by Tim Heath
This had all meant Sasha had needed to make his own way, which he'd done well since first getting to university, before taking a small job with the Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti, the Federal Security Services to the non-Russian speaking world, the FSB. He’d spent ten years working his way up, the last five as an agent in the field, twice having worked in the same team as Anya, before he was also given his own office just under two years ago. He’d kept in contact with Anya since, and it had been purely professional, though he had hoped that might have changed by now. He too was very saddened by her loss and at the hands, apparently, of her employers, albeit in a loosely connected way. The truth was, the FSB was a giant, global force. Few knew what others were doing around the world. It was the service’s biggest challenge to date, staying connected enough to be united.
That issue had cost the life of a valued agent, even if some would have seen her as fraternising with the enemy at the time of her death. Those voices were dying down a week on from the attack. Even Moscow saw that they had been tricked by someone high up in their own ranks. Saving face was now the order of the day.
It was on that day, as Sasha continued to work through Anya’s things, that a package was delivered from Moscow for Anya. It had been posted a week before, in the general mail system, though it had come from within the Kremlin. That fact was strange enough as using the internal post system within the Bureau would have been much quicker.
Sasha opened the small brown package himself, taking out the three sheets of paper enclosed. He read through it all, dropping it onto the table with a sigh as he finished.
“My God,” he said. “What a mess.”
On the outskirts of Zurich, Charlie and Zoe had been watching the property where three Bulgarians working for the FSB were based. Movement had been seen within the house, and it was clear that at least someone was home. They’d been watching from the trees, the small pine wood giving them suitable cover. In the late December day, the light was limited. The snow was yet to fall, allowing the two British agents to remain undetected from their position.
The building was two storeys, clearly designed as a home of some kind; it probably had four rooms upstairs. A large double garage was attached to the ground-floor dwelling, though it was closed. It was unclear whether the black van was parked inside or had already been dumped somewhere else. There was no sign of any other vehicle, clearly whatever they had was in one or both of the garages.
An hour before, two men had appeared by the back door, smoking away. It was the same two men from the information Zoe had been sent, and Charlie recognised the man he’d seen himself in Zurich. Neither man was obviously armed. At that same moment, a man was then also seen moving around in an upstairs room.
“We have the three men present,” he said to Zoe, who was filled with palpable nervous excitement. She’d not said a word since they’d arrived in the wood. It was as if even one spoken syllable might have given the game away. The whole situation transfixed her.
As five o’clock came around, it was already feeling rather dark. Charlie opened the bag he had with him, checking both weapons, before handing one to Zoe.
“You do know how to use one of these?” he said, smiling but serious. She was an expert markswoman herself, though she had rarely carried a weapon during her time with Scotland Yard. She’d never shot a bullet at a human being. She checked the weapon herself as if proving she knew what she was doing. Charlie slung the bigger gun over his shoulder so that it hung on his back. He preferred to use the smaller firearm, if at all possible. It was less likely to cause as much of a scene.
“Okay, on my mark we go. I’ll aim for that door, and you cover the front. Don’t do anything unless you have a clear shot of anyone coming through that door.” Charlie counted to three, and they ran, Charlie going straight for the back door which they’d seen the two smokers emerge from, Zoe bending around to the right, heading for the front door. She could position herself behind a raised bank of grass, keeping hidden from the house while in a good position to spot anyone coming out the front. Her heart was racing more than it had done in a while, but there was energy running through her veins. She was more alert than ever, as alive as any moment of her life to date. This was what she was made to do.
Charlie got to the back door, and there was no sound of anyone around. He tried the door handle, and it opened to his touch, the wooden door making a minimal sound as it opened. He peered inside. The room was empty and in semi-darkness, though in the adjoining room the light was on. There was another door to the left. That would open into the garage, he imagined. Charlie moved across the room silently, knowing surprise and speed of attack was his main advantage. When he’d seen the two men smoking outside, neither was obviously carrying a weapon, as far as he could tell. That would mean it was unlikely they would be carrying inside either, though he was sure that their weapons wouldn’t be far away. With any luck, both men would be in the same room. The third man, presumably the explosives expert, was less of a threat. He could be dealt with last, once the first two had been killed.
Charlie heard movement in the room and paused. One man was calling to another in Russian, Charlie understanding it well. The volume of his voice suggested the other was in another room. Charlie didn’t bother for another moment, knowing the longer he was there, the more danger there was of being discovered. He burst through the doorway, surprising the one man in that next room. Two weapons were on the table, and he’d shot the first man before he could even reach for one. The sound of the gunfire caused the other man to appear in the doorway on the other side of the room, Charlie firing straight away, hitting the man who also fell to the floor, dead. Upstairs, Charlie heard the sound of a window being smashed and then moments later, the sound of two shots being fired.
Outside, Zoe heard the first of Charlie’s shots. As the second one came, the front window of the upstairs room smashed a chair of some kind thrown through it. A man jumped out onto the roof of the entrance way, before jumping down to the ground. Zoe, swinging around from behind the grass bank, fired twice, killing the man before he knew what had happened. She stood frozen for a moment, not sure of what to do next. Thirty-seconds later, Charlie shouted to her from the upstairs window, through the broken glass.
“All clear, let’s get out of here. I’ll meet you out front in a moment,” and he pulled away from the window, coming through the front door ten-seconds later, walking around the dead body of the explosives expert. He glanced at him briefly but then focused on Zoe. The first kill was often the hardest with which to deal.
“You let that one get away,” she said to him, a smile appearing on her face at that moment.
“You didn’t want me to do everything, did you?” Charlie laughed. They’d deal with the emotions of their respective situations later. For now, it was encouraging to see Zoe was in a good state of mind. They ran up to the main road, turning right and going a hundred metres or so to where they’d left their car a few hours before. Zoe handed Charlie the sports bag again, and they put the weapons back inside. She got into the driver’s seat while he dropped the bag in the boot.
“Let’s go,” he said as he sat down. He glanced at her as she pulled away. Gone was that woman he’d first come across in London, who’d seemed to have such hang-ups with people. At that time she’d had a huge chip on her shoulder, especially regarding her sister. Looking at her now, she seemed more alive, more feminine, more attractive than he’d noticed before.
They pulled up at the airport terminal half an hour before the flight was due to leave. The MI6 boss met them both at the top of the stairs.
“Everything go according to plan?” he said.
“Absolutely,” Charlie said.
They followed him into the plane, each taking a seat. The MI6 boss dropped some papers onto the tray next to Zoe’s seat.
“What are these?” she asked, only now glancing down at them.
“Your transfer papers, Miss Elliot. Welcome to MI6.”
She couldn’t contain her smile, turning to Charlie, who was obviously happy, too. Charlie reached over and handed her a pen.
“Does this mean we’ll be working more closely together, Mr Boon?” she said, taking the pen and signing her name on the document in front of her.
“You can count on it,” he said, standing up again and going over to congratulate Zoe. He hugged her. Zoe thought a kiss might have been better.
“Where are we going next, then?” Charlie said to his boss.
“There’s one more thing you need to know before we can shut the lid on this business.”
Charlie knew the tone when he heard it. He followed his boss over to where it was just the two of them.
“Go on, let me have it,” he asked.
“We’ve had a communication from another agent in St Petersburg. Says he knew Anya well, and that she’d contacted him in the event of something happening to her. He’s the one that gave us the heads up on the hit you’ve just made.”
“FSB?” Charlie said.
“Yes. Listen, he’s received something which was sent to Anya a week ago. He wants to meet to talk through it all. He’s in Stockholm tonight for a security conference. I’ve said we’ll fly there and meet with him. All under the radar, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“Charlie, go easy on him. He might be the best connection we have right now with the Russians, especially after the loss of...”
Charlie looked up at him, daring his boss not to finish that sentence. He understood the threat and cut off mid-flow.
“A week ago the FSB nearly had me killed. Anyone working for them is a threat until I say otherwise, okay?”
“Just hear him out, Charlie. That’s all I ask. What he sent us about that Bulgarian team proved to be accurate information. The least we can do is to hear what he has to say.”
Drinks were served, so each person returned to their seat, awaiting take-off. Flight time was two hours and twenty minutes, meaning they’d be landing in Sweden just before nine that night.
33
Charlie had caught the express train from the airport into Stockholm city centre, the journey taking about twenty minutes at high speed. Zoe, the newest member of MI6, had joined him.
They arrived at the hotel a little before ten. Sasha had finished with the day’s activities and was waiting for them in the bar. Someone was playing piano in the background, and some people were having a drink as Charlie walked in with Zoe. Sasha spotted them before they noticed him, going over and introducing himself.
Five minutes later they were sitting down at a table away from the crowds nearer the bar. Zoe had a glass of wine in front of her, the two men with a beer. Charlie had drunk half a pint before anything more was said.
“That feels good,” he finally said, placing the glass back on the table before turning towards the Russian agent, clearly ready for business. “So who are you?”
“I’m sorry,” Sasha said, not understanding the question.
“Why are you here? What’s your game?”
“No game, Mr Boon. Is it so hard for you to think that I want the same thing you want?”
“Yes, it is, if I’m honest.” He took another large swig of his beer though his eyes didn’t leave the FSB agent.
“I’m here to help you,” he said, breaking the stare as he took a sip of his drink.
“Go on,” Charlie said.
“Look, we’ve both lost someone we cared about...” he started, Charlie slamming the table with his fist, half rising from his chair.
“Don’t you dare bring her into all of this,” he said, his face flushed, eyes burning with rage. “You have no idea who she was or what she meant to me. If you mention her once more, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Zoe pulled Charlie down by his shoulder, gently so as not to make him react.
“Charlie, let’s hear the man out, shall we? He’s taken some effort to meet with us, remember. And what he sent us about that team was good information.”
Charlie sat down but didn’t say anything, just kept looking at Sasha.
“You must have a lot of questions about everything,” Sasha said, starting on another theme. “With all that’s come to light about RusCom and the murder of its owner, you must be asking yourself about the crime in the first place.”
“Quite,” Zoe said, not able to help herself.
“How can it be that all the world, it would seem, could get focused on this tablet that hasn’t lived up to expectations, and yet, still, we had the crime in the first place? However confusing the last few weeks have been; still, that man, Mr Hackett, got on a plane and killed Mr Fernandes. As wrong as everything has been since you must still have some questions about everything that started it all? I believe you were both involved from the beginning, right?”
“Yes, we were,” said Zoe, Charlie silent throughout but still not taking his eyes off the Russian agent in front of him.
“Then you saw the evidence first hand. If all that RusCom claimed to be possible with their tablet has since been proved just hype, how was it that Hackett murdered the company founder, a man who’d once been his neighbour, his blood-stained shirt found in his English country home?”
“I guess you have some information on that for us; otherwise this is all a big waste of time.” Charlie said at last.
“Indeed, I’m here to help.”
“Well, get on with it already. We haven’t got all night.” Charlie was more aggressive than Zoe had seen him, given the circumstances. It was as if Charlie saw Sasha as responsible for Anya’s death and yet Zoe could see he was only there to help, to give answers to questions they still had, to hopefully tie up loose ends.
“Yesterday, I was sent this package. It came to the office of Ms Lubova. It was from her mother.”
“Elena sent a package to Anya?” Charlie said.
“Yes, dated a week before. It went through regular post, which is why it took as long as it did to arrive. Clearly, she wanted it kept away from prying eyes. Anyway, it included some interesting information, which I’ve had verified. It sheds a lot of light on the whole situation.”
“Go on,” Charlie said, not for the first time, but there was much less agitation now.
“It was staged.”
“What was staged?” Zoe said.
“Everything. Let me explain,” he said taking another mouthful of beer before continuing. “An FSB agent had flown to the UK a day before Hackett was to fly to St Petersburg.”
“We had no record of such a thing happening,” Charlie said straight away.
“We have ways of even keeping the British in the dark, Mr Boon. Anyway, the package I was sent detailed his name and what he was doing. There was also reference to hidden files taken from the CCTV records at the airport. His presence in the UK was meant to be a secret. He drugged Mr Hackett the morning of the flight to St Petersburg, using a vamped up injectable version of what you call the date rape drug, Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid. Here,” he said, putting a photo on the table taken at an airport. “This is arriving in St Petersburg. This man,” and he pointed to a man in a dark jacket, head covered with a hood, “is the FSB agent to whom I’m referring. In front of him is Mr Hackett.”
Charlie picked up the photo carefully, having a closer look. It was indeed the same scene, from another angle, that they’d seen before when Hackett entered Russia on the fake documents.
“The agent effectively escorted the man through customs, and because of the drugs he’d been given, Hackett was not really on the planet. Of course, the documents were all real,” and he threw down another print out from FSB files, showing the creation of the visa and passport in the fake name Hackett had travelled on. “After arriving in St Petersburg, Hackett was dropped off at a hotel in the centre. He never left the room, being kept drugged throughout his time there.”
“He never went to the Summer Gardens?” Zoe said.
“No, never. The photographer was a plant. There was no wedding party. T
he same FSB agent, wearing a mask in the likeness of William Hackett, was seen holding the gun in front of the victim, photographed in the act of murder. Blood splashed on the bench, the weapon thrown into the canal next to the park.”
“There was no body!” Charlie said. “It’s the one thing Anya said to me that bothered her about the crime scene.”
“Yes, Mr Boon, you are quite right. There was no body. The gun was fired, but it contained only a blank. Everyone heard a gunshot of course. Those who had seen the man enter the park could only conclude that a murder had just taken place. The photographer was there to confirm the fact, showing what digital photos he had to those standing nearby, detained by the park security while the police were called. The FSB agent fled, removing the mask before leaving the park by the south entrance. Hackett was taken back to the airport that night, still drugged, again followed through by the same agent. The agent delivered Hackett back to his home, planting the evidence at the same time, before making his escape. Hackett would wake up, feeling dazed, not remembering anything, though having flashbacks of being on an aeroplane and such.”
“That’s why he said he never remembered the shooting,” Zoe let out.
“Of course. Because of his early stages of dementia, his memory loss was easily put down to being caused by that. Once you added all the physical evidence to the case, it was clear that Hackett had committed the crime, or so they made you think.”
“But why Hackett?” Zoe said.
“It seems jealousy played a big role in it all.”
“You mean from Anthony Fernandes?”
“Yes. There is also some record that maybe Hackett did have something on Fernandes.”
“But he denied that. He knew nothing about the man.”
“Yes, I looked into that myself when I got the information. It seems Hackett was being befriended by a man in Africa concerning his charity work there. Unknown to Hackett, that man works closely with the secret service in his nation, and they hold something on Fernandes. I guess the assumption was that they were using Hackett to get to him.”