There were a couple of exchanges in Russian. McMahon relayed: ‘Moscow 100 subcontracted the building work to a consortium of local builders.’
‘So did Moscow 100 stay in charge throughout the construction?’
For the first time Kosygin's expression changed, from apprehension to the slightest hint of pride.
Straker smiled. ‘How much did the overall construction cost?’
‘Eighty billion rubles.’
Straker looked impressed. Breathing deeply, Straker prepared to ask his big question. ‘Can you tell us anything about who put up the money for the circuit?’
Kosygin suddenly looked on edge again.
A train pulled into the station, making a considerable sound. Its noise reverberated under the arches. Another mass of people flowed through the concourse.
Kosygin blinked a couple of times. ‘You must not ever say that I told you,’ he said, with a pleading look on his face.
Straker replied with an expression of sincerity.
‘I am only telling you,’ said Kosygin, ‘so justice might come for Feodor Olyshenko and Menashe Rosenthal.’
Straker nodded.
‘Their deaths were never explained.’
Straker nodded and touched Kosygin's forearm again by way of extra reassurance.
The politician's eyes darted this way and that before he spoke again.
Kosygin then half-whispered a name.
This time, Straker didn’t need to wait for the translation. Even over the noise – over the hubbub of the underground station – Kosygin's pronunciation was clear enough.
Except, now, it was Straker's turn to manifest the leaden fear of dread.
Even so, McMahon repeated the name.
The silence between them seemed to last an age.
‘Thank you, Mr Kosygin,’ said Straker, his tone barely able to disguise his reaction. ‘We are very grateful to you for your time, and for everything you haven’t told us,’ he said with a conspiratorial shake of his head.
McMahon now looked at Straker with surprise. How could this meeting be coming to an end so soon? Kosygin, too, seemed surprised the meeting was ending; but at least he seemed relieved. Without acknowledging them any further, or even shaking hands, Kosygin picked up his briefcase and slunk round the large column, slipping out onto the main concourse.
McMahon turned to Straker: ‘Why are you letting him go? Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?’
Straker blinked a couple of times before peering round the other side of the pillar, making sure to keep his body concealed behind it. He was watching for Kosygin's back as the former politician made his way across the polished granite through a mass of people towards the foot of the stairs.
Straker scanned the entire area again.
He kept watching.
Kosygin reached the bottom of the steps.
On the far side of the concourse, beside one of the pink limestone columns, Straker had spotted a figure looking down, consulting a mobile phone. That figure was now looking up.
He saw it starting to move.
As Kosygin reached the top of the steps, the mysterious figure accelerated – bounding up the stairs after him, bumping into several people as he ran.
Then Straker saw him do something disturbing.
Before disappearing from sight, the follower turned back to face the concourse – and then pointed directly across at the pillars from where Kosygin had emerged.
It was a clear signal.
To another watcher in the crowd?
Straker froze. ‘Shit.’ He tried to triangulate the possible sight lines to and from the second watcher. Would that second man have seen them meeting Kosygin? Straker wasn’t sure; he shouldn’t have been able to see them in the lee of the pillar. But just in case, Straker quickly thought about possible misdirection.
‘Don’t react,’ he said firmly as he leant in closer towards McMahon. ‘Kosygin's got a tail,’ and made immediately to kiss her fully on the lips.
McMahon recoiled and stiffened.
As his explanation dawned on her, Straker could feel her relent slightly.
Between kisses he whispered: ‘Keep calm – w e’r e about to be watched,’ and made to kiss her again.
McMahon broke contact, twisting her head to the right. ‘We are? Where? By whom?’
