GRAVE MATTER

EIGHT

Unsurprisingly, Ozdoyev did not offer a lift, and after collecting our coats, shuddered out into the saturated air. As darkness fell, it seemed colder than ever, and Amber linked her arm in mine and moved closer to me so that we could share our little body warmth.

There were even fewer cars than usual to mow one down and not another pedestrian in sight, let alone a policeman.

"Did I do the right thing?" Amber asked in due course.

"Of course, you did," I answer. "The Russians want that hard drive as much as you want to know the whereabouts of your ex-husband's money."

The Majestic Hotel lay in the distance down the hill, with its canopy stretching out over the street. I turned up my coat collar, wondering why most of the centre of the top was an intentional hole rectangular hole, like a skylight without glass, open to every drop of rain or snow which cares to fall. As a shelter for people arriving and departing, the canopy was a non-starter. Of as many practical uses as a bath with no plug.

A mind floating along in neutral is in terrible shape for battle. A black car rolled quietly down the road beside us and came to a halt ten paces ahead. The driver climbed out of the vehicle, and the front passenger door opened. The front passenger stood up onto the pavement, and as we approached, they sprang at us.

The surprise was absolute as his hand snaked out towards my spectacles, and I hit it violently aside as one would a wasp.

He crowded after me across the pavement to pin me against the unyielding stone of the flanking building.

His friend hustled after Amber, who screamed as he grabbed for her handbag.

There was a fierce, brutal strength in their manner, and there was no doubt that Amber had hidden their target in her handbag. I wouldn't choose to fight to wear a thick overcoat but to fight, however, seemed imperative.

I kicked the storming passenger very viciously on the knee, and when his head came forward, I grabbed hold of the woolly balaclava he wore and swung him around so that his head hit the wall.

The driver arrived like a whirlwind, and his hand aiming at my glasses. I feinted one way, pushed his arm up out of the way, and then slammed the heel of my palm into the brachial nerve on the side of his neck.

Both men were now incapacitated and lay where they fell.

I looked over at Amber, who looked shocked at just what had happened.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, her voice shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement.

I took hold of her arm. "Come on, let's get back to the hotel."

We walked as quickly and discreetly as we could and were near the Majestic when we heard one of the car doors slam and listened to the car coming behind us.

There was life and waiting taxis and people outside the Majestic. There were also the watchers, earning their keep. I wondered fleetingly if watchers ever went to the help of tourists walking away at speed from FSB agents in black cars, and supposed not.

I didn't bother to call for help, and we just walked as fast as we could and made it. Just.

The men in the car must have decided it was too near the Majestic for them to make another attack, especially as we are walking so fast and not strolling along with whole thoughts.

After it had passed us, the car didn't stop but accelerated away past the hotel, and turned right at the end of the street, and went out of sight.

We slowed to a medium-paced walk, my heart thumping madly and my chest heaving to take in a vast lungful of cold, wet air. I was nothing like as fit, I thought grimly, as I was twenty years ago, but then I was sixty-three.

We covered the last few yards at an average walking pace and attracted no more eyes than usual when we went through the big double air lock-type glass entrance. However, the warmth inside seemed suddenly cloying, stoking up the sweat of exertion.

I peeled off my coat and collected my room key after Amber had collected hers. We kissed before parting outside the lift on the eighth floor.