Free Run Around by Brian Freemantle Page B

reduce being detected by the Russian: it would be just the way his luck was going for Koretsky to pick him up and abort, making the whole business a complete waste of time. The Russian’s entry into the park provided at least some minimal cover: it meant Johnson could walk parallel up Regent’s Park Road, keeping him in sight but not directly behind. Had he been, Johnson realized he would have been spotted, because twice Koretsky turned, making an obvious check. But even this was a mixed advantage, because the road began to bend away from the park, actually now putting too much distance between them, so that when it happened Johnson almost missed it. Had he not been as experienced as he was, he would have done.
    The dead-letter drop was almost at the end of the avenue along which Koretsky was walking, by a refuse bin against the sixth lamp-post from the commencement of the path. At the moment of approach, Koretsky flicked something to his left, not into the bin but alongside it. Then the Russian paused, as if troubled with the lace of his shoe and Johnson saw the man mark the post with a smear of yellow chalk which would have looked like some failed graffiti to anyone but himself.
    Johnson had already decided to abandon Koretsky, even before the Soviet car swept down Primrose Hill Road for the pick-up, because Koretsky was simply part of a chain and the necessity now was to discover the next link. Then Johnson saw the car in which he had earlier travelled, grimacing as he did. The stupid bastards were far too close. If he tried to stop it, to get back-up from Kemp, Johnson knew he’d be identified by association.
    â€˜Stupid sods!’ he said, bitterly and aloud.
    As the cars convoyed back down Regent’s Park Road, Johnson entered the enclosure. There were thickly leafed trees all along the pathway along which Koretsky had walked, with occasional benches. He chose the one furthest away from the drop, eyes focused on what Koretsky had delivered. It was impossible to be sure from this distance but it appeared to be a manila envelope but bigger than that for a normal letter, maybe five inches across and 8 inches deep: he wished he were able to judge its thickness but that was impossible.
    Johnson shivered, wanting the discarded topcoat but unable to risk going back even the short distance to get it. Expert that he was, Johnson knew he was observing what is called in the trade an open letterbox, a deposit arrangement from which the recipient was expected to collect very quickly what had been left, to prevent its accidental discovery by some casual stranger. So close to a rubbish bin, Johnson decided that the larger-than-normal envelope was very vulnerable, from a foraging tramp or a conscientious rubbish collector.
    He focused the camera on to the bin, guaranteeing the range, and then settled back to wait. How long, he wondered.
    The specific request from Alexei Berenkov in Moscow, demanding immediate warning of increased surveillance, was waiting for Koretsky when he got back to Kensington Palace Gardens. He quickly encoded a reply, assuring Berenkov that he had remained clean that day and that the Watchers had gone on a wild goose chase behind the car, which had been the intention.

Chapter Six
    Vasili Zenin realized there was a risk in leaving the bicycle he had rented from the Camden hirers without enclosing the wheels in the anti-thief chain they had demonstrated but decided it was necessary because he couldn’t waste time later unlocking it. He hoped it was the biggest risk he was going to have to take that day.
    He parked it at the junction of Elsworthy Road with Primrose Hill Road, preparing himself carefully. He positioned the earphones of the Walkman precisely in place, switching on the Tchaikovsky tape, and then fixed the sweatband with even more precision, wishing he had a mirror to ensure both were as he wanted. He had been very particular over the fit of the running shoes, pleased at how