Moscow City

by A. R. Zander

  Garrett and the van moved further down the road and were preparing to take a left when the Range Rover skidded out of its parking space and set off in pursuit. “Go on, fuck off you wankers,” Harper shouted, gathering up his things and running for the hatch. He jumped in the lift and after a few minutes he was across the road and opening the door Garrett had just come out of. He made his way to the top floor and found the flat as quickly as he could. He jammed a makeshift pick into the keyhole and after a few twists, pushed open the door.

  He listened for company, but there was no sound.

  The huge flat spanned across to the other side of the building. He crept in, making as little noise as possible. He looked into the bedrooms and found one seemingly decorated by a teenage boy. Sci-fi models hung from the ceilings and Hollywood film posters adorned the walls. Harper opened a few drawers and looked for anything connected to Vitsin’s studies. He got down on his knees and pulled some boxes out from under the bed, but all he found was a football and a few clothes. He started to panic as his search looked like drawing a blank. He leant against the wall as he felt his throat tighten and his vision start to blur around the edges. “Keep it together Harper, for fuck’s sake.”

  He let himself breathe for a few minutes before walking back into the dining room. As he looked around, a neatly arranged set of family photographs caught his eye. He walked over. Vitsin stared out at him from several frames, his face intense and serious, emitting a searing stare towards the camera each time. He realised this was the first time he had seen the boy’s face. Harper scanned the collection and noticed a small frame at the end of the row. The picture showed Vitsin standing next to a scruffy, middle-aged man. Harper looked at it, trying to figure out why it looked different to the others. Then he noticed that the boy was smiling. Not just smiling for the camera, but a genuine happiness at being pictured with the man standing next to him. There was even less doubt in Harper’s mind now about where he would find him.

  He ripped the back off the frame and took the photograph out. He held it up to the light to get a better look and saw an imprint from some writing on the back. He flipped it over. Seva at Professor Ruminenko’s home, Hong Kong. Harper threw the frame on the sofa and slipped the photo into his pocket. The anxiety bubbled back up and he held the mantelpiece to steady himself. He walked back out of the flat and headed towards the lift. As he descended, he looked again at the photo. Vitsin’s boyish face possessed a sharpness that somehow elevated him beyond his years. Harper rushed back towards the road, took out his phone and punched in Garrett’s number.

  “Garrett?” said Harper, struggling to hear anything over the sound of the engine. “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know,” said Garrett. “It’s behind me. I can’t shake it.”

  “What?”

  “The Range Rover.”

  “Where are the Vitsins?”

  “I dumped them.”

  “Where?”

  “In town. I thought they would draw away the surveillance, but this one seems more interested in me. What shall I do?”

  “Look, just meet me back at the hotel, can you find it?”

  “I think so. Wait. Oh fuck. It’s nearly on me. I’ve gotta go…”

  - Chapter 22 -

  Ghosts

  Morton checked over his shoulder again as he walked further into the Heath. He could see Cohen and Russell up ahead in the distance and signaled to them to follow him onto the open ground. The three men converged and continued walking together across the grass, carefully avoiding the muddier patches of ground.

  “It’s best to keep moving,” said Morton.

  “What’s going on Guv?” said Cohen. “Isn’t this a bit extreme?”

  “You can’t trust your phones anymore. We’ve been bugged.”

  “Bugged?” said Russell. “Who the fuck is going to bug us?”

  “I don’t know yet. But it’s happening. I had my comms swept this morning and they were riddled with traces of surveillance. Phone, email, even my car.”

  Russell looked at his phone. “Is it internal affairs?”

  “I doubt it. They’re not that clever.”

  “Do the Russians have the capabilities to get into our systems?” said Cohen.

  Morton checked over his shoulder again. “I think the Russians have got the capability to hack into anything they want.”

  Russell quickened his pace and walked up alongside Morton. “Ashansky and Gershov have both vanished Guv. Ashansky was transferred out of Belmarsh and has just disappeared off the grid. Gershov skipped bail.”

  “I know,” said Morton. “I’ve been asking around too, but everyone in the know is either scared shitless or unavailable.”

  “So what do we do now?” said Russell.

  “Good old-fashioned policing,” said Morton. “I want to know what happened to those fucking Russians. Pull in as many of Ashansky and Gershov’s known associates as you can, today. I want every two-bit Slav villain in this city spilling his guts. And leave the police brutality rulebook at home.”

  “Happily,” said Russell.

  “Where does this leave Harper?” said Cohen.

  “There’s a strong chance his cover has been compromised.”

  “We need to warn him.”

  “We can’t do that until he gets in touch.”

  “Does Bailey know about all this?” said Russell.

  “I’m going to see her now. If there’s one positive in this, it’s the fact we have the Deputy Commissioner in our corner. The woman’s a Rottweiler.”

  *****

  The secretary shuffled along the corridor with an embarrassed look on her face, occasionally turning and flashing a crooked smile in Bailey’s direction. The school was silent. They reached the end of the hall and the secretary rapped on the old, wooden door before pushing it open.

  “Deputy Commissioner Bailey to see you Headmaster.”

  The secretary beckoned her into the room and excused herself, quietly closing the door. Bailey took in the grand office and the man sitting in the expensive suit at the end of it. She thought of the school fees she struggled to hand over every year and whether they contributed to the décor.

  “Thanks for coming Lynn. May I call you Lynn?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m Peter.” He stuck his hand out and motioned for her to take a seat. “I’m sorry for making you come all this way, but I did feel this was something that we should discuss face-to-face.”

  “How serious is it?”

  The Headmaster sat back down in his seat, facing her, but looking towards his desk drawer. He opened it, pulled out a plastic bag and placed it on the table. Bailey knew what she was looking at. The 20 ecstasy pills were crammed into the bag, each with a tiny logo stamped on one side.

  “We found these in Maria’s locker.”

  “But…she wouldn’t,” said Bailey, struggling to look him directly in the face.

  “It looks like she was planning to sell them to other pupils.”

  “With all due respect Peter, that’s preposterous.”

  “Ordinarily, I would agree. But we can’t ignore the evidence.”

  Bailey stared at the bag of pills. She searched her mind for an explanation. An excuse. Something. “How do you know they weren’t planted?”

  “We don’t. But that’s something for the local police.”

  Bailey shifted uncomfortably in her seat and thought about her words carefully. “Is that necessary?”

  “Is what necessary?”

  “The involvement of the police, I mean, at this stage.”

  “Lynn, I understand your concerns, and under normal circumstances, I am averse to involving the police in school matters, but the teacher who found this bag is married to a local officer.”

  “And?”

  “And I managed to convince her to let me talk to you first, but I’m afraid we will have to report this as soon as our meeting is over.”

  “I understand.”

&nb
sp; “Maria is waiting for you in reception. She’s been suspended indefinitely. I’m sorry Lynn. I know this could be inconvenient for you.”

  Bailey shook his hand and walked back out into the empty corridor. She felt dizzy and steadied herself on a nearby windowsill. The secretaries glanced up at her as she walked back past their office and then descended into whispers once she had gone. She quickened her stride and turned the corner towards the reception. Her daughter was sat, hunched over and deflated on a bench next to the school trophy cabinet. She walked over and sat down next to her, putting her arm round her as she started to cry.

  “I don’t know where they came from mum. I swear.”

  “I know. Shush now.”

  “It all happened so fast. Am I going to jail?”

  “Not while I’m around.”

  They stood up and walked out of the school’s large front doors. A group of girls played tennis in the distance, the teacher’s shrill whistle just about audible as they walked back to the car.

  “Is that your phone mum?”

  Bailey picked her mobile out of her pocket and put it to her ear. “Hello. Deputy Commissioner Bailey.” She waited for the person on the other end to speak, but there was nothing. “Hello?”

  “Some things can’t be brushed under the carpet Lynn.” The man’s accent was neutral and he spoke to her like he knew her.

  “Who is this?”

  “Is Maria with you?

  Bailey stopped walking. “Who the hell is this?”

  “Someone that wants to save your reputation.”

  - Chapter 23 -

  Blurred Lines

  Garrett’s hand slipped off the gearstick as he slammed his foot on the clutch and tried to jam it into a higher gear. The car’s ancient engine screamed as he turned into a side street and set off up a steep incline. As he reached the top, the Range Rover appeared at the bottom and effortlessly ate up the ground. He took a right, swerving round two pedestrians. The car appeared at the crest of the hill and turned after him, gaining until it was just a few metres behind.

  It crept closer and he felt a nudge on his back bumper. “Jesus.”

  He sped up again and took a left turn. He kept his foot down as the road was replaced by an uneven mud surface. He could taste his escape when a loud crack came from the underside of the car and he felt himself slowing down.

  “No, please, no.”

  He pumped the accelerator, but his heart sank as he realized there was no response. The car rolled to a complete stop and he clambered out of the vehicle. As he stepped out onto the ground, his foot sank into the mud up to the top of his ankle. He wrestled it free at the same time as keeping an eye on the Range Rover. He took a few more steps, but the mud got thicker and he struggled to move.

  “Bad choice of car,” said Nikolaev as the black Range Rover rolled up alongside him. Garrett stood still and said nothing. The back window rolled down and a man with a balaclava pointed a pistol towards his face.

  “Why are you running English?” said Nikolaev. “You have something to hide?”

  “Probably not as much as you people,” said Garrett.

  “I know who you are,” said Nikolaev. “You’re the mother fucker that wrote that book about Chechnya. I served in Chechnya and you know what I think? I think you don’t know shit.”

  Garrett puffed his chest out as much as he could. “Do you know how bad it will look for you when I write a story saying you pointed a gun at a British reporter?”

  “You think you can intimidate me?!” shouted Nikolaev, his face reddening and the veins in his neck protruding. “You think having a pen means you’re invincible? Look where you are. There’s nothing here to protect you. We’ll end you like we ended that traitor Katusev.”

  Garrett said nothing and Nikolaev sensed the fear in his face.

  “The bodyguard did a nice job for us. Shame he had to go too.”

  “I’ve got no argument with you,” said Garrett.

  “That’s what you think. What were you doing with the Vitsins?”

  “I’m a reporter. I was working on a story. That’s my job.”

  “So that’s the way it’s going to be with you? Well, I’ve got a better story for your newspaper. It involves you, dying, face down in the mud in Kazakhstan. Do you think they’d like a story like that?”

  Nikolaev looked at his men and laughed. Garrett said nothing.

  “Do you think they would?” he repeated, as the smile dripped from his face.

  A bullet hit Garrett’s windpipe and a red stream squirted into one of the muddy puddles. The blood poured over his fingers and he dropped to his knees, coughing and spluttering.

  “I think they would,” said Nikolaev. “I think they would….”

  *****

  The mechanized shutters of the Sofia restaurant rose upwards and folded away into the shop front. A waitress milled around inside, setting the tables ready for the lunchtime trade. Russell wiped the sweat from his clammy hands on his trouser leg. Cohen took in the faces of the rest of his team. They were watching him, trying to control the adrenaline, waiting for the signal.

  “The man we want to speak to is dangerous,” said Cohen. “He’s killed civilians and he’s killed police. It doesn’t make any difference to him.”

  He looked around for their reactions, testing whether the nerves were holding. “But he’s also a close associate of our missing murder suspects, so we need to locate him and we need him to cooperate. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  The van burst into life. The eight coppers jumped out of the back and ran towards the door. Cohen and Russell fell in behind them. The front door was locked so they wasted no time sticking a boot on it. The waitress screamed in Bulgarian as they piled into the dining area, smashing glasses and knocking over chairs.

  “Where’s Draganov?” shouted Russell. “Where the fuck is he?”

  The waitress carried on screaming as the officers spread out and checked the side rooms. Cohen and Russell followed two of the team upstairs. They kicked in the first bedroom door. Two groggy, semi-naked women, lifted their heads, only partly registering what was going on. Drug paraphernalia littered the floor and used condoms were stuffed in a bucket in the corner. The second door opened and a spindly man in black jogging bottoms and no shirt stood in the doorway.

  “What the fuck are you pigs doing to my restaurant?”

  Russell steamed forward and pushed him back into the bedroom. The man cracked his head on the bedframe and let out a small grunt as he fell onto his side and held his head in his hands. Cohen signalled to the uniforms to leave and walked in behind Russell, closing the bedroom door.

  “We’d like a chat Dimitar,” said Cohen.

  “You can’t do this,” said Draganov, rubbing his head furiously where he struck the bed. “I’ve got rights.”

  Russell grabbed his hair and rained a flurry of heavy punches down on the side of his head. “You’ve got fuck all today son. Now answer the man’s questions.”

  “I don’t know anything, I’m just a restaurant owner!”

  Cohen sat down in an armchair. “Where are Leonid Ashansky and Yuri Gershov?”

  “I don’t know, I swear.”

  Russell rammed Draganov’s arm up his back until he heard a crack. “Aaagh. You’re fucking crazy! You broke my arm.”

  “We aren’t messing around Dimitar. You might want to search your little brain for some answers, because I have no problem with letting DC Russell here break your legs too.” Draganov cried out again as Russell twisted his arm to maximize the pain from the break.

  “Look, okay, okay, just let go of my arm.” Russell eased off and Draganov doubled over in pain.

  “Where are they?” said Cohen.

  “The word is they are back in Russia. There was an exchange near Talinn.”

  “An exchange? An exchange between who?”

  “Between the Russians and your MI6.” Draganov smirked. “I thought
you fucking pigs were supposed to know what happens to your own prisoners. You two must be real fucking plants. Kept in the dark and fed shit.” He started to laugh and Russell gave him a dig to the guts.

  “Why did the Russians want them back?”

  “That’s the wrong question DS Cohen.”

  “What’s the right question?”

  “You should ask why your spooks wanted to get them out of the country.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Draganov wiped some blood from his lip. “You think a guy like the Prince just comes to London and sets up his organization without talking to your government first? He works for fucking MI6.”

  “Ashansky?”

  “Yeah, Ashansky. He runs a few guns for them and provides assassins when they don’t want to get their hands dirty. In return, they let him enjoy the bright lights of London without anyone bothering him. It’s beautiful man.”

  “Is that what happened with Cavendish?”

  “What, that fucking scientist guy and his friends? Word is your spooks got Ashansky to send Gershov over there to find out some information about some genius Russian kid that disappeared.”

  “So why the fuck did Gershov kill them?”

  Dragonov let out a squeaky giggle. “Have you met Yuri?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “He’s known for going a little too far sometimes. You know, the type of far where people get fucked up.”

  A hundred different thoughts flashed through Cohen’s head. “So MI6 sent their own people to Russia to get captured on purpose? To facilitate the exchange.”

  “Exactly,” replied Dragonov. “And they come back with some nice information on what the Russians know and don’t know too. Now can you get out of my fucking restaurant please before I call the police.” This time Draganov burst into a fit of laughter at his own joke. “Oh, and you should probably buy a new suit.”