Manhunt by James Barrington Page B

account in the Cayman Islands – was more than three times his take-home pay from SIS, and he was able to account for every penny of it to the Inland Revenue.
    After returning home the previous evening, Stanway had taken a walk, as he often did. Despite his fondness for good living, considering himself both a gourmet and a wine expert, he had always
been careful to keep himself fit. He had even converted the smallest bedroom in his apartment into a gym, where he exercised every morning before his shower or bath, and he frequently walked or
jogged along the streets of South Kensington in the evening.
    That night, however, he had put on some casual clothes and just walked. His route had taken him into a newsagent’s in Gloucester Road, where he browsed for about ten minutes, before
emerging with a carrier bag containing a copy of The Times , a wine magazine and a small cardboard box, and heading on into Harrington Gardens. At the second crossroad he had turned left into
Collingham Road. Outside the church on the west side of the street he had apparently stumbled on an uneven paving slab, dropping the carrier bag, and had to put his right hand against the wall to
steady himself as he felt his ankle for damage with his left hand. Then Stanway had retrieved the bag and walked on, limping slightly.
    A keen observer might have noticed that, after Stanway had removed his hand from the wall, a small chalk circle was visible on the stonework, which hadn’t been there before.
    Sluzhba Vneshney Razvyedki Rossi Headquarters, Yasenevo, Tëplyystan, Moscow
    ‘This is not a good time, Raya,’ said Major Yuri Abramov, looking across the desk at his deputy, who was standing respectfully at attention in front of
him.
    ‘I appreciate that, Major,’ Raya said, ‘and I am also very aware that you will not be in the office every day next week. But my mother has not been in good health and, if my
aunt Valentina is right, she may well be dying.’ Raya was very aware that she was addressing her superior officer and, though she’d spent some minutes in the toilet composing herself,
she still couldn’t stop the tears. She turned away quickly and reached for a tissue.
    Major Abramov wasn’t a hard man. Like Raya Kosov, he’d been recruited by the SVR for his computer-system management skills, not for any kind of old-style KGB toughness. He stood up,
walked round his desk and put an arm around his subordinate, pulling her close to him. ‘Sit down, Raya,’ he murmured softly, and led her the few paces towards a chair.
    In a couple of minutes, she felt able to speak, and to face him again. ‘I’m so sorry, sir,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t know—’
    ‘Raya,’ Abramov interrupted, ‘please don’t distress yourself. Your feelings are entirely natural. Look, you’re owed a week’s leave and, frankly, I
wouldn’t want you here working on the system in your present emotional state. Is there anything major that you have to get done this week?’
    Raya shook her head. ‘Nothing that won’t wait, sir. I’ve a few basic housekeeping jobs to do, but I can get those out of the way by Friday.’
    ‘Right,’ Abramov said, ‘do whatever you feel you need to do by the end of work on Friday. If there’s anything you haven’t managed to finish, let me know and
I’ll take care of it on Monday. You can sort out your travel arrangements tomorrow, and then fly to Minsk on Friday evening or Saturday morning. I’ll authorize an airline ticket for
you. Don’t forget to check in at the local SVR office when you get there. I’ll call ahead to let them know you’ll be in the city.’
    ‘Thank you, Major,’ she murmured.
    ‘But what you must do, Raya, is get back here by Friday next week, because I will be away almost all of the following week, and I’ll need to do a full handover before I leave at the
end of that day. If there’s even the slightest possibility of your being delayed, you must let me know immediately.’
    ‘Of