The Old Enemy by Henry Porter (read with me .TXT) 📕

The man was pulled to the side of the street, frisked and relieved of two guns. He was forced to remove his helmet and was struck three times on the back of the head. The agents led him down to the cobbles and propped his head against the wall. Samson had never seen the man before.

He helped the waitress to her feet and examined the heel of her hand, which had been cut by broken glass. He wrapped a napkin around the cut then held her shoulder; she was shaking a little. Two of her colleagues rushed out to help. Samson picked up his rucksack and stood back.

‘Sir!’ said the voice behind him. ‘Mr Toombs repeats – if you want to get killed, you’re going the right way about it. He says you should leave Tallinn immediately.’

‘I will do exactly as he suggests. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, sir! There’s one other thing. I have a message from Mr Toombs. He says, keep going. That’s all. I hope it means something to you.’

‘That’s interesting. Tell him I plan to.’

The Americans returned to their car, having dumped the weapons by the tables. Samson hoisted his backpack and suggested that the bar owner call the police. It had been stupid of him to sit outside. He apologised to the mystified young waitress and left her a tip well in excess of the money scattered on the ground.

He took his time to circle through the city on foot to Ulrike’s house. Apart from needing to shake off any tail, he had a lot of thinking to do. The message from Toombs persuaded him that it might now be possible to use Anastasia’s invitation to appear at the Congressional Committee, but they had very little time, six days at the most. They’d need luck and a good plan.

He pushed through the unlocked garden gate at 11 p.m. Ulrike and Anastasia were still up and he could see that the Bird had spread himself out in the conservatory, almost supine on one of the two sofas. He was holding a glass up in his fingertips as if offering a chalice to the Lord. When Samson entered, he beamed an enormous, mad grin. ‘Macy thinks I should come with you to the States. You’ll need protection.’

Anastasia gave a discreet shake of the head, but Ulrike said she supported the idea.

‘Quite so,’ said the Bird. ‘I still know a trick or two and, if I’m guessing right, you are going to need me in Pennsylvania.’

Ulrike said, ‘Take him, Samson. He is very, well . . .’ She searched for the right word then gave up. ‘Violent.’

‘Agreed,’ said the Bird, admiring the colour of the slivovitz.

‘Let’s think about it,’ said Samson.

‘Well, I’m at your disposal. What’s more, Macy – who’s fallen by the wayside and returned to barracks – is paying all my expenses. And I have a passport that will be suitable.’

Samson didn’t need to talk about the Bird’s passport, but he asked what he meant nonetheless.

‘I will use my brother Alyn’s passport. He was in point of fact a general before becoming attached to a Bulgarian lass, over whom he has a head start of something approaching thirty years and with whom he is setting up home on the Dorset coast. He’s very happy there and hasn’t moved from the United Kingdom in a decade. His passport is as new.’

‘Why is this important?’ asked Samson.

‘General Alyn is a gun enthusiast and well known for the barbaric practice of killing large numbers of grouse in August. I can quite easily stand in for him and bullshit about guns for an eternity. I’ve listened to the blighter often enough.’

‘You stole your brother’s passport!’ Samson shook his head.

‘That seems harsh. I prefer “borrowed”.’

Samson hadn’t forgotten that his Aymen Malek identity included an active membership of a shooting club at Créteil, outside Paris, something he occasionally referred to in his posts. The gun interest was something they might work up into a story because, one way or another, they had to gain access to the remote cluster of houses in the Appalachians. ‘If you can get to the Watergate Hotel in DC, we may be able to do something.’

‘I’m fine with that,’ said the Bird, going through the preparatory motions of elevating his great bony frame to a standing position. ‘I’ll be at the Watergate whenever you need me, or at the Natural History Museum, which I have long wanted to visit.’

After his departure, Samson laid out the basic plan. The two women listened intently and suggested changes, most of which he accepted. It was a long shot. Success would firstly rely on Naji gaining access to Denis’s computer, and no one knew where it was. It would have to contain substantiating evidence to allow them to convert intelligence to fully formed allegations. They would need support from at least one member of Congress, probably two or three. Anastasia’s performance in front of the committee would require careful planning, courage and a cool head. Finally, one of the most difficult tasks was to find those people who would credibly identify Mila Daus from the 1980s and testify, at short notice, in Washington. Samson said they would need at least four individuals, including Ulrike and Frick, to appear in person at the hearing. He understood that was a tall order. Ulrike wished them good night and took her laptop to her room to set about finding those individuals who might testify to Mila Daus’s history.

After finalising their travel arrangements, they retired at 1 a.m. There was not space for them to have separate rooms, so Ulrike went to the room they’d occupied over two years before. From both Naji and Ulrike’s rooms they heard the clatter of keyboards. They undressed. Samson folded his suit and laid out his clothes for the morning.

‘I don’t know another man who does that,’ she said from the bed.

He smiled. ‘Habit. Saves thinking about it in the morning.’ He paused. ‘It’s going to be all on you in Congress. Can you do it?’

‘And