Hetman

by Alex Shaw

  Snow looked at Blazhevich. “Did you see where they took Kopylenko?”

  “Who?”

  Snow explained as Webb spoke to Katya.

  “I saw a Militia van leave a few minutes before you appeared. It was going deeper into the village.”

  Webb reached forward, handed the phone back to Blazhevich and then quickly grabbed Snow’s head. He kissed him on the cheek. “That’s from Katya.”

  “I won’t ask if I get one.” Blazhevich kept his eyes on the road as they headed back towards the city centre.

  Snow wiped his cheek with his hand in mock disgust. “We need to go after Kopylenko. Imyets means to get rid of him.”

  Webb shrugged. “He is Ana’s father after all, even though he is knob-head.”

  Blazhevich would have used a stronger term. “There is also the small issue of kidnapping but I agree, we need all the Intel we can get on Imyets. I’ll get the boys back at HQ to ask officers Brovchenko and Klyuyevs if they have any idea where Kopylenko may have been taken.”

  “Please do more than ask.”

  “Aidan, we are not going to water-board them.”

  “Pull over.” Webb pointed. “There’s an Opteka there and I feel like me skulls splitting open.”

  The Passat left the Zhytomyrska highway and glided into the bus station that served long distance travellers. All three men got out. The car was not parked in an official bay but its SBU number-plate would avoid any fine or complaint.

  “Can the SBU lend me some cash?”

  “Here.” Blazhevich handed Webb a two hundred Hryvnia note. He then shook his head and gave Snow one too. He retrieved his phone and stepped away to call HQ.

  Webb gestured at a stall selling draft beer, snacks and water. “Get the drinks in lad, I’ll be back in a mo.”

  Snow ordered two cans of ‘Burn’, a couple of ‘Nuts Bars’ and a half litre of Lvivski beer from the overly attractive girl and sat on the long green wooden bench seat that was affixed to the front of the concrete building. As he drank the energy drink and munched the chocolate he saw Blazhevich gesticulating into his phone and then to his right he heard raised voices. He glanced over. A thin drunk was waving his arms at a chubby woman who also appeared the worse for wear. She told him ‘where to go’ and stormed off, her tight jeans barely concealing her large buttocks. The drunk caught Snow’s gaze and raised his plastic beer glass. Snow looked the other way but the man was not dissuaded and shuffled over.

  “Where are you going?” The man asked in Ukrainian

  Snow looked up. “Nowhere.”

  The drunk laughed and tapped his chest. “Sergey.”

  “Sasha.” Snow gave a false name; Aidan would mark him out as a foreigner.

  Sergey swayed and then sat. “That woman you saw me with, she is a professional. You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sasha, did you like her? I could call her back. A real professional.” He laughed and spilt some of his beer on his dirty jeans.

  “He is a professional too.” Snow pointed to Blazhevich who was walking towards them.

  “Whatever you like you like.” Sergey seemed puzzled and moved away.

  “I think we’ll have an address soon.” Blazhevich stated as he sat.

  “How soon?”

  “Ten minutes perhaps. Where is Webb?”

  Snow was suddenly worried but then relaxed as he saw the Yorkshire man nearing them carrying a plastic shopping bag.

  Webb pointed at the beer. “Is that for me?”

  Blazhevich looked him up and down. “You really need to get some medical attention.”

  Webb dropped down heavily next to them. “I’m gonna start now.” He retrieved a bottle from the bag. “Dr Vodka.”

  “I’m serious Brian.”

  “So am I.” Webb reached into his bag again and produced two packets of pills. He then proceeded to pop three ibuprofen and two paraceatamol tablets. These he washed down with the vodka straight from the bottle. “Ah that’s better.”

  “How is the ankle?” Snow asked.

  Webb held up his leg. “No ballet for a bit but I’ll be ok. To be honest I think it’s just a hangover. I’ll soon drink it off.”

  The three men were silent for a moment as they watched a coach arrive and a stream of travellers walked in front on them. It was a stiflingly hot Sunday afternoon and Snow did not envy anyone travelling without air conditioning.

  Blazhevich answered his phone. “Tak?” A smile spread across his face. “Dobre.” He hung up. “The boys have worked their magic; apparently Brovchenko was very concerned that we may torture him.”

  “What a drip.”

  Blazhevich cast Snow a stern look. “So as I was about to say we have an address. There is a full tactical package in my boot, if you are interested?”

  Snow stood. “Let’s do it.”

  Stoyanka Village, Kyiv Oblast

  The part of Stoyanka village where the target was being held was nicknamed ‘Cuba’ by the locals. Blazhevich did not know why. It was only three kilometres further along the Zhytomyrska highway than Imyets’ house. It had originally consisted of a handful of Dachas on a large plane surrounded by a border of high trees. Over the past fifteen years however an ever growing number of three and four story houses had been built with new and dubious money. Half built houses and pegged out plots littered much of the remaining grassland. The address that officer Brovchenko had given up was one of the original Soviet era single story houses that had not yet been engulfed by new developments. It was on the edge of the village and faced the trees. A twenty-five minute drive from Kyiv’s centre, with Militia lights flashing Kopylenko’s men had used the house for ‘nefarious’ purposes. Blazhevich parked his Passat on the main road a quarter of a kilometre away from the target next to a second SBU vehicle. As ordered Webb stayed in the car and finished the remains of the chocolate and vodka. The SBU officer, who was already at the scene, shook hands with Blazhevich and then Snow before spreading a map across the bonnet of his Mazda.

  “This is the target. As you can see it is on the edge of the village with one access road here. We can however gain access via the copse here.”

  Blazhevich asked his fellow operative. “How many men are inside Roman?”

  “Victor and I have observed two men in the garden and other shadows inside. But we cannot confirm the number of hostiles.”

  “Victor has a visual now?”

  Roman nodded. “He is in the trees directly opposite the dacha.”

  Blazhevich turned to Snow. “So Aidan, you have been better trained than us in hostage rescue techniques. What would the SAS do?”

  “Go in, hard and fast and use the element of surprise. Roman, do you have schematics?”

  “No. But it is a single story building.”

  Without Intel, planning and time, any assault would have an element of Heath Robinson about it. “OK. Here is my idea. We simultaneously throw flash-bangs in windows at the front and rear, but we go in through the rear. We clear each room and grab Kopylenko. They are Militia officers not terrorists, they do not expect to be attacked.”

  “Agreed but as they are not terrorists we are not shooting to kill. Roman, you and Victor will go to the front of the house and Aidan and I will take the rear. Fire warning shots, engage only if fired upon.”

  Snow smiled humourlessly. Not engaging an enemy was a recipe for disaster but Blazhevich was right, it would be senseless to kill members of the Militia, however corrupt they may or may not be.

  “Suit up.” Blazhevich commanded.

  Blazhevich and Snow changed into digital camo overalls and all three men put on ballistic vests. Snow fastened a couple of stun grenades into his webbing and checked the Glock 22 he had retrieved from the tactical package.

  Blazhevich took Snow to one side. “You do know that you are not actually officially here?”

  “Yes and thank you.” He respected the risk Blazhevich had taken in including him in the assault.

  “Let�
�s rock.”

  Snow supressed a laugh, Blazhevich had been watching too many Hollywood movies.

  Silently they worked their way into the treeline as the late afternoon sun started to fade. Roman collected Victor and they skirted the target until they were concealed in the shadows opposite the front of the building caused by a half built house.

  Blazhevich spoke to them via his throat mic once he and Snow were at the rear. “In position. Counting down. Three…Two…One…Go…Go…Go!”

  As one Snow and Blazhevich hurled flash-bangs at the windows. Both men covered their ears and closed the eyes. The stun grenades shattered the glass and sailed inside before exploding with a deafening roar and a disorientating flash of white light. Milliseconds Snow and Blazhevich climbed through the shattered glass, weapons up in a tactical stance. A woman, naked from the waist up screamed and moved away from a man who caught like a rabbit in head-lights sat frozen on a sofa, with an erection protruding like a weapon from his pants. Snow pistol-whipped him to the floor and moved further into the house. A doorway led to a narrow hallway and a two more doors. Blazhevich and Snow took a door each. Blazhevich’s room was empty but Snow’s contained the target. In the middle of the room Kopylenko sat, bound to a wooden chair.

  “You?”

  Captain Budt charged at Snow but the SIS operative was too fast. As Budt swung his fist Snow stepped outside the punch and simultaneously pushed down the arm with his own left forearm as he struck Budt’s jaw with his hand still holding the Glock. Budt dropped, but Snow kicked him in the stomach for good measure. Snow searched the room in wide arcs and acquired a second target, another uniformed officer. The man instantly raised his arms. Snow took one step forward and kicked him in the groin then as he doubled up struck him on the back of the head with his Glock.

  “Clear.” Snow shouted as he stood and stared at Kopylenko.

  “W..why?” The face of the Militia officer from Donetsk registered incomprehension.

  Snow crouched in front of him. “You are Ana’s father. Regardless of what I personally think about you I am not going to let a little girl I love, lose a parent.”

  “Th…thank you.”

  “Thank me and thank Brian.”

  Volodymyrska Street, Kyiv

  Blazhevich shook Vickers’ hand as the Diplomat let him into the flat. Both men moved to the lounge where Snow was sitting with a cup of coffee watching an infomercial for a vibrating foot massager.

  “I see you are reacquainting yourself with Ukrainian television Aidan?

  Snow smiled. “This is one of those channels that Alistair pays extra for.”

  “I do not.” Vickers folded his arms.

  Blazhevich smirked. “So I’ve come to give you an update.”

  Vickers grabbed the TV remote and switched the machine off. “Have a seat.”

  Blazhevich took an arm chair whilst Snow made room for his host. It was eleven a.m. Monday morning and Snow had spent the night at Vickers flat, giving Brian and Katya space to ‘catch up’.

  “Of the six men that we have in custody four have thus far provided us with intelligence regarding the ‘activities’ of Deputy Imyets.”

  “Do you have enough to bring formal charges?” Vickers asked.

  “That is not an easy question to answer. We have the testimony of men who claim to take orders from Imyets but they are serving members of the Militia. I have agents looking into their claims and until we find anything concrete it is still their word against his.”

  “What about Kopylenko?” Snow asked.

  “He acted under his own authority when he abducted Brian and held you.”

  “But Imyets ordered us done away with.”

  “True, but again it is his word and the word of those present against yours. In ‘the west’ perhaps things are easier and the rule of law prevails but I am afraid that in Ukraine ‘Krisha’ is everything. Imyets is protected by the President who in turn ‘owns’ the prosecutor’s office. So unless we have a smoking gun and someone who will testify that they saw Imyets pull the trigger we are ‘pissing into the wind’.”

  “And of course Vitaly if you share these same thoughts with the wrong people you may yourself be arrested for ‘slandering the President’.”

  “You are right Alistair; our new laws get sillier and sillier every day.”

  “So what is to be done?” Snow now asked.

  “The prisoners we have will be prosecuted on corruption charges unless they can come up with verifiable evidence against Imyets. The investigation will continue however I am sure Imyets will wash his hands of those men we have.”

  “What about Varchenko?”

  Blazhevich let out a sigh. “Dudka has made it clear that the SBU is to not investigate or put any surveillance on Varchenko. This again makes me wonder what the General is doing with Imyets.” Secretly Blazhevich also wondered if Dudka was holding back information from him but this was not something he wished to discuss with anyone.

  “Vitaly, I’m sorry if I messed up your investigation.”

  “Aidan, you didn’t mess it up. Shook it up perhaps, and perhaps we shall see if anything falls. So now that you have saved Webb what next?”

  “Drinks.”

  Podil district, Kyiv

  The small tented bar in Kyiv’s Podil district was a favourite of Michael Jones. He let out a trail of smoke from his cigarette as he lazily stared at the cleavage of their waitress. “Great place, eh Aidan? Great place.”

  “Yep.” Snow drank hungrily from his half litre beer glass. It was his first of the day and he had some catching up to do.

  Jones’ eyes followed the woman as she returned to the bar. “What more could you ask for? Great beer, great tits.”

  “Michael.” Katya wagged her finger at the Welshman. “What would Ina say?”

  “Oh, she would agree. She also likes tits.”

  Snow snorted into his beer. He had been away yet nothing had changed. His friends were still the same, and even though many bars had been renamed Kyiv was still Kyiv.

  Webb raised his glass. “I would just like to say a toast to friendship, for without it we are all truly fucked!”

  Katya nudged him in the belly. Snow and Michael both raised their glasses. “Fucked”

  “Your friend Vitaly spoke to me today.” Webb stated matter of fact. “He says that Kopylenko is now being very co-operative and wants to grant us permission to take Ana to the UK.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “True but in return he wants me not to give evidence against him.”

  Snow raised his eyebrows. “So what are you going to do Brian?”

  “He is going to give evidence and then when they put that idiot away a judge will of course let us take Ana to England.” Katya crossed her arms.

  Webb sipped his beer before winking at Snow. “That is what I am of course going to do.”

  Snow felt his Blackberry vibrate. It was a message from Patchem. He’d have to fly home in the morning but tonight he was home. Snow switched off his phone and ordered another round of drinks.

  ***

  Praise for Alex Shaw

  ‘He won’t be stopped now. The book will become popular among Kyiv’s expats; some of them will even recognize themselves.’ Kyiv Post on ‘ Hetman ’.

  ‘A strong aspect of HETMAN is Shaw’s knowledge of Ukraine & Special Forces operations. The character of Bull felt real on the page, you don’t get better than that.’

  2010 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award

  ‘With the world in financial turmoil and the Middle East aflame, fans of this genre will find COLD BLACK timely and entertaining.’

  2011 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award

  ***

  Also by Alex Shaw

  HETMAN

  A Special Forces Thriller introducing a reluctant hero, former SAS Trooper Aidan Snow.

  Attacked by an unknown adversary, Framed for two assassinations, Hunted by the Ukrainian Security Service, the life of former SAS Trooper Aid
an Snow has been destroyed.

  Teaching at an international school in Ukraine, former SAS Trooper Aidan Snow has laid the nighmares of his past to rest. But when after ten years Snow meets again the man who put a gun to his head and ended his military career his past becomes very real. Told by the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) that his would be tormenter is dead Snow tries to forget…

  Attacked by an unknown adversary, Framed for two high profile assassinations and Hunted by the Ukrainian Security Service, Snow is torn from the life he has worked so hard to build and must once again rely on his SAS training in an attempt to clear his name.

  Discovering a mercenary brigade made up of former Soviet Spetsnaz soldiers Snow trusts only himself to stop them and save those he cares about.

  Snow is left one step ahead of the authorities with no one to watch his back.

  In a Fire Fight, Pray for SNOW….

  COLD BLACK – Hetman 2

  Abduction

  Veteran SAS trooper, Paddy Fox has lost his job, his wife and his temper. Whilst bitterly job hunting, Fox witnesses a car crash and finds himself rescuing a kidnapped Saudi Royal. Persuaded by MI6 to accept a job as security adviser in Saudi Arabia, Fox travels to Riyadh.

  Assassination

  In Kyiv, a director of the Belorussian KGB is gunned down whilst trying to pass shocking intelligence to his counterpart in the Ukrainian SBU. Intelligence, which if verified, sets out plans to commit international acts of terror.

  Al-Qaeda

  In Saudi Arabia, an entire British Trade mission is taken hostage by a new, highly funded, group aligned to Al-Qaeda. But who is funding this new insurgency and why?

  An International Conspiracy

  Former SAS Trooper turned MI6 operative, Aidan Snow is caught in a maelstrom involving East, West and Middle East which endangers the world’s supply of oil.

  ***

  About the Author

  ALEX SHAW B.A. (Hons), P.G.C.E. was head of Drama at Pechersk School International, Kyiv, Ukraine, in the late 1990’s before leaving to start his own Kyiv based ‘consultancy’ dealing specifically with the markets of the former USSR. He was subsequently head hunted for a division of Siemens where he was tasked with business development in the former USSR, the Middle East and Africa. Hetman was Alex’s first novel and took twelve years to complete. Published in 2009 it gained critical acclaim in the 2010 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award (ABNA) and later became a #1 UK Kindle bestseller. Cold Black was published a year later. It followed the success of Hetman, gaining critical acclaim in ABNA 2011 and rose to #6 in the Kindle UK bestseller list. Both books have also now become top 10 Kindle Bestsellers in the USA. In July 2012 Cold Black became a #1 German Kindle bestseller, Hetman reached #4 in April. The third Aidan Snow thriller will be released in November 2012.