The Makarov File

by Peter Kozmar

  Everything appeared to go into slow motion as he heard the bullet strike a marble wall and ricochet into the windscreen of a parked car, setting off its alarm. For an instant he froze to the spot, like a rabbit mesmerised by oncoming headlights. Adrenaline surged through his body, he felt his heart pounding in his chest and he broke free from his paralysis. Instinctively, he threw himself to the floor and crawled under a nearby parked car. Gamzova had already pulled out her phone, yelling orders into it over the ear-splitting sound of the Embassy alarm. Armed Marines, in combat gear and body armour, spilled into the car park taking up defensive positions, their weapons pointing out towards the street.

  Andy got to his knees and peered over the bonnet of the car he’d sheltered behind and saw a large squad of heavily armed Russians wearing paramilitary uniforms take up positions in front of the Embassy fence. They also faced the street. He ducked down and started crawling to a new point of safety as three more bullets punched large holes behind him into the car he’d just peered over.

  The Embassy car park started to fill with clouds of thick grey smoke. Someone had thrown smoke grenades. Andy felt a hand grab his collar. He turned and saw a Marine towering over him. Andy realised they were using the smokescreen as cover. The Marine pulled Andy to his feet. “Run with me. Now!” the Marine barked. Andy bent low as he made his way to safety, half running, half being dragged by the Marine. Andy saw Gamzova lying on the ground waiting for the commotion to end. Three Marines grabbed Andy and pushed him to the ground their heavy bodies crushed him.

  “You’ve been in Moscow less than four hours and someone is already trying to kill you!” Gamzova shouted over the noise of the screaming alarms.

  “Could be my ex-wife?” he shouted back, paused, and corrected himself, “No, she wouldn’t have missed!”

  CHAPTER 12

  Once the Russian security forces completed their search of the building where the sniper had been positioned, they gave the all clear. Andy wasn’t surprised to learn there was no trace of the sniper; even the spent cases from the sniper’s gun had been removed by the time the security forces reached the firing position. No one in the Embassy compound had been injured and, by good fortune, their Government car hadn’t taken any rounds.

  Andy felt relieved when he was told he could leave, but standing in the cold, outside the Embassy, watching the aftermath of the shooting, he felt strangely exposed and vulnerable. The car offered warmth, and the tinted glass, gave a false sense of security for the short drive to the Metropol Hotel.

  After checking in, Andy dumped his overnight bag on the large bed before walking back into the living room, and Gamzova, who remained close and stuck to him like glue. He removed Putin’s files from his backpack and spread them across a mahogany writing desk. He thumbed through the thick file and separated a few of the sub-divided files, each one a subject of interest.

  He handed a handful of sub-divided files to Gamzova. As Andy started reading his files, Gamzova took one of the two complimentary bottles of spring water from the mahogany desk and sat on the couch picking up the top file. Within minutes she was completely engrossed in the paperwork in front of her. After two hours of intense study, fatigue set in as the adrenaline from the Embassy shooting had gone. Andy stretched and yawned, before he broke the silence: “What have you learnt?”

  “There’s a pattern. The victim is contacted by an anonymous businessman and told to hand over their empire to the Makarov Corporation or else they and their family will come to harm. The descriptions of the businessman are all consistent with one another so they might be the same person. The victims fall into one of three categories: they hand over their businesses; run for their lives; or, are murdered. Makarov is ruthless in its pursuit of them. What did you find?”

  Andy opened his bottle of water and took a healthy drink before he spoke, “Makarov started as a taxi firm in Saint Petersburg ten years ago. Local police reports say it was a front for a small time Mafia organisation involved in drugs, protection rackets and prostitution. The police weren’t too interested. Every now and then they’d arrest one or two gang members, then a couple of hours later they were back out on the street. The report states there were violent turf wars across Saint Petersburg between rival gangs, but that was nothing unusual at the time. With the benefit of hindsight, the police believed Makarov had prepared for, initiated and won the war against the other gangs. With a decent foothold in Saint Petersburg, they quickly started to expand their criminal enterprise across the country; aggressive take-overs of businesses or violence against anyone who stood in the way. As Makarov grew, it streamlined, vertically-integrated, and cross-sold its products via its expansive distribution and enforcement network across Russia.”

  “So we know that they are Mafia, and have the muscle and resources to threaten, extort and murder. But what has this got to do with large businesses?” Gamzova asked.

  Andy took another swig of water, before he continued, “About four years ago it looks like Makarov used its criminal expertise and transferred these skills to the commercial world where they would acquire, integrate and expand. They moved into logistics by quickly acquiring transport, freight and distribution businesses. Then they moved onto airlines, private airports, banking, finance, insurance and telecommunications companies. Now it owns mines, steel plants, construction firms, hotels and has a significant global real-estate portfolio. More recently we’ve seen its influence spreading as Makarov practically owns the towns and cities where it’s the primary employer. They’ve even created new cities on its own land. In the areas they operate, they own the Mayors and most of the local politicians. If they don’t already, they’ll soon have Regional and National politicians in their pockets too.”

  “That’s frightening,” Gamzova said, an anxious expression on her face, “they could end up running the country.”

  Andy looked at her. That’s probably why the Russian President wanted an FSB agent assigned to the case. If Makarov isn’t stopped, he could find himself a victim of a subtle coup and out of office! He could see that Gamzova was a ‘child of the Federation’, growing up in an environment where you didn’t question the people in power; you just did your bit for the mother Russia.

  “We need to plan our next steps,” Andy suggested. “We know that we are on someone’s radar – well, I am after that excitement at the Embassy – so we need to be careful, we don’t want to give them any more opportunities to get a clear shot at us.”

  Gamzova nodded and spoke, “We should interview some of the oligarchs and their families to uncover any common threads between them, this may help us understand who or what we’re dealing with.”

  “I agree,” Andy couldn’t stop his long yawn, “sorry, but my jet lag’s kicking in and I need to get some sleep. Join me for breakfast tomorrow at eight, we can work out who we need to meet and how we do it. I think it’s a given we’ll be followed, so we need to make sure we lose any tails, otherwise Makarov will know who we’ve talked to and that would put them in danger.”

  ***

  After leaving the room, Luba headed for the elevators. She caught the elevator down to the ground floor and, as she stepped out into the lobby, she spotted a familiar face: Igor Malchik. He was sat in a high-backed leather armchair facing the lift, a well-thumbed newspaper and an empty glass resting on the side table suggested Malchik had been in position for some time. Luba approached and sat in the next chair to him.

  “Flint is taking a rest, the travel and the shooting at the Embassy has caught up with him. Do you have any information on the incident at the Embassy?” she spoke in relaxed manner and, aware of the crowds around them, not wanting to appear out of the ordinary.

  “The sniper wasn’t a professional assassin or we’d be sending Flint back in a body bag. They selected a good firing position with a quick route out and left no forensic evidence behind. Based on the rapid firing that peppered the Embassy, they probably used a semi-automatic which limits accuracy and probably why Flint is
still breathing. A professional would have nailed him with the first round using a smooth bolt-action weapon,” he paused, to let what he had said sink in, Luba was impressed that they could tell so much about the shooter.

  He continued with his dialogue, “They pulled the trigger too early; a professional would have waited until the target had reached a fixed predictable point, for example, at the car, where the target would have to pause to open the door, then one clean shot would have taken him out. We don’t have any leads regarding the identity of the sniper. We believe Flint was their intended target. The sniper knew Flint would be at the Embassy. We have concluded that the sniper was acting on good intelligence and, whilst they may have missed their target this time, they have fired a ‘warning shot’ to ensure that Flint knows they can get to him. Firing into a guarded Embassy is very bold, and may have sealed the sniper’s fate, as I doubt their paymaster will be happy they have made such a high profile attempt on Flint’s life and missed.”

  “Who else is here at the hotel?” Luba asked.

  “We have two teams around the clock, in and around the hotel, to provide protection services. No one should get close to Flint while he’s here.”

  “Do you want me to remain?”

  “No. We have this covered. You can go home and get some rest while you can. Do you want one of the team to run you home?”

  Luba shook her head, “No thanks, the fresh air will help clear my head. I’ll be back for breakfast at eight.” She stood, headed for the exit and left the hotel, turning left and taking the steps down into the Metro and the busy Okhotny Ryad terminus.

  ***

  Luba’s two-bed apartment was on the fourth floor of a residential complex to the west of Moscow near the Sokoplniki Metro Station. She enjoyed walking her regular route home whenever she had the opportunity. Its wide tree-lined streets towards the Museum, providing a sense of freedom after a long day in central Moscow.

  Something didn’t feel right as she waited for the metro train. She felt like she was being followed, so casually turned round as if to read the timetable and clocked three men watching her. It took all her skills to pretend to check the time of the next train. She had done this journey so often she would ace a written test. She started questioning her judgement. Their glances could have been innocent, after all she was young and relatively attractive, or were they hoping it would appear that way?

  After a few minutes the train arrived and as she boarded she casually looked around to spot anyone out of the ordinary. Two men caught her interest. They were wearing the same clothing – black leather jackets, black denim trousers and black workman’s boots – and didn’t blend in well with the crowd of office workers, students and shoppers. One of the men caught her eye and immediately averted his gaze. Luba’s senses were heightened. If there were two, there could be more. She saw another one in the next carriage and then, on the platform, one moved at the last moment to enter the train just before the doors closed.

  Luba got off the train at her usual stop, her shadows following at a discreet distance. As she made her way through the station for the exit, she stopped to read a billboard for a new movie and used the prop to take a closer look at her shadows. She could make out the tell-tale bulges under their jackets from their concealed weapons. Luba realised she was in trouble and used her cell phone to call Malchik. He answered after the first ring.

  “What’s wrong?” Malchik asked, he knew Luba wouldn’t call unless it was important.

  “I have two unwanted guests tailing me,” she replied quickly.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “I’m leaving the Sokoplniki Metro station towards my apartment.”

  “Okay, stay alert, I’ll get assistance to you.” Malchik hung up.

  Luba put her phone away and slowly walked out of the Metro station. She occasionally stopped to talk with some of the street vendors, who lined the route to her apartment block, which she could see lit up in the distance as the daylight started to fade. The apartment, with its reinforced door and triple deadlocks, would offer some level of safety from her shadows.

  She was still five minutes away and, with the winter darkness setting in, her shadows would either continue to follow her or make their move. Luba made an unexpected right turn to shake them off or, at least, gain some extra distance.

  What should have been a smart tactical move quickly turned against her, and her heart sank as she saw the street lights ahead were out. Grimy delivery trucks along with cars were parked on each side of the wide street making it narrow and providing potential assailants a myriad of places to lie in wait and ambush an unsuspecting victim. The only thing Luba had in her favour was that she had turned off the expected route to her apartment … and carried a 9mm pistol.

  Her heart was racing – Luba knew what the men following her were capable of – and she wasn’t ready to end up like the victims in the files, but she wasn’t sure Malchik would be able to get help in time to save her. She made a decision, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight, she unfastened the clasp on her pistol holster. With the darkness forming around her she could hear heavy footsteps rapidly closing in on her position. She firmly gripped her pistol and drew it from her holster.

  A yell came from behind her: “Stop! Special Police. Put your hands up or we’ll shoot.”

  CHAPTER 13

  It wasn’t yet eight in the morning when the loud knocking at the door disturbed Andy as he brushed his teeth. He opened the door to find Gamzova looking impatient. “We have a lot to talk about,” she said, pushing past him and taking the chair next to the desk. Andy shut the door and started removing the remains of last night’s room service meal off the desk and out of the way before he sat next to her.

  “Go on.”

  Gamzova told him about her journey home, and the two men that had followed her. “The men were detained by our Rapid Incident Response Team that Colonel Malchik had deployed. The men said they were policemen and carried police IDs. We checked and found matches to the names the men gave on the database. They claimed to be part of a covert surveillance police team identifying potential terrorists on the streets of Moscow. They thought I looked suspicious at the train station so they decided to follow me.”

  “That all sounds reasonable.”

  “It was, until it unravelled. One of our team recognised one of the names, they went to University together, and had kept in touch. When he arrived he found it wasn’t his friend, but an imposter. We immediately took them into custody to investigate.”

  “What did you find?”

  Gamzova continued, “We hadn’t even processed them before their lawyer arrived. The lawyer is known for representing the rich and powerful. The lawyer claimed his clients were undercover policemen investigating police corruption and they used the identity of others to enable them to gather evidence.”

  “It doesn’t explain why they were following you.”

  “That’s what we thought. Their lawyer insisted that, due to the sensitive nature of their investigations, the two detained officers had to be moved to another police station where they were less likely to be recognised while we checked their story. We gave him the benefit of the doubt and arranged for the two suspects to be taken to another police station; the one on Airport Street. While heading across the city, a stolen dumpster truck hit their vehicle at speed killing everyone in the car. The driver of the stolen truck fled the scene and there were no witnesses. Their bodies were taken to the central morgue.”

  “What about weapons?”

  “The pistols could have been police issue but their serial numbers had been removed. Their ammunition is standard police issue but that can be purchased from many sources including the black market. So we’ve hit a dead end.”

  “Okay, let’s grab some breakfast downstairs, then head out,” Andy said gathering the paperwork together, put it into his backpack and they left.

  ***

  With breakfast over they hailed a cab and headed for t
he central morgue located next to the main hospital. In the cab, Gamzova spoke first, “I found something else a little unusual from last night's incident.”

  “Go on.”

  “After the crash, we tried to contact the lawyer who represented the two suspects; he wasn’t answering his cell phone. Eventually we got through to someone at his office and they told us he’d left the country and would be in New York for several weeks. They wouldn’t tell us who had retained his services.”

  “Can’t you get a court order and raid their offices to go through their files? Within an hour you’d know who he was representing.”

  “Their clients include several senior members of the Kremlin: Government Ministers, Politicians and Senior Business Leaders. If we were to get a court order, and that would be a big ‘if’, by the time we got the order and kicked their doors in, I’d be out of work, possibly in jail or dead, and you’d be in handcuffs and on your way out of the country … if you were lucky. So, if we want to solve this case it’s not an option.”

  They continued the rest of the journey in silence as Andy mulled over what he’d learnt. Very clever, who else to trust your business with than the lawyers of the rich and famous, knowing that it would be unlikely for an investigation to be given powers to search their files. The cab made its way through the heavy morning traffic to the morgue.

  The morgue was a grey anonymous building which oozed an air of peace and serenity within the busy, bustling city. They climbed out of the cab, paid in cash and approached the solid wooden door which served as its main entrance. Andy saw an intercom button to the right of the door and pressed it before stepping away as Gamzova leaned close to the intercom and spoke briefly. The lock gave a gentle click for the two of them to enter.