Corruption!

by Elizabeth Ducie

  “But surely that would be much harder to cover up than the death of a local.”

  “Precisely. Especially as the woman in question is well known. She’s a former Member of Parliament, quite high profile, I believe.”

  Stefano began to have a really bad feeling about the way this conversation was going.

  “And do we have a name for this woman?” he asked.

  “We do. It’s Matheson. Francine Matheson.”

  “Now that name, I do know,” said Stefano through gritted teeth. He thought for a moment, then came to a decision.

  “Khariton Grigorovic, I am most grateful for this call. Can I ask you to hold off on any action for a while? I need to consult with my colleagues.”

  “Well, I’m not saying we’d necessarily be doing anything anyway,” the Shef reminded him, “but, yes, I’ll see that nothing happens until I hear from you.”

  “And if I need to get in touch with you again?”

  There was a dry chuckle at the other end of the phone.

  “Just send a message via the governor. He’s a good friend of mine.”

  Chapter 46

  The street was just as Charlie remembered it. She could hardly believe it was over twenty years since she’d been there last. The apartment buildings reared above her, six or seven storeys each. Windows grimy, some cracked, and a few even covered over with paper to keep out the light—or maybe prying eyes. Between two of the blocks ran a narrow alleyway through which she could just glimpse the tiny garden in the interior. If you could call it a garden. A few shrubs surrounded by broken down fencing. And a rusty old swing the little kids used for playing on during the day and the adults used as a love seat after dark. She’d sat on that swing more than once when she was here before. But not this time. This time she needed to keep out of sight.

  She didn’t know for certain if Tomas would still be around. She’d joined his gang at the start of 1988; at first just a quiet newcomer on the edge of the crowd. But, as intended, she’d caught his eye and gradually worked her way towards the centre of attention. Within six months, she was acknowledged by everyone as ‘Tomas’s girl’ and two months later, he’d proposed to her.

  It was in the middle of a crowded café, with all the gang surrounding them and there were as many jeers as cheers ringing in her ears as he got down on one knee and pushed a bunch of late blooming chrysanths into her hands. She wasn’t sure then, and still didn’t know, whether he’d been serious or pulling her leg. Somehow, she suspected a formal wedding wasn’t the sort of thing he would go in for. But she played along on the night; accepting his proposal, returning his hugs and kisses; and from then on, he referred to her as ‘my wife’. Until the night she left them all behind.

  The gang was known to be involved in people trafficking, supplying naive young women for the brothels in West Germany, Austria and Britain. Of course, for Charlie’s bosses, that wouldn’t have been enough on its own to warrant a full-scale undercover operation. But they suspected the gang was not only smuggling people out of the East, but smuggling information back in the other direction. Buying secrets from the West and selling them to the highest bidder behind the Iron Curtain. Her brief was to get embedded in the group, get as close as she could to the leader, Tomas, and see what she could find out.

  Now, as she hurried along the street, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, she thought back to that last night. They’d all been in the café again. The latest ‘shipment’ had successfully left the East on its way to the UK and they were celebrating. Tomas had been particularly excited. It had been a special shipment, had earned them a lot of money. He was talking about the two of them taking off for a while, heading to the sea, having a ‘holiday’. Whether he was serious, she would never know. She’d crept out of the door, just after two in the morning and didn’t look back as she slipped through the darkness to the pick-up point where her extraction team was waiting. But before she reached that rendezvous point, she stopped to make a quick, but vitally important, phone call.

  Now, as she drew near to the café, she could see through the window it was just opening for business. Chairs were being pulled down from tables, candles being lit. She ran across the deserted street and made her way into a dark alleyway opposite. From here she could watch what was going on and see if she recognised anyone coming in or out. She wasn’t sure who was still around, but she’d maintained a few unofficial sources and they suggested Tomas was still active in Berlin.

  She settled down behind a giant communal bin, breathing through her mouth rather than her nose until the stench of rotting food and other detritus had become dulled and she was able to ignore it. There were very few people around and she didn’t recognise any of them. She was beginning to wonder if this had all been in vain.

  When Mercy had suggested getting in touch with her old contacts in the former East Germany, Charlie had laughed in her face. She’d told the Mozambican once she had friends in the area. She couldn’t remember now why she’d told her, but she realised it was an error. Because Mercy never forgot anything. And she wouldn’t hesitate to use any information she had if it could be for her benefit.

  “It was more than twenty years ago,” she’d said as the two sat in Anton’s lounge earlier that week. “And I’ve no idea if the gang’s still operating.” She’d paused. “And if they are, I’m the last person they’ll want to meet.”

  But the more she thought about it, the more the idea had grown on her. Mercy was fairly sure the drugs being sent to Africa had actually come from the European Union.

  “But they can’t be kosher,” she’d said, “otherwise, they’d be sold under their own name; not masqueraded as codeine phosphate tablets.”

  Mercy suspected the drugs were coming from Germany and that was why Michael Hawkins had been making so many trips there recently. And she didn’t have any contacts there. But she knew Charlie did. And when Charlie continued to resist the idea, Marcy played her final card.

  “This could be your last chance to keep Annie safe,” she said. Charlie’s heart had thudded, and she found herself struggling for breath as Mercy went on. “I still have at least one friend in the Mladov household. And she overheard Stefano talking to my father: about the meddlesome sisters from England. About how they needed to be stopped once and for all. And about the new husband and the pregnant girlfriend that could be used to bring them to heel.”

  Defeated, Charlie had agreed to go to Germany and see what she could find out.

  But this could all be a complete waste of time and money, she thought once more.

  Her nasal senses were dulled by the odours from the dumpster; but there was nothing wrong with her hearing. This she thought ruefully just two seconds too late. The two seconds it took for a tough muscular body in dark clothing to sidle up behind her and slide an arm around her neck. In his hand was a knife; a knife now pressed ever so gently against her jugular.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat from ear to ear, bitch,” hissed a heavily accented voice. She froze and said nothing. After a long few seconds, the man laughed coldly and removed the knife, although his arm remained wrapped around her neck. “Tomas heard a rumour you were back in town. He didn’t believe it until we spotted you skulking along the street. You really are slipping, aren’t you? The old Rose wouldn’t have been caught like that. Never in a million years.”

  He stepped back, loosening his grip, and she spun to look at him. The knife was still in his hand and he waved it at her lazily. “I’d love the excuse, Rose, I really would. But Tomas would be upset. And we don’t want to upset the boss, now do we?” He gestured across the road towards the café. “On you go. You know the way. He’s in the usual room.”

  Charlie nodded at the man, whom she vaguely recognised as one of the youngsters in the gang when she was here last time, and strolled across the road towards the café. Her legs were trembling and sweat poured down the back of her neck. But she held her head up high as she pushed open the doo
r.

  In a scene reminiscent of the Wild West movies Mr Jones used to take his daughters to see on a Saturday morning, everyone stopped talking and turned to watch as Charlie walked across the café and started mounting the stairs at the side of the bar. As she reached the mid-point—the step that had been deliberately made loose so that its squeak would always announce unexpected visitors to the occupants of the rooms above—she heard someone whisper something to their neighbour. More whispers followed and then someone spoke at normal volume. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, the noise level was back to what it had been as she entered. But she guessed the topic of conversation was now pretty much centred on her.

  Reaching the door at the end of the landing, she raised her hand to knock. The paint was still dark green, and the scuffs along the bottom caused by countless waitresses carrying countless trays of drinks, were still there. There was a set of long vertical scratches down the side, just before the door jamb, and she wondered briefly what had caused them. But then the door swung open and she had no more time to think.

  “Come on in, Rose; I’ve been looking forward to this evening for a very long time.”

  Chapter 47

  Stefano’s call had Michael Hawkins rushing to the villa straight away.

  “My friend, we may have a big problem,” Stefano said as the two men sat under the shade of the walnut tree once more. “It would appear our suspicion of coincidences was justified after all.”

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  “I had a very interesting phone-call from a certain Khariton Bubliov, known as the Shef, who’s currently residing in the Kresty remand prison up at St Petersburg. He’s been talking to Boris Lechkov.”

  “Yes, I meant to ask to you about him. Is he likely to be a problem?”

  Stefano waved his hand and shook his head.

  “Oh, no, we don’t need to worry about him. Boris knows to keep his mouth shut. And if he doesn’t, he’s exactly where we need him to be. One false word from him and we can make sure it’s his last. No, our problem is with Anton Dimitriov.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it appears that British house guest he’s been entertaining is none other than the former politician, Francine Matheson.”

  Hawkins swore violently.

  “So that means…” he said slowly.

  “Precisely. It means the appearance of Miss Suzanne Jones in the factory in Kharkiv is highly unlikely to be a coincidence. It means, my friend, that we appear to be under attack.”

  Hawkins swore again.

  “So what do we do?”

  “Well, there’s one option. Boris approached the Shef about taking out a contract on Anton and his family, including our meddling politician.”

  “But that’s not likely to solve the problem, is it?”

  “Well, it might just scare Miss Jones off. But somehow, I doubt it. And don’t forget she came to the factory as a representative of the World Health Organisation. We don’t want to have them on our backs.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Hawkins once more. Stefano tapped a nicotine-stained fingernail against his teeth. Then he took in a deep breath and exhaled sharply.

  “I think we take a more subtle approach. We need a way of keeping Anton silent and putting the Jones sisters out of the game.”

  “Sisters? I thought we were only dealing with Suzanne this time?”

  “Come on, Michael, don’t be naive! We’ve only seen Suzanne Jones so far, but on past experience, we can be fairly sure that big sister Charlie will be nosing around somewhere. They seem to be pretty much joined at the hip.”

  “True.”

  “So, I think I’ll get back to Khariton Bubliov and tell him we’ll handle it all from out here. It’s got to be easier for him that way, so he’s not going to argue. And then I think we need to get some of the boys to make a little visit to St Petersburg.”

  Chapter 48

  Tomas was sitting in his old leather chair, as she’d seen him so many times before, with his snakeskin-booted feet up on the desk, his ankles neatly crossed. He was using a paperknife to clean his nails.

  But this was Tomas as she’d never seen him before. His long glossy black curls had gone, replaced by a smooth dome of forehead and a cut so short it was pretty much shaved. And what stubble there was appeared to be grey. His face was thinner than she remembered and the laughter lines around his mouth had morphed into downward creases of age. Then he raised his eyes from his fingernails and looked at her. And this was the Tomas she did remember. Eyes as green as an emerald and as deep as the Konigssee. Eyes that appeared to see right through you and read exactly what you were thinking, rather than what you were saying. And yet, he never really read me properly, did he? she thought.

  “Hello, Tomas,” she said, “how’ve you been?”

  “Oh, you know; can’t complain. Had a few problems along the way, but generally good.”

  “Still running things out of this old café, I see?”

  “No, I’ve got a much bigger place now, over on the west side. I’m running quite a few projects across the city. But you know what they say, you never forget your roots.” He gestured to a chair. “Sit down. Drink?”

  She nodded and seated herself gingerly in the armchair opposite the desk. This was all so civilised, it felt unreal. He poured her a shot of whisky and pushed it across the desk towards her. Nodding, she picked up the glass and took a sip.

  “To old times,” Tomas said, knocking his drink back in a single swallow. She got the impression this wasn’t the first drink he’d had tonight. He held the empty glass aloft and stared at her before slamming it down so hard on the edge of the desk she jumped.

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Rose, but explain to me in words of one syllable why I shouldn’t have you thrown to the boys? They’d enjoy playing with you before finishing you off and dropping your body into the river. And it would be no more than you deserve.”

  She swallowed and nodded.

  “You’re right, Tomas, they would enjoy that. And I’m sure you’d enjoy watching them, wouldn’t you?” Despite a trembling she was fighting hard to hide, she managed to hold his gaze firmly and in the end it was he who broke away first, shaking his head.

  “No, Rose, you know I wouldn’t. Fuck it, I loved you. I thought you loved me! And all the time, you were some snitch for the police.”

  She shook her head and smiled.

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Of course it was! And then you left without a word, as though you’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  “Not off the face of the earth, Tomas. Just back to my home country. Back to England.”

  “And were you working for the police?”

  “Not the police, although they knew I was working undercover with you. I was with the British Secret Service. We knew about your people trafficking.”

  “People were desperate for an escape route from the East. We merely provided a service,” he protested.

  “Yes, whatever,” she went on. “But we were after much bigger fish than a small-time people smuggler. There was a suspicion one of your gang—maybe even you—was involved in smuggling secrets from the West into Eastern Europe and across into Russia. We were fairly certain we knew who the supplier was at our end, but we were trying to trace the route behind the Iron Curtain.”

  “And did you find it?”

  “Yes, eventually. Not me, obviously. One of the others, in another gang. I was convinced you guys were only working in the one direction, which is why I left when I did. There was nothing more to be gained by staying where I was.”

  “And me? What about me?”

  “Tomas, I was very fond of you. You were good fun, kind and really rather sweet, although,” she added hastily as his brows drew together in a frown, “I would never have described you like that to the rest of the gang.” She paused, wondering just how much information she should share with this volatile man whom she’d double-cross
ed so spectacularly. “But to be honest, it would never have worked between us. I’m not really into men, if you take my meaning.”

  He stared at her in confusion, then a look of understanding crossed his face.

  “Oh!” he said. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “So tell me, Rose, why are you here? It can’t be just to chat over old times.”

  “I need your help,” she said. “Well, actually, lots of people need your help.”

  Tomas began laughing. It started as a chuckle, then became more of a chortle and finally turned into a full-blown snorting belly-laugh. Then he wiped his eyes, which were streaming with tears of mirth. But when he spoke, there was a sneer in his voice.

  “Help you? Why would I help you? No matter how noble your reasons, you still cheated me last time you were here.” His smile faded completely. “I repeat. Why should I help you? And how did you think you were going to persuade me?”

  “I thought I might appeal to your better nature.”

  “Haven’t got one!”

  “Yes, you have, Tomas. I know you have. You may be a real hard man to the rest of the world, but I’ve seen the real Tomas, remember? The Tomas that cried when the cat had kittens outside in the snow and they all died. The Tomas that never forgot his mother’s birthday—and went home for Sunday lunch whenever he could.”

  “Well, I was younger then. I’m not the same man now that I used to be.”

  Charlie stared at him, willing him to soften, but his frown stayed in place. She had one final card left. And she guessed this was the time to play it.

  “Okay, Tomas. Let’s talk about that last night. We were all celebrating, remember?”

  “Yes. The shipment had left the East and we’d had a big pay-off.”

  “And what happened after I left?”

  “We had a call, an anonymous tip-off that the shipment had been stopped in West Germany and the police were on their way to arrest us. We all split and laid low for a few weeks. In the confusion, it took a while for me to realise you were missing. And then I thought you’d been picked up by the police.”