The Russian Lieutenant

by Peter Marshall

  “I am very tired and all mixed up,” said Marina. “I’ve been with the police since yesterday afternoon – I need a sleep, so can you make it later in the day?”

  “Of course, if that’s best for you, I will. Look, I’m on duty tonight, so I will pop in on my way. I’ll give you a call first… but aren’t you going back to work?”

  “I don’t know what I am doing yet. You’ve reminded me that I had better call the office to find out if they know anything. Do I even still have a job? I’ll let you know later.”

  Marina wandered round the flat aimlessly. She tried to call her father, but his phone line was busy. She found she had some milk in the refrigerator and made herself a cup of tea – there were a few biscuits in the tin – then she found some bread to make toast. After another snack, she tried again to reach her father.

  “Hello, my dear Marina. I am so worried about you,” he began, in his still-accented English. “Where have you been? You have not answered your mobile. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I think so, Pa,” she said. “It’s a long story, and I don’t know where to begin. It’s all because I have been chatting to a Russian sailor on my computer and this has created a bit of a stir and the police are investigating. But don’t worry. I’ll try to see you over the weekend and tell you everything. But don’t talk to anyone, please, because I think the press may want to find out about it. They have already contacted my friend Betty.”

  “But who is this Russian fellow?” asked Victor. “Is this why I just had a call from the Russian embassy this morning, wanting to come to see me? Why me? I don’t know anything….”

  Marina’s head was spinning.

  “I’ll call you again later, Pa, when I’ve had a rest, and give my love to Mum,” she said and went slowly to her bedroom. Why did the Russian embassy contact her father, she wondered? She lay down and fell into a deep sleep almost instantly.

  She was woken when the phone rang, and then the external doorbell buzzed insistently. She looked at the time, and it was only four o’clock. She had slept for less than three hours and decided to ignore the callers. Then peering cautiously around her curtained front window, she could see three cars parked outside. A small group had gathered down below at the front of her block of flats.

  She quickly guessed that it was the press. In fact, reporters from the national and local press had started descending on Portsmouth following the Foreign Office statement. Radio and TV reporters and cameramen were there, too – and although there was no confirmation about Marina’s involvement, Mike Morrissey had passed on her address to the visiting reporters (and knew he would get a fee for his information). Mike had been given the address by Gary, and the two of them were the first ones there that afternoon. When they got no reply from the call button for her flat, they spoke to her neighbours as they came and went but could discover very little useful information. Just a few snippets …

  “Yes, we know Marina … been here two or three years … a lovely lady … very friendly … single, we think … works for the Navy in the Dockyard … haven’t seen her for a day or two … goes off sometimes to her family in London … don’t think she has a special boyfriend.” And then, from one or two of the neighbours, came the unanswered question: “Why do you want to see her?”

  As more reporters arrived, Gary agreed to take a couple of them to Betty’s flat, only to discover when they arrived that Marina’s friend had gone out. He told them she was a nurse at the local hospital, and they all went off to the hospital in search of her, but without success.

  Another group of reporters was ‘camped out’ with their TV cameras at the police station and they learned that a photographer from the Herald had been there that morning in time to get a distant shot of the big black car leaving with a man thought to be the Russian in just visible in the back seat, accompanied by a driver and one other man in the back of the car. Their bosses in London were soon calling the Herald to buy rights to this first important picture. When Marina was driven out later, she was unseen as the unmarked vehicle emerged from an underground car park at the rear of the police station.

  There was still no statement or interview forthcoming from the Chief Constable or CID chief during the afternoon – only the brief facts in the statement from the Foreign Office. It was the same at the Dockyard, where no-one at the Commodore’s office was willing to be interviewed. Facts were scarce. But from the public part of the Dockyard, the three Russian ships could be seen moored at the jetty, providing the background for a TV reporter to introduce his report to camera for the evening news:

  “This is where the mystery of the Russian naval officer began yesterday afternoon. As he came ashore from one of those three ships behind me, the Admiral Essen, he met a woman who it is believed was waiting for him on the dockside. Plain clothes police were watching their movements and later in the day they were both detained at a flat in nearby Southsea. Since then, they have both been at a Portsmouth police station. According to local sources, they are still there and have been interviewed by officers who arrived by car from London, thought to be from MI5….”

  9.

  THE LAWYER

  Marina felt trapped in her flat and badly needed advice on what she should do next. She had another short conversation with her father and a reassuring chat with her mother. Then she rang her supervisor’s number at the Dockyard offices and had to leave a message. She called Betty and advised her not to come to the apartments because of the posse of reporters waiting at the door. She decided to give Betty a few more facts about the reasons for the press and police interest and her online friendship with a Russian. Betty was, in turn, alarmed and sympathetic, and they agreed to stay in touch.

  Marina thought she should switch on her TV. She found the 24-hour news channel and was shocked to see that the Portsmouth “spy story” was the headline news. She was even more alarmed to suddenly see a live report coming from outside her own flat. It was an out-of-world experience that made her head spin again. And then she jumped with fright as there came a knock on her door.

  She relaxed a little when she peeped through the eye-hole and saw it was her friendly but elderly neighbour, Mrs. Watkins. She quickly let her inside.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” she said, “but then my next-door neighbour told me she thought she saw you come home in a police car, so when I could just hear that your TV was on, I thought I had better come in to see if you are all right.”

  “Thank you so much,” said Marina. “Let me switch off the TV … it is so good of you because I am being a nuisance to everyone with these reporters outside and ringing the doorbells. I am so sorry….”

  “I don’t want to pry,” said Mrs. Watkins, “but I don’t really understand what is going on. Why are they all here? Can I make us a cup of tea?”

  She went to Marina’s kitchen to make two mugs of tea and when they sat down, Marina began to explain. “You have probably heard about these websites on the computer where you can make new friends. Well, it all began when I made contact with a very nice man who turned out to be an officer in the Russian navy. He seemed very friendly and when he said his ship was visiting Portsmouth, I agreed to meet him. You know I work in the Dockyard offices, don’t you? Well, I knew when this ship was arriving and went to try to find him yesterday. When he came ashore, we met up and decided to spend the day together looking around the city and we came back here for coffee. Then suddenly, the police were here and they took us both away to the police station. And I never saw him again.”

  She started to cry and sipped her tea as Mrs. Watkins thought for a few moments. “I don’t really understand all this computer stuff, so perhaps you will show me one day. But don’t get upset. I’m sure it will all work out all right. Things usually do, you know.”

  Marina then continued: “Well, the police asked me over and over again last night and today about why I was meeting him and how much I knew about him – so he must have been involved in something I didn’t know about. They
refused to tell me what it was. I got a bit upset, and it was all very tiring, and they didn’t let me come home until midday today. Actually, that reminds me that they did get me a young solicitor to advise me. I think I had better ring him soon to find out what I should do next.”

  “Well, my dear, you weren’t to know, were you?” said Mrs. Watkins. “All that must be why I had a young reporter from the Herald here earlier asking for you. I had no idea what to say, so I gave him the number of your friend Betty in case she knew where you were. I hope you don’t mind, but it was the only number I had. Don’t worry, dear, I don’t expect those reporters will hang around long if you don’t want to talk to them.”

  Mrs. Watkins gave her younger neighbour a warm hug as she left, and Marina found Jeremy Scott’s card. She called his direct line number and he answered at once.

  “Hello, Marina. I didn’t ring you because I thought you might be resting after all that,” he began. “But when I saw the TV news, I thought we needed to talk again when you are ready. When can you come over to our offices? I want you to meet one of our senior partners who has more experience of this sort of thing. He will be here, probably until about seven. When would be a good time?”

  “Well, I am a bit tired,” said Marina. “And there’s a crowd of reporters and TV cameras outside the flats, and I don’t think I can face them. In any case, I am not supposed to talk to them, and I don’t know what to say.”

  “Oh dear,” replied Jeremy. “Look, you stay there, and we will come over to your flat. If necessary, we will say something to keep the press happy. Then it might be better if you came away with us and brought your things so that you could go somewhere quiet until this all dies down. Is there anywhere you can go?”

  Marina was in a quandary. “My best friend here in Portsmouth has already had the press visiting her flat, so I had better not go there. Let me think about it. I can’t think of anyone else off-hand; I could go to my parents in London, but I don’t really want to get them involved.”

  She began packing a few essentials into an overnight bag and decided she should try to call Betty’s mobile phone number. She got an answer at once. “What’s happening now?”

  “It’s getting a bit difficult – I am surrounded by the press here, and my lawyer has suggested I go away for a bit until things quieten down,” said Marina. “I don’t want to go to my folk in London while all this is going on. The press already know about your place, so that won’t be any better. Any ideas where I can go?”

  “Let me think,” said Betty. “Look, I do have an idea. One of my friends working here at the hospital lives on a farm with her parents out in the sticks near Rowlands Castle. Let me see if she is able to help. Can I call you back?”

  As soon as Marina put down her phone, it rang again. It was Jeremy to say that he and his colleague were already outside the block of flats and could she let them in. When her door buzzer rang, she heard the familiar voice of Jeremy on the intercom and this time pressed the admit button. A few minutes later, he had found his way to her door and was accompanied by a rather elegant older man in a pin-striped dark grey suit, whom he introduced as Mr. Barclay Smith.

  “Come on in, Mr. Smith,” said Marina. “And apologies for the muddles here, but things have been a bit hectic, as you know.”

  “It’s Barclay-Smith, with a hyphen,” he said, handing over his card. “But just call me David.”

  The two solicitors found seats together on the sofa, and Marina faced them in a chair, trying hard to appear relaxed as she listened to their plan.

  “Judging by the TV and radio and the gang outside, this is going to be big news for quite some time,” said Barclay-Smith. “And you are going to be in the middle of it, so we would be pleased to give you any help and advice you may need. The police are involved, as you know, and the two men who interviewed you were from the security services, MI5 I think, so it’s all quite a serious matter. Do you know any more about this Russian fellow beyond what you have already shared with Jeremy?”

  “No, not really,” said Marina. “Except all the things we chatted about on the website. He told me that he was a widower, lost his wife a couple of years ago, and was enjoying his career in the navy. He had been in a desk job and was looking for a chance to go to sea again. And then he told me he had been appointed to a ship which would visit Portsmouth. We wanted to meet when he arrived, and that’s all. We spent the day together and came back here for coffee and then the police arrived and we were suddenly whisked away. It was all so sudden. He seemed such a lovely man, and he was really interested in me as well.”

  “Do you have any records or printouts from your computer of the messages you exchanged on line?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “It may be possible to go back and recover the material on the computer, but I have never tried. And anyway, the police still have my computer.”

  He was interrupted by a call on Marina’s phone. It was Betty.

  “I’ve got some news,” she said. “I explained your predicament to my friend Susie, and she has chatted to her parents, who say you are welcome to have their guest room for the weekend.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Marina. “It is a bit much to ask them to have a complete stranger to stay, especially one who is being chased by the press … and on bail from the police, for that matter.”

  “No, no,” said Betty. “They are lovely people. I have met them a few times, and the house is quite secluded. I think they are actually a bit excited by it all. Can you get your solicitor to drive you there? Here’s the address – it is Mr. and Mrs Mann, and they live at The Old Farmhouse in Dean Lane near Rowlands Castle. It’s only 10 miles from here, and I will ring you back with their phone number.”

  “Thanks so much, Betty. It is so kind of you and your friends, and it would be really nice to get away somewhere quiet. Do I need to do anything else?”

  “No – just ring them when you know what time you might arrive, and then I will go over there to see you tomorrow. Bye for now.”

  “That sounded promising,” said David. “What’s the plan?”

  Marina explained the details of her conversation, and the two solicitors agreed that it sounded like a perfect solution for the time being.

  Then David added, “Look here, this could all get a bit complicated, so can I ask you whether you agree to having our firm represent you in this matter? We won’t send you any bills for our time at this stage, while we investigate what happens next. If it goes to court, you will probably get some sort of legal aid, or there may be other ways to cover our costs. What do you say?”

  “That’s kind of you,” said Marina. “And it was really good to have Jeremy with me at the police station last night, so if you think you can help me deal with all this, that’s fine with me. Do you know what is happening at my office? Should I talk to my boss there about my job and when I can go back?”

  “Don’t worry – they are in the picture, and we will keep in touch and maybe see how things are by Monday morning. So when you are ready, I suggest that you come out of the building with us to our car. I’ll make a brief statement to the press, which should keep them happy for a while. You don’t need to say anything – refer any questions to me. I know you are tired, but try to look strong and confident for the cameras. Is that OK?”

  Marina relaxed and smiled. Then a few minutes later, she took another call from Betty with the Manns’ phone number, finished packing her overnight bag and as they all left together, she locked her door behind her and tapped on the door of her neighbour. “Don’t worry,” she said when Mrs. Watkins answered. “These are my solicitors, and they are looking after me until this all blows over. I will be staying with friends for the weekend.”

  Then the three of them went down to the ground floor, and at the main entrance to the flats, they confronted the assembled group from the media. It was getting dark, and they paused on the steps with Marina in the middle while flashlight photographs were taken. Then, with the TV
cameras running, David Barclay-Smith began:

  “I am David Barclay-Smith, from the law firm of Henderson Partners, and together with my colleague, Jeremy Scott here, we are representing Miss Marina Peters. She has become inadvertently caught up in the matter of the Russian naval officer who has been detained by the police and MI5, and she will not be answering any questions at this stage. She will be pleased to talk to the press when she is able to do so, but at present, she would appreciate it if you did not continue to obstruct this building and inconvenience Miss Peters or her neighbours. Thank you.”

  There were a few shouted questions: “How long have you known the Russian?” “Is he your boyfriend?” “Where is he now?” as the solicitors escorted Marina to the car and Jeremy drove them all to their law offices in the City centre.

  In David Barclay-Smith’s elegantly furnished third floor office, they began to plan the next stages. The solicitors said they would contact the CID chief, Paul Maggs, in the morning to discover when Marina could retrieve her laptop and mobile phone and to ask if and when they would need to see her again. And at that time, they would tell the police that they should now contact her through the solicitors. David also confirmed that they would stay in contact with the Commodore’s office in the Dockyard and see whether Marina could have a reassuring conversation with her supervisors there.

  Then Marina said she also wanted to have a longer chat with her father in the next day or two and, in particular, ask him why he had been contacted by the Russian Embassy. This revelation startled David Barclay-Smith.

  “I knew from Jeremy’s report that your forefathers came from Russia,” he said. “But that is all history, isn’t it? Why would the Embassy know about your father and why now?”

  Jeremy intervened: “Perhaps there is a section at the Embassy which keeps tabs on all the Russian ex-pats in this country – just in case.”