Hetman

by Alex Shaw

  “And they grabbed you.”

  “Yep. I was that blotto and shagged out that I couldn’t do anything to stop them. They slapped me around a bit for good measure.”

  One against four was bad enough odds for anyone but an overweight drunk pushing sixty had no chance. “The Militia came to see Katya.”

  “How is she? Is she ok?” Webb’s face showed real concern.

  “She’s fine. She told the Militia to go screw themselves. They said that unless she paid them $75000 they were going to charge you with sexual assault.”

  Webb burst out laughing. “On whom, me self?”

  “They say you grabbed a woman and tried to shag her up against a wall.”

  “If only.” Webb stood, hobbled towards Snow and hugged him. “Thanks again for coming, I knew you would.”

  “What are friends for? Brian don’t worry, I’ve spoken to the SBU. They are building a case against the bloke these goons report to.”

  “So who you are working for now, MI6?”

  “It’s called the Secret Intelligence Service nowadays, but yes.”

  “Does your watch become a power boat?”

  Snow found another chair and sat. “You really can be a silly sod, do you know that?”

  Webb nodded. “So the SBU are investigating Katya’s ex-husband?”

  “Her ‘ex’ is a Politician?”

  “No, he’s the Militia thug running this, Pavel Kopylenko.”

  Snow frowned. “He’s Ana’s father?”

  “Yes. He’s the reason I’m here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Aidan. Katya’s been offered a great job in London. But as Ana is underage we need her father’s written consent for her to leave the country.”

  “Which I assume he had refused?”

  “You assume right. So, Katya and I have had to start legal proceedings to attempt to get a court ruling stating that we can take Ana to the UK.”

  “And he’s trying to stop this?”

  “That’s why I called you Aidan. Katya doesn’t know about this, but first he went after my business and now he’s going after me. Shit, if I get framed for sexual assault no judge in their right mind will grant me custody over him for Ana.” Webb put his head in his hands and it was several seconds before he spoke again. “I’m her dad, not him”.

  “What exactly has Kopylenko said to you?”

  “He never said anything about sexual assault the crafty bastard; I thought it was all about my joy-ride in the taxi. He said on Monday they are going to present me and their ‘evidence’ to the judge. Kopylenko said unless they receive payment from Katya the judge will have no option but to find me guilty. So who’s this politician bloke the SBU are after?”

  “The owner of this house, Ruslan Imyets.”

  Webb rolled his eyes and let out a humourless laugh. “Imyets, the Verhovna Rada Deputy? I should be honoured.”

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him, he’s in pharmaceuticals before that he was Militia officer. The channel TVi ran a story on him, it very nearly put them out of business. He’s one of the most aggressive bandits from Donetsk, one of the President’s own ‘Donbas business buddies’. In the last two years Imyets has won more tenders than anyone else, and he’s used some very unsavoury means to secure them. Heck, if Kopylenko’s working for Imyets he’s got some serious Krisha!”

  Snow thought for a moment. “What’s the connection between Kopylenko and Imyets?”

  “Kopylenko is a Militia officer from Donetsk. Apart from that I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever had any dealings with Imyets?”

  “No, we don’t move in quite the same circles.”

  Snow stretched out and fell his ribs. He’d just have a few bruises. “You know I don’t think Imyets knows anything about this. No offence Brian, but why would he bother with you?”

  “I agree. I just sell books, not even mucky ones. I could murder a drink.” Webb raised his arms and gestured around the room. “Ironic eh, they put me in an empty wine cellar.”

  Blazhevich checked his watch again. What was taking Snow so long? He cursed. He knew the Englishman too well, he’d ‘improvised’. There was a buzzing next to him and he picked up Snow’s Blackberry which the SIS operative had intentionally left behind. “Hello Alistair.”

  “Vitaly, this means Snow is with you?”

  “He was but now he’s checking out the address where we believe Webb is being held. I’ve got an eyeball on the location.”

  “Which Militia station are they in?”

  “They are not. It’s a private house belonging to Ruslan Imyets. They are holding him hostage.”

  “So the kidnappers are Militia officers in the pocket of Ruslan Imyets?”

  “Correct, which is why Dudka wanted you to back off.”

  “Understood.” Vickers was annoyed it was all happening without him. “So what is Aidan doing?”

  “He is inside looking for Brian. We had a plan; Aidan’s a drunk ex-pat looking up an old friend.”

  “I see. So now they’ve got two hostages?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “So the plan is working Vitaly?”

  Blazhevich shook his head. Both Vickers and Snow always thought they knew best, even though they had very different approaches. “Yes. If it was not the correct location they would have sent Aidan ‘packing’, but if we presume they are holding him then all we do is wait until he is moved.”

  In his flat Vickers sipped his tea. “So what would the SBU like me to do?”

  “We need to get something on Imyets. The SBU cannot ‘go in’ unless there is evidence of his involvement that’ll hold up in court otherwise our entire investigation will be blown. I can watch but I can’t act.”

  “OK. I’ll wait until Monday lunchtime and then if we don’t have Webb or Snow I’ll go ahead with my official complaint.”

  “You think Aidan will wait until then?”

  “No. Where are you?”

  Blazhevich decided there was no point in keeping the location a secret from his SIS contact. “Petropavlivska Borschagivka, I’m in the unfinished church.”

  Vickers knew the place, it had become somewhat of a landmark. Commissioned by a Kyiv businessman twelve years before and never completed, its large bell lay outside still wrapped in its protective cover. The bell proved too heavy and too sacred for anyone to run off with. “I’m here if you need me.”

  “Thanks.” Blazhevich ended the call. There was movement at the front door. Through the magnified image of the stills camera he saw two Militia officers in shirt-sleeves smoking and grinning. One held a bottle of whisky and poured a shot for the other. Blazhevich muttered to himself as he took some more pictures. “Come on Aidan.”

  The cellar door opened and Kopylenko entered followed by another officer. The second officer spoke quietly into Kopylenko’s ear. “Captain Budt would like to know how your head is Brian?”

  “Tell him that his mother should be proud that he hits like a girl.”

  Snow sighed; Brian and Katya were both graduates of the same ‘charm school’.

  Kopylenko frowned. “I will tell him, it is serious. But a more serious matter is you, Mr Snow. You were not looking for Eric at all were you? No you came here because Brian called you. I have his phone and have also checked with immigration. So I have a question for you Mr Snow, who are you?”

  “Why ask questions, just shoot him.” Budt stated in Russian as he removed his side-arm from its holster and held it by his side.

  Had he underestimated the men, would they try to kill him? Snow readied himself for action as he spoke. “I am Brian’s friend. He asked me to come and here I am.”

  Kopylenko scratched his chin. “Now I believe what you are saying but that leaves us with a problem. You see you have assaulted a police officer. This is something that I cannot ignore so here is the deal. You will pay Captain Budt compensation of $15,000 and myself another $15,000. We will take you
to our personal banker. Once you have paid us I will personally drive you back to the airport.”

  “And what about Brian?”

  “He must see the judge; his offence carries a much higher penalty.”

  “Why can’t you just let it go man?” Webb stood, arms out at his sides and palms upwards trying to placate the policemen. “I am not the reason Katya left you. We both love Ana; we should be working this out together.”

  Kopylenko’s face contorted with rage and he pointed angrily at Webb. “Because of you my daughter will not talk to me! I am her father! You have stolen her from me, from her grandparents and now you want to take her away for ever!”

  “Think of her future, man.”

  “You have no future! Her future is here with me!” Kopylenko took a step forward. “Don’t you understand? Now I can offer her the best. The Best! I have power, I have respect. I am no longer a simple officer from Donetsk.”

  “No you are a puppet.”

  Kopylenko struggled to control his anger and switched back to Russian. “Take them outside to the van. We shall move them to the woods and finish this.”

  Snow started to move but stopped when the Glock was aimed at his forehead. At point blank range he had no chance of avoiding a round. There was a tense silence which was broken by the Nokia ringtone.

  Kopylenko pulled his phone from his pocket. “Da? Suka!” He swore. “Ruslan Fedorovich’s is early. Move them quickly.”

  Budt nodded. “Ok.”

  Kopylenko left the room. Budt smiled, the Glock still trained at Snow’s head. He now spoke in English, the accent all but incomprehensible. “Move now, up step. You one, you two. Now.”

  “Do what he says Brian.”

  Blazhevich had watched the owner return home in his dark green Bentley Continental GT. A long legged brunette had been in the passenger seat. The woman was not Imyets’ wife. Blazhevich was getting more and more concerned for both Snow and his SBU investigation. He retrieved his mobile and started to dial Dudka’s number when he saw a three car convoy approach the house. The lead and the last vehicle were matte black Mercedes G Wagons, most definitely AMG versions and most probably armour plated. The middle car was a piano-black Maybach 57S. There was something familiar about the convoy and Blazhevich frowned as he tried to remember who favoured that particular set up. The large gates opened once more and all three cars entered the courtyard. A bodyguard from each of the G-Wagons alighted, only then did a third suited man step out of the front of the Maybach and open the passenger door. A tall white haired figure dressed immaculately in a slate grey suit stepped out.

  “Valeriy Ivanovich Varchenko” Blazhevich said to himself quietly as if not quite believing his own eyes. What was he doing here? Varchenko was a former KGB General and had been awarded the title ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’. As Director Dudka’s boss back in the days of the USSR he had remained one of the man’s oldest friends. He was a member of the elite group nicknamed ‘Nedotorkany’ - ‘the untouchables’, oligarchs who played both sides of the law and as such were above it. They were friendly with Presidents and bandits alike. Blazhevich had met Varchenko, he didn’t like him much. Whilst Blazhevich tried to make sense of what he saw the men moved into the house.

  In the study Imyets had poured himself a large Cognac and was swirling it around in the bulbous glass as he listened to Kopylenko explain his presence. “Do you take me for a complete fool Pavel? Do you not think that I am aware of the petty racketeering that you and your men engage in under my protection?”

  “No Ruslan Fedorovich.”

  “I make allowances for your little indiscretions, I even allowed you to go after this Englishman because I am a father, I have a heart and because in the past you have served me well. But now you bring him here, to my house? You bring your dirty laundry here to be cleaned?”

  “I intended no offence, Ruslan Fedorovich. I am sorry.”

  Imyets downed the cognac then clicked his fingers. The brunette woman re-filled his glass. “Do you not see what you have done? You have signed their death warrant.”

  “But they have seen nothing…”

  Imyets screamed. “Shut up! I cannot take that risk. I cannot let them leave this place. Do you not understand what I have here?”

  Kopylenko had no idea what Imyets was talking about, to him it was just a house but his pride was such that he would not let on. “I am sorry…”

  “Is that all you have to say? Pavel I trusted you, I offered you a real chance. Did I not bring you and your men to Kyiv with me?”

  It was a rhetorical question but Kopylenko answered. “Yes you did.”

  Imyets drank some more then rolled his head from side to side. He had made a decision, he had no choice. “Pavel, you are sorry and I am truly sorry also. If only it had not ended like this.”

  Kopylenko was confused but realised that his life was in danger. “Ruslan Fedorovich please…”

  “Bring in the Englishmen.” Imyets ordered. The brunette nodded crossed to the door and several seconds later re-appeared with Budt, Webb and Snow. Imyets switched to English and pointed at Webb. “You are the husband of his wife?”

  “Er yes.” Webb frowned.

  “Who are you?” Imyets now pointed at Snow with his glass.

  “His friend.”

  Imyets nodded. Placed his glass on his desk then opened a drawer. From this he produced an Uzi sub machine gun. “Say hello to my little friend!”

  Snow’s eye widened, Webb started to shake and the woman screamed. Imyets roared with laughter. “Do you really think that I would use this, in here, with all this hand crafted oak? No, even though it would make much less mess than an M203. So the question is what happens next?”

  Snow held eye contact with the Politician. “Your men open the door and we go home.”

  Imyets shook his head. “No. It can-not happen. Pavel has made a mistake and I am sorry that all of you will pay.”

  Budt stepped forward and placed his Glock against Kopylenko’s temple. Imyets picked up his glass and drank again. Snow and Webb stood motionless.

  “No Officer Budt, do not do it here. You may ruin the rug. Just hit him.”

  Before Kopylenko could make any protest his former underling whacked him in the temple with the Glock and he instantly fell limp to the floor.

  “Take him away. I shall call you with further instructions.”

  “Yes sir.” Budt leant down and scooped Kopylenko up and over his shoulder.

  “Now back to the Englishmen.” Imyets sipped.

  The doors to the study burst open to reveal Valeriy Varchenko. “You keep me waiting Imyets?”

  Imyets smiled and raised his arms. “Business calls General. I am sorry but I have just been attending to a small problem.”

  Varchenko strode across the room then abruptly stopped when he saw Snow. “What is happening here?”

  “These two men broke into my house. As you can see the Militia have made an arrest. I believe that they may have stolen some of my papers.”

  Varchenko fixed Imyets with an icy stare. “You will let these men go. They are under my protection.”

  “But General, they are under my roof.”

  “Yes and they are under my Krisha!”

  Imyets looked confused. Even he dared not contradict Varchenko, a man who the President respected highly. “Then that is what I shall do Valeriy Ivanovich.”

  “Good.” Varchenko turned to Snow. “Go home Aidan.”

  Snow nodded and grabbing Webb’s arm hustled him out of the room.

  Varchenko returned his gaze to Imyets. “Now are you going to insult me further by making an old man stand and not providing him with a drink?”

  “Of course not, please.” Imyets gestured to a large leather armchair.

  “Thank you.” Varchenko sat and the brunette brought him a glass of cognac. “Now a toast before we move onto more serious matters. Za nas, za vas, e za Donbas!”

  ‘To us, to them and to Donbas’. Imyets approved of
Varchenko’s words.

  Snow guided Webb into the hall and out of the front door. As he did so several large men in dark suits looked on impassively. Imyets own men however did not look pleased.

  “Are you OK to walk?” Snow asked his friend as he helped him down the steps to the courtyard.

  “I may be fat, bloodied and nursing a hangover but I am not a pensioner.”

  When they reached the gate it was opened for them. They stepped outside and it immediately shut. Snow breathed out a sign of relief. Webb slapped him on the back. “You did it Aidan, you got me out. But why did they let us go?”

  “General Varchenko, I helped him once.”

  “You’re a very helpful bloke aren’t you Aidan?”

  Snow chuckled. “Come on we’ve got to move. This way, towards the woods.”

  “You want to take me on a teddy bear’s picnic?”

  “Silly Sod.”

  Blazhevich waited around the corner by a path that led into the woods. Snow climbed into the front of the Passat and told Webb to get into the back.

  As they moved off Blazhevich passed a can of beer to Webb. “You look like you need a drink.”

  “You must be my guardian angel.” Webb pulled back the ring-pull and gulped down the Obolon.

  After Snow had handled the introductions he said to Blazhevich, “I don’t understand why Varchenko was there.”

  “Neither do I Aidan. I have no idea why, but you are lucky that he was.” Blazhevich was also struggling to understand what all of this meant for his on-going investigation.

  Snow thought back to the last time he had met Varchenko. It had been four years before and Snow had prevented a paramilitary group from relieving Varchenko’s bank of ten million dollars. Snow had been injured in the assault and Varchenko had visited him in hospital to give his thanks.

  “Here, call your wife.” Blazhevich handed Webb a mobile phone.

  “Thanks, I’ll just finish me can first or she’ll smell the beer.”