Eye of the storm Page 0,66

tinkling.

Clayton came through the bead curtain and smiled. “Oh, it’s you. What can I do for you?”

“Wigs,” Dillon told him.

“A nice selection over here.” He was right. There was everything—short, long, permed, blonde, redhead. Dillon selected one that was shoulder-length and gray.

“I see,” Clayton said. “The granny look?”

“Something like that. What about costume? I don’t mean anything fancy. Second-hand?”

“In here.”

Clayton went through the bead curtain and Dillon followed him. There was rack upon rack of clothes and a jumbled heap in the corner. He worked very quickly, sorting through, selected a long brown skirt with an elastic waist and a shabby raincoat that almost came down to his ankles.

Clayton said, “What are you going to play, Old Mother Riley or a bag lady?”

“You’d be surprised.” Dillon had seen a pair of jeans on top of the jumble in the corner. He picked them up and searched through a pile of shoes beside them, selecting a pair of runners that had seen better days.

“These will do,” he said. “Oh, and this,” and he picked an old headscarf from a stand. “Stick ’em all in a couple of plastic bags. How much?”

Clayton started to pack them. “By rights I should thank you for taking them away, but we’ve all got to live. Ten quid to you.”

Dillon paid him and picked up the bags. “Thanks a lot.”

Clayton opened the door for him. “Have a good show, luv, give ’em hell.”

“Oh, I will,” Dillon said and he hurried down to the corner, hailed a cab and told the driver to take him back to the hotel.

When Tania Novikova went down to answer the bell and opened the door to find Gordon Brown there, she knew, by instinct, that something was wrong.

“What’s this, Gordon? I told you I’d come round to your place.”

“I must see you, Tania, it’s essential. Something terrible has happened!”

“Calm down,” she said. “Just take it easy. Come upstairs and tell me all about it.”

Lane and Mackie were parked at the end of the street and the Inspector was already on the car phone to Ferguson, giving him the address.

“Sergeant Mackie’s done a quick check at the door, sir. The card says a Miss Tania Novikova.”

“Oh, dear,” Ferguson said.

“You know her, sir?”

“Supposedly a secretary at the Soviet Embassy, Inspector. In fact she’s a captain in the KGB.”

“That means she’s one of Colonel Yuri Gatov’s people, sir. He runs London Station.”

“I’m not so sure. Gatov is a Gorbachev man and very pro-West. On the other hand, I always understood the Novikova woman to be to the right of Genghis Khan. I’d be surprised if Gatov knew about this.”

“Are you going to notify him, sir?”

“Not yet. Let’s see what she’s got to say first. It’s information we’re after.”

“Shall we go in, sir?”

“No, wait for me. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.”

Tania peered cautiously through a chink in the curtains. She saw Mackie standing by his car at the end of the street and it was enough. She could smell policemen anywhere in the world, Moscow, Paris, London—it was always the same.

“Tell me again, Gordon, exactly what happened.”

Gordon Brown did as he was told and she sat there listening patiently. She nodded when he’d finished. “We were lucky, Gordon, very lucky. Go and make us a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make.” She squeezed his hand. “Afterwards we’ll have a very special time together.”

“Really?” His face brightened and he went out.

She picked up the phone and called Makeev at his Paris apartment. It rang for quite a time and she was about to put it down when it was picked up at the other end.

“Josef, it’s Tania.”

“I was in the shower,” he said. “I’m dripping all over the carpet.”

“I’ve only got seconds, Josef. I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m blown. My mole was exposed. They’ll be kicking in the door any minute.”

“My God!” he said. “And Dillon?”

“He’s safe. All systems go. What that man has planned will set the world on fire.”

“But you, Tania?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let them take me. Goodbye, Josef.”

She put the phone down, lit a cigarette, then called the hotel and asked for Dillon’s room. He answered at once.

“It’s Tania,” she said. “We’ve got trouble.”

He was quite calm. “How bad?”

“They rumbled my mole, let him go, and the poor idiot came straight here. I smell Special Branch at the end of the street.”

“I see. What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be around to tell them anything.

One thing: