The Eleventh Commandment Read online

  When he came back down in the lift a few minutes before twelve, the head porter didn’t recognise him. Connor left a duffle bag with him and said he would be back to pick it up around four. When the porter placed the bag under the counter he noticed the briefcase for the first time. As each bore a label with the same name, he put them together.

  Connor walked slowly up the side street next to Freedom Square. He passed two policemen who were questioning a tall, sandy-haired foreigner. They didn’t give him a second glance as he slipped inside and took the lift to the second-floor restaurant. He gave the head waiter his name, and was immediately directed to a corner table. He sat so that he was shielded from most of the other diners, but still had a bird’s-eye view of the square below.

  He was thinking about Tom Lawrence, and wondering how late he would leave it before he made up his mind, when a waiter appeared by his side and handed him the menu. Connor glanced out of the window, and was surprised to find that the square was already filling up, although there were still two hours to go before Zerimski was due to deliver his speech. Among the crowd he spotted several plain-clothes policemen. One or two of the younger ones were already clinging to statues and checking carefully around the square. But what were they looking for? Was the Chief of Police being over-cautious, or did he fear there might be some form of demonstration during Zerimski’s speech?

  The head waiter returned. ‘Could I please take your order, sir? The police have instructed us to close the restaurant before two o’clock.’

  ‘Then I’d better have the minute steak,’ said Connor.

  16

  ‘WHERE DO YOU THINK he is right now?’ asked Sergei.

  ‘He’ll be out there somewhere, but if I know him he’ll be damn near impossible to find in this crowd,’ said Jackson. ‘It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘Who ever lost a needle in a haystack?’

  ‘Stop making smart-assed remarks and do what you’re being paid for,’ said Jackson. ‘I’ll give you a ten-dollar bonus if you can spot him. Remember, he’s likely to be well disguised.’

  Sergei suddenly took a far greater interest in the crowd milling around in the square. ‘See that man on the top step in the north corner?’ he said. ‘Talking to a policeman.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Jackson.

  ‘That’s Vladimir Bolchenkov, the Chief of Police. A fair man, even though he’s the second most powerful person in St Petersburg.’

  ‘Who’s the first?’ asked Jackson. ‘The Mayor?’

  ‘No, his brother Joseph. He’s the city’s Mafya boss.’

  ‘Doesn’t that cause a slight conflict of interest?’

  ‘No. You only get arrested in St Petersburg if you’re not Mafya.’

  ‘Where do you get all your information?’ asked Jackson.

  ‘My mother. She’s slept with both of them.’

  Jackson laughed as they continued to watch the Chief talking to the uniformed officer. He would have liked to overhear their conversation. If it had been taking place in Washington, the CIA would have been able to play back every word that passed between them.

  ‘You see the young men draped around the statues?’ said the senior police officer standing next to Bolchenkov.

  What about them?’ said the Chief.

  ‘Just in case you were wondering why I haven’t arrested them, they’re all members of my team, and have a better view of the crowd than anyone. Look behind you, Chief: the hotdog salesman, the two men on the flower barrows and the four news-vendors are also mine. And I’ve got twelve busloads of uniformed police less than a block away, who can be pulled in at a moment’s notice. There will also be another hundred plain-clothes men drifting in and out of the square during the next hour. Every exit is covered, and anyone who has a view of the square will have one of my men within a few feet of him.’

  ‘If he’s as good as I think he is,’ said the Chief, ‘he’ll have found somewhere you haven’t thought of

  Connor ordered a cup of coffee and continued to watch the activity taking place in the square below. Although there were still thirty minutes to go before the candidate was due to arrive, the square was already packed with everyone from Zerimski-worshippers to the simply curious. He was amused by how hard the hotdog vendor was trying to disguise the fact that he was a policeman. The poor man had just received another voluble complaint - probably forgotten the ketchup. Connor turned his attention to the far side of the square. The little stand erected for the press was now the only area that remained unoccupied. He wondered why so many plain-clothes detectives were milling around, far more than was necessary to keep a casual passer-by from straying into a reserved area. Something didn’t add up. He was distracted by a hot coffee being placed in front of him. He checked his watch. Zerimski should have finished his meeting with General Borodin by now. The outcome would lead the news on all the networks that evening. Connor wondered if he would be able to tell from Zerimski’s manner if a deal had been struck.

  He called for the bill, and while he waited he concentrated on the scene below him for the last time. No professional would ever have considered Freedom Square a suitable target area. Besides all the problems he had already identified, the Chief of Police’s thoroughness was evident for anyone to see. Despite this, Connor felt that the sheer size of the crowd would give him his best opportunity yet to study Zerimski at close quarters, which was why he had decided not to sit among the press on this occasion.

  He paid his bill in cash, walked slowly over to the girl seated in the little booth and passed her a ticket. She handed him his hat and coat, and he gave her a five-rouble note. Old people always leave small tips, he’d read somewhere.

  He joined a large group of workers streaming out of offices on the first floor, who had obviously been given time off to attend the rally. Any managers within a mile of the square had probably accepted that not much work was going to be done that afternoon. Two plain-clothes policemen standing a few yards from the door were scrutinising the group of workers, but because of the freezing air they were revealing as little of themselves as possible. Connor found himself being borne along by the crowd as it flowed out onto the pavement.

  Freedom Square was already packed as Connor tried to squeeze between the bodies and make his way towards the podium. The crowd must be well over seventy thousand strong. He knew that the Chief of Police would have been praying for a thunderstorm, but it was a typical winter’s day in St Petersburg - cold, sharp and clear. He looked towards the roped-off press enclosure, which still seemed to have a considerable amount of activity going on around it. He smiled when he spotted Mitchell in his usual place, about ten feet from where he himself would normally have been seated. Not today, my friend. At least this time Mitchell was wearing a warm overcoat and the appropriate headgear.

  ‘Good day for pickpockets,’ said Sergei, scanning the crowd.

  ‘Would they risk it with this sort of police presence?’ asked Jackson.

  ‘You can always find a cop when you don’t need one,’ said Sergei. ‘I’ve already seen some old lags leaving with wallets. But the police don’t seem interested.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ve got enough problems on their hands, what with a crowd of nearly a hundred thousand and Zerimski expected to arrive at any moment.’

  Sergei’s eyes settled on the Chief of Police. ‘Where is he?’ Bolchenkov was asking a sergeant with a walkie-talkie.

  ‘He left the meeting with Borodin eighteen minutes ago, and is being driven down Preyti Street. He should be with us in about seven minutes.’

  ‘Then in seven minutes our problems begin,’ said the Chief, checking his watch.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s possible our man might just try taking a shot at Zerimski while he’s in the car?’

  ‘Not a chance,’ said the Chief. ‘We’re dealing with a pro. He wouldn’t consider a moving target, especially one in a bulletproof car. In any case, he couldn’t be certain which vehicle Zerimski was in. No, our man