Firewall (21 page)

I went into one of the shops and picked up a computer magazine with a plastic sleeve holding a free CD-Rom. I was in line at the checkout when I saw her.

Liv was standing by the doors to the trains. The man she was with was very smartly dressed in a long camel-hair coat, shirt and tie. She was looking quite dolled up herself, in a black overcoat she hadn't been wearing earlier. It must have been in the back of the Mere 4x4.

I ducked out of the line as if I'd had second thoughts about the magazine, and went back to browsing the racks, watching Liv and her man out of the corner of my eye. They were in each other's arms, their faces just inches apart and talking away. They were doing their best to look like two lovers saying their goodbyes but it wasn't quite working. There were times when they cuddled, but they weren't talking to each other, they were talking at each other. I'd done this enough times myself to know what was going on.

They held each other and talked for a little while longer, then he pulled slightly away from her. He was in his early thirties, with short brown hair, and looked quite the young trendy businessman.

She turned away, heading for the bus station exit. There had been no final kiss, no last touch or stroke of the hair.

I let her go past me, then moved quickly to the platform doors, spotting him on Platform 6 as he looked at his ticket and checked the buses. It was now time to hurry back the other way and see what Liv was up to.

Barging through the bus station doors I looked out onto the square. She was walking away from me, putting her Tibetan hat on, heading across the pedestrian crossing. I could see the 4x4 on the other side, parked in a line of other vehicles on meters.

Turning, I ran back into the station. The destination board said the Platform 6 train was leaving for St. Petersburg in two minutes.

I walked swiftly back to the newsstand and bought the magazine, together with a reel of Scotch tape. Taking off the plastic sleeve, I ripped it into two strips and wrapped the tickets individually. Now all I had to do was find a place to hide them that Tom would remember.

It wasn't hard. The long banks of luggage lockers by the taxi exit were on legs, with a four-inch gap between them and the floor.

Pretending to clean the slush off my shoes, I taped Tom's under Number 10 and mine under Number 11. If things went wrong, both of us had a ticket out of Finland.

As I made my way back to Stockmann, Liv's meeting with the man in the camel-hair coat mulled round in my head.

I took the elevator to the sixth floor. Once I'd passed the cold weather gear a sign told me that on the floor above was "cold storage for furs." I passed a restaurant, a juice bar, and found Tom in Cafe Avec, overlooking the shoppers below on the fifth floor. His half-cup of herbal whatever looked sad and cold on the table in front of him. The light-wood furniture had come straight out of an Ikea warehouse and the place was packed with people snacking on soup or little fish dishes. The noise was deafening people talking and cell phones going off with a million and one different tunes.

"Wotcha, mate." He was all smiles, pointing at his bags, then opening one for me to look inside. I was pleased to see he'd bought himself a decent pair of boots, and the dark-blue, thick, woolen check lumberjack coat was just the sort of thing I'd told him to get.

"Great, Tom. Now listen."

I explained to him where his ticket was hidden. We'd pick them up on Wednesday, but if the shit hit the fan tomorrow night, he should head straight for the station, grab his bag, and catch the first flight home.

He started to look a bit more cheerful. "I just want to get this job done and get back to London with some cash. I don't really like it here. Thought I would, but I don't. It must be the cold. That's why I got these for tomorrow." He bent down and brought out a set of silk leggings and a top.

I tried not to laugh. They were the sort of thing you might buy for your very first ski trip, but never wear.

He looked rather proud of them. "What do you think? Keep me warm or what? You should get some, Nick. The girl behind the counter said they're great."

I bet she did; they probably cost three times as much as a set of proper thermals. "I've got some," I lied. "Actually, there's one more thing."

He packed them proudly back into the bag. "What's that?"

"I know you said you're nearly there, but can you really break through the firewall by tomorrow?"

He looked at me as if I was mad. "No problem. But you will look after me, won't you? You know, when we're in there…"

I could sense that his bravado was fading slightly as the witching hour approached. I smiled, nodded and then saw him look anxiously over my shoulder.

"Liv's here."

I turned in my seat and watched her looking out for us both, hat in hand and the black coat still on. She saw my raised hand and came straight over.

She sat down. "Everything all right at the station?"

I nodded.

"Good. Here are the keys for your car, Nick." She passed over two keys on a Saab key chain. "There are maps inside the glove compartment to get you there, and a detailed one of the area. None of the maps are marked. It will take you more than three hours to get there."

"There'll probably be a list of things I'll need once I've seen the house."

"No problem, so long as it's nothing exotic." Talking of which, she looked at her Carder watch. 1 got the hint and started getting to my feet. "I think I need to get going. I want to spend as much time as I can on target."

She stood up. "I'll show you where the car is, then go back to the house with Tom."

As we came out of Stockmann, Tom took out his new check coat and put it over the one he was wearing. He looked the perfect tourist.

We walked back toward the station and I could see the Mere 4x4 still parked in the same position, with a shiny new blue Saab next to it.

I said my goodbyes. Tom got in the front with her and they drove off.

18

The journey to the target seemed to be taking longer than she'd told me to expect. Maybe it just felt that way because there'd been nothing to look at but thousands of trees and lumps of granite. I needed to adjust my boredom threshold.

It was just after three o'clock and it was already last light. The reflection from the Saab's headlights twinkled in the snow piled high at the roadside as I stayed obediently in the line of traffic, which all traveled within the speed limit. I hit the seek button on the radio a few times, but there wasn't much to listen to. I hated Europop, and didn't have a clue what was being said on any of the speaking stations.

I used the time to think about Liv's station RV, but didn't come up with any answers. I decided I just had to get on with it. "It" was simple: I'd do the job, control the exchange with Liv, then get Tom and me back to the U.K." leaving Val to do whatever he wanted with the stuff. At least after tomorrow night, once on the ground, I was in control of my own destiny.

After taking the exit for Lappeenranta, signs for Kuhala began to appear. Pulling into the side of the road, I checked the smaller scale, more detailed map. I had another eight miles to go until turning off the two-lane road and onto what looked like a minor gravel one. Then I'd need to find the private turning to the target building.

I pushed on, driving through dense forest on a paved firebreak. Tall trees on either side of me cut down the headlights' capacity as if I was in a tunnel. Then I was suddenly out of it and rumbling across a wooden bridge, my lights blazing across the white ice of the frozen lake beneath me. Twenty seconds later I was back inside the tunnel, with just the occasional mailbox to let me know I wasn't the only person around.

Passing a yellow triangle sign showing a silhouetted elk, I knew I'd well and truly hit the countryside. Stopping at the intersection, I checked the odometer and map. Five more miles and the third option right.

I drove on, counting off the miles, crossing two more bridges and only a handful of mailboxes until I found the intersection I was looking for. The tire noise changed as I hit the two-lane gravel road. Like the one leading to Liv's, it was still iced over but had been snow plowed and sanded.

With a few miles still to go, I wanted to make sure I had the right track to target first time. It wouldn't be a good idea to cruise around with headlights on and the engine revving up and down the road.

The map showed a scattering of houses in the area, and I was passing a mailbox every quarter mile or so. I shifted down to first gear. There wasn't a light to be seen as I checked off each track into the woods on the map.

I found the target track, but kept going, looking for somewhere off the road to leave the Saab so it looked parked rather than abandoned.

About another 300 yards on I found a small cut in the woodline which seemed to be a firebreak. Once tucked in, I switched off the engine.

It was freezer time again. Putting on the nylon padded gloves and black woolen hat I'd bought myself at Stockmann, I got out and hit the key chain. The four ways flashed as the central locking did its stuff, but I couldn't help that.

Setting off down the gravel road, I made sure the hat didn't cover my ears; I was on a recce, I needed them to be able to work, without fighting to hear through half a lamb's coat.

It was bitterly cold after the snug warmth of the Saab, and there was no noise or light. All I could hear was my own breathing and the snow crunching an inch under my feet before it compressed onto the hard ice beneath. My whole world was trees, snow, and a very cold nose and ears.

Once at the top of the track, I stopped, looked, and listened.

Nothing. It would take another fifteen minutes for my eyes to adapt to the lack of light. Then, with any luck, I'd be able to see a little more of the treeline than just a wall of black.

I turned into the track and started slowly down it. A lot of vehicles had obviously been up and down; there was no snow in the ruts on either side of the small central mound, just compacted ice. The trees were hard up against the edge of the track.

Three feet in front of me was pitch-black, but I knew it wouldn't be like that for long once my night vision kicked in. I moved like a tightrope walker along the rut, to cut down ground sign. The last thing I wanted was to slip and fall in the snow at the side of the track, leaving evidence that even a five-year-old would pick up.

After about five minutes I began to see weak, intermittent light ahead in the direction of the target. The beams flashed up into the sky or straight at me, disappeared for a while, then bounced toward me again.

I knew exactly what they were: vehicle lights, and they were coming my way.

I couldn't even hear the engine yet, so it would be impossible for them to see me. The lights continued to flash against the trees. There was nothing I could do without leaving sign but dive out of the way.

The rumble of the engine reached me and brighter beams of light swept the area around. I faced the drift at the trackside, hopefully aiming between two trees, rocked back to try to get some sort of momentum, then leaped. I managed to clear the first few feet of snow, rolling like a high jumper, and landed like a bag of shit. The snow lay over solid granite and I hit it hard, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

I started to crawl like an animal, trying to burrow under the branches.

The vehicle was getting closer.

Still facing away from the road, I dug myself in and waited in the freezing snow, listening as it closed in on me. The transmission was in low ratio, suggesting a 4x4.

It finally drew parallel with me, its wheels crunching into fresh snow on the side of the track as it was steered off line. Without hesitation, it kept on going.

I raised myself slowly onto my knees, keeping my right eye closed: At least that way I would save 50 percent of what night vision I had. The smell of diesel hung in the air. The driveway was about fifteen or twenty feet away from me and it was a 4x4 for sure, but I couldn't make out what type or how many were inside. All I could see was a massive ball of white light in the front, and a red one at the rear, moving slowly along the tree tunnel, followed by a cloud of diesel fumes.

I watched and listened as the light died. They must have reached the top of the track, because I heard revving and the transmission ratios change, then the noise disappeared completely.

Crawling on my hands and knees to avoid the branches, I made my way back to my impact site, stood up, put one foot forward and launched myself over the bank again. My right shin connected painfully with the central mound, and the combination of stones and hard ice did its work on me big time. I lay on my back in one of the ruts, holding my shin, rocking, taking the pain and thinking of the money.

After a minute of feeling sorry for myself, I got up and checked that the snow on the side of the track was still untouched. My dive had been Olympic, but the pain had been worth it. I was covered from head to toe in snow, like a bad skier. Brushing as much of it off me as I could, I readjusted my hat and carried on down the track, walking the tightrope with a bit of a hobble now.

After about a half a mile, my night vision fully returned. I also started to hear the low, continuous rumble of what sounded like a generator.

What had been concerning me most all along was, How many bayonets? How many were going to fight if I was compromised and couldn't run away? If there were, say, four people in the house, two of them might be Tom-type characters who'd played Quake for years but had never held a gun, but the other two could be hoods who had, and who'd go for it.

They were the bayonets, male or female. The term went back to the First World War, when it wasn't the whole of an enemy battalion of 1,200 that you had to worry about, it was the 800 fighting men. The remaining 400 cooks and bottle-washers didn't matter. I didn't know how many I'd be up against, and Liv couldn't tell me. It was quite worrying. Getting to the house to discover there was a Hoods '% Us convention going on in the front room would not make for a good day out.