Nikolas hesitated for a moment then shrugged. “I lied. I always lie, you know this. Aleksey won. He always won. He won everything. He could bear to lose at nothing. When we went to live with our father, they clashed. It was a difficult time. I would return to Denmark for holidays, but Aleksey stayed. Then when our father died, I returned to Denmark for good. I occasionally heard of Aleksey through my contacts in Russia. He had no control mechanisms, I think—the knowing when things are right or wrong. He could not or would not be told these things, and he did many terrible things before he died. Things I did not care to have come out, given my position. I had hoped his death had buried him and his story for good.”
“But what about you?”
“Me? I was not like Aleksey at all. I always preferred reading to running about. I was calm and in control of myself. He never was. He was like the ocean in a storm: beautiful in his fury. Everyone loved me. TheyfearedAleksey.”
“Did you?”
“No. But then Aleksey adored me. I was the younger twin. I think he thought of me as his pet. He treated me like his sidekick in his own adventure film. If boats had to be stolen and sailed away, I was co-opted for crew. He stole a car once, and we made it to France. I think we were eight. But he took all the beatings too. I was an average student. He was brilliant. I studied the piano for hours; he hardly needed to and was always better than me. When we went to live in Russia, he was fluent within a few weeks. He had to teach me.” He gave a rueful huff. “Twins are not always born half of this and half of that. I think we were more one-third and two-thirds.” Suddenly he took a sharp breath. “Now. That is the whole story. I have things to do. Please leave me in peace for a while.”
Ben watched him leave. Whole story? He had heard nothing but lies, half-truths, and obscuration. He held the picture of the boy once more, studying the face in the light of all he had been told. The wistful expression spoke to him of joy and innocence, the boy painting a delicate shell. Ben knew what he was seeing—who he was seeing. Nikolas had told the truth the first time—when Ben had found the picture. The boywasNikolas Mikkelsen, quiet, thoughtful, studious—butright-handed. And the left-handed man who had just left the room? Ben reckoned he’d just spent the last four years of his life falling in love with Aleksey Mikkelsen, who was now, it appeared, living the life of his twin brother…
Ben was sleeping with a total stranger.
Everything he knew had just been stripped away from him. He thought for an embarrassing moment he was going to cry. Everything—every word, every time they slept together, all they’d shared—was a lie. But then Nikolas—no, Aleksey—had warned him, “If you make me do this, Ben, then everything falls apart between us.”
Ben picked up the keys for the Range Rover and drove aimlessly for a while until he realised that he was at Kate’s apartment. She was in and apparently thought he’d come to thank her for looking after the dog, until she saw his face. She let him in and sat him down. “I want to hire you.”
“I already work for you—well, for Sir Nikolas, but—”
“This is just me. It’s about…him.”
“Okay…that’s awk—”
“What do you know about him already?”
She frowned. “Only what’s on his bio, the occasional things he’s said. Danish, obviously. Degree in Russian and politics from the University of Copenhagen. I know he lived in Russia for a while. Joined the diplomatic service and came here to the UK as a diplomat. I never did get how he made the transition from that to being head of the department. Sorry, that’s about it.”
“Can you do an investigation for me? Everything. Any means.”
She was silent for a moment. “He’s my boss, Ben. I’m not comfortable doing that.”
“He’s more than that to me, but you probably worked that out by now.”
“I don’t think you want to do this, Ben.”
“Yes. I do. But I don’t actually want you to focus on Nik. He had a brother: Aleksey. Twin. Focus on him. They were born in Russia near St Petersburg. Everything you can find out.”
She let out a small breath and nodded. “Okay, I’m more comfortable with that. It may take some time.”
Ben nodded. He’d slept with an impostor for four years. Another few weeks wouldn’t make any difference at all. But it did. That night, for only the second time since they met, Ben turned away in bed. He said he was tired. Nikolas only laughed. “So, it begins. I will sleep next door.” They kept separate bedrooms after that and were icily polite around each other during the day. On Wednesday, Kate called.
“I have the info.”
Ben looked at the phone for a moment. “You said a long time.”
“This is a long time—for me. How long did you think I would need? I’m insulted. Can you come over?”
Ben was at her apartment within half an hour. She had the computer open and sat him down in front of it. “Okay, this is a weird one, Ben. Complicated. So, at first, I could find no record of an Aleksey Mikkelsen. I tried Alexei even Lyosha, which is the diminutive in Russian. Nothing. But then I searched for Aleksey under Sir Nikolas’s birth date in Russia and found him.” She clicked on a picture. “Meet AlekseyPrimakov; he changed his name back to his father’s when he was seventeen. But I’m getting ahead of myself.” Ben was hardly able to process what she was saying because Nik was staring at him from the computer screen. The picture seemed to have been taken at a funeral. Everyone else was looking down, hands folded, Nikolas—no, Ben had to remember,Aleksey—was staring challengingly at the camera as if daring the man to actually take his photograph. He appeared younger and more filled out. He focused back on what Kate was saying. “So, two boys, born in Russia to Nina and Sergei Primakov. She’s Danish, daughter of a very wealthy industrialist, Godtfred Mikkelsen. Incredibly beautiful. You can see where Sir Nikolas gets his looks from. Sergei is Russian. I couldn’t find a picture of him from this time. Probably because he was head of Directorate S in the SVR.” Ben’s head snapped up.
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “Nope. Top man in their illegal intelligence division. He had thirteen departments working directly under him responsible for planting illegal agents abroad, conducting terror operations, sabotage. He even oversaw the delightfully named biological recruitment of foreign agents—he ran the honey traps. This was a very powerful and very nasty man. And I guess Nina finally saw that because when the boys were born, she packed them up, reverted to her maiden name, Mikkelsen, and took them back to her parents’ summer estates in Denmark. The boys grew up there, but when she killed herself—”
“Shekilledherself?”
“’Fraid so. When they were ten. She drowned. Walked into the sea one day and never came out.”
“No. I stopped that when I was ten. I lost the desire for it…”
