‘Don’t look. Someone's about to come through the pillars to my right,’ he said leaning further forward, this time to give her a hug.
Straker strained his peripheral vision, trying to see whether the second watcher had followed the signal. As he pulled back and kissed McMahon tenderly on the end of her nose, Straker looked into her eyes, still trying to sense everything around him.
Through the extremity of his peripheral vision he became aware of a figure looming into view – through the row of pillars, over to his right.
Straker re-embraced McMahon with a full-on-the-lips kiss, pushing her back against the pink limestone column.
This time it was McMahon who snatched a glimpse over Straker's shoulder. Disengaging herself, she moved her head beside Strak-er's and whispered. ‘He's searching the area. Doesn’t look like he's looking at us.’
They maintained the hug.
Seconds later McMahon said: ‘He's moving away.’
Straker whispered: ‘Stay in character,’ and, raising an arm to lay across her shoulder, he turned her away from the pillar. Maintaining his eye contact with McMahon, Straker steered them both towards the open door of the train waiting alongside the adjacent platform. The two of them walked under the magnificence of the murals, the white plaster work, and the buttermilk-yellow ceiling towards the waiting train.
‘What can you see?’ McMahon asked as she looked up into his eyes.
‘No one who looks like they’ve found someone.’
Then taking Straker by surprise, McMahon smiled deeply – unin-hibitedly – and reached up to kiss him this time. She pulled back and smiled.
Unexpectedly, Straker was captivated.
Her smile was really deep, deep enough to show the gumline above her teeth. To Straker, her smile was completely eye-catching. Her teeth were porcelain-white, and, for the first time, he noticed that each eyetooth was slightly prominent showing her smile to be natural – real – not plastically perfect. Such mild imperfections even seemed to imply a hint of impishness. Straker couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth, her smile – almost to the point that staying in character was becoming a distraction.
They stepped on board the train.
As they turned left, to sit in one of the rows of seats, Straker forced himself to grab a backward glance through the open doors between the pillars and back across the concourse. As far as he could tell, the man wasn’t there.
Finally the doors started closing.
The train started pulling out.
Straker and McMahon were away.
FORTY-FIVE
In the tunnel, Straker turned to McMahon: ‘I’m so sorry for being that invasive; I should have warned you – about possible misdirection. I hope your other half will understand.’
McMahon smiled again, as naturally as she seemed to earlier.
Straker couldn’t stop his eyes going back for more.
‘My husband won’t be thinking of anything but himself, as usual, wherever he is – chasing law students in a Dublin bar, most likely. I can’t believe your wife would be too content… ?’
Straker smiled. ‘It looks like Google's let me down, then. Mrs Straker is now Mrs Double-Barrelled something or other – has taken silk – and is highly unlikely to be giving me much thought, either.’
‘So it looks like we’ve both been screwed by lawyers?’ she said with another smile. Her face then fell. ‘Where did you learn that kind of deception?’
‘The kissing thing … nowhere. I’m afraid I made that up on the spot.’
‘No, not that – the spying stuff?’
‘It's not unconnected to my time with the Royal Marines.’
She wanted to know more but, reading his tone, refrained from asking, feeling she might be prying.
McMahon's face fell further – as if she was feeling dirty. ‘It's really not nice – the thought of being followed.’
‘If those watchers were any good, I shouldn’t have been able to spot them. The ones you need to worry about are the ones you don’t see.’
‘Them – plural?’
‘Oh yes, there was more than one. One was watching Kosygin, and followed him out of the station. He gave a signal, as he left, to someone else out on the concourse. It was the second guy we were trying to avoid. He didn’t seem to make us, though.’
‘Who are these people, Matt?’
‘No idea.’
McMahon's expression now showed concern. ‘I hope Mr Kosygin is going to be okay.’
Their train continued on through the tunnel.
Even though the sound all around them could easily drown out her voice, McMahon asked him quietly: ‘What was that reaction of yours, back there, to the name he gave us? What's the significance there?’
Straker inhaled before he whispered: ‘Avel Obrenovich.’
‘Yes, and?’
