by Alex Shaw
“You don’t want to see what I’m going to do.”
“Who are you Aidan, I mean really?”
“A friend. Now go into the lounge.”
Snow removed his polo-shirt then manoeuvred Brovchenko so that the board was leaning against the bath like a see-saw. The board creaked slighty, it wouldn’t hold for long but was all he had available. He then gently lowered the end with the officers’ head into the bath before turning on the shower. The icy cold water splashed onto the Ukrainian’s face; his feet began to tap and his eyes shot open. As the water travelled into his mouth and up his nose he started to splutter and choke. Snow pushed down and the man’s head came clear of the water. He coughed and then fought for air. Water-Boarding was an extreme measure but Snow was in a hurry. He still however hoped that he would not have to take it too far. Snow started his questioning without wasting any more time. “Where is Brian Webb?”
“I don’t know…let me go.” Brovchenko spluttered.
Snow placed the wet facecloth over the man’s face and then let his head drop down again into the shower. This time the material clung to his face, making it more difficult for air to get into his nostrils and mouth. Brovchenko felt as though he was drowning. He pulled his arms and tried to kick with his feet as his panic increased. It was at this point that he emptied his bladder. Snow pulled him up again and removed the towel.
“Where is Brian Webb?”
“You can’t do this to me I’m a serving Militia officer! You’ll be thrown in jail!”
Snow slowly draped the facecloth once more on the young officer’s face as he did so the man started to talk – the words muffled. Snow removed the cloth. “Where is Webb?”
“I’ve got a Krisha! I’m protected by…” His words were cut short by the facecloth once more.
Snow held him under longer this time before snapping him up-right. He wasn’t sure how long the home-made device would last so he had to increase the risk. “Now tell me where is Webb?”
Gasping for air Brovchenko replied. “He’s at a house in Petropolavskaya Bolshaghivga.”
“Not a Militia station?”
“No.”
“Where exactly? What’s the address?”
“It’s in Meer street…26. Yes Meer 26. Now please let me go.”
‘Meer’ the Russian for ‘peace’. The fact that Brian was being held at a private house and not an official address confirmed to him without a doubt that this was all a rouse. “Who provides your Krisha?”
Officer Brovchenko became wide eyed as he realised the full cost of his error. “No I can’t!”
Snow slapped him in the face with his open palm, replaced the face cloth and dunked his face again. This time he held him for as long as he dared before tipping him back up. It took a whole thirty seconds for Brovchenko to recover enough to be able to speak. “Ruslan Imyets.” The name meant nothing to Snow and Brovchenko noticed this fact with shock. “Ruslan Imyets is a Verhovna Rada Deputy with the Party of Regions for Donbas.”
Snow nodded satisfied that he’d got all he needed. “Officer Brovchenko, were you responsible for the abduction of Brian Webb?”
Brovchenko saw a way out. “No. There were others involved.”
Snow nodded, the man had taken the bait. “Your group has made a serious error in kidnapping Mr Webb and attempting blackmail his wife. Now I understand that you perhaps are naïve enough to have been caught up in this, coerced into becoming part of this criminal group.”
“Yes that’s what happened.”
“So in that case I can offer you a deal.”
For the second time that evening Snow was asked “Who are you?”
“I am the person who if he wished could drown you here like a rat but I’m giving you the chance of a clean break.”
Obolon Rayon, Kyiv
An odd buzzing awoke the Ukrainian from a much needed sleep. He picked up his mobile and looked at the screen. The number was withheld. The average person may have ignored the call or let it go to voicemail but Vitaly Blazhevich was not an average person and his number was anything but public. The Ukrainian Intelligence Service (SBU) anti-corruption & organised crime operative pressed the accept button. “Allo?” His voice was thick from sleep and his mind still dulled but this instantly changed when he heard the English voice at the other end. “Aidan, where are you?”
“Left bank.”
“Kyiv’s left bank?”
“I’m not in Paris if that’s what you mean.”
Blazhevich sat up, looked at his clock and shook his head. It was just after Midnight, he’d been in bed for forty minutes. His wife groaned next to him and he wisely decided to leave the room to continue the call. The last time Blazhevich and Snow had ‘worked’ together they had prevented a terrorist attack. “Ok so I guess it’s important?”
“Important and personal.”
“Let me have it.” Blazhevich padded to the kitchen, poured a glass of water and then entered his own balcony. A new high-rise development in Kyiv’s Obolon district it too had a river view. He sat on a plastic chair as Snow re-counted the day’s events.
“Well?” Snow asked.
“Aidan you have an uncanny knack of walking into things. There is an on-going investigation into Deputy Imyets. If we can implicate him in this then I am sure even Dudka would be happy.”
“How is the old man?” Snow had a soft spot for the elderly SBU Director.
“Grumpy.”
Both men chuckled.
“So when can I expect you?”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.” Blazhevich replied.
Levo Berezina, Kyiv
Officers Brovchenko and Klyuyevs were both gagged. Brovchenko stank of his own urine whilst Klyuyevs stank of alcohol and fear. Snow had taken great pleasure in informing the senior officer that their operation was blown and that they were now the one’s in trouble. Neither of the Ukrainians knew quite what to expect but when Vitaly Blazhevich arrived it certainly was not the SBU. Both had watched in shock as the newcomer had identified himself to Webb’s wife as a member of the SBU’s Main Directorate for Combating Corruption and Organized Crime and then joked with the Englishman. They then felt their hearts sink even more when the Englishman produced a recording of their attempts at extortion. Although inadmissible, as all audio recordings were in Ukrainian courts, it could be leaked to the press and posted on the internet. In short unless they co-operated fully they either faced lengthy jail sentences or ran the risk of being ‘taken care of’ by their own group.
“I’ve checked the address you gave me. I thought it sounded familiar and as you would say it has ‘come up trumps’.”
“How?”
“It is the address of Ruslan Imyets’ new Kyiv ‘dacha’. If that is indeed where Mr Webb is being held then I can-not see how Deputy Imyets can deny his involvement.”
Katya had been sitting in silence and starring at the two Militia officers. She was one to hold a grudge and whilst Snow had been wondering if his interrogation technique had been too much she had told him it had been too little. Brovchenko had of course been the weaker of the two officers but that pig Klyuyevs had deserved to be drowned. She looked across at Blazhevich, a man who she had not met before but who seemed to be very friendly with Snow and asked. “When do we go and get Brian?”
“I shall have to ask my Director but there are two possible scenarios that come to mind. The first is that we get a warrant to search the address – but this will tip off Imyets the second is that we wait until Vickers has gone through his official channels. This is of course on the provision that Mr Webb is not released.”
“What about the third option?”
Blazhevich fixed Snow with a hard stare. “I know that it hasn’t stopped you before, but you are not here in an official capacity remember? We have an on-going investigation which we must not jeopardise.”
“So,” Katya asked again, “when do we go and get Brian.”
***
Snow sipped his coffee as Katya moved
around the kitchen making breakfast. In the night an SBU team had arrived to take the Laurel and Hardy into custody. Snow and Katya had been left alone. They had shared the same bed but she had not made any more advances towards him and he was glad that his resolve had not been tested further. She was a beautiful woman, doubtless a great mother and propositions aside a good wife. Inside he felt a pang of jealousy for the normal life that he couldn’t have.
“Are you starring at my bum?”
Snow was. “Yes but I was thinking about something else.”
“Charming. Here’s your omelette.”
“Thanks.” He waited for her to sit and then ate in silence before speaking again. “Look, I know what Vitaly said about his department’s investigation but the longer Brian is held the higher the risk is that he may get hurt.”
“I agree.”
“So I’m going to check out the house myself.”
“Aidan you are not Rambo and besides didn’t Vitaly say they had an observation post set up nearby?”
“Katya, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Vitaly is good at his job, his boss Director Dudka is a legend but the SBU is a state apparatus and as such by definition ponderous and prone to leaks.”
There was a silence as Snow ate. Katya broke it. “Aidan you really are a good friend. I feel bad that Brian and I weren’t here for you when your friend Arnaud was killed.”
Snow shrugged. “Thanks, but you were both in Odessa at the time, trying to make a go of it.”
“And look where it got us four years later.”
“I still think it’s a nice flat.”
“I still think you are at times too English.”
The bell at the front door chirped.
“That’ll be Vitaly.” Snow answered the door and Blazhevich entered.
“So I’ve spoken to Dudka.”
“How is he?”
“Even though you are the reason I had to get him out of bed, he is happy you are not yet dead Aidan. He asks that you call Vickers and tell him to hold off with his ‘complaint’. He says that we must preserve the investigation until we have 100% positive proof that Brian Webb is at the house. And then he says we can by all means ‘storm the place’.”
“That sounds like Dudka.”
Katya glanced at Snow then at Blazhevich. “So can’t you just take a photograph of Brian through a window?”
“Yes, if he is near or passes by a window.”
“Oh.” She frowned.
“So apart from ‘eyes on’ I’m at a loss.”
“Get me inside.”
“How?”
“You said it was Deputy Imyets new ‘dacha’?”
“Yes.”
“Well is it new or did someone live there before?”
“I’ll find out.”
“Good. If there was a previous owner then I become their ‘drunken’ ex-pat friend who’s come over for a drink.”
Blazhevich looked at Snow with a strange expression. “You don’t just think out of the box, you dispense with it.”
“Is that a complement?”
“An observation.”
“Hm, boxing clever.”
Petropavlivska Borschagivka village, Kyiv Oblast
The observation post was in a partly built church almost opposite the target building. Snow had passed the church many times over the years as his American pal Mitch Turney lived a few streets along. A two man SBU team had kept a vigil on the target overnight and were happy to be relieved by Blazhevich and Snow. Blazhevich had found out that the house was nine years old and the last person to live in it had been a German by the name of Eric. Snow laughed at this but Blazhevich did not see the humour. After again discussing it with Dudka, who now was also at his own dacha away from the Ukrainian capital city, Snow’s plan had been officially agreed upon. Snow would approach the house, feigning inebriation and see what he could find out. In Snow’s mind he either caught a glimpse of Brian or he didn’t either way he saw no risk, at least this is what he had told his friends in the SBU. Snow however had other ideas as to what may happen. Whilst they waited until a reasonable hour for Snow to make his approach, Blazhevich and Snow reviewed the surveillance tapes of the day before. When they reached 10:a.m. a lumbering overweight figure could be seen being taken into the house but unfortunately his face had been pointing away from the camera. Snow was sure it was Brian but Blazhevich shrugged, he didn’t know him.
“Time to go.” Snow checked his watch it was almost midday.
Blazhevich nodded. “No heroics just see what you can see.”
Snow smiled. “I’m not a hero.” He shuffled away from the window to the back of the church and opened a bottle of beer. He took a swig and poured the rest into his hand and rubbed it over his face, letting some run onto his day-old polo-shirt. He then picked up two bottles of whiskey and left the church by the rear exit. He walked into the woods behind turned right and found a path; it brought him back to the street but further up the road and around a bend, out of direct line of sight of the target address. He started to walk and as he did so he made sure to adjust to gait to that of someone who clearly had been drinking. As he rounded a bend he saw the house and immediately crossed the road, heading directly towards it. The house faced the road and had a two meter high brick wall surrounding it. There were no signs of exterior security except for the large ornate metal gate that acted as an entrance. The house it’self was three stories tall and was built of red brick. In comparison to the other overtly ornate or ugly houses surrounding it, the target seemed quite tasteful. Snow rang the doorbell then stared into the small camera he now saw mounted slightly above.
There was a pause and then a voice asked in Russian. “What do you want?”
Snow started to prepare his Oscar acceptance speech. “Eric you wanker! I’m back in town and I’ve brought two friends!” Snow held up the bottles to the camera. “Come on you German Gay-Lord open the door and let’s get drinking!”
There was a hiss of static before a voice answered in faltering English. “Eric no here. You go.”
Snow needed to get into the house, he’d see nothing otherwise. “Eric open the door and stop being a poof! Come on, my two friends here are getting impatient!”
There was a slight buzzing sound and a click. The gate opened and Snow stepped inside. It was closed behind him by a large figured in a black t-shirt and urban combat trousers. He looked at Snow then pointed to the front door. Snow surreptitiously looked around. He was standing in a large paved courtyard. The house was directly ahead; to the left was a slope which led down to the underground garage. Past this he could see a lush green lawn. Directly to his right was a fountain and small ‘dacha style’ out-house. The front door opened and two uniformed Militia officers greeted him.
Snow smiled. “Is Eric having a party?”
“Who you are?” The first asked in English. Snow realised it was the same voice he had heard on the telephone the day before.
“I’m a friend of Eric. Who are you?” Snow replied and placed his bottles on the step.
“My name is Officer Kopylenko and you are very drunk.”
Snow raised his arms smiling. “Guilty as charged!”
Kopylenko pointed at him. “Tell me please, what is your name?”
Snow gave his own name; he had no reason to lie. “Aidan Snow. Nice to meet you.”
“Can I see your passport Mr Snow?”
“I’m sorry; I don’t have it with me.”
“Hm, I see. In that case I am very sorry but I shall have to issue you with a fine.”
Snow pointed at the bottles. “Is there not something else I could give you?”
“We will take those too, but you must pay a fine.”
“Fine, that’s fine!” Snow started to laugh and retrieved a wad of notes from his pocket. As he did so he made sure that it slipped through his fingers and fell on the ground. He noticed Kopylenko eye-up the bundle of bills greedily. Snow shakily retrieved the money and smiled. “Now officer,
how much do I need to give you? Will $100 be enough?” As Snow held out the notes he looked around. “Where is Eric?”
“I told you Eric is not here. This is the wrong house. Give me all your money and you can go.”
Snow made a decision, double or nothing. “Where is Eric? Are you robbing him?” He tried to push past the two men but the second officer grabbed his arm. Snow half-heartedly punched him in the face before shouting, “Eric I’m on my way!” The officer loosened his grip and Snow burst into the house only to be pushed to the floor a moment later. Several heavy kicks connected with Snow’s torso and as he was dragged to his feet a fist hit him in the side of the head causing him to see stars.
Kopylenko spoke again. “You have assaulted a Militia officer. We now must arrest you and keep you here until you are processed.”
“Let me go. I’m a British citizen!” Snow protested.
Kopylenko spoke the second officer in Russian. “Take him away and put him with the other English idiot.”
Snow let his feet drag and his head loll forward as the officer moved him down a flight of stairs and then pushed him into another room. The heavy door was locked behind him. Snow rubbed his head and looked around. It was a wine cellar but empty apart from the racks. There was a narrow barred window to one side at head height which let in the only source of light through which he could see a flower bed.
“Bloody Hell! Aidan you found me!
Snow noticed a large dishevelled figure sitting on a patio chair. “Hello Brian.”
Webb smiled. “How the heck did you get here?”
“Connections.”
“Aidan thanks a million for coming.”
Snow held his forefinger to his mouth, then moved back to the door and listened. He could hear nothing through it. He nodded at Webb. “Tell me what happened?”
“I was out with Mitch and Michael having a few – you know how it is, and then got a taxi home. The driver stopped the car, I thought he needed a piss but then he just ‘legged it’. Then when I got out to see where the heck he was going some blokes came at me. I thought it was a bloody team of hit-men! Aidan, I was that tanked-up that I just got back in the taxi and drove off. I tried to lose them but crashed into a sodding bus shelter, shook me up I can tell you.” Webb lifted his grey fringe to show his blooded forehead. “I kept moving until I couldn’t go any further. Then I called you.”