The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,100

heater, but as you can see . . .’ The dial was already as far into the red as it would go.

‘Adam,’ said Holly Jo through his earwig, ‘Zykov just reached the town. Looks like he’s going to the docks.’

He looked across the fjord. ‘It’ll probably take us about ten more minutes to get there. Keep me informed.’

‘Will do.’

Bianca gave him a questioning look. There had been no time to fit her with an earwig. ‘Zykov’s heading for the port,’ he told her.

‘Like you thought.’

‘Yes. Al-Rais is almost certainly aboard the Woden. Two questions: one, where are he and Zykov going to meet Sevnik? And two, how many terrorists has he brought with him?’

‘You don’t think al-Rais has come alone?’

‘Unlikely.’

‘Well, that’s . . . cheery.’ She slumped back in her seat.

The car continued around the inlet. After ten minutes of slithering through the snow, it passed a sign: ПровидEния. Provideniya. Beyond was the town itself, strings of buildings stretched out parallel to the shore. Under the grey sky it looked thoroughly uninviting, even the brightly coloured houses providing little cheer.

‘We’ve reached the town,’ Adam told those in the jet. He looked along the waterfront. Dark cranes rose above the docks. The Woden was visible, lights shining in its wheelhouse. ‘Heading for the port.’

‘Okay,’ said Holly Jo. ‘Zykov and his men just went aboard the ship.’

‘No sign of al-Rais?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Right. Keep watching. We’ll be there soon.’ The road into the town had been partially cleared of snow, making progress easier.

Even in such bitter conditions there were still people out and about, moving briskly in heavy fur-trimmed coats and hats. A few regarded Adam and Bianca with curiosity – or suspicion – as they passed, recognising the car but not its occupants. ‘Nice place,’ said Bianca as she took in the run-down state of the buildings. Several of the apartment blocks were derelict, windows boarded up or broken.

‘Now who’s being sarcastic, young lady?’ Adam retorted. ‘The town’s lost more than half its population in the past twenty years. That’s why some of the buildings are abandoned.’

‘I’m surprised not all of them are. Who just told me that, by the way? You, or Browning?’

‘Me. I researched the town on the flight. But the “young lady” part was Browning.’

‘Tell him that if he calls me that again he’ll get a slap. And so will you.’

Adam grinned, then slowed as the car approached a junction. ‘Okay, that looks like it leads down to the docks.’ He turned on to the new road, rounding a large warehouse-like structure.

Bianca pointed ahead. ‘There’s the . . . the thing. Whatever Baxter called it.’

‘The Vityaz. It means “knight”.’ The DT-10 was parked near some rusting shipping containers. The Woden was moored not far away. ‘Kyle, any activity on the ship?’

‘Not since Zykov and his two guys went aboard,’ came the reply.

‘Is the driver still in the ATV?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay.’ Adam continued past the Vityaz.

‘What are we doing?’ Bianca asked.

‘I want a closer look at the Woden.’

Alarm filled her voice. ‘You’re not going to go aboard, are you?’

‘Don’t worry. I’m not crazy.’ He stopped the car behind a row of containers, out of sight of both the Vityaz and the ship. ‘Wait in the car.’

He was about to switch off the engine when Bianca batted his hand away from the key. ‘Leave it on!’ she protested. ‘There’ll be no heat otherwise.’

‘And I thought you’d be against pollution.’

‘I’m against freezing to death even more!’

Amused, he acquiesced. ‘I won’t be long.’

He got out and quickly surveyed the docks. There was no sign of anybody, the cranes empty and unmoving and the other moored vessels dark. Pulling up his hood, he advanced to the last container in the line and peered round it.

The Woden’s black-painted hull and white superstructure were both scarred by orange streaks of rust. The freighter was at least fifty years old, a privately owned tramp that plied the Pacific on behalf of individual clients, taking their cargo between ports too small for bulk carriers.

And not just cargo. Such vessels sometimes carried passengers. The one he suspected was aboard would have paid very handsomely to travel while avoiding the usual customs checks.

He briefly considered going to look through one of the portholes, but it was entirely possible someone inside the ship was watching the docks. Instead he retreated back up the row of containers and slipped between them. A little labyrinth had formed where several of the metal boxes had been haphazardly dumped. He went through to the far side and glanced