Codename Files Nos.1, 2 & 3

by Mark Arundel

  I pocketed the phone and we grabbed our bags. Geoffrey asked, ‘Which way?’

  There were two options; either back the way we had come, which was down the steps and over the two gates or, down the internal staircase and into the underground garage, which was the way our visitors were coming. The safest escape route was back the way we had come. This was the most likely route to keep us away from whoever had arrived. However, they almost certainly had travelled by car, and the prospect of getting a vehicle was a strong incentive. I made a decision. I pushed Geoffrey and whispered, ‘That way.’ We were going to take the internal staircase to the underground garage. It was the wrong decision.

  We rushed from the kitchen and took the archway that led us through to the gloomy staircase just as the lift doors opened to the hallway behind us. Geoffrey was a step ahead of me and saw him first. He was coming up the stairs, two at a time. It was Franz Berne; the one I had attacked in the car and the one who had slashed his knife across my ribs. He was looking down as he began to make the final turn in the staircase. He almost crashed into Geoffrey.

  How did they find us? There was no time to think.

  Geoffrey shrieked and threw up his satchel. Franz was surprised and even though he held a gun, he was slow to bring it up. I rushed him with my head down like a charging bull. With the increased height advantage of the stairs, I hit him in the throat. We went over together. Franz flew backwards with my full weight on top of him. The drop seemed to go on and on and I realised we were falling the whole flight of stairs to the bottom. The impact, when it came, was jarring. We struck the lowest steps and then continued in a slide across the floor. The violent force with which he struck his back and head left Franz unconscious.

  I realised the other two Russians were close and we were in terrible danger. Geoffrey had followed me down the flight of stairs. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. I jumped up, feeling the pain caused by hitting my kneecap and elbow. I grabbed Geoffrey by the arm and pulled him away from the stairs and up against the wall. Whoever was in the lift would have heard the noise from the fall. We had to escape into the garage. I pulled the Glock from my waistband, stuck my head out and looked up. Looking back at me from the turn in the staircase was Vladimir. He had obviously seen the lifeless Franz at the bottom of the stairs and hesitated as he realised I was nearby, and now he knew exactly where I was. We had to move and move quickly.

  I grabbed Geoffrey and said, ‘We’re going through that door.’ We reached it in a couple of strides. I moved like a crab, so I could watch the top of the stairs and fire if Vlad appeared. Geoffrey found the handle just as Vlad’s head popped out and I shot on instinct without having any time to aim. Vlad dropped. The surprise froze me for a second. I pulled Geoffrey and said, ‘Wait, were going back up the stairs.’ I changed my mind and it probably saved our lives. As we ran past Franz and up the stairs to the prostrate Vlad the door behind us, the one we had almost gone through, opened and the third Russian, the one I didn’t know the name of, came through carrying a machine gun. If we’d gone through that door, the spray of bullets would have been the end of us for sure.

  We were almost at the top. I shouted to Geoffrey, ‘Keep going.’

  Behind us, the machine gun barked like a tethered Alsatian and the bullets pounded the wall and sent plaster spitting through the air.

  I looked down at Vlad as I jumped over him. Bright, fresh blood ran from a wound above his left ear. The bullet had only clipped him, but it was enough to floor him. He was out cold. The machine gun fire had spurred Geoffrey into, what for him was a sprint. I followed him into the kitchen, straight through and out onto the terrace. I stopped him with my arm and we moved together against the wall behind the door. I signalled with my finger for him to keep silent. I listened carefully. The footsteps of the third Russian told me he had arrived at the archway and then stopped. I wanted him to turn our way. If he walked into the kitchen, I was going to shoot him dead. It took a while before he finally moved. Unfortunately, he turned the other way and moved slowly into the main living area.

  I now had to decide whether to run or go after him. My problem was Geoffrey. I didn’t want to leave him. However, taking him with me was more dangerous. I knew that going after the Russian was the right thing to do. I whispered to Geoffrey, ‘Keep quiet and stay here.’

  He pulled my arm and whispered, ‘Don’t leave me.’

  I didn’t need to look into his eyes to know he was scared. After all, a Russian killer carrying a machine gun was hunting him. It was not surprising he was unhappy about the prospect of me leaving him alone.

  I changed my plan and decided to leave the third Russian and go straight for the vehicle in the garage. The Russian, I knew, would sweep both floors before moving his search outside. We had enough time to get away.

  I whispered, ‘We’re getting out; the way we came in. Move quickly.’

  Geoffrey smiled with relief. He whispered, ‘Thank you.’

  I pushed him over the first gate and we went quietly down the steps. At the bottom gate, I pulled him down while I turned back and scanned the villa to ensure nobody had seen us. The Russian was still inside. We went over the gate and took cover below the high wall.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We’ll make our way back to the garage and take a look,’ I said.

  ‘Wait, shouldn’t we...'

  I was already on the move. Geoffrey caught me up and stayed silent. We hurried back along the dusty road and turned up onto the entry road. I held the Glock low by my side and Geoffrey held his bag while keeping only a step behind me.

  The garage door was open. We stopped and I pulled Geoffrey against the wall. I ducked my head and took a rapid glance. It was dark inside but I saw the square outline shape of a vehicle. I looked again. The garage seemed empty. I saw the lift door closed and the shaft was soundless. The driver’s door of the tall vehicle was open. I went in fast, treading lightly on silent feet. As I reached the rear quarter, I realised someone was inside. It was then that I recognised the 4x4 and understood how the Russians had found us. Sitting with her hands tied to the steering wheel was the estate agent, Maria de Cordoba. She was gagged and sweating with fear. She saw me, became agitated and started moaning. I wasn’t sure whether her reaction to the sight of me was one of relief or heightened panic. I signalled with my finger for her to be silent, and then whispered in Spanish, ‘Do you have the car keys?’ She shook her head and I felt droplets of cold sweat hit my face from her moving hair. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Although I knew I had to remove the gag, I wanted to make sure she was calm first. I continued in Spanish and whispered, ‘You’re safe, now. I work for the British government and I’m going to help you.’ Maria didn’t seem too comforted by my words. Perhaps she was thinking her predicament was entirely my fault. ‘I have to know which one of the three Russians has the car key.’ Maria’s wild eyes cooled a little. I pulled out her gag and said, ‘Keep very quiet.’

  She gulped air and said in Spanish, ‘They told me they were friends of yours. They kidnapped me from the shop. They held a gun to my head.’

  I whispered, ‘Just breathe. Speak quietly and slowly. Tell me, which one has the car key?’

  She continued to breathe fast and then said, ‘The leader.’

  ‘Which one’s the leader?’

  ‘He’s the one with the machine gun.’

  It would have to be the one with the machine gun. What to do?

  While I cut her hands free—the Russians had used her own scarf as an improvised restraint—Geoffrey said, ‘Don’t you think we should...?’ He didn’t finish the sentence. Then he said, ‘Let’s leave the car and get away while we can.’

  Maria completed the job of freeing her hands without my help and said with regret, ‘That was my favourite silk scarf.’

  Geoffrey, understandably, wanted to put distance between him and the machine gun but I had made up my mind to finally deal with the Russians. I was convinced it was the right decision.

&
nbsp; I whispered to Geoffrey and Maria, ‘I want you two to leave.’ Then I whispered to Maria in Spanish, ‘Go to the beach below. Avoid the marina. Sit at the back by the rocks and wait for me.’ I repeated my instructions to Geoffrey. He was unhappy that I wasn’t going to be going with him. I told him, ‘I have to get the car key, and I want you safely out of the way.’

  Maria asked me in Spanish, ‘Why do we have to go to the beach and wait for you? ‘I want to go to the police station. These men are dangerous and I’m scared.’

  I replied in Spanish, ‘I can’t explain now. Please, go to the beach with Geoffrey and wait. If I don’t come in thirty minutes then go to the police and tell them everything. Okay?’ Maria didn’t look sure or happy but she nodded her agreement and acceptance.

  I whispered to Geoffrey, ‘If I’m not at the beach in thirty minutes call Charlotte and tell her what’s happened. Maria will want to go to the police; let her, but don’t go with her. Stay on the beach until Charlotte gives you instructions.’ Geoffrey’s face was dropping further with every passing second. He didn’t want to go.

  He said, ‘I want to stay with you.’

  I said, ‘No; you need to get away from the Russian with the machine gun. Go with Maria. I won’t be long.’

  I led them to the open garage door and checked outside. I said to them, ‘It’s all clear, go.’ Neither of them moved. They were both still unsure. I smiled reassuringly and pushed them out. I said, ‘Go. I’ll be there before you know it.’ I wondered where I had all these words of comfort from and then realised they were things my mother used to say to me when I was a boy.

  Once they had decided to leave, they walked away quickly and disappeared from sight in seconds. I put all thoughts of them out of mind; it was time to concentrate on the Russians.

  I returned to the closed stairway door, pulled it gently ajar and peeked through. Franz Berne was still unconscious. He hadn’t moved. I went through the door and listened. I heard nothing. Franz was still breathing but he wouldn’t be troubling me anytime soon. I left him and went slowly up the stairs. Before I reached the turn, I stopped and listened again. Still, I heard nothing.

  I saw the damage to the wall caused by the machine gun bullets but I didn’t see the unconscious body of Vladimir Karyotin. He must have come round.

  I reached the top of the stairs and stopped under the archway. I listened again. This time, I heard voices, Russian voices. They were coming from the kitchen terrace. I moved forward, keeping to the wall, treading slowly and silently until I reached a good position. The corner covered me from sight, helped by the angle of the door-frame, but by dipping my head sideways, I could see through the kitchen to the outside door, which was still open. Vladimir was sitting at the table, the same one Geoffrey and I had been sitting at not ten minutes earlier, and he was holding a blood-stained cloth to his bowed head. He was clearly still groggy. Standing beside him was the third Russian, the leader, and he was still holding the machine gun. He was unhappy, agitated and he spoke harshly to his injured companion. I didn’t need to speak Russian to understand what he was saying.

  I made the sensible decision of not trying anything clever; a fast direct attack was all I needed. It was fortunate I had found them together in the same place. In this way, I could deal with them both at the same time and not have to worry about my back.

  I readied the Glock in a two handed grip, stepped out and approached silently across the kitchen. I moved quickly through the doorway and appeared on the terrace in the sunlight with the Glock already raised. The leader saw me, turned and jerked in a desperate attempt to bring up his machine gun. He was too late. I had already targeted him first and I shot him once, hitting him in the centre of his chest. The Glock cracked and recoiled in my hands. The Russian dropped backwards and the machine gun fell from his grip, crashing across the terrace flagstones.

  Vlad went for his pistol but I was already moving. Two bounds and I had reached him. I cracked him as hard as I could across the side of the head. He fell out of the chair and went down, groaning and only semi-conscious. He too sounded like a dying water buffalo. Maybe all men make that sound.

  I collected the machine gun and the pistol from the ground and put them on the table. I should have checked the man I shot first but I had hit him at close range in the chest, so I didn’t think he was getting up. I was wrong.

  My back was to him when he charged me. He slammed me with his forearm across my shoulder blades. I shot forward but managed to stay on my feet. He then went for his machine gun on the table. I didn’t have time to reach him. I kicked out sideways at the table leg. It worked; the table juddered across the flagstones and both guns slid and fell before he could grab them.

  It bought me enough time to reach for the Glock but the Russian was quick and he reached me in time. He was obviously professionally trained and an experienced fighter. I guessed he was an ex-Russian soldier. How was he doing this after I had shot him? There was only one answer; not that I had time in that moment to think about it, I was in a fight for my life.

  The man gripped my wrist and turned the Glock away while coiling his free arm and delivering a clean, hard punch to my ribs. His fist struck the knife wound and I felt the ripping pain of tearing stitches. I breathed deeply and held on, pushing against him while trying to twist my gun hand free. He attempted a head butt but I had anticipated it and pushed myself against him, which blocked his opportunity. Our cheeks brushed like a society kiss and I felt his rough bristle and smelt his pungent aroma like a Goulash stew.

  I couldn’t shake his grip on my wrist; I twisted my upper body and landed a solid blow with my free elbow to his chest. In the constraints forced on our bodies by the fight, it was the only part of him I could hit. I was lucky. I must have struck in the same place as the bullet because I felt him weaken and stumble. I pressed my advantage and elbowed him again aiming for the same spot. My aim was good. He dropped to his knees and his grip faltered. I twisted my gun hand free and swung with all my strength. The gun butt hit his jaw line and he collapsed unconscious.

  During the minute we had been fighting, Vladimir had luckily passed out again. I looked at the two Russians, both lifeless and comatose on the kitchen terrace like drunken teenagers at a parent-free party.

  I felt the sharp pain and looked down to see fresh dark blood staining my t-shirt and dripping off my waistband. I lifted my shirt and saw the torn stitches. I would need to have them redone.

  I went over to the Russian leader and ripped open his shirt. Underneath I saw what I knew must be there. He was wearing a ballistic vest. I searched his pockets and found the key to Maria’s 4x4. I put it in my pocket.

  The simplest thing now for me to do was to put a bullet in each of the three Russian’s heads. That would be an end to it. Something, though, stopped me. A man in this work, on a job like this, wearing a bulletproof vest must have something important enough to make him want to stay alive. They were killers, of course, and they had caused me pain and enough trouble to warrant two bullets each, but for some reason, I didn’t want to kill them. I wasn’t sure why.

  I decided to secure them in the villa and let the local police chief, Alicia’s father, deal with them. Maybe, it would keep him busy long enough for me to finish and safely leave his island before he arrested me, or shot me, or both.

  In the kitchen was a walk-in pantry. It had a door with a latch and a bolt. After searching them fully and removing all their weapons, I dragged the two Russians from the terrace into the pantry and locked them in. Back downstairs, I did the same with Franz. There was a windowless storage room in the garage with a padlocked door.

  My wound was still bleeding badly when I climbed into the 4x4 and started the engine. I pulled out my Sony phone and called Alicia.

  She answered and said, ‘It’s you—want do you want? My father is looking for you. He’s going to arrest you.’

  I said, ‘Alicia, listen to me carefully. This is important. Tell your father to send his men to a villa;
I don’t know the exact address; its north of the marina, front line and it’s for sale at over a million euros. Do you know it?’

  She asked, ‘Is it owned by a German couple; does it have a lift?’

  I said, ‘Yes, that sounds like the one. It overlooks the beach from a steep cliff. It’s near Calle las Adelfas. Are you sure you know which one it is?’

  She confirmed, ‘Yes, I know the villa.’

  I said, ‘Good. Tell your father to look in the pantry in the kitchen and the storeroom in the garage. Tell him to tell his men to be careful when they open the doors. Got it?’

  She said, ‘Yes, got it. I wanted to...’

  Before she could say more, I ended the call. It was time to get Geoffrey. He’d already been on his own far too long. I reversed out and drove slowly, one handed, while I pressed my other hard against my bleeding side. I followed the road and cut down towards the marina before turning off and driving behind the row of buildings to the beach access road. A concrete slope led onto the sand and I stopped with enough room to turn. Neither Geoffrey nor Maria was in sight, so I sounded the horn. A few heads turned to look but Geoffrey didn’t appear as I had hoped. Not wanting to get out of the vehicle because of my bleeding wound, I sounded the horn again. More heads turned but there was still no sign of Geoffrey. He must have been hiding behind the rocks until I appeared as I had told him to do.

  I switched off the engine and got out carefully. Still pressing my hand firmly against my side I walked slowly down the ramp. I locked the 4x4 using the remote and stepped onto the black sand. The air at the back of the beach, trapped by the cliff, away from the cooling water was stifling. For a moment, a stab of concern ran through me but then it was gone as I saw Geoffrey and Maria sitting together on a smooth rock, dangling their feet like children. They both saw me, and Geoffrey’s face broke into a wide smile of relief. He waved and then jumped down onto the sand. Maria followed him. He called out my name. I stopped and signalled for them to come to me. They started to walk and then Geoffrey stopped. His face changed. His smile fell away and he replaced it with a frown of worry and fear. I saw from his eyes he was looking behind me. I turned back. Standing at the bottom of the ramp looking at me was Stephen Bradshaw, and behind him stood Treadwell and Baines.