by Helen Bright
Anyone?
I looked around and noticed four of my guards following me into the room. Jonesy, Nate, and Lucas took a seat, while Ivan stood guard at the door. When the nurse left to get our drinks, I turned to my guards and asked, “Can anyone tell me what the fuck just happened?”
“Boss, we shouldn’t have let Mr Markos’s guards handle security. It’s a new team. None of us have worked with them before. Jonesy and Nate warned you against letting them carry out pre-exit recon and lead security before we left,” Lucas said, bitterly.
The others all voiced their agreement. Not many people in my position would let their staff speak to them so informally. But that was how I chose to run my business. I trusted my security and, yes, both Nate and Jonesy had told me they weren’t happy with letting Yannis’s new security detail lead. But my friend had scoffed at their concerns, and had queried whether I trusted his ability to keep us both safe.
Yannis and I had been the greatest of friends since we met at Oxford University, almost twenty-three years ago. Both he and I, along with Chen Yu and Imran Barhi, had bonded immediately. Probably due to the fact that we were the only foreign students on our course that year. But it was with Yannis that I’d spent most of my time as I made my way through my university years.
Yannis had introduced me to my late wife, which was one of the reasons why Catherine had wanted him to be James’s godfather. We’d spent many holidays together over the years, and my son adored him. As a family, we’d often gone out when staying with him in Greece, or on the island he owned—with only his security to guard us. I’d never once questioned that he wouldn’t keep us safe. So why start now?
Obviously his new staff did not deserve the confidence he’d had in their abilities. Yet there was no guarantee, even with the highest level of security, that someone who was really out to get you could not do so out in public.
“The shooter… Do we have any information? Did he manage to get away?” I’d heard further gunfire while I was down on the pavement, shielding the wounded young woman with my body—desperate to protect the stranger who had almost given her life to save mine.
“Franco fired a couple of shots, both hit him in the upper back, but although he dropped to the ground, he got up and jumped into the back of a vehicle. Kevin has the details,” replied Lucas.
“So the shooter wore a Kevlar vest and came with backup? I doubt we will get anywhere with vehicle details. Did Kevin carry out my orders for a swipe and wipe of all nearby CCTV footage?” I didn’t want the police interfering in this if one of my men had fired a shot. It was against the law in Britain to carry handguns or semi-automatic weapons.
“Kevin hacked the systems of each of the four surrounding buildings within five minutes of receiving your order. The only nearby CCTV was too far away to pick up any of the shots fired, but should give us a clear picture of the driver at least. As far as we are aware, there were two calls to police to report suspected gunshots, but we were gone by the time they arrived,” Jonesy informed me.
“Good! Ask him to run the shooter through the facial recognition programme he has.”
“Kevin said he and Steve are searching through each of the buildings’ camera footage to find the clearest frame of his facial features, then he’ll run them through the programme.” Jonesy paused for a moment before saying what we were all thinking. “What that man can’t do with a computer wouldn’t cover the back of an eyelash.”
We all nodded as a smile emerged on Nate’s face.
Nate and Kevin have been a couple for four years. Nate works for me in Close Protection, while Kevin oversees the technical side of my security. A job he does extremely well. The man is a technological genius, and well worth the seven-figure salary I pay him.
My phone was once again vibrating in my pocket; it had done so ever since we’d bundled the young woman into the car. The bullet had torn through her shoulder, just below her collarbone. It would have taken too long for an ambulance to arrive in the heavy London traffic, so I’d given my team orders to bring her to the private hospital where my squash partner was a surgeon.
“I am so sorry that I didn’t listen to your warning Nate, Jonesy,” I said, nodding to both of them. “If I had, that poor, innocent young woman wouldn’t be fighting for her life on an operating table right now.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine, boss,” Jonesy assured me in his strong Welsh accent.
“She was hit in the same place as Franco was when we were out on patrol in Helmand Hellhole,” Nate muttered. “Took us over an hour to get him to the surgeon back at base, and he recovered pretty damn quick. We got her here within eight minutes, so she’ll be fine, boss, just wait and see.”
“But she lost so much blood!” I gestured at the deep red staining my clothes. No one said anything for a moment, though the air was heavy with unspoken worry.
“Did you catch her name?” asked Nate.
“She would not give it, nor would she tell me who to contact. The medical team also asked her, but she would not answer.”
“Perhaps she has no one,” Ivan said from his position by the door. Nate, Jonesy and Lucas frowned, then looked towards me.
“If it was true before, it isn’t now. The young woman is under my protection until she requests otherwise, or if her loved ones come to claim her. She saved my life. I will see to it that she is rewarded.”
“She had a backpack with her. It’s still in the car. Maybe there will be something in it with her name and address,” said Lucas, as the nurse approached the room. She was wheeling a trolley laden with a tea and coffee pot, cups, saucers, and a plate of biscuits. Before she left, the nurse pointed out where I could shower and change. A not-so-subtle hint to get me to remove my bloodstained clothing from the comfortable fabric chairs.
I put a call through to my PA to request that a change of clothes be brought to the hospital, before listening to the numerous messages from Yannis, apologising for the failure of his guards to secure the area before we left the building. He asked me to call him back to let him know how I was, if I knew the red-headed woman who leapt into the line of fire to save me, and if I had any information about the shooter.
I did not call him back.
I had nothing to tell him as yet. Not about the woman or the shooter. And I did not want to let him off the hook so easily regarding the epic failure of his security detail. A failure that could have cost me my life. One that very nearly cost the life of a red-headed, amber-eyed angel, who had just made sure my son still had at least one of his parents here on Earth.
6
Tess
Couldn’t someone switch off that bloody machine? I so desperately needed to sleep, but the stupid bleeping from the ever-inflating blood pressure monitor was all I could hear. Until, that is, someone shuffled beside me.
Looking towards the shuffling noise I found the blue-eyed man. After a few moments I recalled his name. Kolya! Yes, that was it. And he was sitting in a chair at the side of my bed.
“Hello, little one,” he said, running the back of his fingers over my cheek. “It's good to see you awake at last. Keep still a moment, I've just pressed for the nurse.”
Within seconds of him saying that, a grey-haired nurse in a mid-blue uniform appeared, standing to the right of my bed.
“Well, young lady, it’s good to see you awake. My name is Maria, and I’ll be your nurse for the next few hours until I leave for the night. So if there’s anything you need, just press the button on this little device.” She took the call buzzer from Kolya and placed it in my hand.
“Would you like a sip of water?” she asked, while taking my temperature with one of those in-ear thermometers. I nodded my head. She grabbed a chart and began marking down my temperature then blood pressure readings which were illuminated on the constantly inflating machine. When she’d finished with her paperwork, Nurse Maria picked up a cup with a straw in it, which she brought towards my mouth. I stupidly tried to lift my head, wincing when pain radiated
through my neck and shoulder.
“Now, now, malyutka. Be still. Let us bring the water to you,” Kolya commanded, taking the cup and straw away from her then bringing it to my lips. I’d taken three sips before Nurse Maria said that was enough for now, and the cup was taken away.
“We don't seem to have your details so I’ll need you to give me some information so we can update your medical records. Let’s start with your name, shall we?” she asked, reaching for yet more paperwork.
I shook my head and lowered my eyes to avoid her gaze. I wouldn’t give her my name. I wasn't about to let Tariq and the rest of them find out which hospital I was at so they could get to me in my weakened state.
“Thank you, Maria, that will be all for now,” said Kolya. I avoided Maria's eyes as she flicked at the steady drip that was attached to a cannula in my arm.
When she left the room Kolya spoke.
“Look at me, malyutka. Whatever you are running from, you need to know that I will protect you. You saved my life this morning, therefore, I owe you a good life. You are in a private hospital in London that doesn't normally take emergency cases, or offer no-questions-asked surgery. But I am a very wealthy man, and that wealth buys silence as well as the best medical care. Your details will be kept private and used only to research your past medical history so that they can determine the best possible treatment. So tell me, malyutka, what is your name?”
“What does malyutka mean?” I asked. He’d called me that a number of times and I hadn't a clue what it meant.
“It means little one. You seem so small and delicate, yet you threw yourself in front of an assassin to save the life of someone you didn't know. Your strength and bravery belie your stature and obvious youth.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. I didn't want to be brave. In my world bravery had only ever brought me pain and suffering. But I seemed to have an inbuilt need to save people. It was getting to be an annoyingly painful habit that I needed to kick, and soon, before I managed to get myself killed.
“Tell me your name and why you don't want anyone else to know. I promise I will keep you safe, malyutka.”
“Safe?” I questioned. The word held no meaning to me, as I had never felt truly safe before in my life, unless I counted my time with Jean.
“How can you keep me safe? Someone shot at you. Why did they do that?” A valid question I thought, under the circumstances.
Kolya leaned forward and held my hand for a moment before kissing my fingers. Then he sat back in his chair and held my gaze with those icy-blue eyes, still holding my hand, his thumb gently brushing over the back of my fingers.
“As you know, my name is Kolya Barinov. I am an extremely successful businessman. My company has offices, laboratories, testing and build sites in the UK, Russia, Germany, and America. I am also becoming involved in business partnerships in Greece and China. My main business is the creation and distribution of weaponry to various companies and armed forces of many different countries. All of that could make me a target for many reasons.”
He carried on speaking when I didn’t reply to what he’d just told me.
“I was born just outside of Moscow, Russia, and came to England when I was eighteen to study engineering at Oxford University. As a young teenager in Russia I was fascinated with various weapons and their mechanisms, and due to my father’s line of work, I had been around guns and ammunition from a very young age—which helped fuel my interest. I have two older brothers who followed my father in business, so I was left to do as I pleased with regards to education and a career. When it came to furthering my education in my homeland, I studied chemistry and physics, using the knowledge I gained to help me further understand ammunition and its effectiveness.
“I finished my course a year earlier than I should have, then began to study engineering. I learned that to fully understand what made a good weapon, you had to know everything about it—from the materials used to build it, the way it was designed, and what type of ammunition would be most effective to serve its purpose. My examination results were excellent and I was able to secure a place at Oxford University. So I travelled to England and earned my degree in engineering, continuing my education throughout the following three years by further study of physics and chemistry.”
Kolya gave me a smile that reached those ice-blue eyes and made him seem less intimidating.
“I was a bit of a geek, as you younger ones would say. At sixteen I inherited a substantial amount of money from my grandfather’s estate—as did each of my brothers. As well as taking advice on other ways to invest, I was able to buy a failing weaponry business in Russia. I also set up a similar one here in the UK. It was a good job the investments I made in the gas expansion pipelines paid off, as my weaponry business did not make anything for two years,” he said with a faraway look about him.
“I met my wife at a party when I was nineteen. I fell in love with her from that very first moment, and the time I should have spent investing in my business and university studies, was spent with her instead. By twenty-one I was married, had a son, and was just finishing off my degree, trying my best to keep two failing businesses afloat. Something had to give, and for the next three years I spent most of my waking moments committed to getting my business up and running.
“Just as I was about to give up, my team of scientists, engineers, and I, stumbled on a formula and design for a long-range missile that was more accurate in its targeting than any other on the market at that time. I thought it would take forever to pitch the weapon to any kind of buyer, but the world was still reeling from the First Gulf War, and both the Saudis and Iranians were first on the scene to make a play for it.
“A good friend I studied with at Oxford had gone back home to China to work in the family business—manufacturing steel and other metals. I made a deal with him that his company would supply the hard materials and produce the larger components. After my first successful sale I was inundated with offers from many other countries, but one of the largest bids came from the USA.”
Kolya gave an unmissable smirk at this point and I could see that he really relished telling me the next part of his story.
“In addition to the US Department of Defence wanting the weapon, they also offered a contract for a factory, lab, and warehousing. And a substantial financial reward if I committed to providing them with this weapon and another two that were in my company’s portfolio. The deal was, they’d have exclusivity for up to five years with one of the new weapons. After much legal debating and a larger financial settlement, I finally agreed to their terms, and began production six months later just outside of Seattle. I changed the name of the business from Barinov to KOLCAT Engineering, as tensions were still high regarding anyone from the former Soviet Union in the US. My son is studying over there now. He will take over the American side of the business when he finishes his education and is competent enough.”
“So you have a wife and son,” I stated. “They must have been really worried when they heard that someone attempted to shoot you.”
Kolya got up and walked towards the window. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, like he had forgotten I was even in the room.
“Catherine, my wife, died in a riding accident eight years ago. She was crazy about show jumping and was very adept at the sport. But she had a reckless streak too, and was thrown from her horse while trying to jump a gate near our home. She broke her neck on impact with the hard, frosty ground and died three days later, never regaining consciousness. She shouldn’t have been out riding on her own—and without head protection. But you could never tell Catherine what to do. I was back in Russia at the time and it was hours before I could get to see her. Our son was just eleven years old. She had been everything to him, and me.
“They had both followed me around the world for a time when I conducted business, but as my company grew more successful, the risk to them travelling with me increased. In the two years before her death, both Catherine and my son, James, ha
d stayed in England whenever I went away on business.
“My wife’s father was James Lassiter, owner of the Lassiter Hotel Group. Catherine had been busy dealing with lawyers in regards to her father’s estate; he had passed away and left her as sole heir to the company. She hadn’t wanted to deal with all of it while still grieving. I should have been there to help her. I should…”
I didn’t say anything or offer him comfort, even though I could see he was pained by these revelations. Instead, I drew in a breath then began with, “My name is Tess Robertson.”
7
Tess
After I’d told Kolya all about myself and my life so far, I expected that very same look that everyone else other than Jean, Danny, and Sarah had given me. The one that said I was doomed to fail in life, and would never amount to anything good. Instead, all I got from Kolya was concern, and questions about Tariq, Farid, and Hassan.
He wanted to know if anyone else knew where I was, and if I had been followed to the train station. As far as I was aware, I hadn’t been followed, but Tariq had known exactly where to find me in our capital city, which in itself, was no mean feat. It was something I began to worry about with each question that he asked. Before I could say anything else, Kolya exclaimed, “The phone!” Then hastily retrieved it from my backpack.
“I saw the phone when I went through your things to try and find your information when you were in surgery. The doctors wanted to know if you had any allergies, but there was nothing personal in your backpack—other than the iPhone. I thought it was strange that the pictures on here weren’t of you. Most young people are into taking selfies and such. But there were no pictures of you, just these dark-haired girls and these men,” said Kolya, as he flicked through the photos that were stored on the device.
“The photos are of Sarah and Farid, but there’s also a few of Beth, Hassan, and Tariq on there, too.” I wasn’t happy that he’d been rooting through my things, but I understood why he’d done it. He kept flicking through the phone then looked up at me.