by Rik Stone
“I know, but … just do as I ask, Mehmet.”
The conversation ended with Mehmet disappearing into the aft cabin.
Adam shouted up from the jetty. “Yuri, are you on board?”
Yuri was tempted to ignore him, pretend he wasn’t there. Instead, he took a deep breath and went out onto the side deck. “Adam, what’re you doing here? For someone who said they wanted no further association with me, we seem to be seeing an awful lot of each other.”
Uninvited, Hassan was up and over onto the boat in three large steps. He took himself into the saloon while Adam, with a little more delicacy, used each of the five rungs of the rope ladder to climb aboard.
“This is important,” he said, and pushed his oversized body between Yuri and the bulkhead, held a hand to steady his blue fez, and followed Hassan into the saloon. Inside, he picked up Mehmet’s wet towel between finger and thumb, and looked at it quizzically before dropping it onto the floor and sitting. “You know I have many drivers working the coastline: water and road taxis. Well, they feed back information about anything that might be of interest. My latest information is that Sergeant Kudret and his team are moving the drug processing plants to new premises. They’re leaving town. Something has to be done in a hurry.”
Yuri raised an eyebrow. “Right, I’ll get in touch with my people and see what they want to do.”
“No, no, you don’t understand; they’re actually on the move. Something has to be done now. I can understand that you’re probably worried why I should be interested. But I let you down with Batur. I owe you and your team, and I’m the kind of man who needs to feel comfortable when I look at myself in the mirror each morning. Sounds mushy, I know, Yuri, but it really is as simple as that.”
For some reason Hassan hovered as if rejection would have consequences. But why should I feel like this? Yuri asked of himself. Nothing has happened to suggest danger. But … he didn’t believe Adam and something was causing an underlying fear to run rampant. A long time ago Yuri had been the toast of Spetsnaz. That ended when he lost his nerve in the face of the enemy. Michel had been his friend for many years prior to that and gave Yuri the job of gleaning information from the Turks in Istanbul; he wanted him to have a safe haven until his military days were over.
“And what is it you’re suggesting we should do?” Yuri asked, still unhappy with the way he was being drawn into Adam’s game.
“Move against Kudret now. We don’t have to wait for your team. I have a squad here, armed and ready to go. Unless you’re afraid or something?” Adam sniggered.
In recent months, Yuri had faced action and proven to Michel he could still do the job. But if Adam was telling the truth and Sergeant Kudret and his gangsters were about to get away and setup somewhere else, the threads leading back to military corruption in Russia would be lost and all of his renewed self-belief would be blown to hell.
“Afraid? I don’t know where you get such stupid ideas. Let’s go.” But he would be on his guard. Should Adam have anything else in mind he’d be ready for him.
Chapter 21
The Kremlin, Moscow, Russia
Michel rubbed a hand down his face. So, the drug operation was being moved away from Icmeler. Trouble was, the information was furnished to Yuri by a man called Adam Mannesh and somehow Mannesh had seduced Yuri into making a move against the drug runners. And Mannesh just happened to have a squad of gunmen on hand ready to help out. Michel dropped his hands onto the arms of the chair and then slammed his open palms onto his desk.
“Shit!”
It hadn’t been long since Mehmet had contacted him and told him what Yuri was up to and, of course, Michel had been obliged to go with it, telling Mehmet to keep tabs on what was happening. That same obligation had forced him to make his play and order the team in Odessa to go to Turkey.
“Why, Yuri? Why?” he said with more than a little frustration in his voice.
Yuri had no reason to believe Kudret’s movements involved Soviet citizens … How could he have allowed himself to get dragged into the fiasco? And the team shouldn’t have had to go over there yet.
“Shit!” he cried again, thumping his fists down.
It was troubling that Mannesh had become party to the raid; there had to be an ulterior motive for him doing so. In his heart Michel had always known that he’d be sending his team in to sort out this latest Turkish connection, but not this early. It was all too fast, his hand was being forced, and now he’d have to take action in Moscow as well. He had wanted to take his time, build a case that would send Irishka to hell, but what had he pulled together? An ammunitions sergeant in a Tula munitions factory. Even having him would be flaky if he was unwilling to talk.
Michel got up and paced the floor. “Think,” he mumbled. “What do we have?” He stopped at the corner window. One way looked over Red Square, the other towards the Moskva River. His view swayed between the two and then rested on the river. What do we have that we can prove? he thought. Georgy, Sergeant Borislav Georgy, is the only link between Turkey and Moscow. If I could find out who he answers to, but who can I trust to make the investigation without making it official? Not an easy list to pull together while Irishka has his people everywhere. He relaxed his jaw as he became aware of the ache from clamping it tightly and studied the river’s natural formation. So many times in Russian history it had been the last stand of defense around the city. The thought set his mind racing … the city … the river … the Great War.
“That’s it!” he said, his heart rate increasing at an emerging idea.
In 1942 the 79th unit of Smersh had played a significant part in winning the Battle of Moscow against the Germans. In fact, ever since the 1917 revolution they had been as reliable as the river itself. Cruel people, true, but a logistically sound unit, none more so. The two sergeants who had the audacity to investigate him. Could they be trusted? If they had been manipulated into doing Irishka’s bidding as they claimed, they wouldn’t be harboring warm feelings towards him. They had bungled the job in Vorkuta, but they were up against Jez and Pavel, so that was understandable.
The nature of the investigation Michel had in mind would suit these two. They had no qualms about using strong-arm tactics when their backs were against the wall – or when they weren’t come to that. He struggled with the decision, tried convincing himself they were perfect for what he wanted, and then said, “Shit, who else is there?”
He buzzed through to his aide’s office and his sergeant appeared as though he had been waiting outside the door.
“Sergeant Filat, I want you to get, uhm … oh, I don’t remember their names – the two Smersh sergeants that burst into my office. I asked you to follow up on their penance.”
“Yes, General, do you want their files as well? I’ve kept tabs on them since you ordered me to relate the case to Captain Bukosky. Not that there’s been much to keep tabs on. They’ve been office-bound ever since their outburst.” The sergeant gave him a cheeky grin.
Filat had grown on Michel and he would be reluctant to lose him just because he didn’t have rank enough to be aide to a general. Nevertheless, Michel’s trust for anyone was still wobbly following the attack on the Gulag. But there comes a time when trust has to be given and Filat’s time had come.
“Forget the files, but I do want our Smersh men here. I have a job for them.”
Michel gave Filat as much information as he thought necessary. The sergeant smiled, clicked heels, and left.
Chapter 22
It was still early and an orange haze hovered over the city streets as Sergeant Afanasiy left General Petrichova’s Lubyanka office. A grin had grown enough that it almost touched each ear. He turned to his partner, his gravel voice nearing tuneful when saying, “We’re back in.”
They crossed Dzerzhinski Square.
“What do you make of Petrichova now?” Afanasiy waited for a response.
Rarely did Anchova reply without first giving thought to a question, too much sometimes. “I thi
nk …” he whispered at last. “I think that maybe there’s some sort of power struggle going on between the generals and that there is a link between Sergeant Georgy and General Irishka.”
Afanasiy was thinking the same thing, but he would let his partner spell it out. “Power struggle? How so?” he asked, and then had to strain his ears; either his hearing was degenerating or Anchova was getting quieter.
“When we got into trouble with Petrichova, it was because General Irishka was trying to get something on him. Now I think it’s probably the other way around. Seems to me they’re both as corrupt as hell. But Petrichova is our boss so we should do whatever it takes to get Irishka.”
Afanasiy nodded. “Good,” he rasped. “I agree. Petrichova has given us information about Sergeant Georgy. Probably only as much as he thinks we need to know, but that’s where we start. We’re going to Tula,” he said, pushing his glasses higher up onto the bridge of his nose, and let the grin take control of his face again. They were back.
*
Apart from Petrichova telling Afanasiy that Sergeant Borislav Georgy was probably mixed up in a drug deal, the only other info given was a photograph and his work schedule; at least they would pick up on him easy enough. When they did find him, first light hadn’t long broken and he was crossing Tula’s Lenin Square, wandering towards the munitions factory. With footfall slow and measured, he looked lost in space. Reaching his destination, he seemed reluctant when disappearing into one of the factory’s office blocks.
Afanasiy had prepared to stand around in the cold all day, as his intention was to dog Borislav’s footsteps, get to know how he spent his time and with whom. If luck was on their side, they would identify the associate that Petrichova believed Borislav had before even speaking with him. But he would have to get him into an interrogation room at some point and to do that he had already come up with a rather unsavory idea.
The day drew to a close and Borislav left the plant, but instead of heading for the barracks, he made his way to a restaurant and went straight through to the bar in the back room. He met and embraced a man in uniform, but this soldier was a colonel. A colonel and a sergeant was an unusual mix. In fact, highly improbable. Afanasiy found himself questioning the situation. He wasn’t overly optimistic about coming up with something damning on the first day, but he would have to check out this colonel.
In the bar, Afanasiy had a quick non-alcoholic Kavas and then moved back across the street from the restaurant to wait with Anchova. Afanasiy stamped his cold feet for an hour and then the colonel left the restaurant. “You wait for the sergeant,” he said. “I’ll tail the colonel.”
He followed him to a civilian apartment in the centre of the city. It was only a short walk to the ammunition factory and the following morning Afanasiy trailed him there too. His name was Colonel Sergei and he was the senior officer at the cartridge factory. It made no sense. Why would a man of his rank be rubbing shoulders with an invoice sergeant? Realistically, there would never be a legitimate reason for their paths to even cross. Yet here they were, embracing, drinking together, laughing. It was something that needed follow up.
Afanasiy made direct contact with Petrichova, and told him about Sergei. “There is a possibility that these clandestine meetings are above board, General,” he concluded, “but we need to be sure. I need to find out if there is any way these men might know each other from past lives.”
Petrichova had given him a number and told him to call back in two days. Now Afanasiy had his answer he was tingling with excitement; there were no blood connections, they had no childhood ties, and there were no career overlaps in their records, nothing to suggest they’d even known each other before coming to the Tula plant.
Afanasiy preened as his guttural tones almost sang bass to his partner. “Nothing we have could be deemed evidence,” he began. “But it seems to me there’s a line of command here that goes beyond military rank.”
Anchova’s voice whispered, “So we go after Georgy now?”
“Yes, my friend, I think we do.”
*
Before Afanasiy had left for Tula, General Petrichova had told him that Borislav had been in Moscow on the previous Wednesday. Now was the time to bring his idea into play. He entered the Tula Cartridge Plant’s office block with Anchova by his side.
“I’m here to speak with a sergeant called Borislav Georgy,” Afanasiy told the soldier who had stopped them in the foyer.
“Let me see your papers, please,” she said, with a sigh revealing interminable boredom.
He flipped her a look at his ID card. She nodded and he shook his head in agitation.
“His workplace; I don’t know where he works.”
“No need, Sergeant; security demands that I escort you.” She had been thumbing through a rotary card index system, but now stopped. “Ah, here he is, not far to walk.”
She took them to Georgy’s office and they found him bent over his desk, pushing a pen.
“Sergeant Georgy?” Afanasiy asked gruffly.
Georgy looked up from the paperwork, surprised. “Er, yes, I…”
The guard was a heavy built woman and filled the gap while standing in the doorway. Afanasiy nodded her out politely and closed the door.
“I’m ordering you to come along with us, please,” Anchova said, loud enough to halt Georgy in mid-speech but barely enough for anyone else to hear.
“But I … What is this? I–”
“If you don’t stand and come with us this instant, we’ll consider you’re resisting arrest and take you by force,” Afanasiy’s graveled words warned.
“Arrest? What are you talki–?” Borislav didn’t get those words out either. The little men moved against him, grabbed his arms roughly, twisted them up his back and forced him from the office.
The guard had left her position and Colonel Sergei had been quick to take her place. His face bloated outward as he began blustering. “Stop what you’re doing right now. This man is assigned to my command and I don’t care who you are or what you’re here for, you have no right to manhandle my people while they’re working within the factory confines.”
Afanasiy and Anchova let go of Borislav. Afanasiy noticed how Anchova took a step back as if to say, ‘I’m only a spectator.’
“Yes, I understand and apologize for the intrusion, Colonel,” Afanasiy said, bearing the brunt of responsibility. “But we are sergeants with the KGB, Smersh to be exact.”
They both pulled out IDs, but Sergei brushed them aside. His flustering came back into control and he said with quiet influence, “Never mind that; what do you think you’re doing here, and with whose authority?”
“Well, Colonel, the Smersh Seventy-ninth Unit is our authority and with regard to why we’re here, it’s known that Sergeant Georgy was in Moscow on Wednesday last. A minor was raped in the city and Georgy has not only been placed at the scene but there are witnesses saying they saw him with the boy.”
The imaginary crime had the desired effect. The colonel visibly shrank from his friend. Afanasiy had come up with this particular offence before, and it was the one most feared by men. The colonel’s fiery defense became more reluctant.
“Well?” he asked Borislav timidly.
“I … I don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, Colonel. I was in Moscow when they say, that much is true, but I saw no boy so no witness could have possibly suggested that I had. I swear, sir.”
“If he’s telling the truth, sir,” Afanasiy told him, “he has nothing to worry about, but he must come with us to Tula KGB headquarters. Refusal would just waste everyone’s time. I’m sure you’re busy yourself, and we also have commitments in Moscow. It would be easier for everyone if he came along now.”
“Sergeant,” Sergei said to Borislav, “you have nothing to fear.”
Afanasiy was a past master at doublespeak and immediately recognized what amounted to ‘a nod and a wink’. He waited quietly, wondering what the colonel’s next move would be.
&n
bsp; “Go with these men,” he eventually said, and turned to the Smersh officers. “Trust me, if you harm this man in any way it will cost you your jobs and your liberty. I give you my oath on that.”
Borislav began leaving with them, but then stopped abruptly and turned to Afanasiy. “Did you say Afanasiy, and Smersh?”
Afanasiy raised eyebrows in puzzlement. Where was this going? “I did.”
Borislav pulled free of his grip and tried to force his way back to the colonel. “Sir, this man is not who he says he is. I met Afanasiy at the port of Odessa and the only similarity between the two men is they both had pebbles stuck on their noses.”
It took several phone calls to verify that the Smersh officers were the real thing and an amazed Sergeant Georgy was led away, this time in cuffs. Pebbles indeed, Afanasiy thought. There will be no softly, softly with this one.
Chapter 23
Marmaris, Turkey
When Adam gave Yuri the outline of his plan in the marina the last thing he had expected was for him to go along with it. Not a murmur. Fool! To think he’d believed Yuri to be so clever. He shook his head. Going to the boat had never been about getting him to agree to … well, anything really. They were on a scouting mission to find out how many Russians he had with him before they hit Kudret. And, as luck would have it, they had all gone back to Soviet soil. Even the Turk he hung around with was absent. He’d been so sure Yuri was smarter than that. From what Adam knew of him, the only thing he could think of was he had too many personal demons on his shoulders. Not that any of it made a difference now. The only reason Adam was keeping him alive was for his blackmail lists. Adam was aware that for years Yuri had built lists of the transgressions of political and business people in Turkey. There was no visible end to what he could achieve if he could get his hands on them. In fact, the lists had to be as valuable as the drug trade itself. And, as a bonus, Yuri would tell him what they might be up against should the Russian team return.