And Then You're Dead

by Dan Latus

  He had pre-booked them both into the hotel. Vlasta was sitting in the lobby, waiting for him, when he arrived. She looked very relieved to see him. He could see in her face the strain she had been under.

  He smiled to reassure her and gestured. She picked up the one bag she had with her and joined him to wait for a lift. He took her hand and squeezed gently. She briefly pressed her face into his shoulder in response. They said nothing. He wondered if her heart was beating as fast as his.

  With a sharp ping, the doors of the lift began to open. They stepped inside and let the doors close again. Then he took hold of her and hugged her hard, whispering her name. She wrapped her arms around him and looked up, smiling. He kissed her fiercely. Then the lift stopped and a disembodied voice said they were on the third floor.

  He took the bag from her and ushered her out into the corridor. There was no-one in sight. ‘We’re not stopping,’ he said briskly.

  She nodded, and didn’t look at all surprised.

  He ushered her towards a staircase and they headed back down. At the bottom of the stairs he opened an emergency door and quickly led the way outside, and through a loading bay and a staff car park.

  ‘You didn’t notice anybody else?’ he asked over his shoulder.

  ‘No. Only the men you dealt with. But it doesn’t mean no others were there.’

  ‘True,’ he said with a nod.

  He glanced around as they left the car park. The narrow access lane was empty. He took her arm and led the way into the main street, both of them walking quickly.

  ‘Two blocks,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’

  She nodded.

  The Golf was waiting for them in a long-stay car park. He wasted no time getting Vlasta in and setting off. Traffic was heavy but he eased his way through smoothly and began a complicated sequence of manoeuvres intended to confuse anyone who might have been trying to follow them. Only after twenty minutes, when they hit the M25 at last, did he begin to ease off and relax.

  ‘Vlasta,’ he said at last, smiling at her. ‘Vlasta, darling. You’re really here!’

  ‘At last!’ she agreed.

  She laughed and pushed her head into his shoulder again. He had forgotten how she did that.

  ‘And you’re OK?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s been difficult at times, but here I am. It’s so good to see you again, John. Sometimes I didn’t believe it would ever happen.’

  ‘But you kept the faith, and here you are,’ he said with a grin. ‘Welcome to your new life, sweetheart!’

  An hour later, just outside Peterborough, they stopped at a Premier Travel Inn, where he had made a reservation.

  ‘Is it safe?’ Vlasta asked, looking around anxiously before they got out of the car.

  ‘I think so,’ he assured her. ‘I’m sure we weren’t followed, and there’s no reason for anyone to be watching this place. We’ll be OK here. We’ll stay the night. Then we’ll press on.’

  ‘Where are we going, John?’

  ‘Northwards,’ he told her with a grin. ‘Just about as far as you can go in England.’

  ‘And what will we do when we get there?’

  ‘I’ve thought of something,’ he said confidently. ‘I have an idea. But I don’t want to talk about it now. You’re too tired.’

  It was a little strange at first. They hadn’t seen each other for all those months, and in that time so much had happened to them both. They were not exactly strangers, but they were no longer used to each other, either. It was a time to be gentle. There was so much catching up to do, but they did it gently. As Vlasta said, they had the rest of their lives for that.

  Let’s hope so, he thought, smiling agreement.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vlasta was tired, very tired. By the time he got her back to the valley, she was utterly exhausted. He could see that. He didn’t need to ask for confirmation.

  ‘Where are we, John?’

  ‘Home,’ he said with a smile. ‘This is where I thought we might stay, at least for a while.’

  ‘Good.’

  He parked and helped her out of the car, and then led her indoors.

  ‘You’re falling asleep on your feet,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her. ‘The best thing for you is bed.’

  ‘No, no!’ she said, sagging against him and trying hard to stifle a yawn.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Well, maybe,’ she conceded with a smile.

  ‘Definitely, not maybe. I’ll show you where everything is. Then you can climb into bed and settle down.’

  ‘Will you come as well?’

  ‘In a little while. I need to sort out one or two things first. Don’t you worry about me or anything else, though. You’ve been through enough. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  She smiled that little smile he remembered so well, and said, ‘Thank you, John. You’re so understanding, and I feel so safe with you.’

  In truth, he didn’t have much to do. He just wasn’t ready for sleep, but he knew Vlasta was. She was out on her feet. Not just from the recent travelling, either. She had been living on her nerves too long. Even before her father was blitzed she had been doing that. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it had been like since then.

  One thing he knew, though: all that was over. He was determined about that. They were going to live a different kind of life from now on, and find a better way of living. He didn’t want any more of the excitement people like Viktor Sirko provided. He just hoped Vlasta didn’t, either. It wasn’t worth it.

  The move on Vlasta in London had unsettled him more than a bit. He hadn’t really thought it likely, although he had known something like that was certainly possible. Fortunately, he had been on guard and able to deal with it. He wondered if she had been spotted at the airport in Kiev, and the information passed on to people in London. These organizations – and you had to call them that, these organized crime syndicates – had widespread networks, thanks to the internet and the so-called global economy.

  But how far could they really reach? London, obviously, but London was a bit special. It wasn’t all of England, never mind the whole of the United Kingdom. It was just the place where most of the Russian diaspora was located. Here, Northumberland, was different. And long may it remain so.

  On that note, he went to bed, where he found that Vlasta was already fast asleep.

  The next morning, over breakfast, the debriefing began. At least, that was what it seemed like. There was so much information to exchange, and they simply couldn’t wait any longer to get started. By then, Vlasta was rested and more like her old self. The anxiety and fatigue had almost gone from her face.

  Accepting another cup of coffee from him, she smiled, glanced around the kitchen and said, ‘This is a very nice house, John. How did you find it? What are you doing here, anyway, so far from London?’

  He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Would you believe me if I said it was a long story?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ she said, laughing. ‘I am sure it is a very long story.’

  ‘Well … Not so long, really, I suppose. I visited this area a couple of times when I was a child. My grandmother lived here. I always remembered it as a happy place, and a happy time. So when I needed a port of refuge, this was where came to mind. After I got back to England, I more or less came straight here and found somewhere to live.’ He smiled at her and added, ‘Sometimes I despaired of ever seeing you again, Vlasta, but I knew that if I did, I would like you to consider being here with me. That’s a decision for you to take, of course, and you must take your time. There’s no hurry. But it is what I hope will happen. First, though, there are things I need to tell you.’

  She nodded agreement.

  ‘At least for now, we know we can live here safely.’

  She looked at him curiously for a moment and said, ‘John, is there something you are perhaps not telling me?’

  He nodded. ‘Quite a lot, actually,’ he admitted with a rueful smile, ‘but
all that can wait. I want to hear what went on back there in Lviv.’

  She pulled a face.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘let’s go for a little walk. Get some fresh air. You can tell me some of it as we go.’

  It had been every bit as bad as he had feared. Yugov, Viktor Sirko’s Russian nemesis, had hit hard and suddenly, and with devastating power. The strike in Lviv had been only one part of it. That had been intended to behead the Sirko business empire, and put an end to any possibility of it ever recovering, which it had certainly done. But the main thrust had been in the east, in Donetsk and elsewhere in the old industrial belt. “The Rust Bucket”, as Sirko had habitually referred to it, even though the old steel and heavy engineering industries there were an important part of his empire.

  Viktor Sirko had been assassinated, and many others killed in his HQ staff in Lviv. Vlasta wasn’t aware of any senior figures in the organization who had been able to escape. That made John even more aware of how lucky he had been. He was still wondering how it had happened.

  ‘Where were you when you phoned to warn me?’

  ‘I was fortunate,’ Vlasta said with a sigh. ‘I had been out of town, to visit friends in a nearby village. Father was also out of town. He was travelling – maybe to Kiev, but I’m not sure.’

  ‘Further east. Kharkiv, I think,’ John said automatically, remembering Viktor’s schedule.

  ‘Yes. You’re right. Kharkiv. Anyway, Yugov’s people caught him in an ambush on the road. I don’t know the details. He phoned me while it was still happening. Nothing much. Just a simple, quick call to say there was an emergency.

  ‘He told me not to go back to the offices. It wouldn’t be safe. If we didn’t see each other again, he said to remember that he loved me.’

  Tears streamed down her face. John stopped walking to hug her. She clung to him desperately.

  Later, alongside the river, she paused and pointed. ‘Look, John. Ducks!’

  ‘Mallards,’ he said, pretending to believe in her show of happiness. ‘They make a good living along here from all the bread people bring them. That old swan does, too.’

  She looked across to the other side of the river, where a swan was sailing along serenely, not a care in the world.

  ‘It’s so peaceful here,’ she said with wonder. ‘Like it used to be in my country.’

  When was that, he wondered. Not this century, nor the last. Not the one before that, either. But he said nothing. He had no wish to disrupt her brave attempt to be happy. Besides, there was still so much that he wanted to know.

  ‘So that was why you could warn me?’ he said. ‘Because your father had already called you?’

  She nodded. ‘I knew what would happen next. This wasn’t a pinprick. If they were targeting Father, this was the major offensive he had always suspected would happen one day. He knew the Russians wanted control of his industries in the east, and would go to any lengths to get them. So I knew it would be best if you got out while you still could. And you did,’ she added gravely, turning away from the river to gaze directly at him.

  ‘I did, thanks to you. At first I thought it was a joke, but then I saw Yugov’s men arrive in trucks. There were a lot of them. There was nothing I could do. I was unarmed. They had heavy weapons. It was all over so quickly. So I just ran,’ he said with a sigh.

  She took his arm and said, ‘Tell me where you went.’

  Chapter Twelve

  He told her about the mad dash out of Ukraine and into Slovakia. He told her about his flight across Central and Western Europe, and back to England. She listened patiently, taking it all in carefully. Then she asked him what he had had with him when he made his escape.

  ‘Nothing, almost nothing,’ he said. ‘Just a passport, which I always carried.’

  ‘You didn’t return to the flat?’

  ‘No. It would have been too big a risk. I saw with my own eyes what they were doing. I wasn’t in any doubt what would happen if they found me. I wasn’t important, but that wouldn’t have made any difference. They weren’t stopping to ask questions. It was like watching the old Red Army on the move. Hit hard and destroy.

  ‘You saved me, Vlasta. I would have been in the main building when they arrived if you hadn’t called.’

  She nodded and stopped walking to gaze across the village green. ‘It’s so beautiful here,’ she said. ‘So serene. Is that the right word?’

  ‘It could be,’ he admitted with a grin, surprised by the fluency of her English. ‘But just wait till the kids get out of school!’

  She laughed. He was glad to hear her. Their conversation had become almost oppressive to him, and he knew it was a long way from over.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked. ‘There’s a little tea shop where they serve good coffee – and a cheese scone, if you fancy one?’

  ‘Cheese scone?’ She savoured the sound of it. ‘I don’t know that word.’

  ‘Almost a delicacy in the north of England,’ he assured her.

  She nodded thoughtfully and then said, ‘I would like that. But there is something else, isn’t there? You are not telling me everything, John. Only what you think I need to know, perhaps?’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘Can’t fool you, can I?’

  ‘Not if we are to be together, John,’ she said firmly. ‘I need to know everything. No secrets. Remember?’

  Indeed he did remember. They had not been lovers for long, him and the boss’s daughter, but it had been long enough. They had walked across egg shells, he ultra careful to avoid giving offence, she not sure how a relationship with him could work in her father’s world. But they had promised to be honest with each other, always. It was the only way.

  ‘You got out fast,’ she continued. ‘After I called, you had perhaps minutes to escape. So you got out with only what you had in your pockets at the time, and yet you travelled across Europe and reached here so quickly. How? There must be something I don’t know. Am I right?’

  So now he told her about the dead man in the ski lodge in Slovakia, and he told her about the money. He had wanted to wait until he was sure she was fully recovered from her ordeal, and for a time when they were used to each other again, but he hadn’t reckoned with Vlasta’s intuitive ability to understand what lay beneath the surface. That was her father’s legacy.

  She nodded now and said, ‘I knew there must be something you were not telling me.’

  ‘It seemed too soon. I wanted to wait until you were more settled.’

  ‘It is better this way, I think.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘In just a moment, John.’

  Still pondering what he had told her, she said, ‘The man who was murdered. You have no idea who he was?’

  ‘None at all. I don’t even know what nationality he was, not that that matters very much.’

  ‘But he was an arms salesman?’

  ‘That was my guess, but I don’t know for sure.’

  ‘Someone will know.’

  ‘Perhaps they will,’ he said sharply, ‘but it was nothing to do with me. It isn’t now, either. I don’t even want to know!’

  She shook her head, dissatisfied. ‘It is strange that whoever killed him left the money.’

  ‘Either the killer was under orders or didn’t have the time or inclination to look.’

  ‘But someone will be looking for the money,’ she pointed out.

  He shrugged. ‘Who knows? They could be. But there was a little war going on in Lviv, and things disappear in wartime.’

  ‘You have it here with you?’

  ‘I have it, but not here. And before you ask me what I’m going to do with it, I have to tell you I don’t know. As of yet, I haven’t been able to think of a safe way of using it.’

  He told her then about the difficulties of using money irregularly gained without raising the suspicions, or worse, of organized criminals or the authorities.

  ‘I could have found people in London who would have laundered the money for me – found ways of
investing it.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  He shook his head. ‘Once you do that, someone knows who you are, and what you’ve got. You can always be found, if they have a good enough reason to search. I didn’t want to risk that. This way is safer.’

  ‘It is true.’ Vlasta nodded approval. ‘You did the right thing, John.’

  ‘I have used some of the money, of course,’ he said. ‘Small amounts. I had no choice. Leaving as I did meant I had to leave everything behind. I came out with ten euros in my pocket.’

  ‘I know how that is,’ Vlasta admitted. ‘I, too, lost almost everything. To buy a ticket to come here, I had to sell a gold locket my father gave me.’ Looking him firmly in the eye, she added, ‘It is best not to spend the money, John. We didn’t earn it, and spending it would draw attention to us. Leave it where it is. Let us live simply, and safely. We will find some honest way of making our living.’

  ‘That’s my thinking,’ he said.

  He hung on to the “we” in her suggestion. Did it mean she would stay, stay for good?

  ‘Coffee now, Vlasta?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. That would be good.’

  ‘If you are ready,’ he said slowly, ‘I can talk to you about how we might make that honest living. I have an idea.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was an old ruin, a building that had once been a well-endowed house. Now it had walls, but not much else. The roof had gone, as had the windows and doors. The floors were simply rubble. But the stream still burbled past the bottom of what had once been the garden, and there were trees to provide shelter from winter winds. All in all, it was a charming location. Idly, he wondered what it would cost to fix the house. A lot of money. That was for sure.

  Late that evening, he thought, well, I have a lot of money! What better to do with a small part of it than rebuild something, make a tangible improvement to the world?

  Go for it? Why not!

  Just like that, the idea he had long been searching for had come to him.

  The problem of how to make use of the money that had fallen into his possession had exercised him since Day One, well before Vlasta came on the scene. It didn’t seem possible in a legal sense. There were so many constraints in this security-conscious age, with its fear of terrorism and its clamp-down on money laundering opportunities.