“Oh God.” Zain took a shaky breath. “That joke about the wires and the bomb. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t know and it was funny.”
That had to be why Roman was no longer into music. Maybe an explanation for the gouge in the saxophone case. “Were you hurt?”
“A few scratches but deeply hurt in ways that mattered more. My father…” Roman closed his eyes for a moment. “He was my world.”
“Did they find out who was responsible?” Zain asked. “Was your father even the target?”
Roman leaned back in his chair, rocking on the legs. “Almost twenty years now and no one has ever been arrested. I don’t know if he was the target, or that some incompetent bastard didn’t realise neither Dima nor Arkady were at home. It’s also possible some of my father’s old police colleagues didn’t like who he was working for.” He slammed the chair legs back onto the floor and Zain flinched.
“Is that why Arkady paid for you to go to school in England? Because he was sorry about what had happened to your father?”
“He was shocked by it, the violence on his property. I think it brought home to him how fragile life was. I suppose he’d have looked bad if I’d ended up in an orphanage. They’re not nice places. He also worried that whoever planted the bomb could have been after Dima and might try again. Even aged fifteen, Dima was trouble. He supplied drugs to his school friends. Maybe someone found out he was selling on their territory. My father usually drove Dima to school every morning, but that day, it was a birthday treat for me.” Roman’s voice cracked.
Zain’s heart felt as if it were going to beat its way out of his chest. He wanted to hug Roman or at least take his hand, hold it tight, but he worried Roman would shake him off. This was the first time Roman had really talked to him about his past and he didn’t want him to stop.
“Arkady wanted Dima out of Russia and he thought if I was with him, I’d be able to keep an eye on him, get him out of trouble if necessary. It was necessary. I put up with a lot of shit from Dima to make sure I stayed at school here. I thought being educated in the UK was my way out.” He looked at Zain. “Something else we have in common.”
Yet here he was working for Arkady. Though Zain didn’t get the feeling Roman was very happy.
“When did Arkady move to London?”
“Not long after he sent me and Dima here. He paid one million pounds for a golden visa. Now the cost is two million.”
“Wow.”
“The money is supposed to be used as an investment in British industry but few checks are made. Once Arkady was granted indefinite leave to remain, he put his money back offshore, so he didn’t have to pay tax on it.”
“But wanting to live here permanently implies he thought he was the target.”
Roman nodded. “What other conclusion could he come to? He said he’d tried to find out who was responsible for the bomb. I wish to hell he had.”
“What? Tried to find them? Or found them?”
“Oh, I believe he tried but knowing how far his reach stretches and the number of people he knows, some of whom are in senior positions in the Russian government, I’ve grown increasingly sceptical about how hard he tried. Instead, he ran. Do I blame him? No. When Russia becomes dangerous for someone, it’s very dangerous. Our culture is more focused on survival than on failure.
“One of our sayings is ot sumy i tjurmy ne zarekaysya. It means you can’t keep yourself safe from poverty or prison. Any mistake you make could be your last. Maybe my father said the wrong thing to the wrong person. Cut someone off with his car. Maybe Dima stepped on a dealer’s toes. A small and simple act could have triggered a violent overreaction. It’s not uncommon. I’ve accepted that after all this time, I’ll probably never know the truth about his death.”
“There’s a saying in Syria too. Kiss any arm you cannot break and pray to God to break it.” Was that what Roman was doing with Arkady? Keeping close to him and waiting?
Roman turned his gaze on him. “If I believed in God, maybe that would be comforting.”
“We all have to be the best people we can be, whether you believe or not. That’s our duty as a member of the human race. To be decent, kind, honest and treat others as you wish to be treated yourself.”
“Even Qash?”
“Well, Arkady was right. Sometimes you have to run.” Zain smiled. “Maybe Qashim has changed. Maybe Dima is his best pal now and he no longer needs me.” Except Zain didn’t believe that.
“Your university statement is written from the heart,” Roman said. “I don’t know what they’re looking for in a future doctor but you’ve shown your capacity to step in and do things others would back away from. You worked hard and did well in exams under difficult conditions. You’re determined and focused, and also compassionate. You’ll make an excellent doctor.”
Zain felt embarrassed to be so pleased by the praise. “Thank you. Except I got rejected by all five London medical schools when I last applied. Not one interview.”
“They’re idiots.”
Zain laughed. “I didn’t have GCSEs. I hadn’t yet taken A levels. I was an unknown quantity. Now I have the grades I need. I did well last time in the UCAT, but I have to do it all over again. Three of the London medical schools require it.”
Roman rubbed Zain’s ankle with his toes, the simplest gesture enough to make his pulse jump. “Are there practice tests you can do?”
“Lots of them.”
Roman’s toes slid under the bottom of Zain’s jeans. “Shall I test you on human biology?”
“That sounds as if it might be helpful.” Zain’s heart thumped.
“The knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone.”
“Fuck. Is it?” Zain gaped. “I’ll make a note.”
Roman stood up and raked Zain with his gaze. “What’s your thigh bone connected to?”
“I’ll show you but let’s clean things away first in case the KGB shows up and drags you off just when you’ve got me revved up.”
Roman let out a choked laugh. “Russia’s foreign intelligence service is now known as the SVR.”
But Roman cleared the table and Zain helped. Roman showed him how to put on the dishwasher, and once the kitchen had been returned to its pristine state, he pulled Zain into his arms and pinned him against the worktop with his body. Roman was as hard as him.
“Should we get rid of the food packaging too?” Zain groaned as Roman pressed his mouth to his neck. “Because you’re going to look like a pig if they check the bin.”
“I don’t think they’ll go through my kitchen rubbish.”
“Oh God, you’d be a useless spy. That’s where they always look.”
Roman sucked at the hollow of his neck and Zain’s knees trembled.
“I should hide my laptop.” Zain slid sideways but Roman pulled him back, though Roman was the one against the worktop now.
Zain trembled as Roman slipped his fingers into the back of Zain’s jeans.
“Your laptop.” Roman sighed. “You’re right. Go and put it away.”
Zain hadn’t meant to spoil the moment but if he had to be invisible, he didn’t want to be worrying he’d left something lying around. Once it was secure under the stairs, he went back to Roman.
“Where was I?” Roman asked.
“I was going to show you what my thigh bone is connected to.”
“That’s definitely going to require you removing your clothes.” Roman took his hand and pulled him into the bedroom. The sensation of having his hand grasped was thrilling enough but when Roman rubbed his thumb on Zain’s palm as they walked, tiny lightning bolts overwhelmed his body.
“We’re going to fuck in a bed?” Zain asked. “That seems too mundane for you.”
Roman sighed. “You know me so well already? Bathroom. In front of the mirror and you’re going to watch yourself come as I fuck you.”
The moment they stepped inside the room, the intercom buzzer sounded. They both froze for a long secon
d.
“Wait,” Roman said. “I don’t get visitors. It’s probably someone trying to—”
The buzzer went again.
“I better see who it is.” He went to the box on the wall by the door. Zain followed.
“Shit. Dima and Qash.” He glanced at Zain.
“I’ll hide.” Zain slipped through the door in the closet, closed it behind him, then lifted the section of stairs and climbed into the space. His heart was banging in his head. To be this close to Qashim even after all these years filled him with horror. He tried to convince himself Qashim wouldn’t hurt him but he might decide Zain had been deliberately avoiding him.
“What?” Roman snapped into the intercom.
His voice was muffled but Zain could still hear.
“…need to talk,” Dima said. “Let us in.”
“About what?” Roman asked.
“…car.”
Zain swallowed hard. This was about Sheripov.
“Fine. Come up.”
Seconds later he heard Roman speak again but less clearly. It sounded as if he had recited a number, then muttered something else. Zain checked his phone was switched off and powered down his laptop just in case it burst into song. He sat on the cushion Roman had left in there, leaned against his bag and waited. The sound of someone entering the flat was quite clear.
“You can’t stay long. I’m expecting Helen,” Roman said.
Who was Helen? Zain struggled to hear all that was said.
“…to meet her,” Dima said. “I’ve been…actually exists.”
“At least I don’t…blow her up to have some fun.”
Dima laughed and said something Zain didn’t catch at all. Zain took a risk and raised the stairs a little so he could hear more clearly. He still had time to pull the section flat if the door opened.
“I smell Syrian food.” Zain held in his gulp. That was Qashim’s voice.
“Lebanese takeaway,” Roman said. “What’s up?”
“You need to destroy your car,” Dima snapped.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve not found Zain. Because the likelihood of finding the little shit is low despite what my father thinks of your superpowers. Zain could be anywhere in the fucking country. We can’t afford for him to open his mouth about what he found in your car. No matter how well it’s cleaned, there’s my DNA, Qash’s, yours and Sheripov’s. If there is no car, then the problem’s solved. Right? Even if Zain opens his mouth, there’s no proof.”
Zain bit his lip.
“He’s the only weak link,” Dima said. “You’re not going to say anything. Musa will do the right thing with enough incentive. He doesn’t even know whose wallet it was. But if we need him to, he could tell the police that Zain was pissed off he’d been sacked and made up some story based on what he’d seen on the news just to make trouble for Musa.”
Shit.
“Why are you so worried?” Roman asked. “If Zain had been going to say something, he’d have said it by now surely.”
“Maybe he has said something. I got asked about Gennady today.”
“Who’s he?”
“Sheripov’s son.”
“Asked by who?”
“The police. They found my name and number in some notebook of Gennady’s. The fucking moron.”
“You’ve lost me,” Roman said. “What does Sheripov’s son have to do with any of this?”
“He was part of our collection network, picking up fresh meat in Eastern Europe, arranging transport over here. He got greedy. He wanted a bigger share, so he came over to bargain and ended up threatening. Qash made him disappear. But Sheripov came looking for his son and got too close to the truth. So he needed to disappear too, except we should have found somewhere invisible.”
“And you used my fucking car?” Roman let loose a stream of Russian.
“I would have used mine if it hadn’t been in for repair,” Dima snapped back in English.
“Have you told your father about Gennady being involved with you?”
“No. I want you to find out exactly how much the police know about it all.”
“For fuck’s sake, Dima… If I go searching and trigger alarms, it makes you look guilty.”
Qashim’s familiar laugh turned Zain to ice. “We are guilty.” His words blocked Zain’s throat.
“We have a new shipment coming in ten days,” Dima said. “I don’t want to have to delay it. But I’m not going to take any risks.”
“You already have. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”
Dima laughed. “Got anything to drink?”
Zain heard the sound of glasses clinking, followed by the intercom buzzing. Who now?
“That will be Helen,” Roman said.
“So we finally get to meet your girlfriend.”
“Your father has met her.”
“But not me.”
“Don’t flirt with her.”
Dima laughed. “Worried she’ll prefer me?”
Zain’s bewilderment made his chest tighten. Girlfriend?
Roman’s heart was pounding so rapidly he felt sick. He went over to the intercom, saw Helen smiling up at him and pressed the button. “Hi, Helen.”
“Hi, sweetie. Not too early, am I?”
“Right on time. Aren’t you always?”
“Want me to tell the taxi to wait or are we staying in?”
Code for do I need backup? “Let it go. We’ll stay in. Watch a film. I bought two bags of popcorn. I have visitors to get rid of though.”
He pressed the buzzer to allow her up. There was additional meaning in everything he said. He’d warned her there was no imminent danger, that Dima and Qash hadn’t been joined by others. In retrospect, he hadn’t needed her to come but not knowing what the pair had wanted made him cautious. It wasn’t a bad thing that the three of them were finally going to meet. Maybe it would quash any idea of Dima’s that Roman might be gay. He opened the door.
Helen came in clutching her handbag, her coat draped over her arm. She was wearing a short red dress, killer heels and looked more glamorous than he’d ever seen her. Shit, did I wreck her evening? She flung herself into his arms and kissed him. Not on the lips but it would have looked like that to Dima and Qash. Roman wrapped his arms around her and maintained the charade. It was Helen who broke away.
She put her coat and bag on a chair, then took Roman’s hand and pulled him across the room. “I was beginning to think Roman had no friends. I’m Helen.” She held out her hand.
Dima brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Dima. Delighted to meet you. Do you like fast cars? Diamonds? Cristal champagne? What can I do to entice you away from Roman?”
Helen gave a tinkling laugh. “Depends on the size of your cock. Roman is…big.”
Roman groaned. “Do not tell him that. He’ll whip his out and insist on measuring.”
He wouldn’t. Roman knew he was bigger than Dima.
“As if I’d be so uncouth.” Dima clapped a hand to his heart.
“This is Qash,” Roman said. Who has a bigger cock than both of us.
Helen held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Qash shook the tips of her fingers. “Nice to meet you,” he repeated in his thick accent.
“They’re just leaving,” Roman said.
“We’ve only just arrived.” Dima beamed. “We’ve heard so little about you, we’ve been dying to meet you.”
Roman sighed.
“What have you been saying?” Helen nestled against him.
“How hard you work,” Dima said. “How busy you are. He didn’t tell me how beautiful you are.” His mouth quirked in a smile.
“It’s all work and no play when you’re an assassin,” Helen said.
Dima roared with laughter.
Helen smiled. “Forensic accounting can be deadly.”
“Forensic accounting? You have such a lot in common with my father.”
“Can I get you a drink, Helen?” Roman asked.
“Glass of white would be lovely.”
“I’ll have another one too,” Dima said.
“No, you won’t. You’re leaving.” Roman went over to the fridge and took out a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
Dima came up behind him. “Destroy your car,” he whispered. “Look into what I asked you to.”
“I don’t work for you.”
“You won’t be working for my father if you don’t do as I say.” Dima glared at him. “Come on, Qash. Let’s leave them to it. Roman gets performance issues if he has an audience.”
When he’d closed the door behind them, Roman sighed with relief.
Helen picked up her coat and purse. “Alone at last. Let’s go into the bedroom. I’ve been dying to see you.”
Roman raised his eyebrows but followed and closed the bedroom door.
“You think they left something?” he asked.
“Were they in here?” she whispered.
“No.”
“Good. Check when I’ve gone. Maybe we need to make some noise.” She chuckled.
Oh God. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
She laughed really loudly at that. Thank fuck Zain couldn’t hear her.
“You were lucky I wasn’t far away.” Helen propped a pillow against the headboard, sat on the bed and sipped her wine. “I was having drinks with friends in Borough. What had you worried?”
Roman ran through almost everything. She didn’t need to hear that Zain was hiding under the stairs.
“I want this over,” Roman said. Not the first time those words had come from his lips, but things had changed. “I recorded what Dima said this evening as well. I’ll email it to you. You have enough to arrest him and Qash, surely. If not for Sheripov’s murder, then for trafficking. Have them followed. Catch them in the act. You can get their DNA and match it to the body as well as to my car.”
“Trying to tell me how to do my job?”
I’d do a fucking better one. “There comes a point that you have to take what you can, a point when you stop waiting for another deal, a bigger deal, a better deal. One that will mark your career. There’s a point where another name on your list isn’t worth the price. Are you going to sit back and let Dima bring in another boatload of young women? Did you even look for the knife that killed Sheripov?”
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