by Tim Heath
“It’s good to see you again, Anya,” he said, sounding a bit like a love-struck teenager.
“I wish I could say the same, but I can’t. Your constant pestering was getting too much even for me. What is it that was so urgent I had to drop everything and fly down here?” She didn't sound happy. The lift reached the seventh floor as she finished, the doors opening. He let her go out first. He just started walking towards his room, to which she seemed to be following.
“Look, I’m sorry about all this. I just thought if we could have some time to talk we could...”
“Don’t you dare tell me you called me here to talk about us?” She had stopped in the middle of the hall, her hands motioning as she spoke. She only did that when she was getting angry. “God, what is it with you, Charlie? I mean, really!”
“Look,” Charlie said, speaking quietly. He had no idea who might be listening. “There is much we need to discuss regarding the case but let’s do it inside, shall we?” He opened the door to his room, and she walked right on in without hesitation. Two soft chairs faced each other around a small wooden table. She sat in the one nearer to the large window, which gave a stunning view of the city. She was still looking out of the window as he took his seat, but then she turned back to face him. Her eyes never gave much away. Even after two years of dating her, he couldn’t read her. She had a way of locking away deep inside herself whatever she was feeling. Her eyes often looked cold because of that, rarely did they give a hint of the real beauty that was inside her.
“Well, what is it you need to talk about, Charlie?” She was a lot calmer now. In London, around her team, she’d been calling him Mr Boon. It was nice, at least for him, that being just the two of them, she was using his first name.
“I do appreciate you coming here at such short notice. I know it can’t have been easy.”
“If they find out I’m meeting you here, I’d lose my job.” He didn’t doubt that for a moment.
“I know, and it’s a big risk you’ve taken. I don’t think anyone knows that we are here, though.”
“It was a big risk, Charlie, and I can assure you that no one knows I am here.” She was always so good at spotting a tail; he’d forgotten that about her.
“Look, let’s get the business out of the way first, Anya.” He had such high hopes for the next ten hours.
“Charlie, that is what I’m here to do, to talk business. Just business. If you have something that I need to know about this case or something you need from me, I’ll hear you out. But, let me be clear. This is all we will be discussing. When you’ve said what you need to say, I will be leaving. I’m not here to discuss anything else. This is purely business, not pleasure. Have I made myself clear?” She could be so direct when she wanted to be.
“Yes, of course,” he said, trying his best not to sound in any way deflated. He hadn’t succeeded, but she didn’t let on. “Have you heard the news today from Russia about the appeal in the Hackett case?” he started. She hadn’t. “Well, the appeal is set for just over a week from now.”
“A week? Impossible,” she said.
“It’s true. The office called me this morning.”
“Wow.”
“It’s a panel of three judges. No details on who they are. But it’s all happening fast, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “There certainly is someone behind this thing setting the fast pace.”
“Right. I mean, this is Russia we are talking about.”
“Careful, Charlie. I might be forced to shoot you.” It was nice to see her attempting a joke with him, at least. “But this isn’t the only reason you’ve called me here, is it?”
“I guess it’s part of the reason, really. Look, our government is fuming on this one. Heads will probably roll. They are most concerned at the obvious Kremlin intervention. The speed to trial in the first place, for example. This appeal only labours the point.”
“And what exactly do you want me to do about it, Charlie?” She knew what was coming, though.
“We both know your mother is very well connected in Moscow. Word is she practically runs the social circuit. If there is something bigger going on, she’d know.”
“Even if I could do something, do you think she’d help you?”
“Of course not, Anya. That’s why I’m talking to you rather than her. At least you seem to hate my guts just a tad less than she does.” She raised her eyebrows at that last comment but didn’t grace it with a direct response.
“I’ve not spoken to her for months, Charlie. I will see what I can do.”
“Thanks, I appreciate this. Anything that she has on the RusCom situation as well would be most interesting. There is a lot of talk coming out of Moscow. Hell, you know the share value has been creeping up since these entries have been leaked to the world. It’s all over the web.”
“What’s in it for us, Charlie? What do I get out of this?”
“Besides the obvious?”
“Which is?”
“The truth, Anya. The simple truth.”
“So you still don’t buy that this man, Hackett, murdered Fernandes? After all the evidence, you still don’t buy it all?” She shook her head, genuinely surprised but then remembering Charlie a little, and he did always have the childlike failing of thinking too much of people too much of the time. This current situation was now a case in point.
“It’s not just about whether the old man did it or not; it’s bigger than that. Is Russia using this trial to make a statement against the UK? Have they twisted things to bring down our government? I mean, look at the fact that there hasn’t been a capital punishment case in a long time. Russia was edging closer to Europe before the Ukraine situation, and it seemed only time before the death penalty would be outlawed entirely. I mean, where are you now on that one? Suddenly, this trial comes along, and old Russia shows her face again. It’s like we’ve gone back thirty years and it’s the Cold War all over again.”
“That’s your doing, Charlie, not ours. We followed a murder suspect to your shores. I personally came looking for him. We had him bang to rights.”
“No one talked about pushing for the death penalty, though, not back when the extradition was still being worked through. There was no need for such a charge. To call it treason was to laugh in our faces. You must have known it was going to kick things off to a whole new level.”
“Stop talking to me as if it’s all my doing, Charlie. Jesus, you make it sound like I have anything to do with it. I don’t, Charlie. I’m just an FSB agent working the criminal case, following the clues, just as you do. I’m just as determined as you are to get to the truth of the matter.”
“I know you are, Anya,” he said. It was one of the things he’d always loved about her. She was straight, uncorrupted. A rare breed in her circles.
“And I’ve no doubt, in this case, justice has been done, Charlie. Unlike you, I don’t have this feeling that Hackett has been caught up in something outside of his control. It’s just the opposite. He was very much in control. The evidence showed that, but we’ve been through all this before, Charlie.” She stood up, hands on hips, gazing out of the window for a moment. The world out there seemed so much less confused. Much more simple. Charlie stood and joined her.
“So nothing bothered you at all about the murder enquiry?”
“No, nothing that matters to me anymore. In my book, we’ve got the man.”
“And everything since? The speed of things? The sale of the company, the push for the death sentence?” She put her hand up as if to motion him to stop talking.
“Look, I will have a word with my mother. But I can’t guarantee anything, Charlie. You have to know that. Russia is a different country to what you knew before. We are getting better. You shouldn’t be surprised that things are working quicker.”
“There’s quick, and then there’s this, Anya. Come on.”
“Yes, okay. You have a point. Yes, I’ll admit, it did strike me as fast when I heard it was already goi
ng to trial. And yes, if you are right in saying the appeal will be heard in a week, that would be very fast. I mean, the last man sentenced to death is still sitting in some prison, somewhere, years after the conviction. And he was the one admitting to the mass murder on the metro. So yes, I’ll entertain the idea and admit that I’m curious. But this isn’t London, Charlie. If I stick my nose into the wrong hole, I risk not coming out of it again. I’ll have a word with my mother. She’ll know if something is going on.”
“And if it was, would she tell you?”
“Charlie, you know me. If there were something she wasn’t telling me, I’d know it myself.” He smiled at the truth. She could always tell a liar when she met one. It’s what had got Charlie into trouble one too many times in their two-year affair.
“Would you like to have lunch with me, Anya?” he said, turning to her now.
“I take it the business part is over, then. If that’s the case, I’ll excuse myself. And no, Charlie, I don’t think lunch would be necessary.”
She could be so cold when she wanted to be. Charlie watched her leave the room, closing the door gently behind herself as she went. Charlie returned to looking out the window. He could see crowds of people on the streets below, but there was only one person he wanted time with, and she’d just made it clear that it wasn’t going to happen.
20
Charlie was at the airport in good time. His flight was not showing yet but was due to appear any minute. He’d seen Anya again, briefly, before they went their separate ways. They’d agreed that meeting in Zurich again if they needed to was a good option. She was returning to Russia to speak with her mother, which was always best done in person. She’d take the flight back to St Petersburg before catching a later flight down to Moscow. Had she flown directly from Zurich to Moscow, there was a chance that somehow her mother would have known. Anya wanted to avoid as many difficult questions a possible. She had, after all, learnt most things from her mother, though she was the more truthful of the two; she very rarely lied to her mother. To do so now, at a time of heightened tensions in Russia, would not be wise.
Anya’s flight was just taking off as the London gate opened and Charlie made his way to the business lounge before joining the other passengers when the final call was being made. He’d used his time to scan the day’s business news, taking a particular interest in articles about RusCom, though there were only a few. The company’s website had less than the papers did, so that avenue of news was soon closed. There was considerably more on the Hackett trial, and Charlie was reading that on the plane when the stewardess came to him, asking him to close his device as they were ready to take-off. Twenty minutes later, now at cruising altitude, he finished the articles. It took him only ten minutes. The first hot drink came and then after that, having asked for a pillow, he put his head back and tried to sleep a little. He was soon sound asleep, only waking as landing approached.
In St Petersburg, William Hackett was getting into a rhythm with prison life, as best he could. Being on death row, he saw no other prisoners––that was something they did not allow. That suited him down to the ground. He would not have understood them anyway, nor did he understand the guards, who all scared him more than he let on. Nothing about the world around him made any sense. Just months ago, in the English summer, it had all been so different. The news of the imminent knighthood had brought the family together. His children, their own families all in tow, had gathered to celebrate. He’d been happier than at any point in the previous decade. It would only have been the years before his wife’s death that he had laughed or smiled as much as he had done on that June afternoon. His two grandchildren, one barely walking, had been so lively, running around the garden. He’d chased them, playing hide and seek for ages, it seemed. Now, in a concrete cell, just four paces long by three paces wide, and no natural light apart from a slit in the wall two foot higher than he could reach, he was more alone than ever.
That morning, he had been able to talk with his legal representative, who’d seemed happy to have been able to get an appeal date. He hadn’t stayed long with Bill, stating he needed all the time available to gather his information together. Bill didn’t understand the system before him. He was not a legal man and knew very little about how it all worked in his own country, let along Russia. He knew his life was very much in the hands of his Russian lawyer, so was happy for him to focus his time on the appeal, rather than with him in prison; though he would miss the company that his brief visits brought him. The events of the last weeks, everything since the arrest in his English country home, had done nothing for his health. Already in the early stages of dementia before his world imploded there had been a noticeable worsening since. Bill was now often confused. Time lost all sense of meaning. What had seemed like a week since he’d seen his lawyer was just a day. It all only added to the pressure Bill was under now.
Elsewhere in St Petersburg, Anya arrived at the international airport and cleared herself through the diplomatic channel with as little fuss as possible. She caught a taxi to the other airport, a short trip that took just five minutes to get her to the domestic terminal at Pulkovo 1. There was a flight leaving at ten. While she would arrive in Moscow late, she had cleared the following day to be in Moscow for a day and a night, before returning to her role in St Petersburg. She hoped that this time with her mother would both be restful and helpful, but she didn’t know what to expect. It had been a while since they’d spent time together. Both were now busy women, but Anya was only too aware of the circles her mother was increasingly moving in. Though it was Charlie who’d raised the questions, she already had a sinking feeling that her mother would certainly know what was going on. The fear was that it would be more than that. But she let that sit for now.
Arriving in Moscow late, she was driven in towards the centre by another taxi she’d got from the airport. The streets were at least a little quieter, street workers already setting about putting the lights up for New Year, though they were not due to be turned on for another week or so. Being early December, snow had started falling. The temperature was just above zero, but with the fresh breeze, the chill factor was much colder. The car went through the region of the city where Anya had first lived. They were largely happy memories, but her parents had already separated by that point. Her mother now lived in a costly area, though the truth was property prices in the city had been rising for the last eight years. Moscow was among the most expensive cities in which to live in all the world.
Anya had elected to stay in a hotel that night. Not only was it late, but she also wanted to be fresh for seeing her mother. If she had arrived that late, though her mother might well have been still awake, Anya might not have been so sharp. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing to a woman she hadn’t seen for a while. Their relationship, at the best of times, had been challenging. Both were fiery characters who spoke their mind. Both were emotional but highly intelligent. That was one thing Anya had certainly gained from both her parents. It was funny, the closer the taxi drew to Anya’s destination, through the streets of a city she once called home, the more her anxiety grew. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.
As Anya was being dropped off by the taxi at her hotel, in the Kremlin there was movement in a side corridor. An assistant was bringing a message, and he walked silently in the darkness. Entering a room where two people sat in semi-darkness, he relayed his information to them both.
“The British MI6 agent has just arrived at Heathrow Airport. He’d been on a flight from Zurich. Also, your daughter has flown down from St Petersburg. She’s at her hotel now.”
He turned and left. Neither of them said anything.
The following day the major Moscow papers were leading with a story claiming to have some evidence that Hackett was a spy. Sources were not given, but supposedly official information was quoted in the articles that hit the public like the smell of fresh bread from a bakery. In Russia, the public lapped up the story. It was like something
from a Hollywood film, and yet far from theatrical.
In London, on hearing news of the Russian press releases, the UK press, too, started asking some hard questions, examining the evidence presented. It all appeared to come from UK military intelligence sources and MI6 were bombarded with calls from newspaper editors demanding answers to their questions. Charlie was called in before eight and was not pleased by the early start. He’d had to practically fight his way through a crowd of reporters who were camped outside his London office. He joined a meeting which was already apparently underway. Entering the room, they asked him straight away:
“We need to know where this story came from.”
Charlie asked, “Is there any truth in it?” He’d read through everything the Russian papers had reported. It looked damning, for sure.
“Absolutely not!” came the reply. Charlie was not so sure about things now. Either this went so high that his bosses were not aware, or were still too scared to admit, or the Russians were going out of their way to cause a stir.
“Has anyone tried speaking to the Russian papers to find out what they have?”
“Not yet, Charlie, but we’d like you to do just that.” Clearly, there had been some discussion before he had got there. He wondered what else they were about to hand to him.
“How was your trip?” Charlie had yet to update them, only having arrived back late the previous night.