Corruption!

by Elizabeth Ducie

  “Tomas, I knew all along that shipment was going to be stopped. The border guards had planted a spy in the group. One of the men you thought you were saving was actually a Stassi member.”

  “And you helped set it up?”

  “No, absolutely not. I knew about it, as I’d been warned I needed to make myself scarce before the police arrived. But it was a different operation from mine.” She paused and blew out her cheeks as she played her final card. “But have you ever wondered who made that anonymous call that saved all your skins?”

  Tomas stared at her for a long moment. Then silently he reached across and refilled her empty glass, followed by his own. He lifted the tumbler in silent tribute to her before draining it in one go. Then, finally he smiled.

  “Okay, Rose, you win. What is it you want my help with?”

  Chapter 49

  Francine Matheson stood on the pavement in front of the apartment block, breathing in the cool air. It was late September, and in the mornings there was already a hint of the changing seasons. She would need to sort out her winter clothing if she was going to be staying here much longer—and she was beginning to think she would be.

  Suzanne had offered to give her a lift on her way to the airport to collect Charlie, but she’d refused. With everything that had been going on recently, she’d not had time to go to the gym and she was feeling the effects of too much coffee, too many of Mama D’s meals and not enough exercise. The walk would do her good and give her some thinking time before the sisters returned and they got down to planning how they were going to sort out this mess and finally clear Anton’s name.

  A car pulled to a stop alongside the kerb as she started to walk. Then several things happened at once. The front passenger door opened and a tall swarthy man in black pullover, jeans, and dark glasses, jumped out and grabbed her arm. A second man slipped out from the back of the car and grabbed her other arm. Then all three of them froze as there was a scream from the front door of the apartment block behind them.

  “Francine! No! Leave her alone.” Lydia came barrelling across the pavement towards them.

  “No, Lydia, get back inside,” yelled Francine—but it was too late. Her first assailant pushed her sideways into the back of the car while the second man grabbed Lydia’s arm and shoved her in on top of Francine. The two women were a tangle of arms and legs and were momentarily unable to do anything. It was long enough for one man to run around to the other side of the car and jump in beside them, while the other got back in the front seat. With a roar of the engine and a squeal of tyres on the dry tarmac, they were off down the road. The whole thing had taken less than ninety seconds.

  For the first few miles, Lydia wailed in fear and Francine’s time was taken up with trying to quieten the terrified woman. Then the man in the front turned and pointed a gun at them, shouting for them to be quiet.

  Lydia froze and clamped her mouth shut, although her lips trembled, and little whimpers escaped from her every so often. Francine stroked her arm and whispered to her in French. Her mind raced. She had to find out who these men were and what they wanted. She had no doubt it was her they’d been after and Lydia was just an unfortunate bystander caught up in all this. And presumably they didn’t want to kill her, because if they’d wanted to kill her, they’d have done it outside the apartment. One shot from inside the car was all it would’ve taken. So she had to assume their lives were safe—at least for the moment. But she had to protect Anton’s sister. That was a greater priority than her own safety.

  Once the car left the outskirts of St Petersburg, the driver pulled it off the road and stopped. The two women were ordered out of the car and stood trembling on the roadside.

  The man who sat in the front passenger seat appeared to be the one in charge. He started talking to the women in rapid Russian. Francine had been taking lessons and practising with Mama D, but her ability was still meagre. She quickly got lost. Summoning an appearance of control she was far from feeling, she held up her hand.

  “Stop!”

  He immediately fell silent, looking at her in amazement.

  “I speak Russian very badly,” she said. “Do you speak English?” The man shook his head. “Or French?” Again a negative response. “Right then,” she went on, summoning up every scrap of vocabulary she could remember from her Russian lessons, “here’s what will happen. You explain things to Lydia in Russian, and she will translate into French for me.” She turned to the other woman who was shivering at her side and took her hands, switching languages as she did. “Lydia, darling, you need to be very brave.” Lydia stared at her, with tears beginning to spill from her eyes once more. Francine leaned over and gave her a quick hug. “Hush, darling, don’t cry. I’m sure this is all a big mistake and we’ll be back home very soon. So I want you to listen to what this man has to say and then tell me in French. Do you think you can do it?” Lydia smiled shakily and nodded. Francine turned to the man and switched back to her halting Russian. “Do you understand Lydia is very special and will get confused if you speak too fast or use difficult words?” He nodded. “Okay, then talk to her.”

  The man uttered a few sentences in rapid Russian and then nodded towards Francine.

  “He says his name is Alexis and the other one is Philip. He’s taking us on a little trip, to visit some old friends,” whispered Lydia. “He says if we do as we’re told, we won’t be hurt.” She gave a little hiccup. “But I’m scared, Francine.”

  “Yes, I know you are, darling,” said Francine, “but you’re doing fine. Ask him exactly where we’re going and who we’re going to meet.”

  Lydia translated Francine’s questions into Russian, but the man just shook his head. Then he uttered another couple of sentences that made Lydia go even paler.

  “He won’t tell me. He says he won’t tie us up, so long as we behave. But he’s going to blindfold you,” she finished with a wail.

  Francine nodded.

  “They don’t want me to see which direction we’re driving in,” she said. “It’s alright. I can still talk to you and you’ll be able to see where we’re going. Just try to notice anything that’ll help us work out where we are. Especially road signs or town names.”

  At that point, Alexis nodded to Philip who gestured for the two women to get back in the car. Francine sat in the middle and as soon as she was settled, a rough cotton bag was pulled over her head. She reached out to Lydia who was sitting on her right side and squeezed her hand. She felt Philip get in next to her and settle himself in the corner. The driver and Alexis returned to the front of the car. Three doors slammed, the engine started, and they were off.

  They drove for hours and after a while, the two women dozed. Around lunchtime, they pulled off the road and the bag was removed from Francine’s head. They were parked at an anonymous looking petrol station on a quiet side road. The driver and Alexis got out and went inside, returning with dry rolls filled with cheese, chocolate bars, and bottles of mineral water, which they shared with the two women and Philip. Then they gestured for the women to get out of the car. Walking them around to the rear of the building, they pointed to a tumbledown shack.

  “I guess this is what passes for a rest room,” said Francine as they walked inside. The air was fetid, and the place didn’t look like it had been cleaned for a good while. There were no windows, apart from a tiny hole in the wall just below roof level.

  “Yuk,” said Lydia, looking at the Turkish style toilets in the cubicles, holes in the ground with grubby tiled steps to crouch on.

  “Not the Ritz, certainly,” said Francine with a grimace, “but better than having to go behind a bush in the woods. I guess we’d better make the best of it. We don’t know when we’ll be stopping next, or what sort of place that will be.”

  Making themselves comfortable, or as comfortable as was possible in the circumstances, the two women left the foul little hut and re-joined the men at the car. Francine noted their captors had walked away as soon as they’d delivered th
em to the rest room. Obviously not worried about us running away she thought. But, then again, why would they be? We’ve no idea where we are. There’s no likelihood of us running away—at least not yet. And with that thought, she climbed back into the car and waited for the bag to be replaced on her head before they continued on their journey.

  Chapter 50

  Once again, Viktor drove Anton’s car to Pulkovo Airport, with Suzanne in the back. She’d received a text from Charlie early that morning. Arriving on the midday flight. Can you pick me up? Cx.

  Mindful of the irritation of the drivers on their previous visit to the airport, and the vagaries of the Russian immigration desk, Suzanne jumped out at the terminal building, while Viktor drove on into the car park.

  “I’ll text you when she’s through,” she told him. She pulled a novel out of her bag and headed into the arrivals hall.

  Charlie’s trip had been such a short one, Suzanne had high hopes of its success. If her sister hadn’t been able to find her contact straight away and get his agreement to help, she would presumably have had to stay longer in Germany. The fact that she’d only been away a couple of days augured well. Suzanne certainly hoped so anyway. She really wanted to get home to England and, more importantly, to Steve.

  He’d known what he was taking on when he’d asked her to marry him; and they’d had long conversations about the amount of travel she was likely to have to do. He was used to living on his own and, if she was honest with herself, he probably dealt better with the separation than she did. But she was eager to go home and get on with her new life. Sometimes, she wondered if she was coming to the end of all her travelling.

  “I hate this part, don’t you?” said a voice with a British West Country accent, breaking into her reverie.” A stocky woman with red-brown short hair was leaning on the barrier next to her.

  “Pardon me?” said Suzanne.

  “You know, standing here, excited to be meeting someone, but not knowing whether their plane will arrive on time, or their baggage may be delayed—or even if their visa might be wrong and they can’t get in.” She grinned. “Although I suppose that’s usually more my problem. My husband’s Russian, so his passport’s always in order, at this end anyway. He’s flying back from Moscow and we thought we’d meet up here for a bit of R and R before we go home.” She pushed herself away from the barrier and held out her hand. “I’m Emma; Emma Chambers.”

  “Suzanne Jones.” She looked at the other woman with her head on one side. “Tell me; is it so obvious that I’m a Brit?”

  Emma laughed.

  “Yes, there’s something about the British psyche that means we can spot each other from fifty paces, across a crowded room, as it were.” She paused and then admitted, “But the fact that you’re holding a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy was a dead give-away. It’s one of my favourites; but the humour is so typically British, I’ve not met many people of other nationalities who enjoy it.”

  Suzanne nodded.

  “It’s a bit of an acquired taste, isn’t it? I’ve not read it before, but my sister is always banging on about how good it is, so I thought I’d bring a copy along on this trip with me.”

  “Business or pleasure, may I ask? Your trip?”

  “Oh, business, certainly.” But Suzanne didn’t want to continue down this road with a stranger, so she turned the questioning around. “And do you guys live out here in Russia?”

  Emma nodded.

  “Part of the time, yes. Vasily is the editor of a regional newspaper, based in his home town of Nikolevsky. He commutes between there and Moscow quite a lot of the time. But we also have a home in the south-west of England.”

  “I thought your accent was familiar,” said Suzanne excitedly. “That’s where I come from. Are you anywhere near Exeter?”

  “Just outside, in the Haldon Hills,” replied Emma, “and it’s so beautiful there, we go back several times a year, when our work allows us a break.”

  “And what do you do, Emma?”

  “Well, I’m an engineer by training, and I still do an occasional project for private clients; but my main role over here is advising the owners of a small pharmaceutical factory in Nikolevsky. It was left to the workers by the owner when he died, and I sit on the board and help them with the business aspects.”

  “Pharmaceuticals! But that’s the business I’m in, too!”

  “No! Really? What a coincidence!” At that point, there was a shout from across the concourse and the two women looked up as a tall, dark-haired man with the high cheekbones of a Russian strode towards them. Emma turned to Suzanne and pushed a card into her hand. “That’s Vasily. I must go. But here, take his card. He’s always looking for subjects to interview for his newspaper; and given the industry you’re in, you’re sure to have a good story for him.” And with a wave of her hand, she ducked under the barrier and threw herself at her husband. The two walked off together, with their arms around each other.

  Oh yes, Emma, thought Suzanne, we’re certainly going to have a story to tell. She tucked the card safely into her bag. She’d learned all contacts were useful, and members of the press especially so.

  The electronic notice above her head was showing Charlie’s flight had landed and thirty minutes later, her sister strolled through the swing doors and out into the arrivals hall. She waved a lazy hand in Suzanne’s direction and when she reached her, the two hugged before Suzanne sent a text to Viktor, recalling him to the terminal building.

  “I’m so glad to see you, Charlie,” Suzanne said, as they strolled towards the door. Her sister glanced across with an amused look on her face.

  “But I’ve only been gone two days.”

  “I know, but you were so mysterious, and I was so worried about what was happening, the time really seemed to drag.”

  “Well, you can stop the mother hen act, now,” said Charlie, although her smile took the sting out of her words. “I’m back and I think that very soon, we’ll have the information we need.”

  The sisters settled down in the back of the car and as Viktor turned the bonnet in the direction of the motorway, Charlie began to tell Suzanne what she’d learned.

  “Tomas, that’s my contact’s name, was very useful once I’d convinced him to help us.” As Suzanne opened her mouth with the obvious question, Charlie held up a hand. “No, you don’t want to know.” She grinned wickedly and waggled her eyebrows before continuing. “It seems there’s been a spate of robberies across Germany and France in the past eighteen months. Always high value pharmaceuticals, mainly antibiotic and antiviral injections. But the strange thing is these drugs never resurfaced. They didn’t appear in any of the European black market pipelines. They just vanished. Even the underground networks, like the one Tomas runs, couldn’t work out where they’d gone.”

  “So you think they’ve come into Russia?”

  “I think there’s a good chance. There’s a whisper on the street of a Ukrainian family that’s been putting out feelers across the former Eastern Bloc countries.”

  “The Mladovs?”

  “The very same. Tomas hadn’t come across them himself, but he’d heard rumours about the head of the family being an old-fashioned Godfather-type. Models himself on Don Corleone, apparently.”

  “So if these injectables are being smuggled into Russia…”

  “Then they could be what’s being used to replace the codeine phosphate tablets. There’s a good chance those boxes heading for Africa are full of stolen antibiotics and antivirals.”

  “But that’s a convoluted way of doing it. Why not ship them direct to Africa?”

  “Who knows? Could be something to do with import tariffs. A lot of the countries slap huge surcharges on imported drugs; and a batch of tablets is much lower value, and hence lower surcharge, than the same quantity of injections.”

  “Plus the fact if they’re stolen goods, that makes it more difficult to pass them through official distribution channels.” Suzanne paused. “I guess w
e need to talk to Mercy.”

  “And Walter. It’s still a bit hazy, but I reckon we’re almost there. We haven’t got all the culprits yet, but Tomas has supplied me with some names. If we hand this lot over to the authorities, they should be able to take it from there.”

  The two sisters grinned at each other and high-fived.

  “It looks like we’ll be going home, Charlie,” said Suzanne.

  “And no more travelling—at least for me—until after the baby’s born!” said Charlie, settling back in the seat with a sigh and stretching her arms above her head. “I must say, I’m ready for a bit of quiet time at home.”

  “Quiet time!” Suzanne giggled. “You do know babies don’t come with volume controls, don’t you?” But she knew what her sister meant. It was definitely time for the Jones sisters to go home and regroup, spend a bit of me-time with their respective partners and get some relaxation in.

  Part 4

  Chapter 51

  Viktor dropped the Jones sisters outside the apartment block and then headed off down the street. As the car disappeared around the corner, the foyer door crashed open and Anton ran out. Mama D followed close behind. She was crying and wringing her hands.

  “What on earth’s the matter?” asked Charlie as Suzanne ran to put her arms around Mama D to comfort the sobbing woman.

  “They’ve taken them!” gasped Anton. “They snatched them from outside the building—in broad daylight.”

  “Who’re you talking about?” asked Charlie.

  “Francine and Lydia! They’ve been snatched!”

  “No, there must be some mistake,” said Suzanne. “I saw Francine as I left for the airport. She was going for a walk. Lydia’s probably gone with her. You know how she idolises Francine.”

  But Anton was shaking his head.

  “No, you don’t understand. Mama had a phone call, about an hour ago. She didn’t understand everything that was said. The man’s voice was very muffled, but he said unless I kept my mouth shut, we would never see Francine and Lydia again.”