Chapter Seventeen
Viktor climbed back in his car still shaking with rage. He picked up his mobile and made a call.
“Vladislav? I hope I haven’t disturbed your sleep. I can report that I have learned the prisoners departed for the Baltic on a yacht of some kind. I believe they left three or even four hours ago. That is all I know, but I have it on good authority.”
“On which good authority?”
Viktor cursed his own loquacity. “The British MI6, Sir.”
“That is not good authority. They could be giving you, what do they call it – a red herring. That means they could be misdirecting you.”
“With respect, Sir, I think it is true.”
“Then I shall pass the information to Moscow. Goodnight”
Viktor started the car and made his way out of the carpark. Nigel was nowhere to be seen. Presumably gone back inside the club to wait for the breakdown service.
Vladislav knew he had to pass on the news to Moscow straight away, whether it was right or wrong. One’s employment depended on it, even one’s freedom.
He dialled SVR Headquarters immediately. When the duty officer answered, he said that he had important information regarding the escaped English prisoners. Who could he report it to?
“You could tell me, I am the duty officer.”
“If I tell you will you quickly pass the information to Timur Kuschenka?
I know he is personally handling the affair.”
The duty officer was a patient man. “Yes, I will mark the message for his personal attention. You can now tell me. I have my pencil poised.”
“One of my men has reported that the English prisoners, who have been seen today in St Petersburg, have been spotted sailing out into the Baltic.”
The duty officer, once off the phone decided that he might be prudent and try to contact Kuschenka at his house. He was known to keep late hours.
He was awake, and pleased that the message hadn’t waited on his desk. He thanked the duty officer warmly. He sent an email marked very urgent, to all the SVR offices of countries bordering the Baltic. The message ran:
Heads of SVR
Urgent watch for escaped English prisoners.
Two men, one aged thirty, the other forty, tall, white have stolen some yacht type boat, and set sail from St Petersburg. No description of boat presently. It is important that you patrol all marinas in your area. Permission is granted to bribe marina staff for information. Also keep watch on all anchorages.
In the event of capture dead or alive, report to Head of SVR Moscow.
MI6 in London intercepted the message, which was added to the nascent file which previously held only two pieces of paper. A copy of the message was also forwarded to MI5 as a courtesy. The next morning a member of staff tied up the permission to charter a yacht which had been sought the previous day by MI6 in St Petersburg. So they knew the yacht identity even if the Russians didn’t.
Nigel Blair-Johnson arrived at the office late the next morning, and missed the start of the briefing. He walked in at nine-thirty and apologised to Smitzy.
“I’ve been up most of the night waiting for the breakdown services.”
Smitzy said, “Shouldn’t buy British then.”
“You’re still living in the seventies, Smitzy, get a life. Actually, Viktor shot out my tyre, the bastard.”
After Smitzy, and even the secretary had stopped laughing, Nigel said “Don’t you want to know the story?” He told them anyway.
“I guessed you had got the boys away in your boat. I’ve just had a message from London, with a transcript of an email that went out during the night to SVR heads all over the Baltic. Orders to pick them up. Dead or alive. That means shoot them. What a panic, eh?”
Smitzy paused and thought for a moment. “Oh my God, they’ll have asked the Yacht Club what boat was stolen. Nigel get on to them straight away.”
Nigel dialled a number on the phone. Direct line to the Commodore. He was a friendly Anglo-Russian, who knew what Nigel did for a living. Well, he knew he was a member of the Consulate.
“Stanley, hello. It’s Nigel Blair-Johnson here. Sorry to bother you. It occurs to me that the SVR might have been asking which yacht was stolen last night. If they do, don’t tell them it was mine.”
“They have already phoned. I told them it was that Dutch fellow’s yacht, you know the ‘traditional Dutch boat. Looks like a barge, and probably sails like one. Then I switched the Dutch boat into your slot. Might be ages before the error is discovered, what?”
“Marvellous. You anticipated my suggestion. Well done. I’ll buy you one in the bar.”
“It was nothing. I haven’t forgiven the SVR for that shoot-up in the restaurant. By the way, I heard a shot out in the carpark last night. Well two shots, it sounded like. Not some more trouble, I hope.”
“Stanley, promise you won’t laugh.” He told him.
Stanley chuckled loudly anyway and said goodbye.
Find My Brother Page 19