Faithless (2 page)

"No need for the language," said Greg over the radio, "You're out. Liz, you'll have to stick with him. I don't care if you're toasty. Just keep back but don't lose him. We haven't got enough people. And don't get fucking seen."

 
"Ok, boss," said Liz.

Then Vinogradov started walking again
. John was sure he hadn't been spotted.  He made his way over Oxford Street through the traffic towards the top of Berwick Street.  In a minute John was with Greg who stood outside the car.  Sam was in the driving seat.

Greg shrugged. "This is getting fuck
ed up. We can't use cars. We don't have enough foot surveillance.

"Use me."

"Standing in a shop is one thing. Following someone is another. Have you ever done any surveillance?"

John smiled, "I did a week on the tradecraft course at Grosvenor Street."

"Yeah, a course. But for real?"

"No."

"Then I don't think you should do it," said Greg.

John smiled. "If I balls it up, it's my operation anyway."

"Yep, you'll be the one explaining it to your boss."

"And my boss doesn't like me, so let's just make it work."

Liz spoke. "He's turned down Regent Street and he's crossing over. Looks like he's heading for Conduit Street."

"This is running away from us," said Greg. "Let's get going."

They broke into a jog down Great Marlborough Street until they came to the Liberty Store where they slowed down to a walk, catching their breath.

"Yeah he's gone down Conduit Street," said Liz.

"Ok Liz," said Greg, "you just pull back. Might need you later, but we'll take it now."

Greg turned to John. "We'll go on different sides of t
he street. We don't look like we're together anyway," he smiled. John looked down at his Saturday clothes.  Still studenty after all these years. He dressed like he was thinking about bookshops and indie record stores. Greg was the short-haired ex soldier, nothing on his mind but birds, booze and fags.

"Just take it easy," said Greg. "If you think he's got you, just pull back." Then he added, "sir."

"Cut out the sir, I'm one of you."

"Sure you are. Just one of us."

John ignored the sarcasm "Let's go."

John
saw Vinogradov properly for the first time, better than the snatched glance outside HMV. He was able to watch him as the Russian sauntered, apparently without a care in the world, down the other side of Conduit Street. The street was much quieter than Oxford Street. Fewer people meant more chance to be spotted. Vinogradov decided to cross over the road. He stopped at the kerb and took a long look back in the direction he'd come, as if looking to see if it was safe to cross. But he looked too long, it was obvious he was watching for them.

Greg kept going. Vinogradov crossed to the same side as John. Once over he continued to walk.
  

Over the radio, John heard Greg say, "He's shit. There was no point in crossing the road there."
    Radio voices laughed. John was now a few yards behind Vinogradov. He stared at the back of his head, willing him not to turn round. 

Instead he turned left into Saville Row. John followed him round the corner. Then he realised that the shop directly in f
ront had a huge plate glass window with a reflective yellow coating. In the window were displays of expensive suits.

He heard Greg say, "Watch out for the window."

"Why?" said John.

"He could clock your reflection in the window. This looks like a prepared
dry cleaning route. Pull back."

John halted. "He hasn't got me," he said.

"We can't risk it. Pull back."

"Honest, I'm ok. Let's keep going. He's going to a meet, I'm sure."

Vinogradov disappeared out of sight ahead. John started walking fast after him.

On
the radio Greg said, "I'm not sure. I'd rather call it a day."

"No," said John, breaking into a run up to the corner. "We can't lose him. I'm going on."

"You may be the desk officer, but this is my surveillance team," said Greg. "Come back."

"Sorry, Greg.
"

Vinogradov was still out of sight. The radio was silent. John knew Greg was cursing him and he might have lost Vinogradov anyway. That bitch Sue would have something to say if he failed. He ran to the corner and stopped, stilling his breathing, trying t
o look casual. With relief, he saw Vinogradov, about a hundred yards on. The Russian was walking faster now. Then he saw him hurry round the corner.  He said to the radio, "He's gone down Regent's Street. Heading south."

John heard Greg say, "Ok, I can ge
t Car 2 to pick him up. Come back to me."

John turned and jogged back to the car. He opened the passenger door and got in. Inside, he could tell Greg was angry.

"Have we got him?" asked John, ignoring the atmosphere.

"Car 2 says he's still on Regent Stree
t, walking fast down to Piccadilly Circus."

There was a pause. John said, "It worked out."

"People usually do what I tell them," said Greg.

"Sorry, mate. I just really need this. Like I told you - my boss is out to get me. I need a success."

Greg shrugged. "Well you saved it. If you hadn't gone on we would have lost him. I'll tell her that if you want. Smart arse."

John laughed. "I've been called worse."

Greg said, "You're right that he's going somewhere. Let's hope he's not just come out to put a bet on the dogs." He lit up a cigarette. Sam sat in the back reading yesterday's Evening Standard that he'd picked up on his travels.

Greg put the car in gear and pulled out. "Myself, I'm never away from Walthamstow Greyhound Stadium. Do you bet much on the dogs J
ohn?" he said sarcastically. Greg knew that MI5 Officers did not choose to spend their time at greyhound races.

John said, "No, and I've never eaten jellied eels. I'm more a haggis man."

Greg laughed, "I was forgetting you was a Jock," and then he darted a glance to see whether he'd overstepped the mark. "No offence."

"None taken."

"Sorry, if I was a bit prickly. I don't like things fucking up."

"We didn't fuck them up," said John.

"There's time yet," said Greg. The radio crackled again. "Target has just got on a Number 15 bus from Piccadilly Circus, eastbound".

"That's ok," said Greg. "We can get behind that. It's when they hop on and hop off between stops. The backs of the Routemas
ter buses are open and the traffic in the middle of town is slow, they can just jump from one to another going in opposite directions. Makes it really hard to follow them. We'll sit back and if he does get out, we hit the street again. Should have let Sam drive."

Sam heard his name and looked up from reading the football results. "What boss?"

"Get ready to drive in a minute."

"Ah yeah, sure," and he went back to the paper.

"Come on," John said to Greg, "Let's move."

Car 1 with John in it made its way down t
owards Trafalgar Square and caught sight of the No 15 turning the corner into the Strand. There was a knot of traffic just outside Charing Cross Station. They came to a halt about five cars behind the bus. Then it went off again. Stopping and starting at the bus stops, picking up people like a big red bee alighting on flowers and bumbling its way along to Aldwych. Still Vinogradov didn't get off.

"Wonder where he's going," said John.

"That's the great thing about this job," said Greg. "It's a life of surprises."

"Like the Prefab Sprout song."

"Sorry?"

"Just a song."

"University music is it? I prefer Wham! myself."

John laughed. Greg was still fixed on the stereotypes of middle class officers and working class grunts. He knew nothing about John. John didn't w
ant to fight, he liked and respected the guy. 

They continued their slow progress along Fleet Street, up Ludgate Hill, past St Paul's and towards Tower Hill.

"That bus goes right through to Blackwall," said Sam who had finished his paper and was sitting up.

The bus came to another halt opposite the grey limestone walls and turrets of the Tower of London, gleaming in the February sun, John heard himself take a surprised in-breath as he saw the tall, dark-haired figure of Vinogradov step off the back.

"Ok Johnny boy - out you get. You and me. Sam take the car when I go."

They pulled over with a haste that all the years of Greg's experience made look like a casual stop. John saw Vinogradov halt and quickly look behind him but there was a gaggle of tourists
on the pavement. They hadn't been spotted.

Greg went ahead and John followed about ten yards behind trying to appear grey and unnoticeable. Vinogradov ducked into the subway and went through the concrete tunnel to emerge on the Tower side of the road. Joh
n lost sight of him but heard Greg say on the radio, "He's not being very careful. He thinks he's on his own."

Then John came out of the tunnels and could see Vinogradov hurrying on his way ahead. He wasn't heading for the Tower - he was going down towards
the river. The road there was narrow and a crowd of Japanese tourists appeared from the arch that led to the path along the embankment. Greg held back and then skilfully mingled among walkers on their London vacation. Instead of right down the riverbank, Vinogradov turned left towards St Katherine's Dock. He went past the statue of the Woman and Dolphin and into the marina basin with its plush yachts and blocks of expensive modern apartments huddled up to the edge of the water. Vinogradov was in a hurry. He looked at his watch and then went quickly up the steps of the Dicken's Inn.

Dicken's Inn was a huge warehouse that had been converted into a pub. The wooden beams and floor were dark and even on a bright summer's day it was gloomy inside. It had lots of
nooks and crannies

"Let's go in," he heard Greg over the radio. "We'll have to look round a bit to find him. Try not to be too obvious."

The fridges and lights from the electric beer pumps gave a strange anachronistic appearance as they glowed behind the mock 19th century wooden bar. The floor was strewn with sawdust to keep the atmosphere. There were various groups of people sitting in corners or standing around the bars but it wasn't full.  There were men in suits, presumably supposed to be at work, or perhaps this was work, talking the talk, buying drinks for customers, sealing deals, Then there were various tourists - Italians, Americans, Koreans enjoying their taste of Olde England - but no Vinogradov.

Greg came over to him. "I've got the other cars to park up and come and fill the place up. The more eyes the better -there's so many corners. Fancy a pint?"

"At work?"        

"My job is looking like I'm not at work. What'll it be?"

"Pint of bitter."

They
walked over to the bar.

"What if he walks out?" said John.

"I've done this before" smiled Greg. "I've got my diamond geezers loitering. But our Russky looked like a man with an appointment. I think he's meeting someone."

"I think you're right."

The pretty blonde barmaid asked what they wanted and Greg ordered.

"She sounded Australian," said John.

"You don't get out much do you? All London bar staff are Australians or New Zealanders. She was quite tasty too."

"Didn't notice."

Greg laughed.

John said, "I'm
happily married."

"But you can still look Johnny boy. It's like when you go to the Art Gallery. You can't have the pictures but you can still enjoy their beauty."

"Do you go to many art galleries, Greg?"

"About as much as you go to dog races."

Then John saw Vinogradov on the other side of the long bar talking to a slightly unkempt English looking man.

"There," he said and Greg looked over.

"Nice. I wonder who that is."

Vinogradov bought the man a beer and got himself what looked to be whisky. And then, a
s if great friends, Vinogradov briefly touched the man's arm and guided him to a snug. Where they sat was closed off to the rest of the bar on three sides. John could see their glasses on the table made from a wooden barrel. He could see Vinogradov's left leg and occasionally his hand as he picked up his glass or when he gestured to make a point.

"What I wouldn't give to hear what they are saying," said John.

Greg shrugged. "We're the wrong bit of A Branch. We don't normally listen too."

John, "I feel so an
tsy. I want to move in now."

"Drink your drink. Learn patience and wait. Want some pork scratchings?"

Vinogradov carried on his inaudible and barely visible conversation for about an hour. John declined another beer though Greg partook. The radio was quiet and John wondered what the other members of the team were doing to fill in the long gaps between action.