by Tim Heath
By the afternoon, Alex was ready to come out of the hospital, his leg heavily bandaged and movement a little slow. Sasha collected him and brought him back to the hotel where they were staying. Alex’s room was next door to Anissa’s. The three agents sat around on chairs in Alex’s room, drinking tea and bringing Alex up to speed on everything that had happened in his absence.
“I’ve also received the information on the man seen escaping from the metro incident. His name is Arnold Lucas, aged forty-one––British. Arrived in St Petersburg two days before New Year. He was last seen emerging out of the metro station Prospekt Veteranov on January 1st. There have been no further sightings since.” Sasha dropped a photo down onto the carpet between them all, a better grade print of an image taken from the street level of Arnold as he’d left the station. “As before, I’ve listed his name with multiple agencies. We have a genuine reason to want this man,” and Sasha then played a video he had seen posted on YouTube. It was of a crowded platform, showing Arnold making a bee-line for Stafford and giving him a noticeable shove before he moved on, no hint of even a look back to see what he’d done. It was no accident.
What they didn’t know––it didn’t matter, nor did it occur to them at the time––was that the video had come from the live footage captured by the team of Trackers who had been filming the whole time. It was the defeated oligarch’s way of having one final attempt at sabotaging the efforts of his opponent standing proudly in the Games Room. With his own man lying dead in some hospital morgue somewhere, it was all he could do to limit his potential losses.
“That’s fantastic information, Sasha. Was anything said of the Plaza incident when you were back at HQ?” Alex was referring to what Sasha had said about his encounter with the manager at the hotel. It had worried the MI6 agent greatly. Sasha was too good a connection––too good a person and friend––for them to lose him now.
“Nothing, as far as I can tell. I do think we have to tread very carefully from now on, though.”
Anissa had been taking copious notes the entire trip.
“So what we have,” she started, opening up a sheet of paper in front of them on the small table she had commandeered, moving Alex’s things to one side in the process, “are five targets, with two people selected per target. We know there were two at the metro, as well as at the Hermitage and we’ve come across one each for St Isaac's and at the Fortress. We have to assume that these two locations, as well as the bridge, each had two people aiming for them. That gives us ten people in total. One is dead, and another is in custody. We have photos of three others, and we all got a brief glimpse of at least one female fleeing the Fortress. As far as we can tell, everyone is still in the city, or all within Russia, anyway.”
“We can only be sure about the three names I’ve got a watch out for. These others, I have no idea,” Sasha said.
“Yes, true. We know one person––Ambra––is most probably staying at the Plaza, but we don’t have that much to pin on her. So she was at the Hermitage. So what? There is no crime in that. From what you’ve told us about what was said during our encounter with the hotel manager––and I was there, I didn’t need to understand Russian to know it didn’t look good––I would suggest we leave that one, for now.
“We do have a case against Arnold Lucas. I believe you can also go after Walther, too. He might not have got to where he was aiming, but he could be a source of information. Again, there was an actual crime being committed to warrant your involvement. The last thing either of us wants to do, Sasha, is to risk your position––to blow your cover––within the FSB.”
“Blow my cover?”
“You know what I mean, the fact you’ve been helping us, working together with us for all this time. We, therefore, target the solid criminal cases only. There is also the Fortress. One man murdered, and shots fired. So we have three key suspects, one of whom is already in custody, another whom we have the details for so it’s simply a matter of time before we have him, which leaves one still on the run, her whereabouts unknown. These are the three people we need to focus everything on if we’re going to break this whole thing open.”
“She’s right, I agree. From what you’ve both just told me, what happened at the hotel this morning could have pushed things too far. We must use these actual crimes as the reason to pursue these people, and let the rest sort itself out.”
Sasha could see their logic, and that he was outnumbered.
“Very well, I see what you’re saying.” It was also clear that both the British agents were looking out for him, the concern voiced for the first time about his wellbeing. That meant a lot to someone who grew up never knowing his parents, never having that encouragement and support around him. Both Alex and Anissa were becoming like family to him, but in a very different way from the kids whom he had lived and grown up with at the orphanage.
They finished their tea, Sasha saying he was going to head back to the Fortress to take another look around, Anissa deciding to leave with him and Alex left behind to get some rest.
Twenty minutes later Sasha was pulling his car up alongside the Fortress, parking up on the main road, and both agents walked across the bridge that led them to the main island. The entire area had been left closed that day, following the events of the night before. Shell casings had been found on the top of the wall from where the shooter had pinned them down and shot Alex in the process. A speedboat used as the means of escape. The small jetty used for various touring boats that brought people to the Fortress had apparently been used to moor the getaway boat. There were no cameras on that side.
In the Armoury the body had been taken away the day before, but a chalk outline marked where the janitor had been found. Nothing else had been touched, the room, like the rest of the island, on lockdown.
Sasha noticed a wall-mounted camera on the side of the restaurant and went in search of who might have the footage from the camera. Anissa left him to it and started to look around the Armoury, using a torch where necessary.
Sasha reappeared in the doorway a few minutes later, calling for her. He’d obtained footage from the camera watching the Armoury. Inside the small room where the relay had been set up, the two agents stood watching the screen, left alone to process whatever the camera might have caught. There was no sound. It showed the janitor walking towards the door with a woman beside him, then nothing much happened on the screen for a few seconds until a woman ran through. Anissa knew that was the moment she had alerted Alex.
Both male agents could then be seen outside the door, before jumping suddenly to the right, heading into the shadows and off-screen once more. That was the moment of gunfire. The Armoury door then opened, and the same woman they’d seen just approaching was now running away. Then nothing.
During the actual incident, Anissa had got up at that point and given chase. Sasha reminded Anissa how the shooting had continued again for some time before a speedboat was heard departing. Sasha could then be seen once again on the screen back at the door, going straight inside.
The same thought occurred to them at that moment: where did the original woman go?
“I had assumed she also fled through the door while we were under fire.”
“Could she have still been inside?”
“I searched the place. Besides the body, there was no one inside. I then locked the door. The keys had still been on the inside of the door.” Accurate enough, Sasha was then seen on the video feed coming back out of the Armoury, keys in hand and closing then locking the door, before moving back to the righthand side. A few seconds later he could be seen at the bottom of the screen, only briefly, helping a hobbling Alex move away from the area.
“There must be another way out, something we missed.”
Both agents stopped watching the footage, thanking the man as they exited, and walked back across to the Armoury. It took them five minutes to discover the hidden vault, which had been next to where the body had fallen, drops of blood visible within the va
ult itself as they had lifted the trap-door, confirming it had in fact been open while the victim was bleeding out. Neither agent tried to make it out through the small space, though it was clear it would have been possible. The woman had fled that way, they were confident. Was she the other Contestant or an unlucky prostitute?
Now they were both standing outside the Fortress wall. Having worked their way around the outside, they realised no cameras showed that part of the wall. Traces of brick and cement lay on the area below the opening, confirming that someone had recently and successfully squeezed out through that tiny space.
Aside from the video image of the janitor and a female first entering the Armoury––the woman with dark waist length hair––they had nothing else to go on.
Calling Alex, who was already bored with watching television in his room, she asked him what he remembered of the woman he’d seen lying on the table being screwed by the victim.
“Light was insufficient,” he said, recalling as best he could something he’d only had a few seconds to take in. “She had long dark hair, maybe even black. It was long enough to completely cover the table behind her, spreading out in a fan shape around her head.”
“Would you recognise her again if you saw her?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Then that’s probably as good as we’ll get.”
Sasha took the copy of the CCTV footage they’d watched, and they both left the Armoury.
“We’ll be back with you shortly,” Anissa said, ending the call. Finally, it seemed they had something a little more robust to go on.
20
As day four of the latest event of the Games came around, most Contestants only had two, or for some, three days left to claim their ticket, to cash in their prize. Now was the time to make their move.
Walther remained in custody––it wasn’t clear yet what the charges were, and his Host was doing everything he could to get the German released.
Benita had not missed a trick, purchasing air tickets that would land her in Lisbon, Portugal, in about twenty-four hours, after two stopovers on the way. She was due to fly from Pulkovo 2 later that day. In two days’ time, therefore, she could be on her way home to neighbouring Spain €28 million better off. It seemed plain sailing for her now, she just needed to make her connections on time––she wouldn’t be late for these flights––and then work out the final steps she needed to take when she landed in Portugal. She’d already created a backstory, learning it by heart, in case she was asked why she’d been in Portugal in the first place when the ticket was purchased.
For the other Contestants, the going wasn’t anywhere near as straightforward. Watching at one hotel like a hawk, Shane had spotted his target––Talbot Riley, who was still in possession of a €35 million ticket claimable in Spain––when he came down for breakfast that morning. He was sitting a few tables back from him as he sat sipping his tea.
In the old days, if he’d needed to get rid of someone like Talbot, he would have planted a bomb, probably in the room below his, and detonated it by now. Done and dusted––there was no doubt it would have killed his target. This time, however, he wanted something from this man first––the paper ticket––and he had no idea if it would have survived an explosion. If Shane inadvertently destroyed the ticket in the process of killing the man, what advantage was that to him? So he’d needed to bide his time.
Nearly forty minutes later Talbot appeared from the lifts, breakfast long finished, bags packed, as Shane was beginning to wonder if the Englishman was set for yet another day in his room. It was apparent Talbot was checking out.
Shane had been handed information obtained on Talbot––another move that was not allowed within the Games, but Sokoloff didn’t care anymore. It was win, and win at all costs. Shane read about his target’s cage fighting exploits, a man who apparently took fighting to a new level. He even had youth on his side.
Shane accepted that hand-to-hand combat––the type of street fighting he’d done in Belfast during his youth––wouldn’t work to his advantage against someone like Talbot. He’d long since dismissed ambushing Talbot in the hotel lift as an option. It would have been the perfect cage for someone like Talbot to have fought his way out.
Shane followed the man out of the hotel, where the taxi Talbot had asked the hotel to call was already waiting. Shane cursed his luck, as the Englishman’s cab pulled out into traffic, though no sooner had that happened than a car swung into the kerb outside the hotel, the rear door opening, Shane instinctively climbing in. Sokoloff had arranged for his men to collect Shane.
A weapon was placed on the Irishman’s lap. While he favoured bombs––you could blow up pretty much anything and be nowhere near the scene when it happened––he wasn’t unfamiliar with guns, yet another reminder of the dark days of his youth. Shane checked the chamber, which was fully loaded with hollow point bullets. The taxi they were following was heading towards the airport––this was finally Talbot’s dash to flee Russia with his prized ticket.
Unknown to either man at that moment was the frantic and constant intervention of their Hosts. Sokoloff, a man with an inside track to the President due to his election financing role, had obtained two units from the recently formed National Guard of Russia and most commonly referred to as the Russian Guards. These units were currently making their way towards the mini-convoy, two trucks with twenty personnel in total ordered to apprehend the Englishman in the taxi fleeing the city. Against him, the T20’s newest entry at Eleven, Foma Polzin had anticipated such a move and had three elite units from the FSB moving faster to intercept.
The coming together of all three parties occurred at a large junction only four kilometres away from the airport.
The two trucks from the Russian Guards had blocked the road in front of the taxi, stopping some twenty metres in front of the yellow cab and men began pouring out from the back. Behind them, in the centre of the junction, the first of the trio of vehicles from the FSB unit then rammed the tailing car. Shane was thrown to one side as his car took the full impact, the car spinning a full circle before it wedged between the side of the road and a concrete post.
A heated argument quickly ensued between the two groups of security personnel––neither liked or trusted the other––and weapons raised. It was a tense stand-off.
Inside his taxi, Talbot hid down behind the front two seats. Both groups of armed men were shouting instructions to one another, back and forth, both speaking at the same time, neither side wanting to give an inch.
Shane could see the way the situation was going, and reaching into his bag, pulled out two of the grenades he had. Opening the door on the other side of the car––the one facing away from the FSB men––he crawled out, chucking both grenades back towards the three trucks that had rammed him. Seconds later an explosion shook the junction; screams were heard, and then the shooting started.
The car Shane was next to took a battering, the driver and passenger shot to pieces as automatic weapons raked the area. The Russian Guards then opened fire, something now resembling a battle between them, Russian shooting fellow Russian. At that point, each side could only assume that the other group were imposters. Instructions to each team had come from the very top.
With both sides carefully digging in, the FSB having lost one vehicle and two men to the grenades, the stand-off began. In the middle of it all, alive but trapped, Talbot lay on the floor of the taxi, wondering what in the world was happening around him.
Shane lay on the ground, beside the wreckage of the car he’d been in, nowhere else to move. His best chance would be for them to assume he was dead, and when the shooting started up again, as it was bound to do, he would make a run for it. He had over one hundred metres to clear before he would be out of sight. The odds didn’t look too good, right now.
Inside the Games Room, the war scene being played out in front of them was shocking. Even for men who’d seen as much as they had down the years, this was another level.<
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“Hosts, stand your men down!” Svetlana Volkov ordered, her voice unusually strained, her calm exterior showing signs of cracking as she glanced between Eleven and Twenty, knowing both men had organised what they’d all just witnessed.
“There is no way that the FSB will stand down now. They’ve taken heavy casualties, and it’s all the Irishman’s doing,” Polzin said, addressing Svetlana but not taking his gaze off Sokoloff for one moment.
“The Guards have jurisdiction here. I’m not letting that ticket get away!”
“Gentlemen, fellow Russians are going to die if you don’t call these men off this very instant!”
“So people are going to die. You brought this on. It’s your competition. What did you expect?”
Svetlana slapped Sokoloff hard around the face, his head moving away somewhat having seen the hit coming, but not soon enough. He then lashed out too, using the back of his hand to knock her to the ground. The other men immediately came close, crowding around him. Security personnel then streamed into the room, Svetlana helped to her feet by Polzin.
“Get that worthless son of a bitch out of my sight!” she screamed, her cool lost for once, a rarity for her. “You’re finished, Sokoloff, you hear that––finished!”
Polzin could only smile as the Russian was roughly manhandled out of the room, the oligarch’s security personnel nowhere to be seen. His downfall was complete. Sokoloff was finally out of the equation.
Sasha was driving when he was called, his team at FSB HQ notifying him of the military flashpoint that had just kicked off, the stand-off still ongoing, in the south of the city.
“An explosion and gunfire have been reported near the airport,” Sasha relayed to the two British agents with him in the car. “Hand grenades were thrown at an FSB unit, two fatalities. The siege is still going on at the moment.”