by Peter Kozmar
The Maître d’ stopped in his tracks, his expression momentarily changed, but like a true professional, switched back to being a gregarious host. “Of course, may I take your coats?” he asked. Without answering, they started to remove their winter coats.
The Maître d’ clicked his fingers impatiently at a waiter who had been standing idly to one side. He approached and assisted Andy while the Maître d’ carefully helped Gamzova remove her coat. The waiter took both coats away. “Your table is ready. Please, follow me.” He turned on his heel and they followed him deeper into the restaurant where he directed them to a discreet alcove set to one side.
With no other diners seated near their table, they were assured of their privacy. The Maître d’ pulled one of the high-backed chairs away from the table. “Madame.” As Gamzova sat, he gently slid the chair forward, helping her sit. Andy sat opposite Gamzova without being offered any assistance. “I’ll return shortly with the menu and wine list.”
They didn’t have to wait long before he returned, handing a menu to Gamzova and a second menu and the wine list to Andy. “May I recommend the Kuril Islands scallops served with vegetables and orange sauce? The scallops are fresh from this morning’s catch.”
“Thank you, we’ll let you know what we decide,” Andy responded. The Maître d’ hovered for a few seconds and, realising they weren’t going to make a quick decision, left them to their deliberations. “What will you have?”
“I’d like the pumpkin soup followed by the scallops. What about you?”
“I’ve not had good borscht in years, but I will also join you with the scallops. Will you have wine with your meal?” Andy held up the wine menu.
“No. I’ll stay with water, I need a clear head and I’m not drinking alone,” Gamzova replied as she signalled to the Maître d’ that they were ready to order. He appeared at their table, took their orders, complimented them on their excellent choices and removed the menus before leaving them alone.
“Is there good borscht in Washington?” Gamzova asked.
“We have a few Russian restaurants, but they cater more for American tastes, so I don’t find it authentic or as tasty as you get in Russia. It’s not the same.”
They didn’t have to wait long for the soup and borscht to be served along with thick slices of black bread. Gamzova reached for her spoon and Andy followed her lead as she eagerly tucked into her soup, he made a start on his borscht. It tasted good and he used the last of his bread, which he’d smeared in butter, to mop up the thick red sauce; it didn’t take long for him to empty the bowl.
“That was good,” Andy looked across at Gamzova, as she finished her soup, “how was yours?”
“Very good.”
“Why did you tell the Maître d’ you were FSB?” Andy asked.
“I could see he wanted to hug me, possibly grope me. It would have been a clear power statement from him that he owned me. I didn’t see him try and hug you. Did you?” Andy didn’t answer the rhetorical question. “By telling him that I’m FSB, he knows that I could break his balls and have him thrown in jail for just looking at my breasts!” The waiter arrived and removed their empty bowls. A few minutes later he returned with the scallops.
“What brought you into the FSB and the President’s personal security detail, Gamzova? It’s an important role.”
“My father served in the army, GRU. He was a Captain in the Spetsnaz serving in Afghanistan where he was killed in action. He led missions to counter attack the Mujahedeen when our soldiers came under attack. He commanded an airborne quick reaction force which got him into the thick of the action. On his last mission, an American Stinger missile brought down his helicopter, the missile had been supplied to the Mujahedeen by your CIA. It killed everyone on board.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Andy had mixed feelings as he had never spent time with anyone who had been directly impacted by the Agency’s missions. Gamzova had suffered, and her life permanently altered, because of the actions his department had successfully undertaken in the region. Too many young men and women, on all sides, had fought and died for the causes they believed in. Andy started eating his scallops while Gamzova continued.
“My father received a decoration for his bravery. I was very young when we received his medals at the Kremlin. The officials said I would have access to generous educational scholarships and any application for Government service would be given full consideration over all others. At the time it felt like they were just warm platitudes to give reassurance that his death had not been in vain and something good would come of it.
“I found out that they were true to their words when I went to University. My tuition fees were paid and I received a substantial grant each year, which more than covered my accommodation and living expenses. I’m sure someone from the Government had spoken with the University as my grades were high, even when I didn’t think I’d done particularly well in an assignment. The other girls on my course believed I received preferential treatment as they faced daily harassment and unwanted attention, which was normal for women at the University. They thought it odd that no lecturers tried to get into my pants.
“I played a lot of sport and enjoyed adventurous activities like scuba diving, free fall parachuting and hunting in the wilderness with a rifle. In my final year, I applied for a role in the FSB and, after a rigorous selection process over several months, I was accepted. When I completed my basic training, I was honoured that the Presidential Protection Team requested me. Before I could start, I received advanced training to ensure I fully understood the role and how to deal with the threats I might face on a daily basis.”
“Do you enjoy it?” Andy asked.
“I have an amazing job. No two days are the same. I have an opportunity to travel and we don’t all undertake protection duties, we also…” Gamzova stopped mid-sentence, as if she realized she might say too much, “I think we should both eat before our food is cold.” They continued eating in silence. Andy was disappointed that Gamzova had stopped talking, but respected her boundaries. I may not be CIA but I was and I am working for them. By the end of their main course Andy was pleased he’d taken the Maître d’s recommendation as the scallops were delicious and, judging by Gamzova’s empty plate, she agreed.
To break the silence, Andy asked, “What about your mom?”
“My mother is a retired teacher. Her pension together with the widow’s pension from the army was not enough for her to live on, so, she sold her apartment and lives with me. I spend a lot of time at work or travelling which gives her the space she deserves in her retirement. I can also keep an eye on her and I eat well when I’m in Moscow. My apartment is always spotless.”
The Maître d’ appeared at their table. “I trust everything is to your satisfaction?” he asked.
“Perfect,” Andy replied. Gamzova nodded in agreement.
“May I share with you our dessert menu?” Andy looked at Gamzova.
“Could we have coffee?” Gamzova asked, “Dessert will be too much for me at this hour.”
“Of course, madam. What may I get you?”
“I’ll have a Long Black with a double shot.”
“Same for me,” replied Andy. The Maître d’ removed their plates and additional cutlery before leaving to arrange their coffee. Andy noticed the restaurant had thinned out. Only a few tables were occupied. “We’re going to have a busy few days ahead of us. Tomorrow we should look at the site where they found Bruce Chester’s body, speak with the local police and read their reports. Maybe even have an off the record discussion to find out what they think really happened.”
“I agree it’s a good start. I’ll speak with the local FSB office and find out what they know about the Mafia in Saint Petersburg as I’m sure they’ll have information which will help us.”
“Did you find out where Vladim Martirossian’s calls were answered when he called the burner phone?” Andy asked.
“The cell phone signal connected to the base station
at the Hotel Russia. Each time his calls were answered within five hundred meters of the hotel.”
“So, maybe there is a link at the hotel we need to check out too,” Andy moved on, “what did you think about Chousov and our time on the Babushka?”
“I think Chousov, his son and Hampton are involved in some way. Our belongings were searched, I’m pretty sure our rooms and the jet-skis were bugged. Finally, I found it odd that when someone wanted to help, they got removed from the yacht, so they couldn’t speak with us.” The waiter returned and carefully placed their hot coffees in front of them.
“Milk, sugar?” he asked Gamzova.
“No milk, but I’ll have four sugars,” she replied. The waiter spooned four heaped teaspoons of sugar into her coffee then turned to Andy.
“For you, sir?”
“Nothing for me, thank you.” The waiter nodded, turned and left.
Gamzova picked up the teaspoon and stirred her coffee to dissolve the sugar in the delicate white china cup. “If we do find Martirossian, we will have to bring in the authorities to rescue him ... I don’t think we should tackle this on our own, we saw from the jet incident that they have experts out there, and probably won’t be too bothered about taking us out if we try to go in without support.”
Andy felt torn, it had been years since he’d been in the field, and although older, slower and a little rusty, he still itched to see action close-up. He couldn’t help feeling annoyed at Gamzova for closing down the options. He knew what she was saying made good sense, but even so, he just wanted a chance to prove to himself and others, that he was still up to the task; having that small amount of hope taken away, without being given the choice, wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Gamzova was oblivious to the impact of her words and an uneasy silence descended on them as they sipped their coffees.
With their drinks finished, Andy asked for the check and included a generous tip, paid with his credit card and asked for a receipt. As they made their way to the door, the Maître d’ appeared with their overcoats, he helped Gamzova with hers and, next, Andy with his. With his overcoat on, Andy slipped the Maître d’ a twenty-dollar bill and thanked him for his excellent service and food.
“You didn’t kick up a fuss that time,” Andy commented as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
“He knows the score, so I knew he wouldn’t try anything.”
Andy glanced up at the clear night sky, the freezing air chilled him. “Let’s walk back. I could do with the leg stretch.” The warm air from his breath formed small clouds of vapour which rose and slowly dissipated into the night air.
“Okay.”
It had been a long day and the chill of the night helped to clear his head. The streets were quiet, most of the restaurants closed with only the late-night bars showing signs of activity. Mid-week was a tough one for most bars; trying to balance their income against the cost of employing someone to serve. A few weeks before and Andy would have made a beeline for the nearest one, now, he remained sober and clear-headed. He realized that, for the first time in many years, he felt he had purpose and self-worth. He didn’t need the booze to provide a warm blanket to wrap around himself so he could hide from the world.
After a few minutes Gamzova linked Andy’s arm and they walked arm in arm as though a loving couple out for a walk. Andy was taken aback by Gamzova’s move as he wasn’t expecting any physical contact from her. Blimey! What? Does she actually like me? The thought evaporated when she stopped dead in her tracks and wheeled Andy around to face a shop window full of women’s shoes. She pretended to be interested in the merchandise on display.
Then she, she leant in closer apparently pointing out a particular pair of expensive shoes and whispered: “We are being followed.”
CHAPTER 30
The cold air dropped another degree as Andy carried on the charade of admiring the shoes. “How many?” he asked.
“Two across the street and two behind, there are probably more nearby, hidden for now.”
With his trade craft rusty he hadn’t noticed any of this while buried deep in his own thoughts. He used the reflection in the glass to spot the two men across the street. The bulk in their jackets indicated they were armed. Andy embraced Gamzova, this time he took her by surprise as he turned her, so he could observe the street behind her. He made out the other two and, behind them, a dark van moving slowly with its lights out.
“Okay, so there’s a van with no lights following behind, what do you reckon?” he asked, looking towards her while still maintaining a view of the possible assailants.
“If they wanted us dead, we’d be lying on the sidewalk in a pool of blood by now, I think it’s a snatch operation. We’ll take the next left, where it’s quieter and we can retake the initiative.” Andy nodded his agreement and loosened his grip so that they were once again walking along arm-in-arm.
As planned they made an unexpected left turn at the next street corner. Andy observed the two men, who’d been across the street, move rapidly to a new position. He guessed their shadows from behind, would be running to the corner hoping that they hadn’t been outwitted and lost their quarry.
Gamzova picked up the pace and led Andy with another sharp left turn into a narrow, poorly lit alley between two apartment buildings, then she released Andy’s arm and sprinted. Gamzova moved quickly, far quicker than he expected. Andy struggled to keep up and soon fell back. Behind them he could hear the rapid footsteps of the two closest pursuers as they too had entered the alley. The narrow alley amplified every sound as the pursuers shouted to their colleagues to catch up. Within seconds of hearing the first two pursuers behind them, they came across an intersecting alley where Gamzova took a sharp right. Andy’s heart pounded rapidly in his chest. His breathing was heavy and his hands trembled as he turned the corner and immediately panicked when he thought he was on his own.
However, after a few steps he saw Gamzova behind a garbage dumpster using the shadows to hide from their pursuers. Andy followed her lead and ducked into the darkness, hoping he’d be able to control his breathing enough so that he didn’t give up his hiding place; that would be difficult as his unhealthy lifestyle had finally caught up with him. I need to start going to the gym!
He watched Gamzova search frantically for anything she could use as a weapon. Her efforts were rewarded when her sweeping hand touched an iron bar lying in the gutter. She picked it up with both hands. In the poor light he gauged its size to be just over a meter in length. The approaching footsteps grew louder. Andy knew that – because of him – the pursuers would have seen the right turn and would follow. He watched Gamzova focus on the narrow alley and the approaching pursuers. I hope we still have the element of surprise!
The light glinting off the semi-automatic pistol held in a two-handed grip gave Andy his first glimpse of the pursuers. The first one wore dark clothing which made him difficult to see in the poorly lit alley. He kept to the far side of the alley and moved cautiously towards them. Andy could hear the heavy footsteps of the second pursuer slowing as he approached the intersection. Then, as the first turned for a split second to check on his back-up, Gamzova exploited his momentary distraction by throwing a glass bottle high into the air and down the alley. He was almost onto them, about to focus on the dumpster where they were hiding, when the sound of breaking glass further down the alley caused him to pivot and run towards the unexpected sound.
Gamzova sprang to her feet and rushed at her target. By the time he’d registered Gamzova’s presence, the iron bar smashed into his wrists making him drop his pistol and cry out loudly (Andy swore he heard the crack of bone as the bar made contact). Gamzova wasn’t finished and continued her attack striking him in the chest. Andy could see it wasn’t a clean hit as the pursuers’ upper arms absorbed most of the blow. Then to the left, the second pursuer appeared.
The second pursuer saw the fight and reached inside his jacket for his pistol. Andy didn’t have time to think and lunged out from his darkness delivering a fist ha
rd into the man’s face. The sickening sound of bone breaking and the howl from the pursuer confirmed he’d made a good contact. Andy followed through with a strong left hook to the side of the man’s face and found his contact was good as he hit home. He felt a rush as the adrenalin heightened his senses and, for those few seconds, time appeared to slow down.
He looked across to see Gamzova strike the first pursuer in the face with the iron bar sending him spinning backwards into the wall. Satisfied that she was holding her own with her assailant, Andy returned to his own fight. He pulled his right fist back to his waist, twisted his hips to the right and suddenly snapped his hips to the left while at the same instant pushing his fist forwards using the strength in his shoulders to provide maximum leverage to create a boxer’s knockout punch. Andy’s fist made another firm contact with the second pursuer’s chin. The man’s head snapped back, his body fell backwards, his feet momentarily left the ground. Gravity took over and the pursuer’s head struck the stone floor with a sickening thud before his body or legs. You aren’t getting up from that!
Andy turned and saw Gamzova with a pistol in her hands. Her pursuer was now splayed out, face down on the floor, blood oozing from his head starting to pool in the gutter. Gamzova ran past him and lay on the floor next to the intersection before rolling over into a prone firing position covering the approaching figures. After what appeared to be a heartbeat, Gamzova fired eight rounds in rapid succession. Each muzzle flash from the gunshots momentarily lit up the alley like flashes of lightning. Andy found the sound of the gunshots deafening and, with the firing so rapid, Gamzova could have been firing the pistol on automatic. Andy turned away from Gamzova and reached into the jacket of his unconscious assailant removing his pistol and spare magazines. Don’t think you’ll be needing these. Andy pocketed the magazines and held the pistol. Back on her feet, Gamzova stood next to him.