by Rik Stone
Suddenly aware of the hit, he cursed and looked at the wound.
“Bad idea,” she said, as she readjusted her aim and fired another shot from where she lay. The bullet thudded into his temple and the flesh and bone that stood in its way became insignificant as it tore into the side of his head, exiting through the front of his scalp. The sergeant hit the ground with a thud.
Only now did she notice the radio crackling softly in the background and the telephone receiver swinging loose on its cable. She lifted it to her ear, but said nothing. The line clicked and the tone changed to a monotonous droning. Someone – Adam – had picked up and subsequently hung up. She’d been sloppy. If that was Adam on the other end of the phone – and who else could it have been? – he had the heads-up and would be in flight. Anna dressed, went as far as the front door, and leaned on it. After a few deep breaths, she smoothed her hair and clothing, made good with a little light makeup, casually left the premises, and walked out into a hamlet that seemed to have closed for an early night.
Chapter 34
Nazar came out of the police station with Alexandros. Savas joined them a couple of minutes later and kicked off friendly banter that left the younger policeman squirming and red faced. But then Savas embraced Nazar before he headed off towards town. The two remaining officers went along the coast road and into a bar. Pavel followed them and waited a few beats outside before going in. The way he would play the task would leave the young officer oblivious to what was going on, so he wasn’t overly worried about him being there. He stepped up to the counter as the barman was putting two glasses of Raki in front of the policemen and pointed to the drinks, saying, “I’ll have some of the same.”
Nazar shot him a furtive glance. “Russian?” he asked, uncertainly.
Pavel grinned in offended sarcasm and said, “I certainly am fucking not. I’m Finnish. I came in with a schooner moored out in the bay.”
Nazar visibly relaxed. “What, the big one?” he asked.
Pavel nodded, hoping Nazar didn’t know the boat’s country of registration; it was Russia of all places. But he only nodded and smiled, picked up his drink, and moved to a table with Alexandros. Before he sat, he pulled his head back in an artistic pose that made Pavel snigger into his drink. He downed the Raki in one and ordered another – even though he hated the stuff. Just as the bartender put the replenished drink onto the counter, Sergeant Amoun came into the bar. “I’ll have that,” he said, taking Pavel’s Raki and joining Nazar without paying for it.
This could spell trouble, Pavel thought, as he lifted his eyebrows to the barman and ordered another; the plan had been to take out the policemen separately. However, the worry faded when Amoun said a few words to Nazar, swigged back the Raki, and left. Alone again, Nazar and Alexandros started laughing and joking like a couple of collusive schoolboys.
Half an hour passed, Nazar stood, drunk up, and slapped the young officer on the back. Alexandros, clearly not much of a drinker, seemed to gag as he spluttered on his drink.
“Take your time,” Nazar chuckled. “I’ll wait outside.” With that, he walked from the bar alone.
Pavel had no such trouble throwing his drink back. Empty, he crashed the glass down onto the counter, thanked the barman with an “Ah!”, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and followed Nazar from the bar.
Nazar stood in the gutter kicking at the edging of the sidewalk. He smiled on seeing Pavel. “Had enough?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s getting close to my watch,” he answered, but stumbled as he caught a foot against the door frame. He tried righting himself and Nazar stepped forward to grab him, but Pavel had lost his footing and went sprawling onto the pavement.
“Shit!” he said, getting to his hands and knees.
Nazar chuckled. “You won’t be fit for a watch the way you’re going. You have to take more care with your drink.”
Pavel stayed down. “No, no! I’ve only had two. I’m just having a clumsy day. Twice this has happened to me since leaving the schooner.”
Nazar responded with a pleasant smile and for some reason pulled his head back and swiped a finger the length of his moustache. Then Alexandros came out. “Everything alright here?” he asked, resting a hand cautiously on his holster.
“What …? Oh, don’t worry. Our friend fell … Here,” Nazar said, holding out a hand to Pavel, “let’s get you up.”
Pavel gripped his wrist and pulled himself to his feet, but the pinkie ring he wore had a small diamond held in by a gold claw and one of the claw points was bent outward; it caught Nazar’s hand as Pavel pulled his own away.
“Ouch!” he said.
“Oh shit! I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” Pavel asked nervously. “God, how much more can happen? Everything’s gone wrong today.”
Nazar rubbed the injury and sucked at a tiny droplet of blood on the side of his hand. “It’s okay, just a pinprick, but I hope you can pull yourself together soon or who knows what calamity you might cause.”
Alexandros laughed and Nazar tilted his head back towards him, sniggering as they walked off, heads almost touching. Pavel watched them go. It was done. Tentatively, he took the ring from his finger; the chemical pellet, no bigger than a pin head, was no longer attached to the claw, but he wasn’t taking chances. He walked across to the sea-side of the road and tossed the ring over the railing and into the water.
Later, he thought, Nazar will have a high fever and in three or four days, maybe less, he would die. The policeman had seemed pleasant enough, but Pavel was resigned to this kind of job and felt no remorse.
He turned and made his way back along the Gezi Yolu coast road towards Marmaris Marina. Thoughts of the cheery guard on the train in the Perm District crossed his mind and he began humming ‘The Song of the Volga Boatmen’.
Chapter 35
Since watching from the corner of the avenue, Jez had been getting strange looks from Anna, who sat outside the café opposite the police station – probably because of the Swiss girl. She’d stopped to ask him directions and then began coming on to him, but would Anna see it that way? He guessed he would find that out later, but right now Savas was on the move.
“I should be in Icmeler helping a friend out with a group of tourists,” he said to her in English when he saw Savas leaving his colleagues.
“But …” she stammered.
“Sorry, I have to go.”
She was a good-looking girl and knew it. So much so that the surprise on her face to see Jez smile and hurry away was priceless.
Savas made a turn into a main road running parallel with the seafront and rounding the corner, and Jez could see there had been no need to hurry. The policeman had stopped and was wiping his sweating face with a handkerchief. He then moved on to dabbing at the back of his neck with the now-wet cloth. A giant of a man, too big, his whole body heaved as he struggled with the bulk.
He stayed with Menderes Avenue for half of its length and then turned north into an unnamed, narrow, cobbled lane. The road was long and winding, and Jez thought he could see a dead end some way along. But he was wrong. The old terraced stuccos were warped and bloated, and the view had narrowed because of it. Jez remained at a distance until the cobbles came to an end along with the dwellings. The road turned into a dirt track and Jez quickened his pace. Savas continued over the top of a swell and disappeared into the hollow behind it. Unsure of what was down there, Jez began jogging, but Savas was waiting for him in the dip. His holster flap was unclipped and he had a hand resting on the butt of the revolver within.
“And you are following me – why?” He asked the question calmly enough, but the breathing behind it was labored.
Jez took a half step back, raised his arms from his side, and hunched his shoulders. “Following you? A police officer?” He laughed nervously. “No, sir, I hadn’t really noticed you until now. If I seem to be trailing behind you it’s because we’re going the same way, no other reason.”
“Oh, right, and exactly where is it you are hea
ded?”
He put his arms out further and took a couple of steps nearer. “You might have seen me in the police station a few days ago asking for directions. I’m an Israeli on my way to Izmir. I’m taking a day or two to rest up before going on with my journey. I was just wandering around.”
Savas sniggered. “Really? That’s hardly an Israeli accent; sounds more Russian to me.” He pulled the gun from its holster, but he’d clearly been slowed by Jez’s excuse, and was relaxed about it. “Turn full circle. Let me see if you are carrying.”
Jez complied and came back round to face Savas, who’d dropped the gun to his side. “I don’t carry, as you put it. I had enough of that living in Israel. That’s why I’m looking into moving to Turkey.”
The policeman gave a slow, deliberate nod and holstered the weapon, but kept his thumb resting on the butt. The timing, the quiet area, it wasn’t going to get any better, so Jez raced the few meters separating them while reaching into his pocket where he had a folded chain whip. He had mastered the skills of wushu while in Spetsnaz, using the whip many times on covert operations. Savas was fast and half drew the pistol, but Jez had already gripped the whip’s wooden handle and was flicking out the nine metal rods connected by steel rings. A metal dart at the end had white cloth flags attached and the ensemble fluttered like a butterfly on the wing as it unraveled. He whipped the weapon diagonally, the flags swished, and a rushing sound cut through the air. The gun was now out of the holster, but too late; the metal dart struck flesh and bone on the back of Savas’s hand and tore it apart without resistance. The gun fell to the ground and Savas screamed, but already Jez was arcing the chain back and forth in a diagonal pattern.
The policeman crisscrossed his arms over his ripped chest in panicked protection, as blood spurted from razor-like cuts. He was still giving his impression of a petrified mummy when Jez lashed the chain sideways, wrapping several of the metal rods around his victim’s neck. He then ran and jumped, yanking the wooden handle as hard as he could. Savas’s head swung towards him, his neck snapping like a dry twig, and he crashed to the floor.
Jez unwound the chain, folded it neatly, tucked it into its sheath, and headed back to the marina.
*
“Amoun told me Mannesh was returning to Icmeler,” Anna told Jez and Pavel when they came together on Great White. “I went to the hotel where I’d first met him and, according to the doorman, he hadn’t long left – in a hurry. My fault; when I dealt with Amoun, someone had listened in on the phone. Seems our biggest fish has slipped the net. I guess we’ll be going back to Moscow with an unfinished task to our credit.”
“Pity, I had a date with a Swiss girl later this evening,” Jez joked, and took a painful clip to his ear for it.
Chapter 36
KGB headquarters, Moscow, Russia
Afanasiy and Anchova had taken an Osnaz unit to raid the ammunition plant in Tula and made arrests. They had gone that bit further than expected and pulled in everyone implicated by Sergeant Borislav Georgy: truck drivers, an invoice sergeant, and more worryingly, Colonel Sergei, the plant supervisor. That had been a week ago and with Borislav as the only witness, the actions taken hadn’t filled Michel with confidence. The whole affair hung by a thread and Michel could only hope his little men would find paperwork to prove that the alleged shipments had indeed passed through the plant. If not …
A knock at the office door jumped his thinking and Sergeant Filat came in. Michel pulled his shoulders back. “Yes, Sergeant,” he said.
“Your prisoner, sir, Sergeant Georgy …”
“Yes, what about him?” he asked, a nervous tingle creeping over his skin.
“He was found dead in his cell, General.”
“Wha …? How?” he said, struggling to control his voice.
“Apparently a Spetsnaz officer told the guards she was there to represent Georgy. They initially responded with suspicion, but when she threatened disciplinary procedures they backed off. She went into the cell with the prisoner and, because Georgy seemed to know her, the guards left them to it. An hour later, she left and they didn’t check the prisoner for another fifteen minutes after that.”
“Do we know who she was?” Michel asked, fingers drumming a tattoo on the desk.
“No, sir.”
“When this affair is over I want a total restructuring of security. This building has the reputation of being impenetrable, but a woman has breezed in and, just because she wore a uniform, was allowed to kill a prisoner at her leisure and breeze back out again. This won’t do,” he sighed. “Have the guards look at the photographs of our female Spetsnaz officers?”
“It’s in hand, sir, but I’ll follow it up now,” he answered, then saluted and withdrew.
Later that very day, General Irishka made a visit. “I’m here because I got wind of one of your prisoners being killed in the cells.”
“I can’t imagine how you’ve heard that so quickly. I’ve only just been told myself.”
“Hmm, this prisoner of yours … my sources tell me he told you a whole lot of lies implicating my people in his crimes before he died.”
“Your people?” Michel asked, eyebrows rising.
“Inasmuch as they come under my monetary control, yes, my people. If in future you think things have come undone internally then you must speak to me about it first. As it is, I think you will have to release the prisoners in Tula with apologies. Even doing that, I have to raise questions in the assembly.”
“Questions, yes, right, it seems to me one or two things have escaped your attention. It is I who runs internal security, not you. Should information come before me that I think should be investigated, it will be investigated. In this case, should the investigations prove fruitless then yes the prisoners will be released. But the idea of making apologies to subordinates whom I fully believe are guilty is nothing short of preposterous.”
As worried as Michel felt with the situation, he couldn’t but feel a twinge of satisfaction watching Irishka’s face bloat in anger and then him storm from the office without so much as a goodbye. With him gone, Michel sat back and spun the story in his mind. Out of the thirty Osnaz soldiers sent with Afanasiy to the ammunition factory in Tula, he supposed it wasn’t too much of a stretch of the imagination to suspect one of them might be part of Irishka’s network. And now, with Georgy dead, there could be consequences. If some sort of proof wasn’t found at the plant, his head would be hanging out there; after all, his people had stormed into the Tula plant in a similar fashion to Hitler marching into Poland. And now he didn’t even have a witness, unreliable or otherwise.
From the window, the square looked an uninviting black and white intermingled with shades of gray. Michel chased back to his desk. It was getting late, but there was a chance Afanasiy might still be in the Tula KGB building. He buzzed his aide in.
“Sergeant Filat, call KGB headquarters in Tula. See if you can get hold of Sergeant Afanasiy or his comrade, er …”
“Anchova, General, Sergeant Anchova.”
“Yes,” he said, and got up and followed his sergeant to the door. The door shut, he walked back to the window, then to his desk, and then up on his feet, pacing. At last, Sergeant Filat patched the call through to his office.
“You wanted to speak with me, General?” the deep, scratching voice of Afanasiy inquired after Michel had snatched up the phone.
“Yes, have you found anything? We have trouble, so from here on in you must be careful; your life could depend on it.”
“Sounds serious, General,” he grumbled.
“Sergeant Georgy was murdered in his cell earlier today.”
“Oh … Ah, as a matter of fact, that no longer matters, sir. Well, with regard to the task,” he corrected himself alongside a chuckle. “I thought it was a bit late and was going to call you first light. But we’ve got Irishka, sir, we’ve got him.”
“Got him, in what way?” Michel felt his lip quiver.
“The second invoice sergeant we arrested
last week, he’s given us everything, the whole chain of events. He knew of paperwork and told us where it was stored. It seems the people in Tula didn’t fully trust their Moscow comrades.”
“And this sergeant, he just told you that?”
“Oh yes, sir; he was very obliging.”
Michel huffed. “Really! And this paperwork … was it signed?”
“That’s the best bit, sir. The financial sign off was made by none other than General Irishka himself.”
Michel could hear guttural laughing directly on the line and hissing in the background from Afanasiy’s partner. His little Smersh men sounded very pleased with themselves.
“Well done. I–”
“But I’m not finished, General. We went back to the ammunitions factory to make sure we hadn’t overlooked anything and you wouldn’t believe what happened next.”
No reply.
“A delivery of Semtex turned up at the gate and the signature on that paperwork was also by General Irishka.”
“Excellent!” Michel said, heart lifting, but then he thought of what had happened to Georgy and of Irishka’s warning. “Don’t let any of the soldiers with you know what’s going on with regard to the documents, and keep all of the information in your personal charge until you get back to me. Order your troops to stay there and maintain guard on the factory and the Semtex, but I want you and Anchova back here now. If anything looks out of the ordinary on your journey, treat it as hostile.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.