lue  nylon  down jacket  I
called room service for a club sandwich and coffee.
        13
     Saturday, December II, 1999
     I woke up  and looked at  Baby G.  It was  just after eight, time for a
quick couple of laps round the bath before getting dressed.
     Looking like a kid in his shiny new  Christmas Day clothes, I  left the
jacket with my leathers  and went down  to breakfast, taking the  money  bag
with me.  There was $25,000  left after  a very grateful clinic had received
not only what  was owing  to them,  but also a huge stash  on  account. It's
strange  how finance  directors  will  come  in  of an evening to  collect a
payment, even brew coffee and pour it.
     The  newspapers  were  full  of  doom and gloom,  and  as  I  downed my
breakfast, listening to the Americans or Israelis talking about the shopping
they  were going to be doing before they went back  home, I  felt good about
fulfilling  my  responsibilities  to Kelly, even  though  I knew I should be
doing a lot more than just paying out money.
     Back in my room, I  settled on  the  bed  and called  the number on the
paper that Liv had given me.
     A young woman answered. Her "hello" sounded as friendly as if I was the
fourth wrong number in a row.
     "Oh, hi. Is Tom there?"
     "No, he's not," she snapped. "He'll be in Coins. Who are you?"
     It sounded as if all was not well in the Mancini household.
     "Just a friend. Coins, did you say?"
     "Yes."
     "What is that, a shop or--"
     "It's the cafe, off Ledbury Road."
     I was obviously stupid for not knowing. "Thanks a--"
     The phone slammed down.
     Information told me that Coins was on Talbot  Road, Netting Hill. I put
my squeakily clean blue  down jacket  on, picked up my bag and jumped into a
taxi to join Tom for a coffee, borrowing the cabbie's map on the way to work
out exactly where he lived. The sky might be full of  dark clouds, but I was
still feeling good.
     I  didn't know Notting  Hill at  all, just that it had  a carnival each
year and that  there'd been a bit of a frenzy about  Julia Roberts coming to
stay. During  the film's hype, I'd read  all this stuff  in the papers about
the village atmosphere and  how wonderful it was to live there. I didn't see
much evidence of a village, just expensive clothes stores, the sort with one
pair  of shoes  in the  window surrounded  by  spotlights, and a few antique
shops.
     We turned corners and drove  past  stucco-fronted houses, mostly cut up
into  apartments and very run-down, with chunks of  plaster  falling off the
brickwork.
     The  cab  stopped  at an intersection and the  dividing window  opened.
"It's a one way, mate. I'll drop you off here if that's all right. It's just
down there on the left."
     I  could  see the  large awning sticking  out  over  the sidewalk, with
plastic  side panels keeping the elements off  the  brave ones who wanted to
sip their cappuccinos outside.
     I paid him and took a walk. Coins turned out to be double fronted, with
a few  empty tables outside. The large windows on each side of the door were
steamed up from cooking and people. As I  went in,  it was obvious from  the
rough wooden floors  and plain laminated plywood that the cafe was trying to
look down to earth and no nonsense. The kitchen was open plan and the smells
were very tempting, even with half a pound of bacon  and eggs still weighing
me down.
     There was  no sign of Tom, so I took a  seat  in the far  corner. There
were  magazines  lying around  on  the  table tops designer  pictures on the
walls, and fliers for a shit load  of artistic events.  The menu was a sheet
of  legal   paper  in  a  plastic  folder,  offering  everything  from  neat
cholesterol to  vegetarian sausages and  salads. The prices certainly didn't
match the decor; someone was making a down-to-earth, no-nonsense fortune.
     The  clientele seemed to  average late twenties, early thirties, trying
so hard to look individual that they all looked like clones. Everyone was in
baggy cargo pants and sleeveless down vests, and must have taken ages to get
their hair looking like they'd just got out of bed. Quite a few were wearing
thick-framed rectangular glasses, more to be seen in than to see through.
     "Hi, sweetie,  what can I get you?"  An American  female voice  floated
down to me as I studied the menu.
     Glancing up, I asked for a latte and toast.
     "Sure,  sweetie."  She  turned and presented  the world's  second  most
perfect  rear, covered in  tight black nylon  flares.  As  she walked away I
couldn't help staring at it, and was pleased to catch others doing the same.
She must bring in a lot of custom; no wonder Tom came here.
     There was nothing else  to  do  but sit and  listen to  other  people's
conversations. It seemed that everybody was either just about to get a movie
on  just about to be in a  play, but it  just hadn't  quite happened yet and
everybody had a fantastic script that was being read  by a marvelous man who
used  to share an  apartment with  Anthony  Minghella. The  only time people
stopped  talking was when  their cell phones rang, only to talk even  louder
than before. "Jambo, dude! How's it going, man?"
     Rear  of the Year came  back. "Here  you are, sweetie." She  gave me my
glass of latte, which burned  my fingers as  I watched her walk  back to the
kitchen.
     I picked up a newspaper, which a girl sitting on the table next to mine
handed over as she  left.  We  smiled at  each other, knowing  we were  both
thinking the same thing about our American friend.
     Looking down at the front page, I waited for my toast, and Tom.
     Half an hour later the toast was finished and I was on my second latte.
Clones came and went, air-kissing as they met and being very  important with
each other.  Then, at last, Tom entered. At least I thought he was  Tom. His
greasy hair was now ponytailed just past his shoulders, making him look like
a member of  a  Los  Angeles garage band. His cheeks  were more hamster like
than I  remembered;  maybe  the  extra  pounds he'd put  on had changed  the
contours of his face.
     The  clothes looked as if they'd  come from the same  store as everyone
else's here--canvas daps, brown cargos, and  a faded green sweatshirt with a
T-shirt  that had started off  white, then gone a few rounds with  something
blue. He must have been freezing.
     Settling his chubby ass on a tall stool along the breakfast  bar facing
the  window,  he pulled  a  magazine  out  from  under his arm some kind  of
palm-top computer and games monthly. At least he looked the part.
     A small Puerto  Rican-looking woman took his order.  I decided  to wait
until he'd finished eating, then do my, "Hello, Tom. Well well, fancy seeing
you here" bit, but my plan got cut short  as he suddenly stood up and turned
toward the door. Along with a very pissed-off waitress,  I watched him cross
the road and run up a side street, losing him in the moisture on the windows
and the shadow of the awning.
     He must have seen me.
     I got up  and paid my money to  Rear of  the Year, getting an extra big
and friendly, "Bye, sweetie," when she saw the size  of  the tip I'd left on
my saucer.
     Tom had run toward home,  so I  headed in the  direction of All  Saints
Road,  past reggae-music  stores  and plumbers' shops. His  address  was  an
apartment in a yellow-painted,  stucco-fronted building just off All Saints.
Going by the array of  bell  pushes at the front door, it  looked like there
were eight  apartments in the building,  which meant each one must have been
the  size  of a broom closet. Most houses in  the  street had been converted
into  flats and were  painted black,  green,  or yellow,  with grimy windows
covered by dirty old netting, which  drooped in the middle. I bet this  road
wasn't in the movie.
     I went to press the button for his apartment number four but the wiring
hanging out of  the intercom was rusted and frayed. Some names  were slotted
into the recesses on torn pieces of paper, but  half of them, like apartment
four, didn't even have that.
     As  I rang  the bell,  I could hear the  slight  buzz  of  an  electric
current. Chances  were the thing  did work.  I waited, stamping my  feet and
digging my hands into my jacket, but there was no answer. I wasn't expecting
one from the intercom, but thought there might  have been a shout, or a face
at a window. Eventually a curtain twitched on the third floor.
     I rang again. Nothing.
     It was turning out to be more amusing than frustrating. Tom just wasn't
cut out for this sort  of  thing. If you want to do a runner, you don't head
straight home. E4 would have had no trouble pinning
     him down. I found myself smiling as I thought of him up  there,  hoping
I'd just go away and that everything would be all right.
     Looking up  again  at  the  dirty window, I  made sure that whoever was
watching would  hear me clunking  down the steps, really tearing the ass out
of it so they'd know I'd given up.
     Walking back the way I'd come, I hung  around at  the junction with All
Saints, knowing that he'd leave sooner or later. It  was the wrong thing  to
do, so he was bound  to  do  it. He might have  the skill to hack  into  and
download whatever it was in this Finnish house,  but when it came to  common
sense, he had trouble inserting the disk, let alone playing the game.
     Loitering in the doorway of a run-down shop, I was facing a massive pop
art  mural  that covered the whole  gable end  of a  building. Reggae  music
blared from a shop as two  teenagers came out and danced their way along the
road, sharing a cigarette. My own breath was doing a good imitation of smoke
in the cold air.
     I wasn't too  sure that I'd be  able to see  Tom if he tried to give me
the  slip over  the back of the house, but he was  on the third floor, so it
would be quite difficult for him.  From  what I'd seen  of him, even if he'd
been on the first floor it would have been a bit of a challenge.
     I must have looked like the local  loony to the  kids, grinning broadly
as  I  thought  about him  trying to get  himself  over a six-foot  wall.  I
wouldn't want Mancini as a wing man.
     Sure enough, twenty cold boring minutes later, out he came. Still  with
no coat on, hands tucked  under  his armpits, not exactly running but moving
quickly. I didn't even have to follow him. He was coming toward me, probably
on his way to screw up even more by going straight back to the cafe.
     I stepped out in front of him and his look of horror said it all.
     "Hello, Tom."
     At first he didn't move, he just  stood there, rooted to the spot, then
he half turned away, screwing up his face and looking  down at the sidewalk,
like a dog  that thinks  it's  going to get hit. "Please  don't  hurt me.  I
didn't say nothing to no one. On my life. Promise."
     "It's all right, Tom," I said. "I have nothing to  do with those people
now. That's not why I'm here."
        14
     "Tell  you what, I said,  "let's go back  to your  apartment,  get  the
kettle on and have a chat." I was trying to sound nice, but he knew I wasn't
offering him a choice.
     I put  an  arm around his  shoulder  and he  stiffened. "Come on, mate,
let's have some tea  and I'll tell you what this is all about. It's too cold
out here."
     Being only about five foot  five, he was  easy to get  my arm around. I
could feel the softness of his body. He hadn't shaved for a few days and the
result wasn't bristle but the sort of thing you could fill a comforter with.
     I started to make  small talk as we walked, trying to make him  feel at
ease. Also, this meeting needed to look a bit more normal to any third party
nosing out of their window.  "How long have you been living round here then,
Tom?"
     He  kept  his head down, studying the concrete slabs. As we passed  the
multicolored houses, I noticed he was shaking.
     "About a  year, I suppose." "Hey, I called  your apartment earlier  on,
and a woman answered. She your girlfriend?"
     "Janice? Yeah." There  was a gap of  a second or  two before he stopped
walking and looked up at me. "Look, man, I have never, ever said  nothing to
no one about any of  that stuff. Not a word, I swear on  my mother's life. I
haven't even told them I--"
     "Tom, all  I want to do is talk.  I've got a proposition for you. Let's
just sit down, have cup of tea and a chat."
     He nodded as I got us both walking again.
     "I think you'll like what you hear. Come on, get the kettle on."
     We got to the house and walked up the four or five  stone steps to  the
door. Tom fumbled for his key which was tied to an old bit of nylon  string,
his hand shaking as he tried to get it into the keyhole. He still thought he
was going to  get hammered.  I decided to let him think it;  maybe it  would
lighten him  up when  he  finally  realized I wasn't  here  to  put  him  in
hospital.
     It was just as  cold in the hallway as it was outside.  The threadbare,
dirty  carpet matched  the damp,  peeling  walls.  An old-fashioned stroller
blocked the hall, and I could hear what sounded like its passenger screaming
in the flat to the  left,  trying to make more noise than  the  TV talk show
sharing his room. Breathing in to pass the stroller and get to the stairs, I
felt quite cheerful. Even my house smelled better than this.
     Heat  rises, but not in this place. Number 4 had its own small landing,
with  paint peeling off the  door and banisters.  He managed to  get the key
straight in the lock and the door opened into what I supposed was the living
room. Dirty-gray net curtains  made  the  dirty-gray light from outside even
gloomier.
     Ikea's  flat pack division had done well  out of  Tom. Shiny waxed pine
shone  everywhere in  the small room; even the two-seater  sofa  had  wooden
arms. The rest of the place  was in a bad way--more damp walls, worn carpet,
and  cold. The  fireplace was boarded  up  and a gas  fire was stuck in  its
place, just dying to be turned on. I could still see my breath.
     A  ten-year-old  wood-veneer TV stood  on  a  waxed pine stand  in  the
corner, with a VCR underneath, the timer flashing all the zeros, and a dozen
or so videos stacked next  to it on the floor.  To  the  right of that was a
Sorry  Play  Station with a  stack  of games scattered  around  it, and  the
world's oldest PC. The buff-colored plastic was dark and dirty and the vents
at the back were so black it looked like it ran on diesel.  Its keyboard was
really worn; I could only just make out the  instructions on  the keys.  Not
the  best of equipment  for such a high-tech guy, but very good news for me.
It would  have  been harder to get him  to  come along if  he  was making  a
fortune and living in a penthouse. The need for money makes people do things
they would never normally dream of. I was a bit of an expert on that front.
     We both  stood there and I could  feel his  embarrassment.  I broke the
silence. "Put the kettle on, mate, and I'll get the fire going, eh?"
     He  walked  into  a tiny kitchen off  the main  room and I heard  coins
getting fed  into a meter and the knob turning to give us some gas. I  heard
the tap filling up the  kettle as  I threw my money on the sofa and tried to
light the  fire,  clicking the  pilot light  several  times before  the  gas
ignited with a whoomph.
     Opposite was another door  that was open about  six inches. Ikea hadn't
got round to the bedroom. A mattress lay on the  floor, the comforter pulled
aside,  dangerously  close  to  a  portable kerosene  heater. The only other
furniture seemed to be a digital  alarm  clock lying on  the floor. It  felt
just like home.
     There was no telling where the bathroom was, but I reckoned it would be
on the other side of the kitchen somewhere; in fact, it was probably part of
the kitchen. I stayed down with the fire for a while to warm up.
     "So what are you  doing with yourself now, Tom? Still  in the  computer
business?"
     At  last there was a spark of life from him.  He hadn't been filled in,
and I  was taking an  interest in his subject. He stuck his chubby head into
the living room; I'd  forgotten  how  it jutted backward and forward like  a
cockerel's.
     "Yeah,  I've  got  a  few  irons in the fire, know what I  mean? Games,
that's  where the money is,  mate. I've got a few movers and  shakers in the
business desperate for my ideas. Know what I mean, desperate."
     I was still  kneeling  down,  rubbing  my  hands by the flames. "That's
really good to hear, Tom."
     "Yeah, things are sweet. This is  just temporary, while I decide who to
sell  my idea to. Then it's party time.  Look for  a house to  buy  cash, of
course then start my own show. Know what I mean?"
     I nodded, knowing exactly  what he meant. He had no money,  no job, and
was still full of bullshit. He was going to  like  what I was about  to tell
him.
     His head disappeared  back  into the kitchen  and things started  to be
washed up. Standing up  to go over to  the sofa, I saw a pile of plain white
cards  on the mantel. The  top two  had lipstick  kisses  and a  handwritten
message on it: "I hope  you  like my dirty  panties. Love, Juicy Lucy xx." I
picked one up. At least the lipstick was genuine.
     I raised my voice as I walked over to the sofa. "How long have you been
with Janice?"
     "She sort of moved in a couple of months ago."
     "What does she do?"
     "Just part-time  at the  supermarket; bits and pieces,  you  know."  He
stuck his head around the door again. "Sugar?"
     "No, just some milk will be fine."
     He came in with two mugs and put them on the not-so-new carpet. Sitting
on the floor by the fire, facing toward me on the sofa, he passed mine over.
His, I noticed, was without milk.
     I saw him clock  the  open bedroom door and worry whether I'd seen what
lay beyond it. We both picked up our tea at the same time.
     "Don't worry about it, mate. I spent my childhood living in places like
this. Maybe I can help you find somewhere better. Until the game thing kicks
in."
     He tried to  sip his tea  as his eyes  flicked toward the Mickey  Mouse
alarm on top of the fire.
     Time  to get down to  business.  "By the looks of it, things ain't that
good, are they? You on the dole?"
     Jack the Lad came back  with a grin.  "Yeah, who  ain't?  I  mean, free
money, madness not to. Am I right or what?"
     He went back to concentrating on his tea.
     "Tom, I think  I can help. I've been offered a job that  would earn you
enough to buy an apartment and pay any debts outright."
     He didn't trust me: understandable, it  wasn't as  if he knew me as Mr.
Nice Guy. His eyes were still checking Mickey Mouse now and again.
     "How much?" He tried to  make it sound casual, but didn't quite pull it
off.
     I avoided burning my lips on my tea and took a sip. It was horrible. It
should  have been in a scent bottle,  not a mug. "I don't  exactly know yet,
but I reckon  your share would be  at least one hundred and  thirty thousand
cash. That's the minimum. All  I need is  a week of your time; two  weeks at
the most."
     I didn't have a clue how long the job was going to take, but once I got
him to Finland,  what could he do  if it took longer? Getting him there  was
priority number one at the moment.
     "Is it legal? I ain't doing anything shady, mate. I don't want any
     more trouble. I'm not getting locked up again, know what I mean?"
     My tea went  back  on the carpet.  It was shit anyway.  "Look, first of
all,  my  name is  Nick.  And  no, it's not illegal.  I don't  want to go to
prison, either.  It's just that I've  been given this opportunity and I need
someone brilliant  with computers. I thought of you. Why not? I'd rather you
had the money  than anyone else. You even  get a free trip to Finland out of
it."
     "Finland?" Jack the Lad was  returning  once again, head jutting. "Hey,
everyone  is online up  there. It's  the cold, know what  I  mean, Nick. Too
cold, like. Nothing else to do." He laughed.
     I laughed along with him as his eyes moved over to Mickey  again. "Tom,
do you need to be somewhere else?"
     "Nah, it's just that  Janice  is home soon and the fact  is, well,  she
don't know nothing--you know, my old work, getting put behind bars, all that
stuff.  I haven't really got round to telling  her. I'm  just  a bit worried
that, you know, if she came in and you said something"
     "Hey, no  problems.  I'll keep  quiet. Tell you what, when she comes in
I'll  just  say  that I've got  a small computer firm and I'm offering you a
couple of  weeks'  work up in Scotland, testing systems. How's that  sound?"
"Nice one, but what's the form, you know, what are you after in Finland?"
     "It's  very,  very  simple. All we need is to access a  system and then
download some stuff. Until we get there I don't know what, how, and when."
     He immediately looked  worried. I had to get in there straight  away. I
needed some  lies. "It's not what  you're  thinking.  It is legitimate.  All
we're going to do  is  find out about  some new  photocopier technology. And
we've  got to  do it in a totally  legal way, otherwise the money men  don't
want to know." I couldn't think  of anything more boring and  nonthreatening
than a  photocopier  and I  waited for  a bolt  of something to  come at  me
through the window.
     God  must  have  been asleep  or had  all his  lightning  still  in the
freezer. I carried on  before  Tom had  a chance  to think about it  and ask
questions.
     "I can get us into the place," I went on, "but I need someone who knows
what the fuck they're looking at once we're in front of
     one of those things."  I pointed at the heap of crap in the corner that
was trying to look like a computer. He didn't say anything but looked at his
greasy monitor screen, maybe  thinking  of the  candy colored Power  Mac and
matching iMac laptop he could buy with his cut.
     "Everything will be laid on when we get there, Tom. They know where the
place is,  all  you've got to do is access and download it. Not steal, mind,
just copy. Easy money."
     I braced myself in case  God had stirred in time to hear that last bit.
Tom fidgeted on the carpet,  so I kept going for  it  before God woke  up or
Janice got home. "You know as much as me  now, mate.  I am going half on the
money  with you. One hundred and thirty grand, maybe more if we get the  job
done quickly.  That's  a  shit  load  of  cash, Tom."  I paused  to let  him
visualize a wheelbarrow full of banknotes.
     Fifteen seconds was enough. "Chance of a lifetime, Tom." I sounded like
a double-glazing salesman. "If you don't take it, someone else will."
     I settled back on the sofa to signal that the pitch was over.  The next
stage would  be  a shedful of intimidation to  make him come with  me if the
soft-soaping failed.
     "You  absolutely sure it's  safe, Nick? I mean, locked up. I don't want
that again.  Things are  sweet here, know what I mean? I'm  gonna be earning
big bucks soon."
     Explaining to him that I  knew  he was bullshitting  would have to wait
until I read him his horoscope. "Look, mate, even if it was illegal, there's
no such thing as prison when it comes to these jobs. Think about it, if they
discover that  you've  found  out about  their  dinky photocopier, are  they
really  going  to  go  to  the  police?  Are  they  fuck.  Think  about  the
shareholders, think about  the  bad  publicity. It doesn't  work like  that,
mate.  Trust  me.  What  happened  to you before  was  different.  That  was
government business." I couldn't help my curiosity. "By the way, what was it
they caught you doing up at Menwith?"
     He started to get edgy. "No, mate, I ain't saying nothing. I've done my
time and don't  say nothing  to nobody. I never  want  to go back."  He  was
starting to sound like an old record.
     He was in a dilemma.  I knew he wanted the money, but he was struggling
to make a decision. Time for a new tack. "I tell you what,
     why don't you just come with me anyway, have a  look, and if  you don't
like it, you  can come back. I'm not trying to  fuck up your life, mate. I'm
just trying to do us both a favor."
     He was shifting from one  buttock to another. "I dunno. Janice wouldn't
like it,"
     I moved forward once  again on the  sofa so my ass was on the edge, and
went conspiratorial. "Janice doesn't need to  know. Just say you're going to
Scotland. Easy." The hiss of the gas fire  could  be heard  clearly above my
whisper. I decided I'd give him a bit  more incentive. "Where's your toilet,
Tom?"
     "Through the kitchen; you'll see the door."
     I stood up and took  my  bag with me. "Nothing personal," I said. "Work
stuff, you know."
     He nodded and I didn't  really know  if he understood or not, because I
didn't.
     I went into the toilet.  I'd been  right, the bathroom was  part of the
kitchen,  partitioned  off by  a  bit of  plasterboard so the landlord could
claim more  rooms and charge more for people to  live here. I sat on the pot
and counted out six grand from  the dollars.  I  was about to shove it in my
pocket when I decided to calm  down a bit and put two grand back in the bag.
Pulling the flush, I came out talking.
     "All I  know is that it's  an easy  job. But  I need you,  Tom,  and if
you're honest, you need the money as much as I do. Look, this is what I want
to do for you."
     Reaching  into my  pocket, I pulled out the four grand,  making sure  I
rolled it with my other hand to make it look and sound extra attractive.
     He tried  hard to  stop himself looking at  it. Even this amount  could
probably change his life.
     "This is  how I'm getting paid, U.S. dollars.  Here's  four grand. Take
it; it's a gift. Pay your bills, whatever you want. What more can I say? I'm
going to go and do the job anyway. If you're coming with me, though,  I need
to know today. I can't fuck about."
     If he didn't give me a yes by  this evening it would be horoscope time.
He'd still get paid; he just wouldn't enjoy the work so much.
     He fingered the money  and had to split it in half  to get it into  his
jean pockets. He tried to put a serious business expression on  his face. It
wasn't working. "Nice one. Thanks, Nick, thanks a lot."
     Whatever happened he could  have the  money.  It made me feel good, and
with everything else going down the  tubes in my life, I  needed that. But I
needed to make sure he didn't fuck  up with it and let it be  traced back to
me. "Don't  go to the bank  to change it  or make  a  deposit, they'll think
you're a drug dealer. Especially with an address round here."
     His smile broadened.
     "Take it to a few currency exchanges. The rates will be shit, but there
you go. Have a nice  day  out. Hire a  taxi; you can afford it.  Just  don't
change any  more  than three hundred dollars at  a time. Oh, and for  fuck's
sake buy yourself a warm coat."
     He looked up and the grin turned into a laugh  as  he did his  cockerel
impression.  It stopped just as quickly at the sound of a key going into the
door lock.
     "Shit, it's Janice. Don't say jack. Promise me, Nick."
     He stood up and made sure his sweatshirt was covering the two bulges in
his cargos. I joined him and we waited in front of  the fire as if the Queen
was about to visit.
     She opened the door, felt the heat and looked straight at Tom, ignoring
me  completely.  "Have  you  picked  up the laundry?"  Heading  towards  the
kitchen, she started throwing off her brown coat.
     Tom grimaced an apology at me as  he replied,  "Oh, er  nah, it  wasn't
ready, the driers were broken. I'm going to pick it up in a minute.  This is
Nick. He's the one that called, you know, this morning."
     She  threw her coat onto the  arm of the sofa, looking at  me. I gave a
smile and said, "Hello, nice to meet you."
     "Hello,"  she grunted, "you  found him then?" and disappeared  into the
kitchen.
     Janice was mid-twenties, not unattractive, not attractive, just sort of
ordinary. Her  hair was pulled back  in a  ponytail,  slightly  longer  than
Tom's. It wasn't exactly greasy, but had that not-washed-today look. She was
also wearing just  a  bit too  much makeup, and there was a line around  her
chin where it stopped.
     I  sat back down,  but Tom  stayed  standing by  the  fire, not  really
knowing what to  say to me about his obnoxious girlfriend.  In the  kitchen,
cupboard doors were banged as she made her presence felt.
     She came back into  the living room with a candy bar and a can of Coke.
Pushing the coat onto the floor she plonked herself  on the sofa next to me,
pulled the  foil off  the  chocolate,  opened the can and started  attacking
both. The  noise of her drinking would have made a thirsty bricklayer proud.
Between gulps she pointed at the mantel. "Tom, pass me the cards."
     He did  as he was told. We both  watched  as she pulled out a  lipstick
from  her coat pocket and threw  it on her lips. Then, while she slurped and
munched, she kissed the remaining blank cards.
     She looked up, and stared at me for a few  moments, then turned to Tom.
"Pass me the rest."
     He  picked up a large envelope near the fire and  passed  it over,  red
with embarrassment.
     Pouring the white cards onto the floor she  started to reapply the  red
stuff and kiss away. The signing was obviously  done later, during a gentler
moment.
     We weren't going to get any more talking  done. It was  time  for me to
leave.
     "Thanks  for the  tea, Tom, I think I'll be off now. Nice to meet  you'
Janice
     She nodded, not bothering to look up.
     Tom looked nervously  at me, then at Janice's head. As I got to my feet
and picked up the bag, he blurted, "Tell you what, I'll  walk down with you,
I've got to collect the laundry anyway."
     We didn't speak as  we walked down the stairs. I knew what I  wanted to
say, but  what was  the point? Someone calling  your girlfriend an obnoxious
dog wouldn't exactly induce you to go away with him.
     As we walked back toward All Saints Road, he stammered,  "It's not her,
you  know, Juicy Lucy.  She gets a tenner  for  every two hundred. This week
it's Lucy, I think next week it's Gina again. I help her out." He rubbed his
chin. "I  have  to  shave  though, otherwise  I  leave stubble marks in  the
lipstick. "We have piles of dirty underwear in the bedroom. A guy drops them
off on a Thursday."
     I couldn't help  but laugh at the picture of him in  front of the fire,
kissing cards and packing underwear for the country's crotch sniffers.
     His head went back into cockerel  mode. "Yeah, well,  like I said, it's
only until the money comes in. They're really keen Activision,
     the Tomb  Raiderlot, all  the  big boys--I'm just about to  hit  it big
time, know what I mean?"
     "Yes I do, Tom." I knew exactly.
     I gave it one more try once we'd  turned the corner into All Saints and
Janice couldn't see us if she looked out. I stopped and faced him outside  a
window full of faucets, waste pipes, and assorted plumber's shit.
     "Tom,  think about this seriously. I'm not going  to do anything that's
not  kosher. I'm too old  for that sort of  stuff. All I want to  do is make
some money, the same  as you. I need you with me, but I must know by tonight
if you're up for it."
     He was looking at the sidewalk, shoulders slumped. "Yeah. But  you know
..  ."  The cold was starting to get to him. I didn't know whether he didn't
have  a coat because they hadn't  kissed enough cards or if he  was just too
stupid to remember to put one on.
     We got to Westbourne Park Road, a main drag. I wanted a taxi so I stood
on the corner. He stood next to me,  shifting from  one foot to the other. I
put  a  hand on  his  shoulder. "Listen, mate, go  and change some money and
think about it, and we'll meet up tonight, all right?"
     I started looking for cabs  as  he nodded at  the sidewalk again. "I'll
call you about sevenish and we'll have a drink, okay?"
     A  yellow light appeared in the gloom and  I stuck out my hand. The cab
stopped and the diesel engine chugged away, but not as fast as the meter.
     Tom  was still stooped,  hands  dug  deep in his pockets,  shivering. I
talked to the top of his  head. "Tom, this  is  a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Think hard about it."
     The top of his head moved in what I took to be another nod.
     I couldn't stand  his shivering  any more and unzipped my jacket.  "For
fuck's sake,  put  this  thing  on,  will  you?"  He protested feebly,  then
returned my grin as he took the coat. At least I could see his face now.
     "Once-in-a-lifetime, mate." I got into the taxi, asked for  Marble Arch
and turned to close the door and pull down the window.
     Tom was just finishing zipping up. "Hey, Nick, fuck it. Why not, I'm up
for it." The cockerel had returned.
     I didn't want to show  how pleased  I was.  "That's good. I'll call you
tonight with the details. We have to leave tomorrow. Is that okay? You got a
passport?"
     "No probs."
     "Excellent. Remember," I pointed to his wad, "there's plenty more where
that came from. One week, maybe two, who knows?"
     I put my thumb to my ear  and little finger to my mouth to mime a call.
"Tonight at seven."
     He did the same. "Nice one."
     "Tom, one last thing. You have a credit card?"
     "Er, yeah. Why's that?"
     "I haven't got mine. You  might have to pay for the  tickets, but don't
worry, I'll give you the cash before we go."
     I didn't give him time to think too much about that one.  As  the  taxi
pulled away I was feeling pretty pleased with  myself, and I had  a sneaking
suspicion that Tom wouldn't  be sharing his newfound  wealth  with Janice. I
knew I wouldn't if I was him.
     After giving  the cab driver a new  drop-off point, I  bought myself  a
blue ski jacket on Oxford Street, and went to  a drugstore for some bits and
pieces I'd need for the DLB (dead  letter box), so I could leave our details
with Liv. Before E4 spotted me at the apartment, I'd thought Liv wanting  to
use a DLB just to hand over some flight details was  a bit paranoid. But now
I knew  it  was  essential.  If E4 were  on to her, I didn't want  any  more
contact with her in the U.K. The  last thing I needed was for Lynn to have a
picture of that on his  desk. The shit would be so high I'd never be able to
dig myself out.
     I booked  the flights from  a  phone box, and  they held  them in Tom's
name. I'd get him  to  pay for  them with  his  credit  card  at the airport
tomorrow; now that Davidson was  history, I had no choice. No  one needed to
know that Nick Stone  was leaving the country. I wondered  if Tom  was still
being monitored, now that he was a known subversive, but decided I'd have to
take that risk. There wasn't time to do anything about it.
     With my new coat to keep me warm I decided I'd walk it to the DLB she'd
given me. It wasn't that far away.
     Fighting my way through the Saturday shopping  frenzy I eventually made
the 200 yards or so to Oxford Circus. The BBC studios in Portland Place were
in front of  me on the right. I  stayed on  the opposite sidewalk and headed
for the Langham Hilton.
     About hundred and fifty feet short of the hotel I walked under
     some scaffolding. Beneath it were two old-style  red  telephone booths.
In the windows of each  were maybe twenty calling cards, held in position by
fun tac.  The authorities would be around at some  point today to clean them
out, but they'd be restocked an hour later.
     I went into the left-hand booth and saw Susie Gee's card three quarters
of the way  up, facing  Oxford Circus. She looked very sultry, on all  fours
and kissing the air.  At  the same time as I peeled her off  the glass I got
out a large black marker pen and scored a line down the window.
     Folding Susie into my pocket I moved on toward  the hotel. It was a bit
premature to leave the DLB loaded sign, but I wasn't expecting any problems.
     With my bag in hand I walked through the hotel's revolving doors, which
had  been started for me  by a guy dressed in a green  three-quarter  length
tunic and something that looked like a cross between a turban and a beret on
his head. He looked a right nerd.
     The  interior  of  the  Langham  was  very  plush,  and  very  full  of
businessmen and wealthy-looking tourists.  It was Indian  the  med with  the
Chukka Bar to my left as I walked into the marble reception area.
     Liv's instructions  were perfect.  To the right  and up a few steps was
the reception desk,  and  ahead  of me  was a  restaurant-cum  tea  room. My
destination, however, was the basement.
     Down below  was every bit as plush as above. Temperature controlled and
soft-carpeted, it housed the  conference rooms and business center. Standing
on  an easel outside the George Room, a black felt board with white press-on
letters announced, "Management 2000 welcomes our conference guests." Passing
it and two wall phones that I would be coming back to, I headed for the rest
rooms.
     Opposite the rest room doors were more phones, a cloakroom and a  table
rigged up with tea, coffee, and  cookies. Sitting ready to serve was a black
guy and  a white woman talking in that shifty tone that you just know  means
they're dissing the  management. As soon as they saw me, they gave me  their
corporate smiles; I smiled back and headed for the men's room.
     Sitting down in  one of the stalls, I took out a little plastic pillbox
from my drugstore bag, the sort  that people use to hold  their day's supply
of vitamins, along with a pack of adhesive-backed Velcro
     patches. I stuck both a female and  a  male patch onto the pillbox just
in case she'd  fucked up on what side to use; it would be embarrassing if it
didn't stick.
     Inside the  pillbox  went  a  small  scrap of  paper  with my  message:
"Arriving 1515 12th." That was all that she needed to know.
     Putting the drugstore bag back in my pocket and  checking  that the two
little squares of Velcro were secure, I came out of the toilet, smiled again
at the two people in the cloakroom, turned right and went back to the  first
two telephones I'd passed.
     They were positioned quite low down the  wall, for  the  convenience of
users in wheelchairs. I put the bag between my legs and shuffled  a chair up
closer to the phone.  Liv had chosen well: not  too  busy, no video  cameras
about, and a reason to be there.
     As I sat down, I  got out a coin and Susie's card, picked up the phone,
and dialed, wondering if Janice  and Tom had done any lipstick cards for her
lately. I wanted the display to show money being used up; otherwise it would
look suspicious if anyone passed  and saw that I'd been  there a few minutes
and was  only  pretending to make  a call. It was  a small  detail, but they
count.
     I  used my right hand  to keep the  phone to my ear, waiting for Susie,
and  felt under the wooden veneer shelf below  it  with my  left. In the far
corner, there should be a large patch of Velcro that Liv had put there.
     As I  fumbled about, the doors to  the George Room opened behind me and
out surged a stream of Management 2000 delegates.
     As I listened to  the ringing tone, I watched the herd  move  to  their
grazing area by the cloakroom. A  young woman  in her  twenties  sat on  the
chair next to me and put a coin in the box.
     An aggressive Chinese woman answered me. "Hello?"
     I could hear my fellow caller tap out her number as I replied.
     "Susie?"
     "No, you wait."
     I  waited. The woman  next to me  started talking about  her child, who
needed  picking up from nursery school since she  was  going to be late. The
person  at the other end was  obviously annoyed. "That's not fair, Mum, it's
not  always  the same  excuse and yes, of course she remembers what her  own
mother looks like. Kirk is home early tonight. He'll pick her up."
     A man came from behind and placed his hand on her shoulder.
     She kissed it. His  Management  2000  badge said David.  Not  quite the
conference making her late home, then.
     The noise level doubled as people talked management over coffee.
     I  found what  I  was  looking for as I heard footsteps approaching the
receiver at the  other end: It was female Velcro,  the soft bit, just as Liv
had said.
     A very husky, middle-aged voice picked up the phone. "Hello, can I help
you, my love? Would you like me to run through the services?"
     I ummed and aahed  as  the woman named the price for spending  half  an
hour in France, Greece, and various other countries of the world with Susie.
To spin out the  call I asked where Susie was based, and then for directions
to the address near Paddington.
     "That's great," I said. "I'll think about it."
     I  put the  phone down, picked up the bag, moved the chair back,  stood
up, and headed back the way I'd come,  leaving  the woman telling her mother
it absolutely would be the last time she'd have to do this.
     I turned before going through the doors,  checked  the box couldn't  be
seen  from  that  level  and  went  upstairs. Sinbad  did his trick with the
revolving  doors and I was  back on the street. Turning right, I headed back
the way I'd come. Last light was soon; by four thirty it would be dark.
     All  I had to do now was call Tom at seven and tell him the timings for
tomorrow morning's  flight, then go and dump my leathers in the trash and my
weapon in London's biggest armory, the River Thames.
        15
     Sunday, December 12.1333
     Tarn stood in  a  different line for  immigration. I'd told him  in the
nicest way that  he must  keep  away from me until  we  were in the arrivals
lounge--security and all that. He talked too much and too loudly to sit next
to in an  aircraft. We'd even checked in  separately.  He'd  agreed with his
usual, "No drama, mate. Gotcha."
     On the  subway to Heathrow, he'd told me that Janice was fine about him
going  away.  "I told  her  I  had some  work with my  old  friend  Nick  in
Scotland," he said. "I told her straight."
     That version  was about as straight as Elton John. Janice was  probably
severely pissed off that he was enjoying himself north of the border for two
weeks while she slaved away kissing cards for  Lucy. I wondered if he'd said
anything to her about the  money, but didn't ask. I didn't want him sounding
off about his plans for world domination in the world of IT.
     At least  he hadn't wanted to drown himself in free  alcohol on the way
over. It  seemed  he  didn't drink--a  by-product, maybe, of serving a  jail
sentence.  Just as well, because  there would be none of that until we  were
back in the U.K.
     He'd made  an effort  and smartened himself  up a bit for the  journey,
which was  good. I wanted him to resemble an  average citizen, not look like
food for  customs to pull  to one  side for a  slow  once-over. He was still
wearing  my jacket, but had swapped the flared jeans for a new, normal pair,
and he was also wearing a new
     red  sweatshirt.  However, he  still had the  same  canvas daps on, and
though he'd finished off by washing and combing his hair, he hadn't shaved.
     I  watched him slap his  jacket  as if he was doing some sort of dance.
This was the  third time since leaving  London that I'd  seen him think he'd
mislaid his passport.
     We  got through immigration and customs  and there was no  need to wait
for  suitcases. I'd told him  that  all he needed was  a bit  of soap  and a
toothbrush, and he could wash his underwear in the bath with him at night.
     The sliding doors opened to admit us separately into the arrivals hall.
Tom didn't know it, but  no one would be there to meet us yet. We weren't on
the flight that arrived  at  3:15,  as I'd  told Liv; we were on the 1:45. I
always liked  to be early in order to watch who  might be  waiting  for  me.
Walking into an arrivals  lounge to meet  people I didn't  know gave  me the
same  feeling as knocking on a strange door,  not knowing who or what was on
the other side.
     We met  up in the hall.  Tom  seemed  to be feeling  very macho  today,
eyeing the women as they moved around the terminal.
     "What now, mate? Where we going?"
     "We're a bit early for our pickup. Let's get a coffee."
     We followed the signs to the coffee shop.  The glass-and-steel terminal
building wasn't packed, but  busy enough for a  Sunday, more  with  tourists
than business traffic. I could see  a dull, gray sky beyond the glass walls,
with snow piled up at the roadside and ice hanging from parked vehicles.
     As  we  neared the cafe,  Tom bouncing along at my  shoulder  like some
younger brother, we passed  two  tall, blond  and beautiful women at a phone
booth. "Cor, check out the ass on that. I love these Nordic chicks."
     The  two of them  caught his drift  and laughed  to each other as  they
looked at us. I  just  walked on,  embarrassed. They would have had him  for
breakfast.
     Tom  seemed not to notice.  "Hey, Nick, do you know there's more people
up here who are on the Internet and have cell phones than anywhere else. You
know, per capita."
     "That's interesting, Tom." For once he had said something that was.
     He  liked that. "That's right, mate. Must be all that darkness up here.
Fuck all else to do, I s'pose."
     I looked at him and smiled,  even though the joke had been better first
time round.
     His face beamed and  his hamster cheeks nearly covered his eyes. "These
people are at  the cutting edge, know  what I mean?" He caught up  the  step
that separated us and whispered in my ear, his head jutting in time. "That's
why the photocopier know-how is here. I'm right, aren't
        I?"
     I  was bored  but managed a reply.  "It's  probably the  long hours  of
darkness. There's nothing else to do but Xerox, I suppose. Coffee, Tom?"
     "Nah, tea. Herbal or fruit if they have it."
     We were soon  at a table, me with  coffee,  Tom with a pot of hot water
and  an  apple-flavored tea  bag  wrapped in  foil.  Opposite  was a bank of
screens,  obviously Internet  stations. It  was only a matter of time before
Tom saw  them, too,  and I would be sitting  alone, which wouldn't be a  bad
thing.
     His eyes lit up and sure enough he was getting to  his feet. "I'm gonna
have to go and check that out. You coming?"
     He did, taking his tea with him. I didn't.
     He  was  back  very  quickly, before  I'd  even  tasted my coffee. "You
haven't got  any coins,  have you,  mate?  I've  got no money, well, Finnish
money. Only dollars, know what I mean?"
     I fished out the change from the drinks as he grinned at his own joke.
     I decided  to have  a walk  around  to  see  if I could  spot  anything
threatening. I'd  shaken off E4,  but Val obviously had enemies, and while I
was working for him that made them my enemies, too.
     My  documents  always stayed with  me, but there  was  something else I
wanted from my duffel before I wandered off. Digging around for the  leather
zip-up  organizer, I dropped both our bags  at Tom's feet and headed for the
departures lounge upstairs. There  was nothing  out of the ordinary,  nobody
waffling into their lapels or facing into the crowd while pretending to read
a newspaper.
     I took a walk outside,  but not for  long, the cold biting into my face
and hands. I hadn't seen anything that looked as if it was  bad and intended
for me.
     Back inside Arrivals and in the warm, there were a couple of
     boys in suits with legal-size, clear plastic folders  showing the names
of people they were there to collect.
     Tom was still in Internet heaven. "Look at this, Nick. Fucking  cool or
what? Look, virtual Helsinki."
     I was looking at a screen that displayed everything  you needed to know
about Helsinki, from street maps to images of hotels and booking  facilities
for travel or  theater  tickets. There was  even  a  route  plan  where  you
actually walked down a road as if you were in a game. Still leaving the bags
with  him, I went and got  myself another coffee, sat at  the same table and
watched  and  waited,  thinking how lucky I'd been  not  to have had  a  kid
brother that I'd had to drag around with me when I was growing up.
     Fifteen minutes later  he was back with  the bags. He must have run out
of money. "I just e-mailed Janice  and told  her I definitely  can't  get in
touch for a while--up in the hills testing kit and all that."
     I put the organizer back in my bag and finished my coffee. "We might as
well make a move. They should be here by now."
     Our ride was easy to spot, smartly dressed in a gray suit and overcoat,
with  spiky light-brown hair and a red complexion, presenting himself to the
people  pushing their  trolleys through  the automatic doors of the  customs
hall.  He  was holding  up  a card with felt-tipped lettering  on: "Nick and
another."
     We went up and introduced  ourselves. As we  shook  hands he  virtually
stood to attention  and clicked his heels together, then he offered to  take
both our bags. Tom refused after I did.
     The short-term parking  lot  was opposite Arrivals.  An aircraft roared
overhead as we approached a silver Mere. Tom was impressed. "Nice one."
     We put the  bags into the  trunk and got in the back. Spike  turned the
engine on and the radio blared. I assumed the two presenters were running at
the mouth in Finnish, but Tom looked at me. "They're speaking Latin. They're
mad for it up here, mate. Dunno why, just are."
     Spike turned it off.
     I said, "How come you know so much about Finland?"
     The Mere started moving.
     "Got on the net last night and had a look, didn't I?"
     "Are you going to play the walking encyclopedia the whole week?"
     He looked at me, not knowing if it was an insult, then made up his mind
and smiled. "Nah, mate, just thought you'd like to know."
     He sat back into his seat. He was wrong, I wasn't joking.
     We followed  the road  signs. They were in Swedish as well  as Finnish,
the  Swedes having ruled  here  in the past as  well  as  the Russians.  The
pavement on the road was immaculately clear of snow and ice.
     The  airport was quite close to  Helsinki and we were soon on  the city
ring road.  On  both sides  of us were low-level industrial units and  large
piles  of cleared snow. I  had to smile as  I thought  of the U.K.,  where a
couple of snowflakes bring  the entire nation  to a halt; here they had snow
for months and the country didn't miss a beat.
     I saw a sign that  said,  "St. Petersburg  381km." Within three or four
hours  we could be out of one of  the wealthiest and most advanced places on
earth  and entering a city of chaos and anarchy. But I didn't have to worry;
we followed the exit and moved onto another highway, the E75, and started to
head away from the built up area, such as it was.
     The small floating ball compass that was stuck on the dashboard told me
we were generally heading north. Every vehicle on the highway had its lights
on; it was the law.
     We cruised comfortably along the highway, passing through pine forests,
snow, and impressive cuts  into massive  granite outcrops.  I looked over at
Tom, who was resting  his head on the seat, his eyes  closed and his Walkman
earphones in. I decided  to take  his  cue and sit back  and relax, though I
kept  my eyes  on  the road  signs. Lahti and Mikkeli  seemed to  be  likely
targets, and after just  under  an hour  it was quite  clear  where  we were
heading. We took the Lahti exit.
     The town  was dominated by two  very tall Eiffel Tower-like structures,
both painted red and  white,  their spires obscured by the  cloud cover, and
with  aircraft warning  lights flashing away  on  all  sides.  The place was
heaving  with both traffic and  people. It was a  winter sports town; a  ski
jump towered  over  the  houses,  and  as we  started  to  rumble  down  the
cobblestones of the main shopping area, I saw that even senior citizens were
using cross-country poles instead of walking sticks.
     The inhabitants of Lahti  were  obviously  in  love with  concrete  and
steel. Instead of traditional wooden dwellings with  maybe a reindeer or two
parked up outside, they went for new model Saabs,
     4x4s, and a blaze  of Christmas decorations. We turned left by the town
square  and passed a brightly  lit market, steam  rising above the  mass  of
canvas and nylon stall covers. Bundled up to stand in  the cold all day, the
traders looked more like astronauts.
     We slowed down almost immediately  at a  sign telling us we were at the
Alexi Hotel. Cutting left, over the sidewalk,  we stopped by a  garage  door
that  instantly started to open. A  group of mothers with running  strollers
walked around the back of the Mere before bumping back up onto the walkway.
     We drove quite fast  down a steep concrete ramp into a large, badly lit
underground parking area. Puddles of water covered the floor where  snow and
ice had melted off the vehicles  already here, and just about  every car had
skis strapped to its roof rack.
     We cruised about looking for a space. Tom was sitting up now, earphones
out and eyes  wide. "It's like  one of them  spy  films, Nick, know  what  I
mean?" His tone changed as he thought about what  he'd just said. "It's  all
right, isn't it? I mean, you know what's happening, don't yer?"
     I nodded, not really feeling too sure.
     Parking with the  nose pointing out in a vacant space, Spike turned off
the  engine  and swiveled  round  in  his seat. "Please, your  phones,  your
pagers, and your e-mail devices," he said in heavily  accented English. "You
must  leave them  here. No worry,  you  get them back." He smiled, showing a
not-so-good set of teeth.
     I explained that, as instructed, neither of us had brought any.
     He smiled again. "Good. Thank you, thank you."
     The trunk clicked open behind us as  Spike pulled  on the lever next to
his seat.  I  got out of  the car,  and Tom followed  just  as  a black  4x4
Mercedes, the old square shape, moved slowly  toward  us. The glare  of  its
headlights prevented me seeing who was inside.
     I looked at Spike, who didn't seem remotely concerned. The 4x4 stopped,
its engine running. It had  blacked-out rear windows and the only occupant I
could see was the driver.
     She looked very different from the last  time I'd seen her. Then, she'd
resembled  an  off-duty  Italian;   now   she  was  wearing  a  chunky  gray
Norwegian-style turtleneck which came right up  to her chin, decorated  with
weird and wonderful patterns.  A Tibetan  hat with earflaps covered most  of
the rest of her face, but I could just make out some wisps of blond hair.
     As the  front window slid down, I  was treated  to a very  pleasant but
businesslike smile.  "Get in the back  of the  vehicle quickly, please." She
added something in Finnish to Spike, and he shook his head back to her as we
climbed  into the rear seats with our bags.  The  vehicle was cold; she must
have been waiting for us without the engine running or the heater on.
     "Please sit well down in your seats and keep away from the windows."
     Tom looked at me for an explanation. I shrugged. "Later, mate."
     I  turned back to face  the windshield and  saw Liv watching me  in the
rearview mirror. She smiled. "Welcome to Finland."
     She then tilted her  head  to  look at Tom. "My  name is Liv.  I'm very
pleased to meet you."
     Tom nodded, looking almost shy. She  clearly had the same effect on him
as she did on me. He turned to glance at  his  reflection in the blacked-out
window, probably wishing he'd combed his hair.
     We drove  back out onto the road, turning left.  The lights burned even
brighter in the marketplace; it was getting quite dark.
     "We don't have a lot of time," Liv said. "Events have moved on from our
last conversation. You must carry out the task this Tuesday."
     Another of  their minor complications. I didn't believe her; I bet that
this had always been  the timing  Val wanted,  but instead of telling  me in
case it put me off, she'd just bullshit ted
     "I need to see the target," I said. "Two nights isn't a lot of time for
preparation. You'll have to tell me all you know tonight, and I'll recce the
place tomorrow."
     "Yes, of course.  I am also concerned that Tom  should have enough time
to break through the firewall so he can access the system."
     Tom sat up, like a well-behaved child trying to please an adult. "It'll
be okay. Just show me what you've got."
     "I will, Tom. Very soon."
     There was a long pause as Tom sank back into the seat.
     I looked at the road. "Where are we going now?"
     "It's not far, by the lakes."
     That wasn't  much of  a clue.  The whole country was  covered with  the
things.
     The black and yellow florescent sign of a town's silhouette with
     a  red  line through it  told me I was now out of  Lahti. We hit a good
quality single-lane  road,  lined  at first  with  houses,  their  Christmas
decorations glowing  in the  darkness, then giving  way  to trees  and  cuts
through  granite  once  again. Another  sign told me  that  Mikkeli  was now
sixty-six miles away. We must still be heading north.
     I kept my eyes on the  odometer as  we passed  a succession  of plastic
mailboxes  on posts, all neatly aligned by the roadside, the only sign that,
somewhere deep in these forests, lay habitation.
     The  cloud  cover and closeness  of the trees made darkness fall  on us
completely,  the reflection from the clean  white snow  almost  doubling the
effectiveness of the headlights.
     The  4x4 Mere soon warmed  up  and Tom had his  headphones on  and eyes
closed. I found myself  trying to think  of things to  say to Liv, but small
talk wasn't on her agenda.
     There  was far more  checking of  mirrors than  was required for normal
driving; she was carrying out anti surveillance That was why we'd met in the
parking lot  and  come  straight  out  before any connection could  be  made
between the two vehicles. If anybody had been following us from the airport,
they would naturally have assumed we were going into the hotel.
     I could see  her  face illuminated by  the dashboard as I sat up. "Liv?
Why all the fuss about telephones and pagers? And why the dead letter box?"
     "The old ways are the best." She  smiled. "A Sicilian once told me that
to be sure there's a future, you  must learn the lessons  of  the past.  For
centuries  his  organization   had  used   messengers  who   would  exchange
information person  to  person.  That  way  there  was control  of  anything
sensitive. But  then they started operating in America and they got lazy. In
the late fifties  they  started to  use  the telephone,  and  it  was  their
downfall. If information is important and you want to keep it safe, you must
communicate in person. That way you keep control."
     I started  to  see signs  for the  E75  and Mikkeli, then the  treeline
disappeared and the  highway came into view about 400 yards below me on  the
right. Lines of headlights moved in  both directions, but we stayed  on  the
old road and  the trees returned to  cut out the view. It would be easier to
see if anyone was behind us.
     Liv  continued. "As to the rest of your question, we take all necessary
precautions. Not only with our information, but with our
     people.  That's  the reason  why  all  contact  from  now  on  will  be
exclusively with me."
     I decided not to tell her what had happened after leaving the flat. She
and Val knew far too much about me already.
     Streetlights  sprang  up at  the  roadside  and  signs  told me we were
approaching a place called Heinola.
     Tom  sparked up, taking  off his headphones. A  low-toned, tinny  dance
beat filled the air. "Are we there yet?"
     Liv helped out. "Another thirty minutes, Tom."
     He became a bashful schoolboy again. "Oh ... thanks."
     Liv turned the heating down  a notch  and  pulled off her hat. Her hair
bounced around her shoulders.
     Tom was looking out  at the town and daydreaming as he  pulled a tissue
from  his  pocket and  blew  his nose,  then  examined  his  effort  in  the
streetlight, as if it held some sort of prophecy.
     We finished moving around the town, another anti surveillance maneuver,
and left on a much smaller road. The  houses and lights quickly dwindled and
trees and darkness soon took over, with just the occasional driveway leading
into the woods.
     Liv was still checking  behind us for lights, and Tom, having found the
meaning of life in his Kleenex, went back to listening to his music.
     Eventually we turned  onto  a blacktop road, tree lined and cleared  of
snow,  then carried on for another two to three  miles, down  a slight hill,
until the  trees gave way to a house that was suddenly illuminated by ground
lights as the vehicle approached. We must have passed a sensor.
     The place looked like something out  of a James Bond  film. Blofeld was
probably looking down on us from inside, stroking his cat.
     It was maybe sixty or seventy yards  long and looked just as if someone
had  taken  an  enormous slice out of an  apartment building and perched  it
twenty feet off the  ground on two massive concrete supports.  Val certainly
did things in style.
     The  driveway took us  under the house, where  glass panels sealed  the
area around  the pillars to make an internal  parking lot. Two  large  patio
type doors opened automatically as we approached, then closed behind us.
     It was surprisingly warm as I stepped out of the Mere. The lights
     shining  through  the windows and the reflection  of the  snow  made me
screw up my face until my eyes adjusted.
     Liv  hit a key chain and a brown door opened  in the  left-hand pillar.
Tom  and I grabbed our bags and followed her into a hot stairwell. I noticed
that light-brown walking boots had replaced the cowboy look.
     We  entered a vast,  high-ceilinged space, maybe  thirty yards long and
twenty  wide, and, just like the  London flat,  it  was clinically white and
sparsely  furnished. There was a  door to  my immediate right which led into
the kitchen,  through which I  could see  white veneer  cupboards and  steel
countertops.
     The  living area, where  we were  standing,  was  straight  out  of  an
Architectural Digest.  Two white  leather sofas  faced each  other across  a
glass-and-chrome  coffee  table,  and  that  was  it. No TV,  music  center,
magazines,  flowers, pictures  on the  wall, nothing.  White vertical blinds
stretched from floor to ceiling where I expected windows to be. The lighting
was low and supplied by wall lamps white of course.  There were no  fixtures
in the ceiling.
     Tom and I stood with our bags in our hands, taking it all in.
     "I'll  show  you  your  rooms." Liv was already walking  toward the far
right-hand  door. I wondered  if she  ever waited for  anyone, or  if Armani
insisted she always went in front.
     We followed into a hallway,  our shoes squeaking on the polished wooden
floor.
     My room was through the first door  on the  left. Again, it was a world
of white, with a low,  Japanese-style bed, shower, white marble tiling,  and
stacks of brand-new white towels.  There was no  wardrobe, just small canvas
storage spaces suspended from  a chrome rail. Surprisingly, because the view
must have been fantastic, there were no windows.
     Liv said, "No need. It's always too dark."
     I put my bag on the floor; there was nowhere else to put it.
     She turned away. "Tom, your room is next door."
     They disappeared,  but  I could  hear the mumble of  voices through the
wall as  I  took  my  jacket off  and listened to  the  constant  hum of the
heating. Her rubber-soled  boots soon came squeaking past and  she paused in
the doorway. "Would you like some coffee, Nick, and maybe something to  eat?
Then we must get to work. We don't have much time."
     "Yeah, thanks."
     She nodded and made her way back toward the living area.
     I repositioned my  bag in the corner of the room it seemed out of place
anywhere else as  Tom stuck his  head  round the  door. "Nice one, mate. She
worth price of admission or what? You coming for a snack?"
     A couple of minutes later, Tom and I sat facing each other on the white
leather. The sofa made creaking  sounds as we got comfortable, and the clink
of china came from the kitchen. It seemed I wouldn't get anything out of him
while Liv was about, which wasn't a bad  thing  really. At least it shut him
up. We sat and waited with only the low hum of the heating for company.
     She reappeared with  a  full coffepot, milk, and mugs on a  tray, and a
plate of  crackers and sliced cheese. Placing it on the glass table, she sat
down next  to Tom.  I wasn't sure whether he was wriggling with pleasure  or
embarrassment.
     "Let me explain the setup,"  she said. "I will be staying here with you
both. My room is over on the other side." She pointed to the opposite door.
     "The room  across from your bedrooms is where the laptop is,  for  you,
Tom,  to decrypt the firewall. I'll tell  you  more about that in a moment."
She turned  to me.  "Nick,  also  in there are  maps of  the house you'll be
visiting."
     She started to  pour. "By Tuesday morning you must have discovered  the
access  sequence,  entered  the house,  and  copied  the  files. If not,  my
instructions are that the deal is off."
     I sat  and listened, knowing that even if I had to make a pact with the
devil it would all be completed in  time. I wanted this money. I needed this
money.
     Liv  and I took a  sip of black coffee. Tom didn't touch his, obviously
not wanting  to  be a nuisance and ask for  anything herbal. We  lapsed back
into a strained silence.
     She sat and watched our discomfort, almost enjoying it. It made me feel
as if she knew more about Tom and me than we did about her.
     At length I said, "It will happen."
     Tom nodded. "No drama."
     "I'm sure  it will.  We  will  discuss  the  minor  details  of  money,
information exchange, and so  on later." She  stood  up.  "Come, bring  your
drinks. Let's start work."
     We followed her  down the hall. The room on the right was just as white
as the  rest of  the house,  and very large and  rectangular. There were two
pine desks and chairs. One  had an  aluminum  briefcase on it, the other,  a
small black sleek-looking IBM laptop a bit smaller  than  a sheet  of  Xerox
paper, together with the box it had  come in, with spare wires  draped  over
the top and a thin black nylon carry bag with a shoulder strap.
     Liv pointed  at the briefcase. "Tom,  that Think Pad is for you.  Nick,
come." She continued to the other desk.
     As she and Tom started to talk firewall  stuff, I undipped the case and
lifted the  lid. I found  several  marked  maps, all of different scales. It
looked  as  if  we  were  aiming  for  a  town  called  Lappeenranta,  about
seventy-five miles to the east of us and close to the Russian border.
     The largest  scale map showed that the whole area was a  massive system
of lakes, maybe more  than eighty  miles  square,  with  hundreds  of  small
islands and inlets dotted with villages and small towns. The target was just
over fifteen miles north of Lappeenranta, along a road  linking  some of the
islands to  an area called Kuhala. The  house  wasn't lakeside, but set back
about under a mile from the water and surrounded by forest.
     Liv left us to it, and I watched her  go. She  was unbelievably cool. I
realized that I was beginning to like her a lot.
     "Hey, Tom?" I turned to face him. He was hunched over the small screen,
his back to me.
     He turned in his chair and looked up. "What's the matter, mate?"
     "I think it would be better if you didn't mention anything to Liv about
the money. It's just that she may be getting less than us and will get a bit
pissed off. If she asks, just say you don't know, okay?"
     "Isn't this her place, then?"
     "I doubt  it. She's just working on the job, like us.  I think it would
be best if we kept our cards close to our chests, okay?"
     He turned back to  the desk.  "If you say so, mate. Whatever." The keys
started  to clink away once  more under his dancing  fingers. "Means jack to
me."
     I returned  to the material spread out in front of  me. Maps are useful
things, but they  only go so far. I needed to  get my ass on target and do a
proper recce.  I  listened to  Tom  messing about  behind me as  I  sat  and
memorized the maps.
     The best way I had learned to  do this was by visualizing the route I'd
take.  It was far  easier  than  trying to  remember  place names  and  road
numbers. I sat there, staring  at the blank wall, making my way from Heinola
to the target house, when I noticed a piece of plasterboard missing around a
double-pronged plug.
     I got on my knees and had a look, pulling back the edge of the board to
reveal lead sheeting behind, covered with a plastic, saran wrap-type lining.
I glanced  back at Tom. He  was  still hammering on the  keyboard like a man
possessed.
     I  pushed  the  plasterboard back in  place and walked around the room,
looking for any more holes. Then I realized  there weren't  any phone jacks.
Even in a  modern house that was taking minimalism a bit far. Was it to make
this place impossible  to  communicate with electronically? If so, Val  took
his work  very  seriously indeed, and  it unnerved me a bit. I  didn't  like
discovering things that I should know already.
     I walked across  to Tom's desk and stood over  him, looking at a screen
full  of numbers and letters.  Some of the vertical lines would change every
time he hit a key.
     "Do you understand what you've got there?"
     "No problem; it's all about algorithms and protocols, hardened proxies,
stuff like that.  What it boils  down to is  that I  need to find the access
sequence  among a  million  or so different  sets of characters.  That's the
firewall  between me and the rest of the system." He  pointed at the screen,
never letting  his  eyes  wander  from  it.  "This  is quite a sophisticated
crypto, as  it  has a learning program that detects unusual events, like  me
trying to hack in, and interprets them as an attack. If we were trying to do
this on site I wouldn't be able to do it in time. But this setup is perfect:
I have time to play."
     His  attention  was drawn away from talking to  me as he leaned forward
slightly and studied the screen. We were both silent for a few seconds as he
mumbled crypto stuff to himself, then he came back to planet earth. "Anyway,
once I've hacked  into it here, all I have to do is configure  the Think Pad
bring  it  with me and then  I can download all  the files  she  wants. Easy
life."
     I watched him as he  did his stuff.  He'd turned into the master of his
universe, hands gliding over the keys, quick, confident and in command. Even
his tone had changed as he explained what he was up to.
     "Tom, will you  be  able to get past this  thing?" The  screen  full of
moving numbers, letters, and symbols looked like total confusion to me.
     "No drama, mate. No drama."
     I looked over at the broken plasterboard. "One more question."
     His eyes still didn't leave the screen. "What's that?"
     I changed my mind. "I'm going for a coffee. You coming?"
     "Nah, mate, I'm gonna stay here. Things to do, know what I
     mean?"
     I left him to it. I wanted to know why the lead was there, and maybe he
could help, but why risk him stressing? The less he knew the better.
        IB
     I walked into the living area after having no luck finding a phone jack
in my bedroom. The light was still on, but the room was empty and the coffee
things  had been cleared away. There was only a thick  paperback book on the
glass table. I wandered around the room, checking for jacks, but didn't find
any. There were none in the kitchen, either.
     I couldn't see any  gaps in the wall covering  to check for lead,  so I
decided to go a different route. Walking over to the ceiling-to-floor blinds
I gave one of them a poke. It didn't move, and was extremely hard and heavy.
     There was  a  switch on the wall near by, and  you didn't need  to be a
brain  surgeon to work  out what it did. When I flicked it,  a motor whirred
above me in the ceiling. I watched as they began to open from the center. It
was  dark outside, but the living-room lights exposed a long narrow  balcony
beyond  triple-glazed  sliding doors. Virgin  snow lay  three feet  deep all
along it, resting against the glass. A little further out, the tops of a few
snow-covered  pine  trees  were also  visible,  but  beyond  that  was  inky
blackness.
     I  turned,  hearing bare feet moving toward me.  Liv was  six  or seven
steps  away, wearing  a  blue silk bathrobe which  finished just  above  her
knees, exposing each thigh in turn as she moved.
     Two more steps and she  reached past me and hit the switch. She smelled
as if she'd just stepped out of the shower.
     The  motor whirred and the blinds began to close again. She took a step
back. "Nick, the blinds must remain closed at all times
     when Tom is working on the computer." She waved a palm in the direction
of the sofa. "Shall we sit?"
     As she crossed  the  room,  I followed.  She  saw my eyes flick to  the
blinds and guessed what I was about to say. "Yes, Nick, before you ask, they
are  lined  with  lead.  The  whole  house is.  Valentin  doesn't  like  his
competitors  learning  what  he's  doing.  Millions  of  dollars  are  spent
accessing  information about rivals in this business.  He ensures that  it's
money wasted as far as spying on him is concerned.  Valentin knows the  true
value of information--not money, but power."
     "So that's why no phones?"
     The blinds finished closing as we sat facing each other on the sofa. As
she tucked her legs underneath her, the silk followed the  contours  of  her
body.
     "Please, Nick, will you tell Tom? House rule."
     "No problem. But will you do me a favor in return? It would make things
a  lot easier for us if you  didn't tell Tom anything about the Maliskia, or
about the deal  we have. He's a worrier and I want him to concentrate on the
job." The last thing I needed  was her telling him how much money was really
involved.
     "Of  course,"  she  smiled.  "I  never  have  a  problem  with  keeping
information to a minimum. On the  other hand, I also find it better to  tell
the truth about  important  matters. Maybe Tom  would be better  off knowing
about the  Maliskia, and  the  money, rather than possibly finding  out at a
later date? Lies can  be so confusing  and counterproductive;  but then, I'm
sure you don't need me to tell you that, do you?"
     I wasn't too sure if it was a  rhetorical question;  whatever, I wasn't
going to give her a full answer. I shrugged.
     She  leaned forward to pick up the book on the coffee table, and as she
settled back,  her silk bathrobe fell down  on  either  side of  her legs. I
tried  not  to  look, but  couldn't help  myself. Liv was  one  of  the most
beautiful, attractive, and intelligent women  I'd ever seen. It was a pity I
had champagne tastes  and a lemonade budget. I would never have what it took
to attract somebody like her, and, sadly, she didn't strike  me as  the sort
to dispense charity shags to the poor.
     She pulled the  gown together as  she caught my eye.  "Does this bother
you? You English are so strange; you're so repressed."
     "What  about you  lot?" I grinned. "You seem  to  be  so  reserved with
strangers, yet think nothing of sitting  naked with them in saunas, chatting
about the weather. Then you charge out and roll
     naked  in  the  snow, beating  yourselves  with birch  twigs.  So who's
playing with a full deck?"
     She smiled. "We're all prisoners of  our past,  and maybe we Finns more
than most."
     That one got me knitting my brow. It was a bit too deep for me.
     "I don't expect you to understand this,  Nick, but Nordic myth is  more
deeply  ingrained  in  our  psyche  than in  any of  the  other Scandinavian
cultures. Probably a  legacy  of all  those centuries of Swedish and Russian
domination." She  tapped the book. "A  collection of Finnish folklore.  See,
we're captivated."
     "I'm more of a Harry Potter man myself," I said. I didn't know what the
fuck she was talking about.
     It was her turn to  look  puzzled. She probably  thought  he wrote  spy
thrillers, or whatever crap I read.
     "Nick, I  need to  finalize some drop  off' she corrected herself "dead
letter box details with you for the information and money exchange. We shall
all go  to  Helsinki in  the morning, even  if  Tom  hasn't got  through the
firewall by then. It's important that he isn't kept in the dark."
     I  opened my mouth  to speak, but  she seemed to have  accessed my  own
firewall. I wasn't sure whether to  be flattered or alarmed by the fact that
she seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.
     "Nick, I've already told you there is nothing to be concerned about. No
one  is  looking for  you  there.  Otherwise it would  be  pointless  going,
wouldn't  it? We  all want  you to be successful, so why would we be  taking
such a risk?"
     That made sense, but it was less than a week since Carpenter had turned
Helsinki  into Dodge City, and  I didn't  want to find myself  next  door to
anyone who mistook me for one of his close personal friends.
     "Once you and Tom have left tomorrow night, you must never return here,
whatever happens.  That way this place remains secure.  In any event, no one
will be here, as I am leaving  soon after you. I will take anything you want
to leave  behind, and return it at the exchange. You are to make your way to
the DLB  on  Wednesday morning and leave details for a meeting  between just
the two of us.
     "The details  of the exchange  are totally your concern. Valentin wants
to give you control of the  arrangements, as a gesture  of good faith and to
give  you  confidence  that  nothing uncomfortable  will  occur  during  the
transaction. To help ensure this, you will still be in
     contact exclusively  with me." She  gave me the full benefit  of  those
wonderful eyes. "Do not worry, Nick, this business is not being conducted in
a way that jeopardizes any of us."
     I tried  not  to  laugh.  Maybe  she hadn't noticed how people like Val
conducted business. If he didn't have control of an apartment building  he'd
blow it up,  no matter who was still inside. I wasn't quite  ready to assume
he was my new best friend. In the meantime, I would pick the time and place,
and they would come to me. It made sense.
     I nodded. "What if I don't make the dead letter box?"
     "If you don't, Tom will. That  is why he needs to be  with us tomorrow.
If there's no message for me by Wednesday evening,  I'll know that something
is seriously wrong and the deal is  off. Sometimes you win, other times ..."
She shrugged.
     There  was  silence for a moment  or two. "How  did  you  come  to meet
Valentin?"
     "Like you, he asked me to work for him." She smiled, crossing her legs.
"And no, Nick, I'm not his mistress."
     She'd read my mind again. Three hundred years ago she  would  have been
burned at the stake.
     "The only thing he wants from  me is my doctorate in Russian  political
science. You see, Nick, this is where the money is for now. And the fact is,
I enjoy that money. I work hard and I'm well rewarded."
     She sat back, and when she spoke again  her voice  was low. "My parents
were  Swedish. They  are both dead  now. I was born here, in Finland. I am a
Finn.  There, that is all you need  to know  about me. But what  about  you,
Nick?  Why did you  become a  kidnapper? Did  you  not work for  the British
government?"
     I  coughed,  trying  unsuccessfully  to hide  my embarrassment. It made
sense that she would know: If she knew about  the connection between Tom and
me,  then there was  a whole lot more  she probably  knew,  too. So much for
being  a deniable  operator. I suddenly  wasn't enjoying this as  much as  I
thought  I  was going to. "Money," I said. "Just like you. Maybe  we're  the
same."
     She gave  me her most inscrutable Mr.  Spock look. "Of course.  That is
why you are here." Her face broke into a smile. "Are you married?"
     "Divorced."
     "What  happened,  Nick?  Did  she  not  like  to  live  with  lies  and
half-truths?"
     "I  think she just didn't like living with me." I paused. "I used to be
in the military and--"
     "Yes, Valentin knows about your military past, Nick. That is one of the
reasons you are here."
     What else  did he know? I didn't like the postman knowing what I looked
like,  let alone the head of  a major organized crime group. It made me feel
very uncomfortable.
     I said, "What about you? Are you married?"
     "I'm not  so sure it would be a good idea. And being a mother? It  does
not interest me. Do you have children?"
     "No."  I  made  light of it.  "I can just  about  manage to  look after
myself. It would be such a  responsibility. What would  I do  if they became
ill?"
     She gave me a  level  look. "I think we have both done the right thing,
Nick, don't you?"
     I tried to read her expression and failed again. I didn't  reply for  a
while, and when I did I answered one question with another. "Are you staying
with us all the time, Liv?"
     "I'll  come and go. But essentially I'm  here to  make sure  things run
smoothly." She adjusted herself on the sofa.  I got another glimpse of thigh
as  she  tapped the book  by  her side.  "There  is  a  story in here  about
Vainamoinen, the creator of the Universe. One  day  he has an encounter with
Joukahainen, a  much younger god.  The two meet riding on  a narrow path and
neither wants to give way. Joukahainen challenges Vainamoinen,  with all the
eagerness  of youth  and limitless  self-confidence. The battle is waged  by
chanting magical songs, and ends with Joukahainen  finding himself in a bog.
You see, Nick, he simply didn't know who he was dealing with."
     I took the point. Knowing who you're dealing with had always been a big
thing  with  me.  And right  now the message seemed  to be,  they did  and I
didn't.
     "What time are we leaving in the morning?"
     "Eight.  Will you tell Tom?" She yawned.  "Time for  bed, I think. Good
night, Nick."
     I watched her walk toward the door. "Night, Liv."
     She disappeared into the  other  half of  the house. I  couldn't help a
smile of regret when I realized  that her leaning across me  to flick a wall
switch was the closest we were ever  likely to get. Will of the gods and all
that.
        17
     Monday, December 13,1999
     We headed south along the  highway toward Helsinki, all dressed exactly
the same as yesterday. Tom had headed straight for the back seat and crashed
out, which left me with the option of  joining him or sitting next to Liv in
the front. I knew what I wanted to  do, but I  felt I  should give  her some
space.
     It was  nearly 8:45, and after  thirty minutes of staring at headlights
it had  begun to get  light. It was going  to be a sunny day; there wasn't a
cloud in the sky, and  the  unfolding view of pine trees and glittering snow
was straight out of a ski brochure.
     I looked across at Tom, headphones on and eyes  closed. The scenery was
lost on  him. He was fast  asleep, his head bouncing gently in time with the
4x4's movement. He'd been up late at his screen.
     I'd got  him to bring all his  documents, even on this shopping trip. I
told him it was just in case we needed  to  leave  in a hurry--"Be prepared,
Tom, know what I mean?"
     He hadn't been too keen  on coming, because after working  much  of the
night,  he was  close  to  breaking the firewall.  But I agreed with Liv; he
needed to be aware of the game plan. We were both acting for our own selfish
reasons. If there was a problem  on target  and Tom was the only one to  get
away,  she had to  know there was  still a chance she could get the data  to
Val.  And I wanted him along because,  if  I broke a  leg, or wasn't able to
make the DLB to
     collect, my money for any other reason, I wanted Tom  to be able  to do
it for me.
     Another  forty minutes and we hit  Helsinki  city limits. Liv gave me a
guided tour as  we  came in, pointing out some landmarks and proudly telling
about how her tiny nation  had routed  the Red Army in the 1940  winter war.
All the while, Tom's head bounced about beside me.
     It was quite strange seeing the place during the day. I'd never come in
until last  light during the recces for  Val's lift; there was  no reason to
expose myself and  the team  to  CCTV  and the security  setup  for  the  EU
conference. No matter what the environment, it's  always better to recce  in
the dark, and in this place there was plenty of it.
     The  city  looked older  than  I'd  been  expecting;  the  airport  and
Intercontinental  were  both modern  buildings, and Tom's ranting  about how
cutting edge the place was had led me to expect a city full of buildings out
of Blade Runner.
     As we weaved toward the center, the heavy morning traffic jockeyed with
the streetcar to gain ground, but was generally well behaved.
     "I think it's time for Tom to pay attention now, Nick."
     I gave him a shake.
     "What? What?" His  eyes opened and he stretched as if he was coming out
of hibernation.
     I pointed at my mouth, indicating to him that he'd do well to  wipe the
dribble from his chin.
     "Cheers, mate." He looked outside at the traffic. "This Helsinki, then?
Looks just like the virtual tour."
     Liv smiled. "I think you will find the real thing a bit chillier."
     We  turned  a corner, passing a large illuminated sign telling  us that
this department store was  called Stockmann. She pointed at the large window
displays as  we  drove  past.  "We'll meet  in  the coffee shop on the sixth
floor. The station is just a couple of minutes' walk away."
     We  drove on a  couple of blocks before stopping. As I  got out, I felt
the bitter cold for the first time that day. With the garage being a sealed,
heated part of the house, the open air hadn't had a chance to get at us. She
looked  back at  me through the  rear  doors as I  put my hat and gloves on.
"I'll see you both in Stockmann in two hours. You'll need about half an hour
to check out the station."
     I  nodded and turned to Tom. "We'll use the rest of the time to get our
stuff."
     I closed the door of  the  4x4 and she drove off.  Our  breath hung  in
clouds in front of our faces and  every inch of  exposed skin prickled  with
the cold.  Tom  didn't  like it one  bit. "Arctic  or what, Nick? For fuck's
sake, can we get inside fast?"
     The station was in  front of us. It looked  like an East German prison,
very square and imposing,  faced with what looked like dirty brown concrete.
It  could have been used as  a backdrop for 1984. I checked the  clock tower
with Baby G and they agreed to the minute: 10:22.
     As we joined the rest of the  pedestrian traffic waiting obediently for
the little green man, Tom frowned and said, "Nick?"
     "What?"  I was  concentrating more  on  looking  for a gap between  the
streetcars  that I  could  dash through.  I had  no intention of freezing to
death, waiting for little green men.
     "Do you trust her you know, Liv? You sure everything's sweet?"
     Liv's advice  about  being truthful flashed through my head, thankfully
not powerfully enough for me to  take it. I tried never to trust anyone, and
after  what had  happened  in Washington, I certainly wasn't  going  to now.
There might not  be too much time  to do this job correctly, and I  might be
desperate for  the cash, but I wouldn't  be doing anything  until I'd put my
own and Tom's safety net in place today.
     The  lights  changed  and  we  started  walking.  "Don't  worry,  mate,
everything is fine. In fact, having a meeting point like this is one  of the
things  that  makes  me feel better  about her.  It  means these  people are
switched on and want the job done with no hassle. Don't worry about it."
     He shrugged. "Yeah, but  what can you do to  guarantee we ain't getting
screwed, know what I mean? Are  you  going to do what  she  wants? You know,
come back here and give her  the Think  Pad with  the download  and take the
money? Or are you gonna ask for more? I bet it's worth a fortune."
     Even if the thought had crossed my mind, I wasn't going to admit it  to
him. "No, mate, I  just want to  do  this  right. Just exchange  that little
machine of yours for the money and get back to the U.K. That way  everything
stays safe  and easy. Whichever way you look  at it, it's still good money."
All the time I had my smiley face on. I felt like I was trying  to encourage
a small child to eat his sprouts.
     I  was expecting more questions, but  he  just shrugged  his  shoulders
again. "Only asking, mate. If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for
me. Tell you what, she's tasty, ain't she?"
     I grinned. "Yes, she's very beautiful. Out of our league though,  son."
I somehow couldn't picture  Liv kissing Juicy Lucy cards in Netting Hill, or
spending her day sorting out my boiler.
     The main doors to the station  were heavy  and  wooden,  with  porthole
windows protected by  metal grills. We pushed through  and immediately  came
face to face  with Santa, who  was ringing his  bell and demanding money. We
sidestepped him.
     The  interior looked  more  like  a  well-kept  museum  than a  railway
station,  with clean, stone-paved floors,  thick  granite supporting pillars
and unbelievably high  ceilings. Little snowmen  hung from  chandeliers, and
the place echoed  with  public announcements, people  talking,  cell  phones
going off all over the place and, in one corner, a  performer who was having
a  crack at the Finnish version of "Good  King Wenceslas"  on his accordion.
The smell of cigarette smoke and fast food was strong and everywhere.
     A group  of  people  with Santa hats  on and sets  of skis  over  their
shoulders tried to squeeze past stressed-out businessmen in overcoats, furry
Cossack hats,  and cell  phones glued to their ears. The strange  thing  was
that  you couldn't  see  or  hear  a  single train--this  was a cold-weather
station and the platforms were outside.
     Tom rubbed his hands together. He  liked it in here.  "Christ, I almost
feel human again. What now then, Nick?"
     Father  Christmas carried on doing his stuff  as we stood  and got  our
bearings, and I thought "almost" was as close as Tom was ever going to get.
     Liv's DLB was very easy to find and, like the one at the Langham, sited
well.  We were standing with our backs to  the main entrance. In front of us
was a wide stairway and escalators that led down into the  metro. The  three
sides  of the stairway  surrounded  an  open  square  of  continuous  wooden
benches. The DLB was by a trash can on the left-hand side.
     Tom followed as I walked between  the DLB and  the large ticketing hall
to our left, heading for a newsstand. A  teenaged girl was sitting reading a
magazine, ears full of Walkman, mouth full of gum. She was wearing navy-blue
down snow pants under a matching jacket which was open to stop her sweating.
     I nodded at Tom just before we got level  with her. "There it is, mate.
See the girl in blue?"
     He nodded back and we carried on past.
     "Okay, if you put your hand underneath  the bench,  exactly where she's
sitting, you're going to feel a plastic  container  attached by  Velcro. All
you do is make  sure no  one's looking and pull it  off, go away and write a
note telling them where they can find you, and they'll come."
     "Isn't this all a bit James Bond, Nick? I don't like it."
     "It's just basic routine. You need to know what to do if it goes wrong.
You know, suppose I break a leg and can't  get back here? Then it'll be down
to you to hand over the goods and get us our money."
     "So long as there ain't no  funny business. You know, fucking her about
or anything? I don't want that, mate. I just want the money."
     We stopped by the wall next to the newsstand.
     "Tom, it's going to go like clockwork. You just need to know this stuff
in case I get injured, that's all. You're my insurance  policy,  and I'll be
yours."
     He liked that. The girl got up and walked toward us,  nodding  her head
in time to the music stuck in her ears.
     "Go on, see if there's anything there yet."
     "What, now?" He looked absolutely terrified. "While everyone's here?"
     "It's  never going to  be empty, Tom. It's a station, for fuck's  sake.
All you've got to  do  is take a stroll  over there, sit down, put your hand
under the bench  and have a feel around. While you're doing that I'll go and
change some money for you, all right?"
     I didn't  wait for his answer. I  wanted him to go through the motions.
If he had to get here on his own, he'd at least know what to do.
     I walked further  into the station. Signs in front of me pointed to the
platforms  and the long-term luggage lockers. I'd be checking that out  soon
enough.
     As  busy-looking people  passed through the  large wooden  doors, I saw
snow-covered  cars  standing at  each  platform. To my right were stores and
rest rooms, and, about fifty feet away,  the exit to the bus station. To the
left were more shops and the short-term luggage lockers, then another set of
doors the same distance away that led out to
     the taxis. Behind me were the metro stairs and a very nervous Tom.
     I  went left, to the  currency exchange, exchanged $500, then  wandered
back. As I neared the DLB I could see him sitting on the bench, looking very
pleased  with himself.  I sat  next  to him, squeezing into  the  small  gap
between him and a rather large woman peeling an orange.
     "Piece of cake, mate. Found it first time, look."
     He started to bend down.
     "No, no, not  now, Tom. Leave it where it is and I'll show  you  how to
tell Liv that you've put a message in there for her."
     I  stood up and he followed. The woman was delighted and spread herself
out  more. We went toward the platform doors  and turned right, passing  the
rest rooms.
     "Tom, go in there to write your message, okay?"
     He nodded, his eyes fixed on the  English edition computer magazines as
we  passed another  newsstand, with yet  more people  wrestling  with  their
luggage and skis.
     I  explained  where to leave his DLB-loaded  marker. "Just beyond  this
coffee shop, on the right, is a row of telephones. When the  time comes, get
yourself a marker pen from one of these shops and draw a line down the booth
of the right-hand one, okay?"
     It wasn't. "Why?"
     "So Liv doesn't have to sit down and feel under the bench every time to
check it. If the loaded sign the marker-pen line isn't there, she knows that
a message  isn't, either. Otherwise she'll  look  just  a bit  suspicious on
Wednesday, won't she, sitting in the same place every hour on the hour?"
     He nodded thoughtfully. "Tell you what, she could sit next to me  every
hour on the hour, know what I mean?"
     I  smiled. If the two  women  at  the  airport would  have had  him for
breakfast, Liv  would probably chew him  up and spit him out without looking
up from her newspaper.
     We were closing the  gap  toward the bus  station  doors when  they all
opened at once and a busload of people surged toward us, dragging their skis
and luggage behind them.
     Thirty  feet short of the doors was a bank of four phones fixed to  the
wall, divided by  polished-wood  booths. We stood  against  the nearest one,
letting  the bus party  pass  with a rumble of suitcase  wheels and  excited
conversation.
     "See here?" I said.
     "Yeah, you want me to mark..." He started to wave his finger.
     "Hey, Tom, in spy land nobody points." I pushed his hand down and tried
not to laugh. "But yes, that's right, mate, a mark. But a line, a nice thick
line. Make  sure you pretend to be on the phone and make sure they" I nodded
toward the flower shop opposite "don't see you."
     Tom's eyes followed mine. "I get it, but you'll tell  me what to say in
the letter, yeah?"
     "Of course. Now let's go and get cold."
     We  walked out  through  the  bus station,  a  large  square  concourse
littered with sheltered stops.
     Once onto the pavement we cut half right in the direction of Stockmann.
I  handed  Tom 2,000  Finnish marks  from  the  wad  I'd got from  the money
changer. It worked out at about six marks a dollar. He thought  he was rich;
his eyes shone  or maybe they were starting to be affected by the cold as we
walked along  cobblestoned streets. The  rumble of tires and metallic rhythm
of the streetcar wheels meant we had to speak louder than normal.
     "Tom, I want you to  give me  your passport and wallet for safekeeping.
I've  got an idea  for a little extra insurance, but listen, this is between
you  and me. It's not that I  don't trust her, but better  safe than  sorry,
eh?"
     "Nice one, Nick. Makes me feel better."
     He handed them over without questioning. It made  me feel suddenly more
responsible for him.
     "Besides, we want to travel light tomorrow night."
     You  could tell Stockmann was Finland's  top people's store by the line
of large black or dark-blue cars outside with their engines running, waiting
for their V.I.P passengers to come out and load up their Christmas shopping.
When we got closer, it was clear who the cars belonged to. Large men with no
necks and square heads were waiting beside them. It looked as though the hit
on Val last week, was making Mr. and Mrs. Mafia a bit nervous.
     A  group of  heavies came out just as we approached the main  entrance,
surrounding a  very young, beautiful blonde, who was wearing more fur than a
grizzly. For a moment I thought it was Liv.
     A limo  door opened for her, and the three-car convoy zoomed off up the
street.
     Tom  and I walked through large double doors  straight into the perfume
department. A little further on, in the luggage department, I  picked up two
small weekend bags,  one dark green and  one black,  from a display, and two
heavy car blankets.
     Tom had his big wad of money clasped firmly in his hand and was looking
happy. It was time to say my goodbyes.
     "I've  got things to do, Tom. Insurance." I tapped the side of  my nose
and winked. His big hamster cheeks beamed back. "I'll see you in the  coffee
shop in about forty-five  minutes. Just get yourself some good warm clothes,
the sort of stuff I told you about, all right?"
     "Yeah, yeah, no drama. Hey Nick, when  the going  gets tough, the tough
go shopping." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
     I clapped his shoulder. "Remember,  get a decent coat and boots. And by
the way,  if Liv turns  up before  I get there, just tell her  I'm shopping,
too."
     I could  see he couldn't be bothered to ask why, he  just wanted to get
spending.
     "No drama. See yer."
     Back  in  the cold, I took out my new bags and bulked them out with the
blankets.  Then  I  headed  for  the  bus station again.  I  went  past  the
telephones into Europe's most expensive rest rooms. It  cost  me over a buck
to sit  down  in one of the stalls so I  could  get  out the  money from  my
organizer wallet what was left of the  twenty-five grand in $100 bills which
I'd  brought with me. I removed four grand and  then placed the wallet, plus
my own documents and  Davidson's, into  the  dark-green bag. You never  know
when even  a burned  ID can come in useful. Tom's documents and  $3,000 went
into the black bag, and I slipped the remaining grand into my pocket. I then
dumped both at the luggage lockers and  looked for a decent hiding place for
the two  tickets our own  little DLB  some-where that Tom  would  find  easy
enough to remember.
     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