
“No, it’s the opposite. They’ve asked me to attend a meeting. Everyone else is busy.”
She didn’t look convinced. “That’s one thing I won’t miss about your job—you go away too much.”
He smiled and watched as she finished dressing, then said as it occurred to him, “Is there anything about my job that you will miss?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see what you’re like without it first.” She came over and kissed him quickly. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Travel safely.”
“I will. See you Sunday.”
“I’ll be here, sad and lonely.” She laughed and headed out of the door.
A stray thought flitted into his head, that he would never see her again—a thought so powerful that he almost leapt out of bed to follow her. But it was nothing more than a stray thought, he knew that, the kind that people in his profession seemed particularly prone to.
He didn’t bother going into the office that day. He had nothing left to do and everyone else had already left for Kaliningrad. Instead, he showered and dressed—casual clothes so he wouldn’t look odd traveling with Katerina—and then had a long, lazy breakfast, watching the clock. He’d told Katerina he’d pick her up around four.
At lunchtime his phone rang. It was Louisa, sounding even more like a headmistress over the phone than she did in person.
“Ah, Finn, glad I caught you.” He raised his eyebrows, and with anyone else would have pointed out the nature of cell phones.
“Is everything going to plan?” Even as he asked the question, he realized that wasn’t why she was calling, that she would no longer see any need to keep him informed on the progress of Sparrowhawk. His part in this operation, and essentially in her organization, was over.
“This is probably nothing, but take a look out of your window and see if there’s a black BMW parked in the street.”
He walked through the apartment and looked down. It was parked a little way along, but the BMW was there, with two guys just visible inside it.
Finn wasn’t unduly concerned but said, “I don’t get it—I thought he’d have stuck with the agreement.”
“Clearly he doesn’t trust you to keep your end. We think he’s out here somewhere, but we intercepted a call, which is why we know they’re watching the apartment.”
It meant he’d have to avoid them when he left, but he didn’t think that would be so difficult.
“It’s not a problem, is it? I mean, it can’t compromise the operation?”
“Not at all, no. It’s not that.” She sounded unsure of herself, something so strange where Louisa was concerned that Finn felt the first hint of unease. “This really could be nothing, but when his man told him that you hadn’t left the apartment, Karasek told him to wait a little longer, and then check out the other place.”
“What other place?” He felt sick as the answer came to him even before she’d spoken.
“I’ve no idea, but I thought, just on the off chance, that you do have something or someone they want—that . . .”
He was still looking down at the street, and stared with horror now as the BMW reversed slightly, the front wheels turning, edging forward, reversing again, working slowly out of the tight parking spot.
“Thanks, Louisa. I’ll look into it.” He hung up before she could respond and tore through the apartment, picking up his coat and backpack as he slammed through the door, hurtling down the stairs.
The car had gone by the time he got out onto the street. He didn’t hesitate, sprinting quickly away, making rapid calculations—the route the car would have to take, the few shortcuts he could make on foot, still doubting he could be quick enough.