8

I kept a few paces behind the other three, as cover. My boots sank up to their laces in stinking ooze.

Spag tried to recover from looking like a dickhead. ‘It was right to hand over the cash. They could have killed us.’

Red Ken checked stride and rounded on him. Their faces were inches apart. ‘Listen in, twat – they were going to kill us because they’d got the money. Now wind your fucking neck in, let’s get the deal done and leave.’

We worked our way past a dark, mud-covered Trabant, up to its hubs in shit. I saw the prolonged glow of a cigarette tip through a gap in the barn wall. Whoever was on the other end of it was sucking hard.

The contact headed for the door. ‘Vladislav?’

A solitary nein-watt bulb dangled from the rafters. Its dim light only just reached the floor, but I could see the shit gleam on Vladislav’s boots. The KGB man was another egg-on-legs. He could have been Spag’s brother. Mrs Dumpty had been busy. His trench coat was so long it nearly touched the ground. He took a step back to reveal a battered canvas suitcase at his feet.

Spag barged past Red Ken and the contact. ‘OK, what you got? Show me.’

Vladislav caught his drift, unzipped the suitcase and threw back the top. Spag snorted from excitement or exertion. Either way, he should have stayed behind his desk.

Vladislav dug through a pile of old shirts and pulled out what looked like a long-legged metal spider. When he held it up to the light, I could see it was some kind of circuit board with wires coming off it in all directions.

He stood back and let Spag inspect the goods. ‘It’s intact. I have much more on offer if you are interested.’ His English was good.

Spag held out a hand. ‘You got a pen?’

Vladislav fished about inside his coat. Then he knelt to empty the bundles of hundred-dollar bills into his suitcase.

‘Don’t you wanna count it?’

‘I know you will be back for more, so why would you try to cheat me? If you have, I’ll go elsewhere.’

Red Ken leant over to me. ‘These Russians will do just fine, whatever happens to the Wall. There’s no ideology here, mate. It’s every man for himself.’

Spag’s eyes gleamed. He finished writing on one of the wrappers. ‘Come direct to me. We could do some serious business.’

He stood and they shook.

There were shouts from outside.

I started running.