by Tim Heath
“I’m not here to harm you,” Rad said, his hands open.
“Then why are you here?” Sasha still couldn’t make any sense of it. Anyone from Russia meant massive risk for Sasha. He didn’t want them knowing he was in London, working for the British. He preferred to believe that the FSB had him down as dead. Now Radomir Pajari was here, standing in the corridor of his home in the early hours of New Year's Day.
“Can I come in?” Rad asked.
“I’m not alone.”
“I know.”
Sasha stood away from the door, allowing Rad to step in and past him. Sasha glanced out into the now empty corridor, checking no one else was around, no others waiting to pounce. He closed the door.
Helen had stood up, coming over to Rad, the two greeting each other, introductions made.
“You didn’t tell me you knew a fellow-Russian here in London,” she said to Sasha as he came back into the lounge.
“I don’t. We’re old school friends. He’s just visiting.” Sasha had not yet worked out what to say, what the connection was, nor why Rad was there. He knew it wasn’t a social call and was concerned for Helen’s safety, though he could handle himself. He hoped he didn’t need to, however.
“Would you like something to drink?” Helen asked, aware that the two men were a little distant, a little quiet. It was New Year, after all, and she’d learnt from Sasha that for Russians it was the biggest celebration of them all.
“Can we have some space, honey?” Sasha said, taking the bottle from Helen and pouring some wine into a glass. “We need to catch up,” he added. Helen had earlier said she had been tired so didn’t mind leaving them to it. She headed for the bedroom.
“A nice looking girl,” Rad said, appreciatively, though he caught the edge it gave the situation. “Look, I’m serious about what I said. I’m not a threat to any of you.”
“Then why the bloody hell is one of Russia’s top men in London in my lounge?” Sasha spoke quietly, his words picked out carefully but delivered assertively. They’d switched to Russian.
“You do know who I am then,” Rad said, happy to have cleared that up. He paused. “I was sent here to kill you.”
The statement was followed by silence as the full connotation sank in. The FSB knew he was in London. It had to be Bethany May. Filipov, therefore, knew as well.
“And?” Sasha said. A sniper didn’t sit his target down before deciding to kill him. He would have taken his shot by now. Sasha sat a little more comfortable for a moment.
“I was handed your file. I couldn’t believe it was you. Everything matched what I remember of the boy who saved my life, twice.”
“It was only once.”
“You acted on my behalf twice, Sasha.” Sasha let it go. “So you joined the FSB?”
“You are only learning this now?” Sasha said, somewhat deflated. Rad had apparently not been as aware of him as Sasha had been of Rad, though that was understandable. There weren’t many snipers still alive with a record half as good as Rad. It made the legend stick in the memory.
“I was handed the information recently. As I said, I was sent here to kill you.”
“By the President?” The silence confirmed Sasha’s assumption.
“You know I can’t say.”
“You don’t need to. But why are you speaking with me now then?”
“Like I said, I owe you my life.”
“That was nearly thirty years ago!”
“It was twenty-nine years and four months. And I have never forgotten it. It was the single most defining moment of my youth. You gave me hope that there were good people out there. You saved my life, and gave me my name.”
“Where did you go?”
“It’s a long story. I fended for myself, was picked up occasionally. But mostly I was in nature. I learned to hunt. Could hit a rabbit with a slingshot from fifty metres. Learnt to cook what I caught, eating what meat I could. I grew stronger. I looked out for the smaller kids. No gangs tormented any orphanage I was ever in, I made sure of it. When I left at eighteen, the army was the only option. Because of my shooting skills, I went into special training. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“And you now work for Filipov?”
“He is the nation’s President. We all work for him, of course, but yes, the day after he won power, I was pulled from the war.”
“He had his own mission for you?”
“You could say that.”
That explained Foma Polzin’s killing in Zurich.
“And you were sent for me?” It was yet to fully sink in, everything Rad had told Sasha a whirlwind of past meeting present.
“Yes, you and another. Another group were passed the other target. I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“Why me? Why now?”
“You are seen as a traitor. You know how it goes.” He did. An FSB agent was not meant to defect. Sasha now worked for MI6.
“Why now, though?”
“You must have become a nuisance to someone.”
“And you just do what you are told?”
“No, Sasha, I follow orders. I’ve not put a bullet through your skull though, remember.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” he smiled.
Helen came out of the bedroom at that moment causing the two men to pause, not that she spoke any Russian. They could have been discussing the plight of the Russian football team at the recent World Cup, for all she knew. She went into the bathroom and shut the door.
“Where does this leave you?” Sasha asked.
“I don’t know.” Rad hadn’t thought about it yet, though he was instantly aware that confronting Sasha was putting him into a difficult situation. He owed Sasha his life, however. Some things went beyond merely following orders. Sasha’s life was one of them.
“Won’t Filipov just send others?”
“Possibly.”
“And what about you?” Rad hadn’t considered his own situation as much as he had Sasha’s. “You won’t be able to continue as you were before. He’ll know.”
“I know.” Unlike Sasha, Rad wasn’t about to turn his back on his country. It was in his blood, as he knew it was in Sasha’s, though he could understand Sasha’s reasons for needing to get out. Rad was tired of being around bullies. He was no longer in the orphanages, hadn’t been for seventeen years––nearly half his life––and yet, there always seemed people willing to take from others, usually people less fortunate than themselves. The current President was indeed in that group.
Helen reemerged from the bathroom at that moment.
“I’m going to sleep now,” she called, kissing Sasha on the top of the head, Rad giving the two a moment, but watching her walk away from them.
“We shouldn’t be long,” Sasha said, aware that Helen couldn’t sleep through much noise. He didn’t feel like sleep himself. There were too many questions racing through his mind.
“I’ll come back later,” Rad said, getting up, Sasha wanting to stop him, but the man was already heading towards the door. “We’ll chat in the morning. Maybe have breakfast together?"
“Where are you staying?” Sasha had the spare room, Alex’s bedroom as it was, but the idea of Rad staying there wasn’t one that really worked for any of them.
“I’m nearby. I’ll come back in the morning. At twelve.” Sasha smiled to himself.
Sasha opened the door for him, watching the man leave, a person he really didn’t know much about at all––save for those brief moments in another life, in another world. He shut the door and went to join Helen in bed; she was already asleep.
On New Year’s Day, Helen headed off back home. When Rad turned up at noon, he and Sasha went out for lunch. Helen knew the two men needed time to catch up. Sasha had said very little about their connection, or the reason why Rad was in London, but she knew not to ask too many questions. There was still a lot she didn’t know about Sasha.
The two men sat in a local Weatherspoon’s pub, each plate loaded with f
ood.
They sat over the meal and a few drinks and by evening, they’d caught up a lot on the missing years since they’d first met. The conversation was hovering dangerously close to the present, something they’d conveniently managed to avoid discussing, but something both knew was inevitable before too long. Sasha couldn’t help but think about Alex and Phelan’s attempt to get to the President.
“Does he have you watching out for his security?” Sasha asked. It was late now, a few beers finished between them both.
“Who, Filipov?” Sasha nodded. “Yes, I’ve been asked to cover that side before.”
“Did you do it for Putin?”
“No, I just served in the army in his wars. Filipov is different.”
“How so?”
“He’s vindictive. He doesn’t forget. If someone goes for him, he goes in hard.”
“Do you know about two men, one Irish, the other MI6, who made an attempt to assassinate Filipov some time ago.”
Rad looked resigned. He’d been waiting for Sasha to ask him about that all day.
“Yes, I do.” It was the final confirmation Sasha needed.
“And?”
“The order was to stop the Irishman and capture the other guy.”
“You succeeded, I take it?”
“Yes.” Rad didn’t seem proud, and Sasha wasn’t surprised. They had assumed Phelan was dead almost as soon as they lost contact.
“Where is Alex being held?”
“The MI6 agent?”
“Yes, he was a friend of mine.”
“He was nobody to me, of course, and he was illegally in Russia to aid an assassination.”
“I know. It wasn’t a bright move,” Sasha said. It was probably why Rad was there to kill him now.
“I don’t know where he is, but I think he’s still alive.”
“How?” Sasha hadn’t expected Alex to be alive.
“Filipov wanted him alive. I wasn’t to touch him. My orders were to take out the terrorist. I could have easily killed them both. Death wasn’t Filipov’s goal. That’s what I mean about him being dangerous. He’s a monster.”
“I know.”
So Alex might still be alive. That was food for thought. Rad’s mobile sounded.
“I have to take this,” he said, the team of hired gangsters connecting with Rad for the first time, as agreed. Rad couldn’t have that conversation in front of Sasha. He got up from the seat and left the pub. Sasha glanced at his watch. It was gone ten pm already. He was tired.
16
London
Ten Hours Earlier - Midday, January 1st
When Anissa had loaded everything into the boot, their time at the park over, she got behind the wheel. Her husband made sure the boys were strapped in and then got in next to her.
“We’ll get some treats at the shop on the way back,” Anissa promised, causing a squeal of delight from the back seat. She pulled the family car out into the road, not as used to driving that bigger vehicle as she was her own car, something they had purchased due to her increasingly erratic working hours, and their sons' increasingly busy social lives meaning a second car was necessary.
She raced around the shop, the boys––husband included, which didn’t help––grabbing chocolate and plenty of other unhealthy stuff, only some of which she allowed into the trolley. They went to the checkout, filling three bags, which she left for her husband to manage.
“Come on,” she called to the boys and headed off for the exit. They got back to the car, Anissa once more taking the wheel, as her husband fitted the shopping bags around the stuff that was already in the boot. A few minutes later they were approaching home.
“Damn,” Anissa said, a warning light lighting up on the car's central dashboard, indicating a problem with the engine and demanding attention. Her husband glanced over.
“I’ll drop it in the garage tomorrow,” he said. He had the boys with him anyway. They would like the garage, and there was a good ice cream place next door. The day was mapped out nicely. “We’ll snuggle and watch films today.” More squealing from the backseat.
Once on the driveway, Anissa thankful they had made it back without the car breaking down completely, they unpacked the car and headed inside. She went into the kitchen, while the other three set up the lounge for cinema time, a fun family tradition that they’d not been able to do for a few weeks.
Evening - January 1st
Rad had said he needed to sort something out and had left Sasha in the pub. The team had called him and demanded they see him before the operation was put into place.
It was late when Rad met with them, and he didn’t like what he was being told.
“We’ll leave now and fit the device. It’ll take the woman out in the morning. She’s due in work first thing.” Rad didn’t like explosives. He reflected on Phelan, a man threatening similar things, though the target was more high-profile. He also didn’t like the men he was now with. They were amateurish and cheap. Svetlana was scraping the barrel with these three.
Rad left them, watching them drive away, the device no doubt with them. He had some thinking to do.
January 2nd
As Anissa’s car rolled off the driveway that morning, the weather at least couldn’t have been calmer. That peace and serenity were about to be rudely and violently defiled.
The explosion ripped through the small vehicle with a strong force, sending metal in all directions, a ball of flames shooting into the sky as explosive met with the three-quarter full fuel tank and it erupted.
People came running from the nearby houses. At least one person could be seen on the floor some metres from the vehicle, apparently a bystander, but knocked down by the blast nonetheless. It was clear that whoever had been in the car was already dead, the fire lapping away ferociously as a wildfire does through a bone-dry forest.
“You said there was another target?” Sasha quizzed Rad, the two in contact again. It was early on January 2nd, though Sasha had not been able to sleep. He’d been going over everything, and Rad’s sudden call and departure the night before had not sat comfortably with him.
“Yes, you were my priority.”
“Who else is at risk?” Sasha feared he now knew, Filipov having captured Alex and killed Phelan. Anissa was the missing link.
“It’s the woman. Anissa.”
Sasha swore. “She’s like family to me, Alex too. He’s a brother.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, if you were sorry, you would stop it.”
“I can’t. They will know.”
“When?” It was as much a demand for information as it was a question. There were tears in Sasha’s eyes.
“Soon, there is a bomb.”
Sasha swore again. He reached for his phone. “Don’t,” Rad said, holding his arm.
“Why the hell not?”
“It won’t save her. Filipov will still come for her, and you and me and anyone else who stands in his way.”
“So we just step aside, let him do what he wants?”
Rad shook his head. He didn’t know what to think.
“Should I have stepped aside, let them kill you? Should I have let them throw you into that well, nobody aware you were there? How much longer would you have been able to hold on? One minute? Two?”
“I get it, okay.”
“No, you don’t. I love Anissa. Not like that…” he paused, though he didn’t know if that were entirely true, either. “She’s special to me. You said you owed me two favours. Well, this is the second one.”
“I can’t!”
“You have to!”
He let go of Sasha’s arm, allowing Sasha to call Anissa. It was only seven, but Sasha knew she would be up. The phone rang for ten long seconds.
“Yes?” came a frantic voice, at the point when Sasha thought it was already too late.
Half an hour before the explosion
Anissa’s alarm had gone off at half six. She showered quickly, trying to keep the noise do
wn, but the boys were awake regardless. It hadn’t been the shower. They always woke when they were on holiday and couldn’t wake up when it was school.
She left them playing football in the lounge as she made a cup of tea. She put some bread into the toaster for herself.
Suddenly she heard one of the boys fall over in the lounge with an almighty crash, followed by a scream which no mother could ignore.
“What is it?” Anissa said, running straight into the lounge, panic racing through her body, her oldest boy on the carpet, his foot at a slight odd angle. By then, the other brother had seen his brother’s broken ankle, and he too was hysterical. Anissa called her husband’s name at the top of her voice, but he must have heard the scream already. A father had the same instinct of danger. He came in through the door a few moments later, taking in the scene.
“Oh, I don’t know what to do, I’m needed at work,” she cried.
“I’ll take him to A&E, don’t worry,” he said, going over to his son, helping him sit up. He picked up a pillow. “I’m going to place this under your ankle. It might hurt a little, but I need you to be brave.” He lifted the leg, getting the pillow under quickly, the boy doing his best through the pain. Anissa's husband had been on First Aid training and was calm under pressure.
“He’ll be fine,” he mouthed to his wife, Anissa comforting the younger brother in much the same way. Nevertheless, both parents looked worried.
Over the next two minutes he carefully strapped the ankle into place, the pillow still there, which would offer some padding. Anissa had given him some painkillers, which they hoped would be enough to get them to the hospital.