by Graham Potts
“We’re not sure,” the deputy director said. “Titan Energy won the rights to drill but their operations aren’t fully developed. We can’t produce enough oil to satisfy China’s needs yet.”
“So they’re going to agree to Russia’s proposal?”
“It depends on Beijing’s strategic oil stocks. If China doesn’t have enough oil to tide them over until we are up and running, they may not have a choice.”
“If they reject the Kremlin’s offer, the Organizatsiya will lose billions,” Singh noted.
“The prime minister believes the Organizatsiya will act to prevent that loss,” the deputy director said. “He believes they will attempt to force us out of the market with great violence. I can’t convince him otherwise.”
“Well, tell him we’re safe until China makes a decision.”
“Why’s that?”
“The Organizatsiya won’t act before then,” Singh said. “If Beijing accepts Moscow’s offer, then the Organizatsiya’s income is secure, and any action against us would be unnecessary.” He shrugged. “Why start a war when you don’t need to fire a shot to win?”
The deputy director stretched his lips into a smile. “Good point.” He rose from his chair and started pacing the office. “Still, I’m inclined to stand by my original assessment.” He traced out a large circle on his rug as he walked, his hands joined behind his back. “A pack of goldtoothed goons are hardly a threat to our security.”
“I think they could surprise you if this deal goes the wrong way.”
“For the prime minister’s sake, I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt,” he conceded. “I even ordered uniformed police to obtain information from persons of interest within the Russian immigrant community.”
Singh rolled his eyes. “They’d be tight-lipped and they’re too remote and low-level to know anything of significance.”
“Yes, but it’s worth a try.” He turned around, retracing his steps. “Personally, I believe that Volkov is the key. He’s intimately involved with the leadership of the Organizatsiya but he isn’t bound by the same rules. His loyalty is bought. He gets paid well, which implies that his leadership worries about losing him.”
Singh stroked his chin. “Do you want Volkov caught or killed?”
“I want to know what he was doing in Australia.” He paused midstride. “Discreetly, Lee.”
“You said that already.” Singh crossed his legs, resting his foot on top of his knee. “Volkov’s appearance probably isn’t related to our oil trade.”
“Tell me why.”
“Volkov chose a strange target if his goal was to scare us.”
“Discuss that with Agent Hartigan,” the deputy director said. “See what she thinks. It might sound ridiculous, but she’s the only person in government who knows anything about the Organizatsiya and their interests, so use her.”
“I don’t want her in the field.”
“She’s had the same training as the field agents. She’s ready.”
“She lacks experience.”
“But is proficient at hand-to-hand combat—”
“In a controlled environment.”
“—and outscored you in marksmanship.”
Singh’s jaw twitched.
The deputy director grunted with satisfaction. “You of all people know that—”
“She might freeze up,” Singh said. “Training doesn’t always help, and based on her academic history, I reckon she’ll hesitate before pulling the trigger.”
The deputy director eyed Singh. “You read her paper?”
Singh nodded, using his cuff to rub a mark off his shoe. “A couple of years ago. I had to get her to remind me what it was about.” He paused, looking up at his supervisor. “Did you?”
The deputy director dismissed the question with a languid wave.
“She’s too green for this,” said Singh.
“She’s all we have,” the deputy director argued, sweeping his arm across the window. “Every other academic and analyst in this country dropped the ball on Russia. She picked it up and ran with it.”
Singh muttered a curse, tugging at the hem of his trousers. “Look, bottom line: Volkov killed a scumbag in a small pub. This has nothing to do with oil.”
“There was another hit last night.”
Singh uncrossed his legs and put both feet on the floor. “Volkov?”
“It looks like he caught a flight to Jakarta as soon as he was finished with Andrei Sorokin.” He brushed his sleeve with his hand. “There were no scheduled passenger flights between Sydney and Jakarta, so he probably chartered a private jet.”
“That’s not very inconspicuous.”
“That crossed my mind.”
“Who was the target?”
“Dr Marco Belo, a Timorese politician. Dr Belo was lobbying for a redrawing of the maritime border between East Timor and Australia,” the deputy director explained. “Titan Energy has gas wells in the area.”
“That doesn’t look good, does it?”
“Which fuels the prime minister’s anxiety,” the deputy director said. “Everyone knows it’s in our interest to stop a redrawing of the border. A UN ruling would force Titan to surrender Australian gas wells to the Timorese.”
“So you had the man killed?”
“No, Lee,” the deputy director replied impatiently. “Jesus Christ.”
“Everyone will believe we had something to do with it.”
The deputy director held up his finger. “It’s just a coincidence and nothing more.”
“Intelligence analysts don’t believe in flukes.” Singh hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled. “Nobody expected the government to advertise that area of ocean as open for tender.” He sat up straight. “And Titan Energy was a small company with the capital to match. They shouldn’t have won the tender for exploration, let alone a licence for production. There are lots of bigger companies in a better financial position to exploit the reserves.”
“The National Audit Office investigated the tender process,” the deputy director countered. “They didn’t find anything.”
“That doesn’t mean there was nothing to find,” Singh observed. “And the calls for a Royal Commission died pretty quickly too.” He smirked. “My bet is that Titan’s CEO has something that greased the wheels. It wouldn’t surprise me if he put a hit on this Timorese guy.”
The deputy director held up his hands. “Or,” he said impatiently, “it could be the Organizatsiya’s attempt to make Titan look dirty.”
Singh nodded slowly and stood up, joining the deputy director at the window. The sky was grey, smothering every flicker of sunlight, and the earth was dark. The traffic was silently winding its way through the streets, a stream of white and red circles drifting through the city’s roundabouts. “Look, even with the hit in Timor, this doesn’t look like a prelude to an attack.”
“I’m with you, Lee.” The deputy director turned to his agent. “So let’s prove it to the prime minister.”
“I didn’t say there wouldn’t be an attack,” Singh said. “I just said that Volkov’s appearance is likely to be unrelated.”
“Just make it all go away before noon Friday.”
Singh checked his watch. “Seventy-five hours.”
“Seventy-four hours and forty-two minutes, Lee. Don’t forget it.”
Singh shoved his hands into his pockets and jingled his keys.
“Hopefully, the young constable will be enough to lure Volkov out of hiding,” the deputy director said.
“Lure?”
“You heard me, Lee,” the deputy director said. “I won’t be more explicit than that.”
“I see.”
“Volkov’s words will convince the prime minister that we are safe to sell oil. I can’t tell you how important it is that we capture this man.”
“Making omelettes. Understood,” Singh said, nodding. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” the deputy director said. “I n
eed Hartigan to prepare a brief.”
“Who is she briefing?” Singh asked.
“She’ll be delivering it at Military Headquarters tomorrow,” he said, leaning against the windowsill. “Everyone is going to be there. Get her to pitch the information accordingly.”
“You don’t want me to fill her in, do you?”
The deputy director sucked in his lips and squinted.
“Good move,” Singh said, turning to leave. “I don’t think she’d like hearing this stuff, anyway.”
“Speaking of which—” the deputy director began. Singh stopped.
“—I need you to remember who the good guys are, Lee.”
“Do you want to put that in writing?” he asked, turning his head.
“Your theories about Titan Energy and their business practices do not follow you out of this office. They are on our side and the Russians are working against us.”
“This isn’t my first day.” Singh grinned. “I just wanted you to know that I know.”
“Cut it out, Lee,” the deputy director warned. “Ensure that Titan isn’t the subject of this investigation or your career is over.”
MOSCOW, RUSSIA TUESDAY 13 SEPTEMBER 7:36 AM MSK
Grigoriy took a deep breath when Korolev’s office door slammed behind him. He walked quickly through the VIP room and out into the thrumming chaos of the club, suddenly feeling nauseous. The club was a dark forest of writhing bodies that flashed beneath blinding strobe lights and swayed to pounding music. Grigoriy threaded his way between towering men and giggling girls, assaulted by the stench of alcohol, tobacco smoke, and sweat. He thought he was heading to the exit but found himself standing at the bar.
“What will you have, Grigoriy?” the barman asked.
Grigoriy patted his unsettled stomach. “A glass of milk.”
“What?” the barman shouted, cupping his hand to his ear.
“A glass of milk!” Grigoriy yelled.
The barman grinned and set about finding a carton of milk.
Grigoriy felt an arm wrap around his waist and his head snapped around to see who was behind him. “Anna?” The nineteen-year-old girl was wearing a schoolgirl’s uniform with stockings and suspenders. Her skirt was short and her blouse was knotted over her breasts. She plucked a lollipop from her mouth and stood on the tips of her toes, putting her lips against his ear. One of her plaited pigtails tickled his nose.
“What are you doing here so early in the morning, Grigoriy?” Anna asked. “I thought you liked to sleep in.”
“I had a meeting,” he replied, nodding towards Korolev’s office.
The barman interrupted them, setting a glass of milk on the countertop. He held up his hands in surrender. “No charge,” he said.
Grigoriy mumbled his thanks and turned back to Anna. Her blue eyes were sparkling.
“Milk?” she asked.
“I have a stomach ache,” he said.
Anna grabbed his glass with one hand and his arm with the other. She weaved through the crowd, dragging him along behind her until they reached a dark corner of the club. Anna parted a set of velvet curtains and led Grigoriy into one of the private rooms.
“Wait, Anna,” he protested, but she pulled him through the doorway.
Even inside, the walls shuddered as the thunderous music played. The room was gloomy, the window shuttered. A plush sofa stretched along one wall, facing the queen-sized bed. The sheets had already been tousled and the throw cushions discarded on the floor along with empty glasses, bottles, and cigarette butts. A camera had been set up in the corner, along with lights and sound equipment. They were known to make movies here, Grigoriy remembered. Mostly for the internet, though some boyeviks liked to keep private collections.
“Sit down,” Anna said, pointing to the sofa.
“I can’t be in here, Anna. You’re Stepan Volkov’s girl.”
“I know that, Grigoriy,” she said, returning his glass of milk.
“That comes with certain obligations.” He slurped from his glass.
“And freedoms, too,” she said, untying her hair and kicking off her shoes. “I come here and perform on stage and make hundreds of dollars in tips. Nobody touches me, nobody says anything offensive to me, and nobody demands sexual favours. Even Dmitri and the other smugglers behave around me most of the time.” She pushed him on to the sofa.
“Someone would have seen us,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “Volkov will find out.”
“I’d rather they gossip about Volkov’s girl giving Grigoriy a private show than see us talking.”
“We’ve talked before.”
“Not about this.”
Anna took off her shirt and Grigoriy felt his face go red. He stared down at his glass of milk. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Taking my clothes off.”
“Why?”
“In case somebody walks in.” She took off her skirt. “Are you keeping up?”
“I don’t think I am,” he said, blinking. “I can see spots in front of my eyes.”
“Nobody’s going to tell Volkov I gave you a lap dance. They wouldn’t dare.” Anna slid her thumbs under the elastic of her underwear.
“Stop!” Grigoriy cried. “I think that’s enough.”
“You’ve seen women wear less than this, Grigoriy.”
But not you, he thought. “Please. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Play along, okay.” She straddled him. “Relax. We’re just going to talk.”
He looked down at his lap. “Can you at least cover up a little?”
She smiled and folded an arm across her chest. “What was your meeting about?”
“You first,” he said.
She stole his glass and took a sip. “Nikolay wanted to know where Stepan was, didn’t he?”
“How did you know?”
“I heard about it last night,” she said. “I heard a lot of things last night, and I’m starting to get worried.”
“What things?”
“You should see them, Grigoriy,” she said. “You should see them like I see them. They’re keeping a tally of the dead from the bombings in Moscow. They cheer whenever news of an attack comes on the television.”
“Well, they’re not very nice people.”
“And Maxim is keeping a map of the bombs on his tablet,” she whispered.
“You saw it?”
“I heard about it.”
He slumped back into the sofa and scratched his head.
“They’ve also been talking about bears in Australia.”
“Bears?” He frowned. “There are no bears in Australia.” He raised a finger. “Unless they mean koalas, although they’re not really bears.”
Anna sighed heavily. “I don’t think they were talking about wildlife, Grigoriy.” She returned his glass of milk. “Does it mean anything to you?”
He shrugged. “I’ll tell the boss. He might make more sense of it.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re worried Nikolay doesn’t want Volkov to know about this stuff. That’s why you dragged me in here.”
I’m glad you finally caught up.”
“Take care of yourself,” he said. “You’re taking a big risk.”
She ran her hand through his long curly hair. “I’ll be fine, Grigoriy.” She sat back. “Where is Stepan?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
She started caressing his hair. “Please?”
“Anna,” he groaned.
“I’ll take off the last of my clothes,” she warned.
Grigoriy looked away. “I don’t like it when you manipulate me.”
“I’m only trying to help,” she said innocently. “It’s good to have people to talk to, to confide in.”
“Stepan’s on his way home.” Grigoriy stared at his glass of milk before handing it to Anna. “He walked away in the middle of a job.”
“What?” Anna asked in horror.
“His diversion made the news. That’s why Nikolay was angry and wanted to know whe
re he was.”
“Why would he leave a job?”
“There was a contract out on Natalie Robinson, a girl he knows in Australia. I found out about it through some friends over there. Volkov was in Jakarta preparing for a job when I told him and he went to Australia to protect her.”
“Who’s Natalie? Why is she so special?”
“She’s your predecessor.”
Anna nodded slowly, smiling sadly. She took a sip of milk and placed the glass on the floor in front of the sofa.
“Are you okay?” Grigoriy asked.
“Da.” She paused. “I guess I was just entertaining a fantasy about being the only one.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Um.” He cupped her cheek in his hand.
“What?”
Grigoriy ran his thumb along her top lip. “You have a milk moustache.” He lowered his hand. “It’s gone now.”
Anna blushed and smiled. “Did he save Natalie?”
“Yes. He killed the man sent to kill her.”
“And he defaulted on the other contract?”
“No. He has already completed the contract in Jakarta.”
“But that’s not the point, is it?”
Grigoriy shook his head. “Nikolay is angry that Volkov abandoned the job for ‘a personal dalliance’.”
“You didn’t tell Nikolay any of this, did you?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Grigoriy!” she cried, climbing off his lap.
“Volkov told me to protect myself.”
“You can’t betray him like that.”
“I had to, or I would be dead.”
Anna grabbed her clothes and started to get dressed. “That’s the risk you take,” she seethed.
“Why are you angry about this?” he asked, standing up.
She stopped dressing. “You have to be loyal to him, Grigoriy. You have to be brave. He will keep you safe. He will look after you. Nikolay will not shed a tear for you.” She threw her hands in the air in exasperation.
“We don’t get to choose sides, Anna. We don’t have any choices at all.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I wish I was.”
Anna finished dressing and placed her hands on her hips. “I have to get back to work,” she said, glaring at Grigoriy.
He nodded and looked at his feet. He’d kicked over his glass of milk and it was soaking into the carpet. He raised his head in time to see the curtains close.