by Henry Porter
Samson ignored one of his phones vibrating on the table for a few seconds more while he looked at the photograph, then answered. A familiar voice rasped at the other end – Vuk Divjak, the man he’d texted earlier without expecting a response. Vuk was a Serb who had helped in the search for Naji in Macedonia and was connected to a range of Balkan low-life. ‘I come now with disco pussies – Lupcho and Simeon. We driving into the night-time without the stopping and we are now in goddam, bastard country Litvanija.’
‘Lithuania.’
‘Yes, that is that which I am saying – Litvanija.’
‘So you’re five or six hours away from Tallinn?’
‘Fewer hours in Simeon’s car.’ Samson was aware of the hum of a powerful engine in the background.
‘I’ll send the map reference for a rendezvous from another phone. Keep me up to date with your progress. My guess is that you’ll be here by about two.’
‘I speaking to you when we enter Estonija in few hours,’ said Vuk, and hung up with a grunt. Samson wasn’t encouraged by the news that he was bringing Lupcho and Simeon, who were both involved in the early stages of the search for Naji. They were basically hired killers. Their shady appearance was grounds enough for ejection by any alert border police, though in the last twenty hours they’d crossed Hungary, Austria, the Czech Republic and Poland without trouble. He sent the rendezvous to Vuk and returned to look at the photograph on Naji’s screen.
Another call came in on one of his other phones. It was Zillah Dee. Samson put up a hand to stop Naji making noise at the coffee machine.
‘The truck driver’s information checked out. The place was exactly as he described – a hundred and seventy kilometres north of the city of Pskov in dense forest, with very little human habitation anywhere nearby. We got there at 3 a.m. local. It was burned down. The main building was levelled by fire and the place was deserted. The ruins were still smouldering.’
‘Were they destroying evidence?’
‘No, another building was left untouched, a guard hut with eight bunks. That was vacated – no sign of possessions but a lot of food and fresh milk.’
‘What happened?’
‘No telling. It’s wild country. No towns, no locals, no witnesses. We did find the grave they dug for her, which complies with your description of what you saw on your phone. It was full of water and they left a new excavator right there in the middle of the forest. But there’s no sign of her. Nothing. My people have searched the area thoroughly in the last few hours. I don’t know what to say. It’s a big goddamn mystery. There’s another thing. I just got off the phone with Jonathan – my top guy out there. They heard gunfire an hour ago, maybe six shots in the space of a minute or two. Might be a hunter. They got a fix and they’re investigating that right now.’
‘How are you going to proceed?’
‘I’ll keep two of my people there – that’s on the house. But the whole situation with Denis isn’t good. His plane’s been grounded. He’s way overleveraged, got a lot of debt that no one knew about – not even Jim Tulliver – and it looks like he’s going to lose a real big slice of his empire. In addition to those problems, he’s got another court appearance today and it isn’t looking good. They’re going after him with new evidence.’
Samson was silent for a few moments. ‘Look, I’ll get you the money if we need to keep your people there. I’ll find a way.’
‘As I say, this is on me. And I know how much it means to you. But after a couple of days, I have to pull out. It’s not just that we can’t afford to pay for this ourselves. I have other work for them, so it’s a double loss to the company.’
‘I’ll go the distance for a few days.’
‘Thanks.’
‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘Can you have someone look at the bank-account activity?’
‘That costs a lot of money, but I’ll see what I can do.’ Then she rang off.
Without looking up, Naji said, ‘I heard what she said.’
Samson didn’t respond. He went through a sliding door to the patio, lit up and looked out across the bay at the small boats that hadn’t been brought ashore and chocked up for the winter. There was no guarantee Anastasia was alive. She might have escaped, but she couldn’t survive in that forest for very long, even if Crane’s people hadn’t yet hunted her down. The silence from the kidnappers could mean anything. She was already dead; they’d lost her and were in no position to make demands; or they didn’t have to continue with the pretence that she would be returned, because they knew Crane had completed his business in Tallinn. But the video still of Aysel, whatever that meant for Hisami, didn’t fit with the last solution because they clearly still needed to threaten Hisami. There would be no purpose to this if they had achieved all they wanted in Tallinn.
As he stubbed his cigarette out, Samson warned himself that he might have to accept he’d never see her again, even though there was another part of him that was still convinced she would survive.
He phoned the car-hire company to ask about the white Porsche like Crane’s he’d seen there the previous day, and it turned out to be available. He booked it and paid with a card. ‘Have we got a printer here?’ he said when he went back inside. Naji looked blank. ‘Maybe in the studio,’ said Samson. They found one, connected it to Naji’s laptop through the wifi and checked it worked.
Samson showed him a photograph he’d taken on his phone outside the bar. ‘Can you see if you can reproduce this?’
‘Maybe with best paper,’ he said.
Samson caught the expression on his face. He sat down, reached over and patted the top of his hand. ‘I am going to do everything I can, Naji. She’s as important to me as she is to you – believe me.’
‘Best person I meet in my life,’ he said, looking away to the sea. ‘In Lesbos she helped me and in Macedonia she helped me. In Germany she helps all my family. I am not here without her.’
Samson smiled, got up and squeezed his shoulder.
‘It’s an odd way of saying it, but I agree – I am not here without her either.’
Harland came in looking less than happy but he brightened when Naji offered to make him coffee.
‘There’s something I need,’ said Samson.
‘I imagine there is.’
‘You didn’t go into Leipzig to lift Abu Jemal all those years ago without this particular item.’
‘We were fighting the Cold War. It was an officially sanctioned operation by Western intelligence services, for Christ’s sake.’
‘We’re fighting a war now. It’s a war against the subversion of Western democracies, which is more dangerous than anything the communists pulled off.’
Harland groaned. ‘Oh God! I don’t need a bloody lecture from you, Samson. You’re doing this for your friend.’
‘Still, I need at least three guns, maybe four,’ he said quietly.
‘I have to go to town. Meet me at the back of the house in Tallinn in two or three hours. And bloody well phone before you arrive.’
Samson left instructions about the second Porsche that was about to arrive from the rental company with a tip for the driver, then departed for Tallinn.
It was less than an hour before he spotted a hardware and camping store in the northern outskirts. There he bought rope, duct tape, glue, black paint spray, two short lengths of heavy steel piping, a shovel, a hunting knife, torches and a sleeping bag, not knowing whether he’d need any or all of it. He charged it all on his card and went to collect money wired by Tina to the Danske Bank. He called Harland at ten thirty, at ten forty-five and got an answer only at eleven, whereupon he went to meet him at the rear of his house. Harland appeared in the street in an anorak with a spiked mountain walking stick, having left by the front entrance of his house. He was in a better mood than he had seemed to be on the phone and Samson wondered if the old spy was actually enjoying his return to the business. He gave Samson a crooked smile. ‘I’ve had that bloody tick Nyman there for the last three quarters of
an hour. Couldn’t get rid of him.’
‘What did he want? Were you followed?’
‘Of course I bloody wasn’t. Nyman thinks that Crane still has much to do and he doesn’t want him disturbed. He’s told me to tell you to lay off. He was appealing to my patriotism and invoked the British Foreign Secretary. He forgets that, these days, no one gives a solitary shit what the Foreign Secretary or what Her Britannic Majesty’s government think about anything. He wanted to know where you were. Said I hadn’t seen you and you’d gone east, possibly crossed over to Russia. He’s struggling to keep up and he’s got no help from the locals.’ Harland seemed pleased about this. ‘Where’s your car?’ Samson pointed downhill and they moved off, Harland using his stick to spear the gaps between the cobbles.
‘I’ve got help coming from the south,’ said Samson. ‘Three Balkan ruffians. I’ve used them before and they’ll only be here a very short while. I don’t imagine they’ve attempted to smuggle weapons across the six or seven different borders, so I’ll have to provide them with some.’
They drove to the southern suburbs and parked outside a house with a white picket fence, an impressive cord of wood under a shelter and an old camper van in the yard. Johannes, the Dutchman living in the house with a number of dogs and a young Sri Lankan wife, was a licensed dealer of hunting weapons with a sideline in fly rods, which was legal, and handguns and automatic pistols, which wasn’t. Samson bought two Glock Compacts and a Sig Sauer, plus ammunition, for €2,250. After a beer and having listened to a number of fishing stories, he and Harland left with the guns in a supermarket bag.
‘Odd character,’ said Samson as they got into the pick-up.
‘You can say that again. His main business is renting out fishing lodges with women. It’s a great business. Very little fishing is done, except by the women, one or two of whom have become excellent with a trout rod.’
On the way back to the city centre, he told Samson to make a couple of sudden detours. ‘What’s up?’ asked Samson, searching his wing mirror.
Harland took his time to answer. ‘You should know that someone is interested in what you’re up to, and I’m not talking about Nyman. My pal at KaPo says you’ve been followed while you’ve been here. A third party, they think. They don’t know who.’ That made sense, Samson thought, with the men at the hotel and the armed individual who gave the two amateur thugs a beating outside the bar. ‘Could be the Russians,’ Harland said slowly. ‘Might be the Americans, though I doubt it, and I suppose you can’t rule out your friend Crane.’
Samson spent the next few hours recceing the streets around the bar and timing the ride from Crane’s villa to the restaurant he habitually ate at and then to the bar. He received a call from Zillah Dee as he finished the final run and stopped to speak to her.
‘She got out and she’s in the woods somewhere. My two guys traced the gunfire I told you about to a house in the back of beyond where she stayed the night. They aren’t certain what happened because the old woman was crazy and threatened them with a hunting rifle. But they talked her down. Seems she fired at two men looking for Anastasia, which gave her a chance to escape. So we are actively looking in that area.’
‘You’ll tell me immediately if they find her.’
‘Of course.’
‘But I’m going to assume you won’t find her and I will proceed with my operation.’
‘I’m with Denis. He doesn’t want you to do anything until we have definite news.’
‘Zillah, you’ve got a couple of people searching for her in terrain they don’t know. You said there was a guardhouse with several bunks. That means they’ll have a lot of men looking for her. And Anastasia’s going to be in pretty bad shape.’
‘We’ll find her.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, but what if you don’t? What’s the back-up plan? There isn’t one, right? I hear Denis has another play – what is it?’
‘You can ask him.’
‘I will, because I know he’s praying they keep their word and let her go. Does that sound a reasonable expectation, after what they’ve done? Does it? No, it fucking doesn’t, Zillah. It sounds like the same shit that got her into this mess.’
‘Can you stop yelling at me for one second? Denis wants to talk to you. It looks like he may go back to jail for a few days. And that’s a problem in more ways than one. Samson, I know this means a lot to you but, for Christ’s sake, keep your cool.’
He took no notice. ‘Did you have any luck with the bank accounts?’
‘Yes, I’ll send you the data.’
As she walked the phone to Hisami, Samson heard New York’s soundtrack, the whoop-whoop of a patrol car, people leaning on their horns, the crash of a dumpster being lowered on to the street.
Hisami came on. ‘Hello, Paul.’
‘Denis.’
‘We need you to sit on your hands. We think we’re going to find her. And if we don’t and they do, I have an alternative plan. Do nothing to endanger my wife’s life. That’s what I am telling you.’
‘Denis, I didn’t put her where she is. You did. If she doesn’t come out of that forest, I’ll continue with my operation and it’ll all be on me.’
‘You have no idea what you’re dealing with.’
‘Crane is stalling for time. They don’t give a damn about honouring an agreement with you because there isn’t one. They’ll keep her alive just so long as they need to. If Zillah’s men get to her first, there’s nothing to worry about, but if Crane’s people find her out in the woods, you can forget your back-up plan.’ He remembered the video still in Hisami’s email inbox. ‘They’ve got something else, haven’t they? And you’re afraid they’ll use it?’
Hisami didn’t answer.
‘It’s your sister,’ said Samson. ‘They’re threatening to reveal something about her past?’
At length, he said, ‘Yes, but it’s really not the point. Anastasia is what I care about.’
‘And you think we’d be raising the stakes by taking Crane.’
‘Yes, and they will respond,’ said Hisami.
‘It’s a paradox, Denis. If you don’t raise the stakes, you’ll be gambling with your wife’s life. It’s as simple as that. These people have killed multiple times. Crane is our insurance policy. If we’ve got him, they can’t kill her if they find her.’
‘This is not something you can gamble on.’
‘But that’s the game you joined, Denis, a game of the highest stakes. So let’s hope Zillah gets to her first.’ There was nothing more to say and he hung up.
CHAPTER 27
She walked parallel to the road, never straying into the open but never losing sight of it. A lumber truck roared past but she was too slow to break cover and flag it down. Eventually, she decided it was pointless walking in either direction, because there was no hope of reaching a town: far better to sit it out at a spot where she could dash from the trees on to the road when she heard a vehicle coming. She built a screen from thick boughs of pine, which she cut using the serrated meat knife she had stolen from under Igor’s nose. If the old lady was keeping her gun, she was going to have their knife. She lay quite comfortably for a while, listening for a vehicle, but soon began to drift off. No! She couldn’t sleep. She must do everything she could to stay awake. This included fifteen minutes of yoga exercises she remembered from a course designed to relieve stress among aid workers in the camp on Lesbos, watching some ants carrying food to a mound of pine needles and thinking of her life with Denis and with Samson. ‘I am with you, I am with you, dear Anastasia.’ Samson had said it with such intensity that she knew he still loved her. Looking up at the goddamn trees – she was sick of trees – she supposed these words meant something to her but, really, what the hell good were they out here? Samson wasn’t with her. Nobody was. Even from herself she seemed absent.
She hadn’t been moving for an hour or so and she became cold. She worried how she would survive the night and decided to build a fire. This she approached
methodically, digging out a hole and surrounding it with stones so the flames could not be seen from the road. She excavated two channels so the fire would have enough air. Then she piled pine needles and twigs in a wigwam and surrounded these with pointed pine cones that oozed resin. These made a lot of smoke and she realised that more flames meant less smoke. She flicked the cones away, broke some dead branches and laid them against the fire. Once the fire was properly alight and there were glowing embers at its base, she set more stones around the flames and these began to heat up satisfactorily, just as Naji had described to her. Now there was virtually no smoke.
She ate some of the congealed soup from the pot; she would heat the rest when it was dark. She followed the soup with some bread and washed them down with the well water from an old plastic bottle they’d given her. She felt herself nodding off and forced herself to sit in a less comfortable position, but this didn’t work and she finally succumbed to a deep, days-long exhaustion and slept.
What woke her a little later was the smoke. Raindrops falling through the branches above her had extinguished the flames and sent up a cloud of smoke around her so she could barely see. She coughed and fanned the air furiously.
‘The woman who likes fire,’ said a voice to her right. ‘The woman who was released by fire is now trapped by fire. An irony, no?’
She shot up and reached for the knife, but a boot stamped on her hand. There were four men around her. Kirill was crouching by the fire, warming his hands. He smiled at her surprise. ‘I should kill you now because you left me to die. You wanted Kirill to burn.’