by Alex Shaw
Varchenko sat in the penthouse of the Premier Palace Hotel. He still had his flat in central Kyiv but much preferred to be pampered and away from his wife. He also liked mixing with the international business elite in the overpriced bar. Today however, he was not here for pleasure. Two members of the ALFA stood outside the room in addition to his own personal security guards. Dudka bit into a peach and added another stain to his tie.
“Former Spetsnaz captain now with his own private army. What did you do to anger this man Valeriy?” The question was rhetorical.
Varchenko opened his bloodshot eyes and reached for the very expensive Scottish single malt whiskey. “Business is a dangerous game Genna. The trick is to know when you have lost.”
“And have you?”
Varchenko slurped. “Look at me Genna, look at me. I have businesses all over the Odessa Oblast, more money that I can ever spend, a beautiful daughter, a wonderful granddaughter and a wife that I hardly ever see. I should be happy. I should be respected, but no. NO. People try to threaten me, try to kill me. I am worried Genna. I think that it is time to stop playing the game, old friend.”
Dudka dropped his peach stone in the waste paper basket. “It is not a game when people are killed, Valeriy. The son in England assassinated two days ago. Now today an English teacher. Who will be next?”
“Me, of course. If we don’t stop Knysh, Pashinski – whatever name he uses – then I will be next. Why? Pride. His pride will not let him lose. I know him Genna, we are the same.”
“So you want to hide? You want to run.” Dudka had never heard ‘General’ Varchenko talk like this.
Varchenko shook his head. “I have never run in my life and you most of all should know that Genna. I am tired of playing. It now stops. Tomorrow I will go back to Odessa and wait for him. We have a business meeting after all, a shipment to safely transport.”
“You still think that he will come?” Dudka was puzzled.
Varchenko had not told his old friend of his handling fee. The fact was that Pashinski’s money would have been very useful now that Varchenko was almost legitimate. He would have let several shipments go and then turned the younger man in when he was not expecting it. “A man like Pashinski does not simply walk away Genna. I believe that he cannot afford to let this shipment slip.”
“A shipment of weapons to be sold to the crazies.” Dudka was angry that he had not been able to stop this particular trader before, but now that he knew the full picture he would.
“What I cannot understand Genna, is why would a patriotic Ukrainian want to supply weapons to our mutual enemies?”
“He is not Ukrainian Valeriy, he is not even Russian. He is Lithuanian.” Dudka left this piece of information hanging in the air.
“A-ha.” Varchenko nodded, sipped the Scotch,then filled in the gaps. “So he wants to hurt Russia for…” He let his voice trail off. There was hatred of Russia in many quarters for what she had done under the banner of the Soviet Union, especially so among the Baltic States who had been the last to join and the first to leave the Union. “Then I was correct. He is crazy.”
“Tell me more about the shipment.” Dudka eyed up another piece of fruit.
“He called me. It will arrive in two days.”
“From where?” Dudka reached forward, grabbed a banana.
“He did not say but I can tell you that he wants it on my cargo plane to Pakistan.”
“You need to give me details of this plane Genna.”
“Of course. The flight plan is the same each week.”
“And you are expecting him when?”
“We have an agreement. He is to oversee the loading of the first shipment on Wednesday. We are to meet at the dacha then drive to the airport.”
Dudka shook his head. “You must realise that he knows you have given us a description of him? He will want to silence you. This game, as you put it, is very dangerous old friend. The man has no fear, but we will stop him Valeriy.”
Varchenko leaned forward. “What I want from you is an ALFA team to strengthen my own men. I agree that we will stop him, Genna, and then I will retire from the game.”
*
Zankovetskaya Street, Central Kyiv
It was 22:00 and he had called Blazhevich away from home. Both men had already been working late due to the day’s developments. The dead man at the house in the exclusive area of Petropavlivska Borschagivka had been identified as Oleg Zukauskas, a former Spetsnaz soldier who had served with Pashinski. A search of the house had been ordered and while it had been confirmed that ‘Knysh’ had lived there they still did not have any physical evidence that Knysh was Pashinski. They had however found an airline booking confirmation for a return ticket from Dubai to Islamabad in the name of Brad Peters. This was with an envelope containing $8,000. Blazhevich had sent a telex to Interpol regarding this mysterious passenger. It had not yet been answered. Blazhevich was still hopeful that as the search continued something else might turn up. Dudka opened the front door of his flat.
“Come in Vitaly Romanovich. This way.”
They walked along the hall past closed doors to the kitchen. Blazhevich was impressed by the size of the flat and the height of the ceilings, at least five meters. The dark wood panelling added to the stately demeanour, a world away from his flat in the Obolon district, with its thin walls and noisy neighbours.
“Sit, Vitaly.” Dudka gestured towards the kitchen table. “ I have called you here on serious business. I have something to tell you.” Dudka briefed him on his conversation with Varchenko and developments regarding Pashinski. He explained how Pashinski had sought to use Varchenko’s network to transport illegal arms to the east and heroin to the west (he wasn’t sure about the narcotics but took an educated guess) and that the first shipment was due in two days. Dudka confirmed Blazhevich’s theory that Pashinski had been responsible for the murder of both Maliks and surmised that this was a show of force meant to impress General Varchenko and warn him what would happen if he did not cooperate.
Blazhevich took in the information but there was still something that troubled him. “What about Aidan Snow?”
“What do you think?” Dudka replied with a benevolent curl of his lips.
“I do not think that he is the assassin.” Blazhevich had felt this for a while but not expressed it due to lack of evidence.
“He was the perfect suspect, especially as the rifle was found in his room, but I agree with you, Vitaly Romanovich. Why would Pashinski hire an outsider when he has his own Spetsnaz Brigada? Why also seek to eliminate this man in such a way?”
“I do not know, Gennady Stepanovich. Perhaps to confuse, to throw a false trail? There must be some connection that we do not know about.”
Dudka nodded. “Perhaps. I am sure that if we ask the traitor Budanov nicely he will gladly tell us.” He clasped his hands together before relaxing. “Pressing matters. We have three objectives in our operation, which you will coordinate, Vitaly Romanovich.” Blazhevich sat up straighter. Dudka continued, “One: prevent the shipment from leaving the airport, two: protect General Varchenko, three: apprehend Pashinski.” He paused for effect as his subordinate retrieved a pen and notepad from his coat pocket. “Put down your pen, I do not want this recorded.”
Blazhevich raised his eyebrows. “Sir?”
“Listen, Vitaly. This will be a ‘grey’ operation because you have my full authority but we will not be informing the border guards or the local militia. They simply cannot be trusted.”
Blazhevich was shocked but sat a little straighter.
“You will be taking an ALFA team to Odessa to observe and if need be secure both the airport and the General’s dacha. You will speak to the commander today.” Dudka folded his arms. “The troops go tomorrow.”
Blazhevich was surprised by the time frame but nevertheless excited. “Yes, Gennady Stepanovich. Are we sure that Pashinski will take the bait? Will he show?”
“In this life we can be sure of nothing; but let me
ask you Vitaly, could you write off several million dollars? In my opinion neither can Pashinski, and we must catch him.” Dudka uncrossed his arms. “You will meet Varchenko and his head of security at the Premier Palace Hotel tonight. We have no way of knowing when Pashinski will show but the transport plane leaves Odessa Airport on Wednesday evening. Vitaly, you will plan whatever you see fit. Remember Varchenko was a general once, but now you are in charge.”
“Thank you Gennady Stepanovich.” Blazhevich felt honoured as well as apprehensive to have this much responsibility thrust on to him.
“That’s it, you can go.” Dudka stood and removed a paper package from the fridge. He noticed that Blazhevich had not moved. “You want to watch me eat?”
Blazhevich tried not to blush. “No, sir.” He rose and left the flat. Dudka watched him leave. A good boy, but too polite, too sensitive.
Blazhevich shut the car door and placed his phone in the holder. He’d switched it on again after his meeting with the boss. As he made his way towards the ALFA barracks he noticed three missed calls, all from the same person. He called the number, it rang once.
“Vickers.”
“Alistair Phillipovich, good evening.”
“Vitaly. Have you got an update?”
They had not spoken since Blazhevich had had the unenviable task of informing Vickers earlier in the day of the death of Arnaud Hurst and accompanying him to the mortuary. This had saddened and shocked both intelligence officers, especially Vickers, who had been on speaking terms with the young Brit. Vickers had just finished informing the next of kin. Blazhevich mulled over how much to tell his British contact and then made a decision. “Snow is no longer a suspect in the Malik murder.”
Vickers, who had his own phone jammed to his ear, nearly fell off his chair. “Repeat that Vitaly.”
“I said Snow is no longer a suspect. We have reason to believe that it was a business rival. Pashinski.”
“Pashinski?”
Blazhevich negotiated a junction. “Yes.”
“He is alive?” Vickers was incredulous.
“We believe so. I can now confirm that he is the main suspect in the Hurst murder.” He could have told Vickers this earlier but chose not to as then he didn’t have the whole picture. Both men paused; the death was still too real.
“Any news on the woman or Snow?” Vickers asked with urgency.
“None since we spoke last. Remember he is still wanted for shooting the diplomatic protection member on Pushkinskaya.”
“What’s the victim’s status?” Vickers had momentarily forgotten about that shooting.
“He’ll live. I have to end now, we have a major manhunt on our hands Alistair, but I’ll keep you informed.”
“Many thanks Vitaly.” Vickers stood and paced his office. Snow had saved one life but not the other. Had it been Snow’s fault or his own for not believing him? You have to make a decision on the evidence you have, on what you can see and not on what you cannot, not on speculation. Regardless of the blame, Snow and the girl had to be found. Vickers left his office and walked towards the kitchen. At this hour he shared the embassy with only the security guards and they would not make him any tea!
Where would Snow go? He tried to think as he walked. Snow would now be into escape and evasion mode and attempting to put as much distance between himself and Kyiv as possible. He didn’t have his passport; Blazhevich had this and besides the airports had been watched. What did that leave? A car; he didn’t own one but could easily pay a ‘cab’, or a bus. Snow could pass for a local so could hide among the crowds, but both of these solutions seemed too precarious somehow. Ukrainian roads were not made for high speed travel and besides, he might get stopped. Then it hit him. Where was the girl from? He poured the water into his cup. Hadn’t Snow once said? Vickers closed his eyes and asked his usually photographic memory for help. At the Hash. He had said that he was alone because Hurst was in Lviv with his girlfriend. That was it, it made sense. Her parents were from Lviv. Snow and perhaps the girl would be heading for Lviv and then would try to leave the country.
Vickers left his half made cup of Earl Grey and ran back to his office. He tapped in a few keystrokes on his desktop and was on the official Ukrainian railways website, www.uz.gov.ua. He searched the timetables and found several slow trains to Lviv before he saw what he wanted, the Grand Tour. Snow must have taken the Grand Tour. He checked the times; the train ran at 20:00 and took approximately twelve hours. Snow would be arriving at 08:00. Vickers switched to www.Ukrainefare.com and checked flights to Lviv. The next would leave in the morning. Shit, he could not get there in time on a commercial plane. Options? Ask the SBU to stop Snow at the station? No, he could be armed and so could they. Contact the Warsaw embassy and ask his counterpart Horner to get to Lviv? Again, he could not get there in time. The Secret Intelligence officer paused, then picked up the secure desk phone and called Blazhevich to ask him a large favour. Before Blazhevich had the chance to ask why he was calling, Vickers said, “I need a plane.”
TWENTY-THREE
Lviv Central Railway Station, Western Ukraine
Vickers looked down the platform at the arriving train. It had been a guess and he was soon either to be very relieved or very embarrassed. Blazhevich had insisted on coming with him, after all Snow was still wanted but not, they were both relieved, for murder. Vickers knew that Blazhevich had somewhere to be not by what he said but by the phone calls he kept making. Vickers also knew that his SBU contact had stuck his neck out by arranging the plane and letting Vickers run the show. The local militia had not been informed, neither had the SBU, apart from the two rookie agents Blazhevich had brought along to watch his back. If all went well Blazhevich would tell his boss where he was and what he had achieved, if not then there would be a great deal of explaining to do. Vickers had informed Patchem, who was fully behind him if the proverbial was to hit the fan.
“Your men will stay outside as you asked?” Vickers just wanted to be sure.
“Yes, as arranged, Alistair. I’ll remain here and keep you in sight.” He drummed his fingers on the office windowsill.
“Right.” Vickers left the office and took the steps down to the arrivals level. Lviv’s station was grand, art nouveau, a relic of the days when the city was the capital of Habsburg Galicia. Vickers made a quick mental note to return when all this was over and take a longer look. The guard stood on the platform and raised a flag. Doors opened and passengers streamed out, most were pulling wheeled cases. Vickers stood partly concealed next to the newspaper kiosk and studied the faces. Passengers moved past him, some returning home, others just arriving. A couple of western looking businessmen were taking their time as they stopped to observe and pass comments on the workings of the station.
Vickers disregarded them, then focused on a group of three. Two of them were elderly women, one was a man who was carrying their bags. He was smiling and chatting as they walked. Vickers continued to watch. The trio moved closer and Vickers could see the trousers that seemed slightly too large, the unkempt hair brushed back and finally the brown leather Gortex boots. He felt his phone vibrate, the signal that Blazhevich had spotted him too. They reached the end of the platform and then Vickers stepped out into the open. He kept his eyes on the face of the man until the suspect turned his head. Their eyes locked. Without losing eye contact Vickers heard the man, with Moscow-accented Russian, tell the old women that he had been happy to help.
“Welcome to Lviv.” Vickers spoke first.
“Alistair, you needn’t have come all this way to welcome me personally.” Snow was still but his eyes now darted around.
“Where is the girl?” Vickers meant Larissa.
“She didn’t come with me.” So they didn’t have her yet, that was a good sign.
“The SBU know that you didn’t shoot Malik. You are no longer a murder suspect.”
Snow’s eyes returned to Vickers again. “How?”
“They have testimony from an insider. Pashinski ord
ered it.”
“Pashinski and his men also killed Arnaud,” Snow stated as he tried to control his anger. “Where is Pashinski?”
“Sorry, don’t know,” Vickers shrugged. Then took an involuntary step back, believing that Snow was about to explode.
Snow inhaled deeply and in almost a whisper said, “I am going to kill him.”
Vickers believed him. “Look, we have a plane waiting to take you back to Kyiv. The SBU want to talk to you.”
“And accuse me of attempted murder?” Snow was none too happy with the offer.
“That cannot be avoided.” Surely Snow was not going to do a runner now?
“Perhaps it can, Alistair.” Blazhevich appeared from behind Snow. “I think that it is in our best interest to put this aside until Pashinski is caught.”
“Aidan, I’ve told Agent Blazhevich that you can ID him.”
Snow took a side step so both men were facing him. He studied the two.
Blazhevich spoke. “We will drive to the plane then fly back to Kyiv Zhulyany Airport. I have some questions to ask you on the way.”
Snow sighed and replied in Russian, “Pyedem.” Let’s go.
*
Kyiv Zhulyany Airport
They were on final approach to land when Vickers felt his phone vibrate. “Vickers.”
“Alistair, it’s Jack. I have just come into some information by way of Five.”
Vickers looked around the small plane. Snow sat opposite him with Blazhevich further ahead, talking to the pilot. The two agents were looking out of the window.
“Go ahead.”
“Bav Malik’s assassin was supplied with a weapon by a Moldovan, name of Arkadi Cheban. He says that he works for his uncle, Ivan Lesukov.”
Vickers listened. Lesukov’s name had been discussed and he had been accused of being behind the recent increase of illegal arms sales. Patchem continued, “Lesukov is a former member of the Red Army Spetsnaz and served with Pashinski in Afghanistan. According to Cheban, Pashinski has been contracted to ‘facilitate the transportation’ of Lesukov’s arms shipments through Ukraine.”