Northlight: A Quiller Mission by Adam Hall & Elleston Trevor

Author:Adam Hall & Elleston Trevor [Hall, Adam & Trevor, Elleston]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780491035019
Publisher: W.H. Allen
Published: 1985-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

But it wasn't as simple as that. If he'd done nothing for the last five years except duplicate that one tape he'd have earned his keep and we'd have owed it to him to pull him out and see him safely home. But the tape had been blown apart and he was all we had left now, the living evidence of the death of the Cetacea , and even if I couldn't get him across the border I'd have to keep him out of the hands of the KGB, find a haven for him and a new identity and a new life. Or silence him, of course. They might ask me to do that. 'You think they got close to you? The KGB?' 'No. Not close. I know how to use cover.' There was that shred of pride in him again, waving like a ragged banner. 'Then why are you frightened, Karasov?' Wrong move - he went back into his shell, looking down, not answering, sitting near the stove with his big hands clasped and his wet brown eyes staring at the things he wouldn't speak of. What were they? 'Then is it someone else?' I asked him. He looked up. 'Someone else?' 'Other than the KGB.' I saw his eyes change but he looked down again quickly. 'Perhaps.' A log tumbled in the stove, sending out a spark, I brushed it off my coat and from the shadows the chain clinked and I thought Jesus Christ can't I even move my hand? Nerves not terribly good, you're perfectly right, but apart from that bloody dog I wasn't having a very nice day because I'd had to kill one man just to get here and God knew how I was going to drag this poor wretch to the frontier without having to kill a lot more or winding up in the minefield with my hands a hundred yards apart and this poor bastard here - the objective, the objective - blown out of his bloody shell forever, surely it doesn't take a lot of understanding. All right, there was more than that. Much more. 'Who?' I asked him. 'I don't know.' 'Have you ever heard of a man named Rinker?' He looked up. 'No.' 'Has anyone tried to get at you?' 'I've had -' he shrugged with his hands - 'suspicions, you know. People watching. Cars following. That sort of thing.' I didn't believe him. I did not believe him. If the Rinker cell had got onto him he'd have been dead by now or full of aminazin. They would have devoted as much energy to pulling him in as they'd devoted to me, in fact a bloody sight more because their only interest in me was that I could lead them to the objective and he was the objective. Or he could of course be so frightened of getting caught by the KGB that he was ashamed of it and making up ghost stories to explain it away: when the nerve goes it takes everything else with it.

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