A Friend in Deed

by G D Harper

  ‘I’ll see you on the other side of passport control,’ I said. I looked at the long queue for foreigners’ passports. ‘You might be some time. I’ll get your bag off the carousel and you can meet me there.’

  I was through passport control in less than five minutes, and after breathing a sigh of relief that my false passport passed scrutiny again, I headed off to baggage reclaim. Tanya’s suitcase appeared a few minutes later. I stood there waiting for her, agonising again whether this really was a smart thing for her to be doing. I had gone to Ukraine to try to convince her to come forward. Now that she’d agreed to do so, I would never forgive myself if things went wrong. I thought back to my few weeks in prison. What would it be like to spend months, even years, like that?

  Before Tanya went past the point of no return, I would insist we go, one last time, through the potential implications of her actions.

  I glanced at my watch. It had been twenty minutes since I left her to get the luggage. It was a long queue, but the wait was getting ridiculous. A call to her mobile went straight to voicemail. I wandered over to a bench to sit down, all the while keeping a lookout for her. After another ten minutes, I knew something was definitely wrong. I went back upstairs to passport control and scanned the queues for Tanya. She was nowhere to be seen.

  Some security people sat in a booth behind one of the desks, and I started to walk over to ask if they knew what had happened to her. Then I remembered the false passport I was carrying. I was still air-side. They might ask to see it and I didn’t know how well it would stand up to extra scrutiny. The risk was too high. My heart thumping, I went back and examined the queuing passengers again, carefully, slowly. She was definitely not there.

  I phoned again; once more straight to voicemail. I was panicking now. Nothing else for it, I had to leave. If something had happened to Tanya, I needed to get away from the airport and ditch my false passport before I could take any action. I headed out and spotted the taxi driver holding his name board. I went over and introduced myself and apologised for the delay. I asked him to take me to Tanya’s hotel, said that she was not joining us. I would drop off her luggage there, then think about what to do next. I was still valiantly hoping that, whatever the issue was, it would get resolved and she could head to the hotel and continue as planned.

  Once I got rid of the bag, I called Alex from the hotel lobby.

  ‘I think there’s a problem.’ I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. ‘Tanya and I split up to go through passport control and I haven’t seen her since. That was an hour ago. She must have been detained coming through immigration. I couldn’t ask anyone at the airport because I had my false passport with me. I’ve dropped her bag off at the hotel, in case she is released, but I don’t know what else to do. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Act Now! must have put a flag on her passport. Shit. We were so concerned about getting you in and out of Ukraine without being noticed, we didn’t think about her.’ There was a short silence. ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about that now. You need to get rid of that passport and get here to the studio so we can work out what to do. In the meantime, we’ll start asking about Tanya.’

  I went into the hotel toilet, ripped out the passport pages one by one and flushed them away. I borrowed some scissors from reception and went back to the loo and cut the back page into small pieces, making sure anything that could identify me was at least split in two. I flushed the remains of the passport down three different toilets, to be on the safe side. A false passport might have been useful again one day, but it was far too risky to hang on to. Then I headed back to Heathrow.

  It took a while, but I eventually got some news from one of the immigration officers. A Ukrainian woman was detained by the immigration authorities, I was told, and she’d been transferred to the Sahara Unit at Colnbrook Detention Centre, near Heathrow. If I wanted to arrange to visit her, I had to fill out a form and wait to be contacted. No, I couldn’t wait around until permission was granted. I filled out the form and headed off to see Alex.

  I told her the latest. She looked concerned.

  ‘If they’ve got Tanya locked up, Duncan, I’m not sure how we get her released.’

  ‘Publicity. That’s the only way. Run the story that she was an MI5 spy, travelling to the UK to speak out about her role in the Act Now! Russia scandal. Shout it from the rooftops. The longer Act Now! keeps her locked up, the bigger the story becomes.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she replied, looking doubtful. ‘It’s going to be hellishly difficult, right in the middle of the election campaign when we have a legal duty not to do tendentious reporting. But this is a special case. I’ll push to go ahead with the programme tomorrow, even without Tanya. But we’re going to have to give Act Now! the right of reply. Can you go on air to be interviewed instead of her?’

  ‘If your lawyers will let me,’ I replied. ‘One of my release conditions was that I was to make no statements to the media until my case comes to court or the charges are dropped. After what’s happened to Tanya I’m happy to do it, even if it means going back to jail. But I’m not sure your Barbara will let me.’

  I was right. Barbara dug her heels in, said that running such an unsubstantiated story during the election, especially since the previous debacle, was a risk – the TV station could not be seen to be aiding and abetting the breach of a court order. A truncated version of the story would run, Damian Zane from Act Now! would be invited on the programme to give his response, but someone else would have to tell Tanya’s story.

  ‘Can’t your IT guy do it?’ suggested Alex. ‘He’s the most obvious replacement. He found where Tanya was in Ukraine and knows all the detail of the investigation. Why don’t you ask him?’

  I thought of Nigel in the TV studio with Damian Zane and shuddered.

  ‘That would be an unmitigated disaster,’ I told her. ‘Zane would make mincemeat of him.’

  ‘Well, who then? Think of someone, Duncan, and think fast. We need to get Tanya out of detention and on air before the election, and we’re running out of time. I can line up a hack pundit to go up against Zane, but it would be better if it’s someone involved in the story.’

  I returned to my flat, demoralised and beaten. I’d talked Tanya into this, and before she’d even had a chance to say a word, she’d been thrown in prison. I cursed my arrogance and selfishness, but self-flagellation would do nothing to help her now. I needed to stay focused.

  I went through my computer for everything on the story since my arrest and the subsequent outing of Tanya as an MI5 spy, looking for ideas. Trawling my emails, I realised suddenly who it needed to be to speak out for Tanya. The same person who had spoken out for me. A person whose involvement again would be sure to cause headlines. Michael Mitchell.

  I recoiled at the thought of contacting him again, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Mitchell’s involvement in my case hadn’t just been on a whim; his TV interview showed he had done his research. He’d continued to comment on the issues raised by my imprisonment after I was released, so he was obviously following the story closely. But how could I reach out to him, ask for his help a second time? Michael Mitchell of all people?

  If it meant that Tanya’s chances of being released were increased even by one iota, I owed it to her to try. I sat down at the computer and penned my request, going through the background to her detention and asking if he would like to meet to discuss speaking out again.

  He replied an hour later, a simple, terse response, suggesting we meet for breakfast. I fired off a thankful acceptance and slumped back in my chair as what I had agreed to sunk in. After more than forty years, I was going to be face-to-face with Michael Mitchell again.

  chapter twenty

  Mitchell agreed to meet me in the wood-panelled basement of Joe Allen, a retro steak and cheesecake joint on the edge of Covent Garden that doubles up as an assignation spot for morning-after brea
kfasts. There were only a few other diners, so I nabbed a corner table and waited for him to arrive. I sipped my coffee nervously, although the last thing I needed was a caffeine buzz. Two croissants lay untouched in the basket on the table.

  He arrived twenty minutes late, looking around the restaurant until he spotted me. As he walked over, I stood, waiting to shake his hand. The hand of the man who once threatened to kill me. Now, over forty years later, I was going to ask for his help.

  Mitchell shook my hand with all the enthusiasm of a losing football manager thanking a rival at the end of a grudge match. He sat down, squinting a little as his eyes got used to the gloom of the basement, and he said nothing.

  ‘The porridge’s good here,’ I said, as he wordlessly picked up the menu.

  ‘I’ve had more than enough porridge because of you.’

  As jokes go, it was a good one.

  ‘Sorry. Bit tactless. I’m a journalist, so I’ll stick with waffles.’

  Not as funny, but it got a smile of acknowledgement.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for what you did to get me released from prison, Michael,’ I said. ‘But time is of the essence here, so I won’t go on declaring my appreciation over and over again. The same injustice that had me behind bars has been meted out again, to a Ukrainian woman who came to the UK to speak out about Act Now!. MI5 used me to get the story out about the party. Act Now!’s leaders, their manifesto, their political machine – they were all set up by the Russians. So, I want to ask, will you do the same for her as you did for me?’

  The waitress came over and took our order. As soon as she left, Mitchell clasped his hands together on the table, as if deep in contemplation.

  ‘You will forgive me if I don’t want to put myself at your disposal to further your career as a journalist,’ he said, ‘but I’ve devoted my life since my release to campaigning for the rights of prisoners and fighting miscarriages of justice. This Dissemination of Terrorism Act has to be repealed. Whether or not your stories about Act Now! are true, I’ll leave others to judge. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Go on television, talk about Tanya’s case, demand her release.’

  ‘For that, I need to know more about her. What can you tell me?’

  I spent the next hour taking Mitchell through the events leading up to today, finishing on Tanya’s return to the UK and her detention at the airport. He listened intently, occasionally asking a question to clarify some point or other. I became more and more impressed by his quiet intelligence, the steeliness of his determination. I was coming to like Michael Mitchell. It was surreal.

  In the end, he said yes. I’d already primed Alex, and I arranged for them to meet to discuss the story. Mitchell would be included as a panellist on a political discussion programme the day after tomorrow; Damien Zane would be invited to comment on behalf of Act Now!. Two other panellists were being rustled up, one for each side. Debating a topic like this during an election campaign had to be done with scrupulous fairness.

  Sam had also been busy. The Chronicle had put up a lawyer to defend Tanya and he’d been told that she was still being detained under immigration legislation – not the Dissemination of Terrorism Act. There was a chance that she might not be charged, released or deported until after the election.

  Which was why I was astonished when my phone rang and I saw Tanya’s name on my screen.

  ‘Duncan, I am standing outside police station,’ she said. ‘I have had very scary last twenty-four hours. But now I am let go, no further questions.’

  ‘Tanya, that’s wonderful! I’m so pleased! Surprised, though, I must admit. I’ve got the media all set to tell your story. There was to be a TV debate about you tonight, and being so close to the election I thought it would be even more difficult to get you released than it was with me. Look, this changes everything. Are you still okay with doing your TV interview?’

  ‘Da. Even more so. Let’s get the bastards.’

  ‘Great. I’ll get on the phone to Alex and get everything put back in place. It’ll probably be tomorrow given the time. Why don’t you head over to my place and stay here tonight? I can endure the sacrifice of another night on the sofa for the sake of my country.’

  ‘You are true patriot. Okay, sounds good idea. You can give me tips on best English phrases to tell my story, so we can have big impact. I leave now.’

  When I called Alex she had already heard the news about Tanya.

  ‘Act Now! has told us that a Tanya Petrenko was detained by immigration officials due to some visa irregularities. When I asked them if it was part of the campaign against your Russia revelations, they said that any story that she might have been subject to a Dissemination of Terrorism Act order was pure speculation on your part. Another one of your ongoing fantasies, to which they’ve said they don’t want to give any credence by commenting further.’

  ‘It must have been the TV debate. They must have decided that dismissing her as a conspiracy theory nutcase friend of mine was the best strategy to minimise the impact. Well, they’ve scored an own goal. Tanya will stand up to any scrutiny you can put her under. When do you want her in the studio?’

  ‘You’ll need to give us twenty-four hours. We’ve got to ensure we present this as even-handedly as possible, given that we are in the middle of an election campaign. I’ll get Simon Green set up again to meet Tanya, and then we’ll record the interview with her tomorrow afternoon. We’ll get Michael Mitchell and someone from Act Now! to come into the studio in the evening. They’ll see the interview and Simon will then interview them. After that, let’s see where the story goes.’

  Tanya came straight over to my flat after her release.

  ‘Very scary experience,’ she told me. ‘I felt I was criminal, just for being me. I ask, what have I done, why do you keep me here? No one has any answers, cannot tell me how long I stay in jail. Then, poof, in one second they let me go, say I can stay in UK.’

  ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that. I was so stupid. I should have realised that Act Now! would have known you were coming back into the country. All this could have been avoided, if we’d thought it through – you could have told your story in Ukraine, had the interviewer come to see you.’ I shook my head in disgust. ‘Well, at least now you’ve been through the worst. Soon, it’ll be behind you.’

  ‘I used to think it would never be possible in Britain to lock people up for wanting to tell truth. If I can do even a little to stop them, I have proud story to tell my grandchildren.’

  There was a knock at the door, and Tanya jumped a little.

  ‘Are you expecting someone?’

  ‘No.’

  I looked around the room for something to protect myself with. Nothing. I went into the kitchen. I baulked at holding a carving knife, so the best I could come up with was a rolling pin. I held it behind me and went to the door.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Amazon delivery,’ said a voice in a thick Russian accent.

  I put on the door chain and open the door an inch.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not expecting a delivery,’ I said through the gap. ‘It’s not a good time, please come back later.’

  I stood back from the door, rolling pin at the ready. Tanya had joined me now. She saw the rolling pin and rolled her eyes.

  ‘I get knife,’ she said.

  As she went to the kitchen, there was a hollow bang and the door shuddered from a blow to the other side. The wood around the chain cracked from the impact. It wouldn’t survive another strike.

  I grabbed my mobile phone and was fumbling to type in my passcode when there was an almighty crash and the door flew open. The screen came to life just as the phone was thrown from my grasp. A thickset man twisted my arm behind my back as a second man stepped in through the door behind him. As I was pushed to my knees, I saw Tanya appear, a carving knife held in front of her in both hands,
pointed at the men. Her eyes blazed and she screamed something in Russian as the second man moved towards her. He feigned a move to her left, and as she twisted to avoid him and flailed at him with the knife, he grabbed her arm. With a single fluid movement, he had the arm holding the knife twisted behind her back.

  ‘Bros noj!’ he shouted, twisting Tanya’s arm up between her shoulder blades. She screamed with pain, but wouldn’t let go of the knife. ‘Bros noj!’ he repeated, his other hand now around her throat.

  The knife clattered on the wooden floor; the man kicked it away. A plastic cable tie was slipped around my wrists, pulled tight until the plastic dug into my flesh. I could smell cigarette smoke on my assailant’s breath. Die of cancer, you bastard, I thought to myself. I watched helplessly as Tanya’s hands were also bound. The effortless ease with which the two men had overpowered us was chilling. It wasn’t just their strength, there was an economy of effort in their actions which suggested they were well practised.

  I was pulled to my feet and pushed next to Tanya. One guy produced a gun and waved it in our faces. ‘There’s a car downstairs, you are both going to get in it,’ he said. ‘If either of you tries anything, I won’t hesitate to use this.’

  Tanya’s assailant stepped outside, looked up and down the street, turned and nodded. The other man stood behind us and spoke in an ingratiating whisper. ‘We are going to walk out to the car very slowly. There is nothing to worry about. We are going for a short drive, you have to answer some questions. Once you answer the questions, you will be free. In ten minutes, this will all be over. Now go.’

  I was still struggling to make sense of what was happening. What questions? Who were these people? They must be heavies hired by Act Now!, nothing else made sense. That was why Tanya was released so suddenly. Let her out and wait until she met me so they could solve all their problems at once. There were not going to be any questions. They just wanted us in that car.