by Tim Heath
“Do you know who the five are?”
“Only one name––I didn’t see any of the rest, so I don’t know if I would have recognised them or not. I’ve worked with Nikolai before. A nasty piece of work.”
“And they came here after direct orders from the Kremlin?” Sasha had told Alex that before, though it sounded strange. He’d been so aware of these other Russians playing games with everyone––Matvey Filipov being a prime example––that he had discounted Putin almost entirely from involvement in any of the recent events.
“Yes. Before I left the city, I still had access to the FSB mainframe. I saw the order come through. It didn’t stay for long. It got deleted later. I’d been waiting outside the base by that point. I saw them leave.”
“You followed them right from the city?”
“They first went somewhere I knew well. It’s a place where agents go to talk. I had it miked. I therefore knew what they were planning and when. I followed them on the day to the border crossing. Used the same route in myself, since the Russian side was turning a blind eye.”
“Any idea why they are here?”
“No, which concerns me. They are here under the radar. From what you’ve told me, with everything that was happening in Tallinn on that day, Russia saw an opportunity. These guys are here now––I presume in the capital, though I lost them just after the border. Their intentions can’t be good.”
That reminded Alex that Sasha had intentions of his own. They’d chatted a little about that already.
“And you want to come to London?”
“Yes, I believe it has become impossible for me to remain within the FSB. I’m known to Foma Polzin––who came to my office personally to warn me off about you two––and now I presume I’m known to both Putin and Filipov.” Foma’s involvement in both camps, united to Putin now and previously working closely with Matvey, would only suggest Sasha’s presumption was accurate. “A senior member of the FSB, the man who headed up the St Petersburg office, was assassinated the other month. The dead man had many enemies, of course, but he was a linchpin. It took something big to kill him. Something is going down.”
Alex had long been used to things like that happening in Russia, even given his relative few years of direct involvement there. Nothing felt unusual about it all, though clearly, Sasha didn’t view it that way.
“You think it has something to do with the coming election?” Voting would start in less than a month.
“Absolutely. The President holds the most powerful position in the country and given the global situation, and the part Russia could play in world stability, especially right now, it makes it a powerful place to be.”
“The Kremlin, you mean.”
“Yes, the Kremlin, the Presidency. Six years gives whoever wins a long run at things. I think we are seeing the various people flex their muscles.”
“The Estonians think Putin was behind the attempt here in Tallinn, but of course I know otherwise.” Alex had not reported to anyone, besides MI6, what Matvey had told him. “Unless it was Filipov himself playing me all along, who does that leave?”
“It’s not clear, is it? Maybe Putin wanted a smoke screen, but Russian reports seemed to suggest he knew nothing about whatever it was he was being accused of. It’s as if he got these guys into Estonia as an afterthought, as a way to be able to gain more understanding of whatever was going on.”
“When Filipov was talking to me, he told me Putin was ultimately behind the London killing of Thomas Price.” Sasha was aware of the incident, having supplied the mobile phone numbers for the entire Russian entourage travelling with Putin. Through them, they’d been able to place the convoy in the general vicinity, even if the timing confirmed it was before the kill.
“He gave you that name?”
“Yes, I know, I thought it was strange too. It doesn’t work with what we think we know. I asked Filipov where the meeting took place, and he brushed me off with something before saying it must have been in the car.”
“I thought you said Price had been drinking. There was alcohol in his blood.”
“Yes, and given the time, it’s possible he went for a drink after––if the Russian President had just threatened him, you would imagine he might have needed one.”
“You don’t buy that, though?” Sasha had learnt to read Alex well by now, and that was something Alex so appreciated about this interesting Russian he’d been glad to get to know. He knew he’d make an excellent addition to the MI6 ranks.
“No. Someone––we assume a barman, though we never managed to trace him––named Price when they discovered the body. He spoke to two police officers. He knew him. Price had to have been a regular, and that bar had to be nearby.”
“Maybe once you get me back to London, I could have a look around?”
“What do you mean?”
“Use my Russian background, play the gangster. If there’s a secret venue that Price used to go to, let me find it. Maybe that’ll give us some answers.”
Alex sat back and smiled. “That might just be an excellent idea.” Alex stood up. “Grab your jacket, let’s go and get something to eat. I’ve got just the place in mind,” and he left the hotel, Sasha following close behind.
22
Novosibirsk, Central Russia
Campaigning for that month’s first round of voting in the Russian Presidential elections was well underway. For Dmitry Kaminski––and all men involved––there was a carefully detailed plan allowing each candidate to cover most of the country, without overlapping with another.
Matvey Filipov never played by those rules, however. He was in the same city––not to canvas for votes. That would come in a few day’s time when he was there in an official capacity. He was in the city that day exclusively to meet with his opposite number. Kaminski was not yet aware of that.
Finding the right moment to speak to him was not going to be easy. With a packed schedule, and journalists always hired to be around––it was a trick most politicians did when they wanted coverage––finding a time when it was just the two of them with no watching cameras was going to be a challenge. It wasn’t a meeting Matvey cared to have recorded by anyone.
The window of opportunity came that evening in a half hour gap between Kaminski’s last interview of the day and an evening function. Kaminski arrived back to his hotel tired yet up-tempo––it’d been a positive day. When there was a knock at the door––his security team outside, so whoever it was had come through them––Kaminski was shocked to see his rival.
“Yes,” he said, the door open, his men standing ready, just waiting for their boss to give the signal and they would dump the unwelcome visitor back out onto the street, regardless of who he was––they knew full well who Matvey was.
“Can we chat?”
“About what?” He hadn’t moved an inch from the door, the doorway still blocked.
“I think you’d prefer to find that out inside the room rather than here,” Matvey said. There was an awkward silence––Kaminski was trying to read the man in front of him, the problem was he’d never been able to. He feared him, in fact, though Matvey had come alone, and apparently wouldn’t try anything with so many other people around. Kaminski stepped back from the door, and Filipov stepped in. Kaminski’s men looked at their boss, but with a shake of the head he managed to communicate with them: I’ve got this one, you wait outside.
“So what brings you here?” Kaminski knew Filipov’s schedule––he wasn’t due in the city for another few days.
“I came to speak with you.” Matvey was calm, very much in control, his demeanour the same as always––irritatingly so, still on the front foot, always making whoever was talking with him scramble to work out where the conversation was going.
“And?”
“Let’s take a seat, shall we?”
“Is this going to be long, because I don’t have the time?”
“You have precisely twenty-five minutes before your driver will
knock once more on that door and you’ll be whisked off to dinner. Believe me, you will want to hear what I have to say. I’m doing you a favour.”
He doubted that very much, and it showed on Kaminski’s face at that moment, though he couldn’t hold it for long. Here stood a man in front of him who’d nearly destroyed him the previous year. Matvey had targeted him deliberately––that much was clear now, given their shared ambition of becoming the next President––and it was only his uncle’s advanced warning of the takeover attempt that had at least meant he’d salvaged something. Not a lot, however. It had destroyed his Banking Union. Thousands of jobs had been lost and hundreds of thousands of pensioners left without their investments. Kaminski had personally managed to get out intact––he was still in the fight. When he was President, he’d be able to right those wrongs.
Kaminski motioned to the sofa for Matvey to sit down––how his opponent knew his schedule that well, was anyone’s guess. Kaminski took the seat opposite, reaching for the bottle of vodka he had on a tray––something he’d saved for later in the night, but suddenly the thought of it seemed right.
“A drink?” Matvey accepted the offer; it would have been rude to refuse. Both men drank, eyes always on the other, Kaminski refilling without speaking, before glancing across at the clock on the wall.
“I’ll keep this brief,” Matvey said, taking the hint. “Some information has come to light, of a delicate nature, that I think you of all people should know.”
If this were another trick, Kaminski would have his guys rush into the room and use Filipov as a punch bag for a while. Kaminski remained silent, knowing his compatriot was enjoying every second of this. Whatever Filipov thought he had to share, Matvey had the appearance of someone who thought he had the upper hand. Don’t react Kaminski told himself, don’t rise to the bait. This is just his power play.
Matvey took another sip of the vodka––he didn’t down it this time, swallowing just a small amount, letting the liquid swirl around his mouth before sliding down his throat. He coughed, once, only to clear his throat, before starting to speak.
“I never really knew your grandparents, of course; a little before my time and they had already left the country, but I did know of your father.”
“Listen here, if you’ve come to rubbish the…”
“Be silent, Kaminski! Hear me out.” The instant silence was sickening, Kaminski’s eyes alive with madness, though he obliged. “In my line of business, you sometimes come across pieces of information that don’t fit, events that don’t quite make sense. The matter of your father and his brother was one of those.”
“Lev? What are you talking about?” The mention of his uncle––a man who had raised Kaminski since his father’s death––was something he hadn’t expected.
“Your uncle knows a lot more about his brother’s downfall than he’s ever let on. Don’t you see how he’s always done right in your regard? He even married your mother.”
“You shut up right there!” Kaminski stormed, standing up but not moving from the spot. “She was left heartbroken by my father’s death, and over time grew close to my uncle. They married––and yes, it was weird for me at the time––but I left them to it.”
“They’d been together for years before your father died, Kaminski. Sneaking off together behind your father’s back, up to no good.”
“Liar! You’re a liar!”
“Sit down!” Kaminski did, instinctively at the command, as if he was a boy again walking into his father’s study. “You were very young then, you wouldn’t have known any better. But they were together. It seemed your father didn’t know about the affair, too busy in the office, too focused on making a name for himself.”
“He did well on that front!”
“Yes, too well. It got your father the wrong attention, however. Some men approached him––nothing linked to the Soviet establishment, this was something different. Something separate. Your father wanted nothing to do with them; however, your uncle wasn’t so sure about turning his back on such an offer. He saw the opportunity.”
“What opportunity?”
“The chance to align the family business with that group of Russians.”
“Rubbish. Besides, Lev wasn’t even involved then. My father ran things. He made all the decisions.”
“Exactly! With him in position, Lev didn’t stand a chance. The offer would go away, and that would be that.” There was a mocking smile on Matvey’s face.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Wake up boy! Your uncle was far more complicit in your father’s downfall than he’s ever made out. Far from the man to pick things up and put them all back together, he was the reason it all happened in the first place!”
“Liar! He’s done nothing but look out for me my entire life!”
“It’s been guilt that’s driven him, not love. He looks at you, and Lev gets reminded of his brother, your father. It’s probably only his feelings for your mother––and her love for you––that saved you. Most would have killed you off as well. Take out the father, take out the heir.”
“LIAR!” Kaminski screamed, throwing his glass across the room as the statement was already taking root. Matvey didn’t flinch as the glass exploded into a thousand pieces, the sound bouncing around the bare walls of the hotel room. Kaminski went over to the window, the curtains open and he looked down onto the streets below. After a minute, Matvey himself came and stood alongside him.
Kaminski’s mind was working at a million miles an hour. If what Filipov was saying was true, then everything he knew about his life was now tainted, nothing he recalled from childhood mattered anymore. He had to speak to his mother. She would tell him the truth about the affair. If she admitted that much, he would know the rest––he would understand that what Matvey was saying about his own father’s death would have to be true. He dreaded it was already the case. He thought about Lev Kaminski––uncle, businessman and friend––a man who’d been the male role model in his life, filling the gap left by the departure of his father. He thought about the start Lev had given him, the push in the right direction. Kaminski had always been the lesser of the two men––Lev controlled the primary business, he was the richest by a long way––but Kaminski had always been grateful for his uncle’s help. Did that all mean nothing? Was that all a lie?
“Why are you telling me this?” Kaminski said, turning to Matvey who was at his shoulder, though not touching him, the man just looking out of the same window, down at people living an ordinary hand to mouth difficult life that neither man had ever known themselves.
“I felt you needed to know.”
“Like hell you did. You want me to step aside, don’t you? To run away with my tail between my legs and give up my challenge for the vote.”
“If I wanted that I could just as easily have leaked this to the press. I didn’t. I came to you. I’m here, having this conversation.”
That much was true––if what Matvey had shared was accurate, and Kaminski would have to now find out one way or the other if it was––he hadn’t apparently taken it to the waiting journalists, who would have devoured the scandal. It would make a mockery of all that Kaminski represented. True, it might have worked in his favour––if he was to be legally given all that Lev had taken from his father, thereby assuming the role of inheriting son––he would be far more able to compete. He might even be as wealthy as Filipov himself. But that kind of story also had a way of destroying people.
Kaminski glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes. He felt his whole world was in free-fall at that moment.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” Matvey said, turning from the window, heading for the door but stopping behind the sofa halfway across the room. “There’s one more thing you need to know,” he said, his tone ominous. “It seems infidelity is a common issue which runs in your lineage. You might want to keep a closer watch on Anastasia when you are away from home.” Matvey turned again and this time continued to the
door.
Kaminski wanted to go after him, to confront him and pound his fists into Matvey’s ageing face, to show him he’d got it all wrong, that he was way off the mark. He let Matvey leave. Reeling from both pieces of information, Kaminski felt as if he had just gone twelve rounds in the ring, coming off the worse for it too.
His uncle’s actions were one thing––that inspired rage and anger. But his wife? Jealousy was the most vicious of them all.
23
London, England
March 2018
The Russian elections were less than four weeks away. Right around the world, press coverage was focusing on it, the prevailing view being it was a pivotal time in modern Russian history. The polls still had Putin in the lead, with Kaminski a few points behind and Filipov five further back in third place. They were the three realistic challengers––these two oligarchs between them were scooping up the lion’s share of non-Putin voters. Some commentators had accurately pointed out that if only one of them were standing against the President, there would have already been a clear threat to Putin, and that challenger could well have been a long way ahead in the polls. The fact that there were two challengers in play––two oligarchs who had got a lot closer than anyone else had previously managed––might play into Putin’s hands. It would depend on how close the first round of voting was. However, the current President was very popular, and there were significant numbers of voters who still opposed the idea of any billionaire with zero political background becoming their next President. Though, the same could have been said in the USA before Trump was sworn in. How things had changed.