Free The Factory by Brian Freemantle Page B

agreed Bell. ‘Not even a fanatical Russian.’
    â€˜But maybe that’s it!’ said Fowler confusingly. ‘Maybe that’s exactly what this fanatical Russian was supposed to have done!’
    Fowler tried to narrow the hunt for Valentin Shidak through the official channels open to him. Using government authority – although not identifying that authority as coming from an intelligence organization – he gained cooperation from both the bank whose address he’d taken from the book in Alice Irving’s apartment and also from American Express. The breakthrough came from the bank. Fowler found a cheque written three days earlier for petrol from a garage in Harrington Road, South Kensington: although it was supported by a cheque guarantee card number the garage attendant had added to the cheque the number of Shidak’s Nissan. With a district to concentrate upon Fowler pressed American Express to have recent charges in the area checked, whatever the purchase. American Express records are computerized and within two hours they came back with charges at two restaurants within half a mile of the garage where Shidak had bought his petrol.
    To give the request the proper authority, the Director General personally approached the London Police Commissioner for foot and car patrols in the Kensington area to look for the four-year-old Nissan, with strict instructions to every officer that under no circumstances were they to do anything more than locate the car.
    While that was being done, Fowler traced Alice Irving’s friend who had introduced her to the Russian at Oxford. The girl’s name was Cathy Hillier and she remembered the occasion easily because she’d thought Shidak was a brilliant speaker, too. And had been jealous because she’d imagined the Russian was interested in her, but after the first lecture he’d asked her to introduce him to Alice.
    â€˜So it was Shidak who sought Alice out?’ pressed Fowler.
    â€˜I’m afraid so,’ smiled the girl, who was auburn-haired and very slim. ‘Broke my heart for at least a week!’
    Fowler smiled back easily. ‘How did he say it?’ he asked. ‘Did he point Alice out and ask you to introduce him? Or did he already know her name? Say something like “please introduce me to Alice or please introduce me to Miss Irving”?’
    Cathy frowned with the effort of recall. ‘I don’t really remember,’ she apologized. ‘I think he knew of her by name but I don’t really remember. There’s nothing wrong, is there?’
    â€˜No,’ assured Fowler. ‘Nothing wrong at all.’
    As he was getting into his car outside the girl’s flat the car-phone rang. Shidak’s Nissan had been followed by an unmarked police car along Kensington High Street into Hornton Street, where it had parked. The one occupant, a man, had gone into a block of flats there.
    Fowler brilliantly masterminded the arrest of Valentin Shidak, minimizing the risk of a dangerous public shoot-out and just as importantly any unwelcome publicity.
    It was fortunate that Shidak was living in a purpose-built block of flats, because it enabled them to contact within an hour the owners and obtain the passkey both for the block and for Shidak’s apartment, which they discovered he had rented for six months. As well as back-up from Fowler’s own department there was support from armed Special Branch police officers who were clearly impatient to storm the block. Fowler forbade any move, insisting they remain in watching cars and vehicles until long past midnight, when the streets became empty of people and hopefully Shidak had gone to bed and to sleep.
    Which he had.
    Fowler led the four-man arrest squad, reluctantly agreeing to two of them carrying high-velocity shotguns although he contented himself with a pistol.
    Shidak’s apartment was on the fifth floor and they climbed to it up the stairs,