by Tim Heath
Besides, to do that would only risk exposing himself.
Mark got out of bed. Sleep was impossible, anyway. He spotted Sergej was still outside, smoking another cigarette. Months ago Sergej hadn’t been smoking, a habit he’d picked up in prison but stopped once he’d married Svetlana. The situation was getting to them all.
Mark confirmed to Sergej what he’d just been told. Sergej’s reaction was much the same as Mark’s had been.
“That’s it then,” he said, a little too defeatist in his tone, though Mark understood completely. He was tending in the same direction himself. “Does Lev know?”
“What don’t I know?” Lev said; he had been trying to sleep but heard the two men talking outside. Whatever Mark had gone downstairs to share with Sergej, it couldn’t be good news. Lev had gone to find out.
Mark relayed the news again to Lev. It wasn’t a shock, of course. They knew it would happen at some point. Lev let it sink in, his reaction less pronounced. He still had money. He wasn’t directly affected in any way by the loss of the Bank, aside from the obvious. Filipov now controlled stupendous wealth. That made him an impossibly strong opponent, leading the largest nation on the planet.
“Have you heard back from the security firm?” Mark asked. Suddenly the idea of increased technology around them felt even more of a good idea.
“They’ll be in touch tomorrow,” Lev reminded them. He’d mentioned that earlier. It would require one of the oligarchs to fly to Moscow to meet with the firm, however. Mark had decided he would be the one to do it, but he had yet to tell the other two.
Moscow
Mark Orlov arrived in Moscow for his meeting with the technology firm. Being in the Russian capital scared him a lot. He wasn’t going into the centre itself, where the Kremlin sat proud and dominant, but just being in the same city as the President made him feel uncertain for the first time in a long time.
Mark was driven to the warehouse where the firm had their centre of operations. He was to spend two hours going over everything with them. He was most impressed with what they had to offer. Lev had a money transfer waiting for the green light, the money wired to the firm's account once a deal had been struck. Mark was very grateful for Lev’s involvement with them all at that moment, the man coming into his own finally. It was long overdue.
However, Orlov’s presence at the facility was not to go unnoticed. A call to the Kremlin, something listened to by Filipov himself, originated from the very same corridors inside the warehouse where Orlov was now meeting.
“I thought you’d like to know Mark Orlov arrived about an hour ago. He’s placing an order for security at a property in Siberia. Due to leave I think by midday.” The call ended.
Filipov immediately called in a group of FSB agents, three squads of ten men. Orlov would have travelled with some protection, but it would probably be light. His appearance in Moscow was designed to go under the radar. He’d nearly succeeded with that as well, but Filipov’s ever-growing network of spies and informants had once again caught its prey, like a Venus fly-trap. Once in his midst, there would be no escape.
The FSB unit was outside the warehouse before anyone knew they were close. Mark was informed as shouts could be heard on the ground floor, the sounds of men rushing in with boots, weapons being loaded, people protesting. Despite being a security firm itself, ironically there were no weapons available. There was no defence against an intruder, none really needed. They were just a supplier.
Orlov looked round the firm's personnel, sure that someone there had betrayed him, but unable to know who. He started to move, but there was nowhere to go. The building was surrounded, and the men were already inside. They burst into the meeting room where Mark was carrying out the discussions seconds later and stood in front of him. Two agents had their guns raised to the oligarch.
Their unit leader came in moments after, the room now secure. He got the men to lower their weapons. Orlov wasn’t a threat to them, but he searched the oligarch anyway, to be sure he wasn’t carrying a gun.
Mark wondered whether he should have been.
“Mark Orlov, you are under arrest,” the unit leader said.
“On what grounds?” Orlov demanded defiantly.
“For the murder of Andre Filipov, the President’s son.” So that was the card Filipov was playing. Mark held out his wrists, handcuffs used to secure them in place. There was no use running now, the game was up. Filipov had him, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Germany
November 2018
The German Chancellor was proud to announce her country's stance. They were the first to re-switch on all of their nuclear reactors. The previous eight that had been the ones still functioning had themselves been scheduled for switch off within four years. The complete U-turn was seen as the only way to secure the country’s energy needs going forward.
It had been six weeks since Russia switched off the gas supply. Europe was already beginning to feel the strain. Winter was also around the corner, and after a warm summer, experts were predicting a colder than average winter. The Germans didn’t want images of their citizens freezing in their homes, lives being lost, while Russians enjoyed an abundance of gas.
Sanctions were increased against Russia. There had been a complete meltdown in relations between Berlin and Moscow, in keeping with other EU partners, as well as that of America itself towards Russia.
It was now all but certain that Germany’s neighbours in the south-east would be the next major nation to switch, even though Austria’s stance against nuclear power had once been almost the harshest in Europe. Austrian winters were not much fun either without heating.
The Chancellor was then to meet with other key European leaders. The British were absent as they went through their own political meltdown. The German would look with interest to see who might be the next Prime Minister of a nation which had made that change now four times since she first took charge in her homeland. The UK was a wobbling ship, made only worse by their Brexit decision and lack of real leadership since. The Chancellor saw Germany as needing to be the guiding light within Europe, alongside France, both champions of the European ideal and vision.
The meeting with the various leaders, including the French President, was mostly to discuss the ongoing energy crisis, and what options they had regarding Russia. France was active in Syria and the Chancellor wanted an update from the French president about the on-going war. Russia had stepped up its involvement there, especially since Filipov had come to power. The move had initially been made just days after his election, based on his desire to see an end to the civil war that had torn the nation to pieces and displaced millions. Yet the previous few months in Syria had seen only a worsening situation at all levels, and no definite end in sight.
Germany didn’t want an explicit confrontation with Russia in Syria, but the motion would have to be tabled, anyway. It was one of the options available to them.
The Swiss were the only notable absentees. The official story was that their own nuclear plans demanded the time of all political leaders as they looked to ratify new laws and motions. The unofficial story was they were still reeling from the discovery of the hidden facility in Zurich, without fully knowing what had been there. They knew the cargo had been shipped to Moscow, however. That suggested it was something they should have previously known about, and something they probably didn’t want their counterparts to find out. What troubled them most was the fact it had required three large cargo aircraft to fly it all back.
“Who do we have inside Russia who might be able to help?” the German Chancellor asked her team, who were shielding her from anyone else who might try eavesdropping.
“We had Orlov. I think he would have helped.”
“Had?” She’d picked up on the reference and its meaning right away.
“He was recently arrested in Moscow. Officially, charged with the murder of Andre Filipov in Paris last year.”
“Is there any truth in
that?” She sounded disbelieving.
“Of course not. It’s clearly a ploy to get Orlov out of the way. He was a powerful man.”
“So we have no one else?”
“No,” the response confirmed they were in the dark. She turned away from the group at that moment as the other leaders were ushered into the room. The timing of her country’s announcement that it was reopening all nuclear facilities was done primarily for this particular gathering. It was meant to help them lead by example, to highlight to the other EU nations the one option they did have, instead of moaning about what they no longer had.
“Friends, thank you for coming,” she started, everybody taking their seats. It was going to be a long day, and she seemed to be rapidly running out of options to really hit back at Russia. At least they now had an opportunity for the supply of their own nuclear power, though they would have to deal with the waste themselves. In the past, this had been put on a ship and sent to St Petersburg, where trains carried the hazardous cargo and delivered it deep into the Urals, where Russia buried it. That agreement had ended nearly a decade before, and at a time when Germany was already switching off their plants. A new option, therefore, would now have to be discussed for this issue. It was just one of many such problems she hoped the meeting would be able to resolve.
Belgium, Spain & Switzerland
It was a month after the EU leaders’ conference in Berlin. Christmas was fast approaching, the first snows falling, but only on the more northern territories, or where there were mountains.
Around Europe, other nations were starting to switch back on their own nuclear power plants. The next three to announce the change were Belgium, Spain and Switzerland, where simultaneous press conferences were to happen in Brussels, Madrid and Berne.
In Filipov’s cyber control centre, just as they’d done with Germany the month before, his experts were hacking into each nuclear plant’s computer network, using the weakness and possible fault which they had discovered. All three new nations recommissioned power plants, like those of Germany, now had the same vulnerability exposed and controllable by the Kremlin. By Filipov himself.
Like a man playing chess, this was his checkmate move, the final piece of his master plan, a Europe brought to its knees. Filipov was getting closer to that goal with every passing month.
12
Vauxhall House, MI6––London
Christmas Eve, 2018
Anissa was finishing up at the office. Sasha was sitting down beside her working away at the computer. She was due to take the following week off, the kids at home, her husband off work as well. Christmas was her favourite time of the year, made more so since having children. It was all about the boys now. She loved seeing their excitement, watching them open their stockings in the morning and their presents after lunch. She got to relive her own memories of happy Christmases in childhood. Her husband was the same.
Anissa had entirely cleared away her wall of evidence in the office, a move that had surprised Sasha at first. He’d known that Anissa’s display, hidden behind the cork boards, had become almost a personal memorial to all who had died, while a reminder of who needed bringing to justice.
Some wrongs had already been righted, of course. Dmitry Kaminski was in prison already, and his uncle Lev was a wanted man. The British knew Lev was in Russia somewhere and knew he was no friend of the President. His fate was all but sealed. They didn’t need to lose sleep trying to seek extradition on that one.
Foma Polzin was dead. Other oligarchs from the original Games were also in prison, if reports were to be believed, inside Russia.
The biggest name that remained, however, was Filipov himself. The President seemed untouchable and wasn’t moving from Russia. Yet his actions were being felt right around the world.
She’d cleared the wall away, therefore. She had every name, every face permanently etched onto her mind. She didn’t need a wall of evidence continually reminding her of it all, always there to highlight the fact Alex was missing.
The lack of a body, the lack of any news––Russia killing a British spy who was illegally found on Russian soil would have been great propaganda after all––actually made Anissa feel worse. Alex might be suffering somewhere, held prisoner. It had been a few months already.
Anissa had checked with Sasha that he had plans for Christmas, which he had confirmed he did. It would be his first one in the UK, and he was going to spend it with Helen Cooper, and her relatives.
Anissa was pleased. She didn't want Sasha to be alone, not at that time of year, not with his first Christmas in the UK. However, she couldn’t have managed the disruption that Sasha being with her own family would have caused, nor did she feel it was appropriate. Anissa still felt guilty about once kissing Sasha in St Petersburg. She had been drunk and highly emotional, not to mention stressed, but she knew, at least at that moment when she was drunk, that she had really wanted to sleep with him. She couldn’t allow herself to drop her guard again. Having Sasha over for Christmas dinner with her husband and boys would not have been a good idea.
It had been one hell of a year, made worse by the absence of Alex. Anissa knew that completely. She’d been able to talk a little about it with her husband, but hadn’t been able to tell him the whole truth. She knew they had stepped over the line. Only she and Sasha, besides Alex knew anything about the operation. Phelan did as well, but Anissa had always assumed he was dead. She didn’t know why. Alex would have been a better prisoner, but Phelan was expendable. He had been the more aggressive threat, after all, the man with everything to lose if he didn’t succeed. Alex was just the courier, getting the Irishman close enough to be able to have a chance.
Filipov had been outspoken since. The lack of Russian gas was really starting to affect Europe, though thankfully they’d had nuclear power to fall back on. Europe was quietly delighted that they could so easily stick it to the Russian gas companies. If Russia ever decided to switch back on the supply, they were no longer interested. A pact had been signed in Berlin. No EU member state––and a few others besides, including the UK, Norway and Switzerland––was going to buy any more energy from Russia, in any form. They were making a clean break.
Anissa thought of Anastasia. She’d not seen her in weeks but now wondered what the Belarusian was doing for Christmas. That time of year could be so hard for someone suddenly on their own, for anyone really, but certainly for someone who was used to being around people for Christmas. Anissa realised Anastasia would be around family, though maybe not the ones she had been planning on some months ago.
MI6 had moved on to many other things in recent weeks, Anissa and Sasha included. One side-project Anissa was still focused on was her desire to catch out Bethany May. The net was undoubtedly closing, but Anissa knew she needed firm evidence. The calls to an unknown number––one that seemingly didn’t work––were not going to be enough. The fact there was a bank account somewhere linked to the DDG did go some way, but Anissa wanted more. She needed to discover whatever secret it was that Filipov had on Bethany, the reason he was able to control the DDG and pressure her. If they learned what that was, it might level the playing field somewhat.
“I’m going to head home now, Sasha," Anissa said, glancing at her watch. "I think you should go soon too,” she continued, switching off her own computer. It was already three, the office on a half day for the start of the two day holiday, though Anissa was booked off until the following week. Most of the people had gone, the Service on a skeleton staff for the coming week.
“I’m looking into some of the background checks on Westfield since he became PM,” he said, his attention to detail as an agent something that even Anissa was impressed with. “Months before he stepped forward to lead the party and the country, a whole crew of specialist people helped him reshape his image and clean up his act. He states he doesn’t know where they came from.”
“Doesn’t know or isn’t willing to share?” Anissa said, laying her bag on the floor next to Sasha�
�s chair as she came over to the Russian and looked over his shoulder.
“He didn’t pay for them, that’s for sure. We’ve had access to his accounts.” In recent years, with money abused and many scandals, politicians and their spending were more transparent than ever.
“So find out where it came from,” Anissa said.
“I did. It was a new firm set up in London the month before they started helping him.”
“That looks suspicious,” Anissa said, pulling up a chair next to Sasha.
“It is. The firm seems legitimate, and they work for a few others, but no one else in politics. Mainly business people and a few celebrities. But they seemed to set up initially primarily to get behind Westfield. The other names linked to them are more recent. From what I can see, the firm itself was approached by the clients following the excellent job they’d done in turning a backbench MP into the new Prime Minister.”
“Any links to go on?”
“Only one. Everything else checks out, but the lawyer who founded the firm is the same one who handles Dukes.” Dukes was an exclusive club in London with an impossibly short membership list and an extremely long waiting list. It was a place where people could talk freely, meet freely, without fear of being snooped on. Dmitry Kaminski and the former DDG Thomas Price had been meeting there for years as the UK positioned the Russian for a run at the Presidency. At the end of the previous year, Sasha had finally seen the deeds of the club when he had been shown them by his now-girlfriend Helen at the records office. Matvey Filipov had purchased the club under a shell company decades back. He ultimately owned it, which explained how he had found out about the British plot. And this same lawyer had been the legal brains behind the scenes for the PR firm who'd shaped, packaged and delivered the latest Prime Minister.