Louisa flashed him the eyebrow equivalent of a kick in the shins, and said, “It’s pretty basic stuff. Like you say, our turf. And we really can’t have you walking round with guns. I’m sure you understand that.”
Piotr was politeness itself. “Guns?”
“Like those you’re carrying now.”
Piotr said something to Kyril in, Min assumed, Russian. Kyril said something back. Then Piotr said, “No, really. Why would we be carrying guns?”
“It’s you I’m worried about. London’s more savvy than it used to be. You’re one phone call away from an armed response.”
“Ah, an armed response. Yes. London has a reputation for that.”
Oh, here we go, thought Min. You shoot one plumber.
“But I assure you,” Piotr continued, “nobody’s going to mistake us for terrorists.”
“Well, if they do,” Louisa said, “it’s Mr. Harper and I who’ll have to clear up the mess. It’s all right for you. You’ll be dead. But we’ll really be in the shit.”
The look Piotr gave her was intense and blue-eyed and utterly humourless. And then the clouds cleared, and he showed big white teeth more American than Russian. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” he boomed. He turned to Kyril and rabbited on for a bit. Min counted three thick sentences. Kyril laughed too, making a noise like a bag of marbles. When he’d finished, he produced an unbranded packet of cigarettes: stubby, filterless, lethal. A health warning would have been like subtitles on a porn film. Utterly beside the point.
Min shook his head and swallowed his last mouthful of coffee. It wasn’t a warm day but was bright and clear, and had felt fresh enough when he’d cycled into work. Cycling was a new thing for Min; something to cancel out the smoking. Accepting one of Kyril’s cigarettes in front of Louisa would have been tantamount to confessing he had no plans for a long-term future.
Louisa said, “So we’re agreed.”
Piotr gave an expansive shrug, taking in not only Louisa’s question but the general surroundings, the sky above, the whole of goddamn London. “No guns,” he said.
“We can get down to business, then?”
He gave a gracious nod.
Nobody took notes. They talked dates and places: when Pashkin was due, what transport he’d be using (“Car,” said Kyril at this point. That was the one word of English he came up with. “Car.”). And they talked about the Needle, where the meeting would be taking place.
“You’ve seen it, obviously,” Louisa said.
“Of course.”
It was over her shoulder, in fact. Its tip could be seen from where they sat.
“It’s … cool.”
“It is.”
His eyes crinkled as he smiled.
Jesus, thought Min. He’s coming on to her.
“Where are you staying?” Min asked.
Piotr turned to him politely. “I beg your pardon?”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Ambassador. On Hyde Park.”
“Already?”
Piotr looked puzzled.
“I mean,” Min said, “I can see your boss might want to stay there. But I’m surprised he’s checked you two in a fortnight before he arrives.”
Kyril was watching him with a mildly interested expression. He understands every word I’m saying, thought Min.
Louisa said, “Good boss to have. Can’t see ours doing that.”
“He’s okay,” Piotr said. “But no, we’re not actually there yet.”
He nodded at Min. “I misunderstood. I thought you meant where we’ll be later. Once Mr. Pashkin arrives.”
Course you did, thought Min. “So you’re … where?”
“Near Piccadilly. Off Shaftesbury Avenue. What’s its name again?”
He rattled off some more chunky vocabulary at Kyril, who grunted back. “The Excelsior,” he said. “Excalibur? Something like that. Forgive me, I’m stupid with names.” His contrition was aimed exclusively at Louisa. “Maybe I should call you later. Confirm the name.”
“Good idea,” she said. “We’d hate you to get lost.” Fishing a card from her bag, she handed it to him.
And it seemed they were done, because the Russians were standing, offering their hands. Piotr held onto Louisa’s while saying, “This could be a good thing. An oil deal between our nations. Good for us, good for you.”
“And wonderful for the environment,” Min added.
Piotr laughed, without letting go of Louisa’s hand. “You,” he said. “I like you. You’re funny.”
Louisa freed herself. “You’ll let us know your hotel.”
“Of course. We can get a taxi from here?”
“That way.”
Kyril nodded at Min very seriously, and the pair rolled off. People heading their way, Min noted, swerved round them. Louisa said something, but he didn’t catch what. “Take this.” Slipping his jacket off, he hurled it at her.
“Min?”
“Later,” he called, but it wasn’t likely she heard him; he was already twenty yards away.
It cost her a second tenner, but by 7:15 that morning Shirley Dander had had numbers for all the station’s pick-up drivers, by 7:30 had deeply annoyed three of them, and by 7:40 was talking to a fourth, who’d been working the previous Tuesday evening, the night the westbound trains were late. And yes, he’d picked up a bald guy, and no he wasn’t a regular. And what was this, some kind of wind-up?
It’s an opportunity, Shirley told him. She’d buy him breakfast.
