Slow Horses полностью

‘Yeah,’ Lamb said. ‘He did, didn’t he?’

River was listening and not listening; his brain churning through newly learned facts, adding them to what he already knew, or thought he already knew, or had forgotten he knew. And also, he was starving. Lamb, the bastard, could have brought sandwiches for everyone: any boss, anywhere, would have done that when heading for a pre-breakfast meeting. Always supposing any boss, anywhere, would have called a pre-breakfast meeting in a graveyard … River could barely remember when he’d last eaten, last drunk. It had probably been outside Hobden’s with Sid, back when she was still upright, instead of laid out on a hospital bed or operating table, or with a sheet drawn over her head. He still didn’t know how she was. Hadn’t come to terms with what had happened to her, let alone the information that she’d been put in Slough House to keep an eye on him. By Taverner, presumably. So what was that all about?

Lamb was saying something about headless chickens, and River felt a sudden drop in energy; a need for sugar. For something hot.

God, he’d commit murder for a cup of coffee …

In the back of his mind, tumblers clicked.

Lamb took a healthy bite from his sausage sandwich. Chewing, he said, ‘Thing is, Black was a highly trained secret agent the same way you lot are, which means he was a fuck-up. So he’ll have made mistakes.’

‘Thanks,’ Louisa said.

Min Harper said, ‘What difference does it make? He’s dead. The others’ll off Hassan first chance they get, then crawl back wherever they came from.’

‘If they were going to … off Hassan first chance they get,’ Catherine said, ‘you’d have found his body next to Black’s.’

Min looked thoughtful, then nodded.

Ho said, ‘Fuck-up or not, Black got them out of Leeds the night they took him. The traffic CCTV was down for hours.’

Lamb said, ‘Probably Lady Di. But nobody’s pulling strings for them now, and they haven’t got Black making their decisions. They’ll be headless chickens, clinging to whatever’s left of the original plan. Which, we can assume, will have been to his blueprint. So.’ He stared at each of them in turn. All but River Cartwright looked back: River was gazing skyward, as if expecting a helicopter. ‘You’re Alan Black. What would you have done?’

Min said, ‘Well, for a start …’

‘Yes?’

‘I wouldn’t have got involved in such a godawful mess.’

‘Any other useful input?’

‘I never liked him,’ Ho said.

‘Who?’

‘Black.’

‘He had his head cut off a few hours ago,’ Lamb said.

‘And left on a table.’

‘I was only saying.’

‘Jesus. This the best you can manage?’

River said, ‘I’ve just remembered where I saw him.’

In every horror film, sooner or later, the corridor scene occurs. The long corridor, with overhead lighting which shuts down section by section—boom boom boom. And then you’re in the dark.

Which was where Hassan was now. In the dark.

The last colour he’d known had been the bright red hell of the kitchen, in the centre of which, on the table, Moe’s head had sat like a Hallowe’en pumpkin. One in which no light would ever shine. Take more than a candle to put a gleam in those eyes. Boom boom. The floor had been a crimson lake; the walls spattered with gore. We’re going to cut your head off and show it on the web. It had happened before. It would happen to him next.

The lights in his mind were shutting down.

Even without the handkerchief in his mouth, Hassan wouldn’t have been able to shout. He had no words left. His body was bones and liquid.

Boom.

Different things made different noises. He’d been underneath the kitchen when they were doing what they did to Moe, but all he’d heard was a confusion of sound, which might have been anything. It was not the noise Hassan would have expected from such an action. The expected noise would have been a thump, followed by a slow rolling.

But these dark thoughts were escaping him now, as the lights in his mind shut down, boom boom boom. And then he was Hassan only in the sense that everyone has to be someone, and that was who he was stuck with until the last of his lights went out, boom boom.

And then he was luggage.

Boom.

When River had finished, they stood silent for a while. Not far off, a bird chirped. It must have had inside information of the dawn. There was a vari-coloured glow from City Road, and a more subdued glimmer from the other side, all of it strained through branches.

Lamb said, ‘You’re sure?’

River nodded.

‘Okay.’ He looked thoughtful.

Min Harper said, ‘Doesn’t help us with finding Hassan.’

‘Well, you’re the ray of sunshine, aren’t you?’

‘I’m only saying.’

Ho said, ‘Is anywhere open round here yet? With wi-fi?’

‘And breakfast?’ Louisa added.

‘God,’ Lamb said. ‘Can you not think of anything but your stomach?’ He swallowed his last chunk of sandwich, and tossed a scrunched-up greaseproof ball at the nearby bin. ‘There’s a kid out there’ll die today. A little focus?’ He pulled his cigarettes out.