After the new President had been duly sworn in, Michalov was made redundant as the new President had brought his own security with him, people who had worked with and for him for twenty years, and Sergio, through his contacts, had managed to secure his services.
Sergio quickly made his way through the entrance doors and to the reception asking for directions to the penthouse suite. He entered the lift with Michalov close by his side, and the lift operator stopped the lift pointing the way to the penthouse, giving a little salute, hoping that this gentleman in expensive clothes and huge cigar, would drop him a few notes.
Sergio could see the anticipation of the lift operator, and as he stepped out of the lift, calmly placed the half finished cigar into the operator’s hand, and without looking back, made his way with Michalov toward the penthouse.
Michalov rang the bell of the penthouse suite, waited for a few seconds before he opened the door, stepping inside first to check that everything was okay before he allowed Sergio to enter. As Sergio entered, Michalov closed the door from the outside, and placed himself outside the door, sitting down in one of the luxurious armchairs that had been positioned in the corridor. No-one would be able to pass him to get to Sergio!
This position would provide him with an excellent view of any approaching the penthouse, so he settled down for a possible long wait as Sergio’s business meetings sometimes went on and on, the very longest being six hours during an Embassy party. Sergio walked around the suite, taking in all the sumptuous fittings and décor that surrounded him.
He wandered over toward the luxurious bar, helped himself to an ample portion of Glenfiddich malted whisky, his favourite whisky, and sat down to await his business partners. He always had an exceptional liking for this particular whisky, ever since his introduction to it on one of his previous visits to Scotland many years ago, where, after a long and bitter struggle with H. M. Customs and Excise, he procured the right to export this whisky into Europe, using his freight aircraft to carry the goods into Russia itself. After the first six months of importing this brand, his huge stocks soon disappeared owing to rapid sales, and despite the increased cost of each bottle from which he made huge, substantial profits, he had to further increase importation by 64%, just to meet the demand. Whisky was overtaking the national beverage of Vodka.
Sergio felt warm and so relaxed. He topped his glass up for the second time. He had never felt like this after drinking a Glenfiddich and warning bells began in his head. He tried to get up out of the red leather settee, but found that his legs would not support his weight. The room began to get giddy, and he slumped down onto the luxurious, thick, blue and gold Wilton pile carpet, its thickness stifling the sound of his body as it fell. The whole room was swirling around and around.
He tried to shout out to Michalov, but his voice only emitted a quiet, stifled scream. In desperation, he tried to throw the empty whisky glass at the door, but his last remaining strength only provided enough energy for it to fall quietly beside his now still lifeless body.
The door leading to one of the bedrooms opened slowly and quietly as the three men entered to where Sergio lay, his eyes still open.
Stuart bent down alongside Sergio and placed a forefinger onto his carotid artery which ran up alongside his neck, pressed gently for a few seconds.
“Sergio is out”, he spoke quietly.
Geoff went over to the telephone, picked up the receiver in his gloved hands, and spoke to the receptionist in the lobby downstairs.
“Can you please put out a call to Michalov Sibrenski on this mobile number, and ask him to report to the reception right away to collect a parcel for Mr. Serbio, and for him to wait outside the Penthouse suite with the parcel until Mr. Serbio has finished his business meeting. Mr. Serbio does not want to be disturbed at any cost. Please ensure Mr. Sibresnki is aware of this”!
EIGHTEEN
The team stood quietly by the lifeless body of Serbio, and waited until they could hear the distinctive sound of a mobile telephone ring outside their room.
Michalov picked up his mobile from inside his pocket, and placed to his ear. “Ya, this is Michalov speaking. Reception did you say, to collect a parcel for Mr. Serbio Volokovitch. But first I must speak to Mr. Volokovitch to make sure. What! He has given you instructions not to be disturbed. Very well, I will come right away”.
Michalov checked the door was still closed, then made his way down to the lift en-route to the reception desk.
Steve cautiously opened the door from the penthouse, and peered just in time to see the lift doors opposite close as Michalov stepped inside. He quickly told the team that the coast was clear, and stepped into the other lift, pressing the key for ground floor reception. His lift doors opened, and he quickly walked across toward the reception area and saw Michalov waiting by the desk. Eventually, after a few minutes, a small parcel was handed to Michalov who checked it, and then made his way back toward the lift.
Steve picked up his mobile telephone and called. “Code 306. Lift number two vacant. Repeat. Lift number two vacant. Out”.
As Michalov was ascending back up to the penthouse apartment, Geoff and Stuart had put the unconscious body of Serbio into a wheelchair and wheeled him quickly out into the passageway, and pressed the button for recall of lift two, which was on the tenth floor.
Michalov lift was now ascending up back toward the Penthouse. The doors of lift number two opened up, and they pushed Serbio, now covered with a hotel blanket into the lift, closed the doors, and pressed for ground floor reception.
Their lift arrived at ground floor, barely fifteen seconds after the lift containing Michalov arrived at the penthouse floor, where he got out and sat outside the penthouse suite with the recently retrieved parcel on the sofa where he had recently vacated, and patiently awaited a call from his boss.
Down in the reception area, Serbio was wheeled quietly and inconspicuously toward the main entrance where the doors were held open by the uniformed doorman.
Steve had, in the meantime, collected their car and had driven it to the main door where Geoff and Stuart approached with the wheelchair. They expertly positioned Serbio into the car, put the wheelchair into the boot and drove away, heading toward their ‘safe’ house.
Upon arrival at their house, the car was, once again, reversed into the garage, the garage doors shut, and Serbio taken upstairs where he, as his predecessors, was quickly taped and hooded, his personal Beretta pistol being removed from his underarm holster.
Michalov awoke from his drug -induced sleep. The fast, sleep-inducing drug had been previously injected into the bottle of the Glenfiddich by a member of the team one hour before Serbio was due to arrive at the penthouse.
He awoke to a feeling of numbness and fright, and then began to remember the events that had happened to him, and a feeling of fear of the unknown swept over him. So many questions were entering his head as to why anyone would want to kidnap him. Where was Michalov? Someone must have seen him being taken out of the hotel? His mind raced over the possibilities and names of the people who would have done this.
His now dark world with this hood over his head. His mouth taped to prevent him from calling out!
His hands tied behind his back! He tried to feel for his own personal automatic which was kept in his shoulder holster. Empty! He tried to feel if his Gelto Stiletto was still in its sheath strapped to his right leg.
Empty! God these fuckers are efficient he thought to himself and they know their job. Must be a professional organisation to have gone to these lengths. Yes, of course, it must have been the Glenfiddich, but there was no taste of difference to warn him that the drug had been placed into the bottle.
Sergio tried to call out, his voice, despite him trying to shout loud, was still not fully recovered, and only a small, weak sound came out. He realised that his legs were not tied, so he got off the bed, and stood up, giddily walking forward slowly in a shuffle motion.
He could not see the two chairs that had be
en positioned leaning together placed in front of the bed, where, at the slightest touch, they would separate and crash to the floor. The chairs separated and crashed.
Fuck it, thought Serbio. They have even placed a warning trap in case I got up!
Geoff quietly entered the room, caught hold of Sergio’s arm, and twisted it up and forward, the pain shooting up into Sergio’s shoulder, and propelling him back onto the bed.
“Listen you shithead”, said Geoff. “If you try anything like that again, I’ll open the French window, and you can fall the twenty two floors down to the ground and hit solid concrete”.
“Why have I been kidnapped, and why are you doing this. Is it for money? You must know that I am an extremely rich man, and you can name your price if you let me go. Just tell me whatever you want and I’ll make sure its yours”, answered Serbio. No reply.
During the long wait for their incoming telephone call from ‘Code 306’, Sergio had been given the usual toilet facilities, escorted by Geoff, who’s accent Serbio recognised immediately.
Serbio had not heard any conversation, therefore, had guessed that the person that was holding him was working alone. If only he could get his hands free, with his experience, he would be able to take care of this man himself, and immediately started to try to find something in which to rub his wrists against.
He edged himself off the bed quietly and felt the metal edge of the bed frame itself. It was smooth, but where it had been welded, he found a rough weld joint, and placing his wrists into an excruciating position, commenced to slide his wrists back and fore along the weld joint. He could feel the friction as the nylon ties began to get warm, and felt his blood running down his wrists as the nylon cut deeper and deeper with each effort.
After one minute, a voice quietly whispered directly into his ear, causing so much fright, that he fell down onto the floor.
“So. You don’t like my company anymore, and you disappoint me greatly because you were not going to even say goodbye to me before you left if you had got free. I have been watching you all the time, and somehow, I don’t think that you are worth the bother looking after anymore. Let’s go for a walk to the French windows shall we? O’h dear. Someone’s left them open. That is very, very dangerous. Someone could very easily fall out”, said Geoff as he propelled the now disorientated Serbio around the room for a few paces in different directions, eventually toward the bed, stopping just short of the mattress, and Serbio, not knowing which direction he was now facing, was quaking with absolute fear.
“I’ll just have a look out to make sure there is no-one walking below just in case you land on them, or that there are no vehicles parked up. We would not want you to land on someone’s car now would we, as you would make a very nasty dent from this height, let alone all your blood and guts spilling out onto the road. If you are lucky, you mat even miss the parking meter. Not nice for the kids to see is it”?
By now, Sergio, not knowing which way he was facing, urinated down his Versace designer trousers, the warm liquid trickling down onto his Malache hand made crocodile shoes, his legs buckling as his muscles and nerves reacted for what was about to happen. His visions of him falling, unable to scream or shout, not being able to see where he was going to fall, not that he would be able to do anything about it.
He quietly began to cry, his nerves gone.
“Off you go then Serbio, happy landings” said Geoff as he gently pushed Serbio forward onto the bed, Serbio emitting one last stifled scream before he realised that he had landed upon the bed, and not falling, as he thought, the twenty floors down onto the concrete.
“You bastard”, he screamed. “You play fucking games with my mind, making me think I was going to fall, and all the time you had this planned”.
“Now then Sergio. You too have played many mind games with your victims, so now you know what it feels like to be on the receiving end. Just lay down and keep quiet”. Geoff left the room with the other two who had witnessed his little prank on Serbio.
“You are a wicked shit doing that to him”, said Steve. “Still, I bet that he keeps ever so quiet from now on”?
The team sat down and ate the few remaining sandwiches, waiting for contact from ‘Code 306’ which came shortly after by the usual message to confirm to 306 that their operation had been successful.
A courier arrived shortly after the telephone call, and Stuart went to collect the small envelope, displaying its contents to the rest of the team.
NINETEEN
Michalov had been patiently waiting outside the penthouse for one hour and twenty minutes, totally unaware of the previous events. He continuously glanced down at his Rolex Oyster watch, a present from the President when he was made redundant. He began to get nervous and irritable. Something was not quite right.
He decided he would check with Serbio, and quietly, but firmly, knocked a few times upon the door leading into the penthouse. No reply. He continued knocking and then decided to call out, but still no reply, so he decided in times such as these, to act. He opened the door slowly, glancing around the inner room and stepped inside, his right hand cautiously removing his berretta from its shoulder holster, and automatically flicked the safety catch to off.
The hairs on his head began to prickle as he made his way from room to room, each time calling out his boss’s name, all without avail. He continued into every room, including the luxurious bathroom and toilets, but there was no sign of Serbio. All windows were secure!
No sign of any disturbance, and nothing out of place. No signs of any attack or resistance, so where the hell had Serbio gone, for he certainly had not passed him as he was always outside the door, and there was no other exit!
Michalov’s mind began to race, trying to piece together what had happened to his boss? A quick further check of the rooms, wiping his fingerprints from the door handle as he left and caught the lift downstairs to the reception area where he approached the girl who had given him the parcel.
He opened up the small parcel, and found nothing inside except shredded paper!
“Excuse me. Can you tell me who give you this parcel for Mr. Volokovitch and for me to collect it from you about thirty minutes ago”?
“The parcel was delivered by a gentleman who said it was urgent, and he even gave me your telephone number to call you to collect it personally”, answered the receptionist.
“Where did he go after he gave you the parcel”, inquired Michalov?
“I presume that he went outside as he was heading for the main doors”, she answered.
Michalov’s mind was now into overdrive. Someone had set him up good and proper, so he knew that he was not dealing with amateurs. He reached into his pocket and punched in numbers into his mobile telephone, raised it to his ear and waited. No reply, not even a ring tone. The bastards had destroyed Serbio’s mobile.
He approached the doorman and asked him if he had seen this well-dressed, stockily built man around forty years of age, wearing a brown fur, Russian type hat, light brown Kashmir overcoat, leaving alone or maybe with someone? The doorman did notice a gentleman of that description, but he was unwell or possibly an invalid, as the two men who wheeled him out in his wheelchair, both were wearing white, medical coats. He presumed that they were taking him out for some fresh air, or even possibly, back to the hospital or private nursing home.
The concierge pointed to which direction they had left with his boss, but all the doorman could remember was that they lifted him into a silver car, but he didn’t know the type, and that the car turned left when they got to the main road.
Michalov ran toward his Mercedes, and before entering, spoke rapidly in Russian to the person the other end, explaining what had happened, and calling on him to pull out all resources and contacts in helping them to find their boss. The Russian mafia in London went into overdrive. All personal were notified about this abduction, and no expense would be spared in tracking down these men who had kidnapped Serbio. All airports would be watched, docks and
shipping checked. Any private aircraft leaving for another country would be scrutinised, and motorways watched with binoculars.
The car containing Serbio had quietly left its location with Serbio safe in the boot, while Stuart drove out of London, picking up the M40, exiting at junction 5 for West Wycombe.
The countryside of the Chilterns made it seem like a different world from the one they had just left, for London was probably one of the most unhealthiest places to live in the U.K. The whole place was being rapidly filled with illegal immigrants, so-called asylum seekers and ‘holidaymakers’ who come to England from all parts of the world, mostly of ethnic origin, and once they have passed the customs checkin at the airports, simply disappear into the cities forever.
The car now turned off heading through country lanes, and eventually came across an empty farmhouse, deserted by its previous occupants owing to the outbreak of B.S.G. which decimated most of the farmers throughout the whole of the U.K. This farm had been one of the worst hit. Its whole livestock destroyed in one single day, and the carcasses burnt on huge open pyres built by the Army under the instructions of the Department of Environmental Health.
The bank had re-possessed what was left of the farm, but in over ten years, no-one had ever offered to buy it or shown any interest, hence its decline.
The old chain which partially secured the rusted metal gates together was removed, and the car was driven up the old overgrown track toward the farmhouse. The whole area surrounding the farm was completely overgrown with nettles, elder trees and high, rough wild grass.
Scanning the whole area with binoculars for any sign of movement, the team removed Serbio from the boot of the vehicle, and quickly escorted him inside the farmhouse actual, the flimsy lock and chain forced off with the minimum of effort by Geoff.
Inside, they found several chairs, two old settees and various other pieces of furniture. They quickly placed Serbio upon the settee to await the arrival of their ‘guest’.
Beyond Doubt: the ULTIMATE vigilante (legal thrillers) Page 6