The Hunt series Boxset 2

by Tim Heath

  “It doesn’t mean he’s dead, Anissa,” Alex said, reading through everything his colleague had just shown him. She apparently had jumped to that conclusion.

  “Alex, they killed a man, and since that last piece of information Sasha left us on New Year’s Eve, we’ve not heard anything from him.”

  “It still doesn’t mean the worst. There was no corpse, remember. The article says that the body of the murdered guy was found at the scene. If they wanted it to be done in secret, the body would have been removed after the killing. They would be reporting it as a disappearance instead.”

  “A disappearance? You mean, exactly what seems to have happened to Sasha?” she said.

  “We can’t assume the two are linked in any way.” That was what the article had suggested, though no connection between the two men had been mentioned, aside from the fact they both worked for the same FSB office, and the dead man was a senior agent.

  “So what, then? Sasha has just run away? Gone into hiding?”

  “Yes, maybe…I don’t know, Anissa, but I think he knows what he’s doing.”

  “What if he’s lying wounded somewhere, growing weaker? What if he’s all alone?”

  “It won’t help thinking the worst. Nothing will help Sasha in that scenario––well none of our worries, anyway. Look, we need to carry on doing what we are doing. We know those hate crimes were organised by Matvey Filipov and his son––Sasha got us that information.” It might have been what got him killed, too.

  “You know…” Anissa started, and there was emotion showing in her eyes immediately, it’d been building up for the last couple of minutes, “the last time I saw Sasha, the night before my deportation, I had made a right fool of myself.” She went silent. She wasn’t going to tell Alex she’d kissed him, after drinking too much and misreading Sasha’s intentions––Anissa had had the day from hell and didn’t know what she was doing in all honesty––but it had turned out to be the last time she saw him.

  “And?”

  “What if that’s the last we ever speak to each other––I mean, the last thing he ever hears from me. What if that was it? What then?” Alex had no idea what she’d done––it was unlikely to have been too bizarre, knowing Anissa as he had for so long. She was one of the most level-headed, controlled people he’d met. Yet, since the suicide of Josée in St Petersburg, something had broken in her.

  “I don’t think it matters what you did, Anissa. Sasha is a good man, he won’t have thought anything of it.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” It was clear Anissa wasn’t going to let on what had happened, which only made Alex all the more intrigued.

  “And I’m sure we’ll hear from him sooner or later,” Alex said. He certainly hoped they would, though the silence had grown deafening. Sasha had not been out of touch with them for so long before and the last thing he had shared with them had been something vital.

  “What do you make of the guy who was killed?” Anissa said, switching the focus away from their friend and onto the other FSB agent referenced in the article.

  “It does seem strange.” There were no witnesses reported, little evidence left at the scene––everything spoke of a professional killing. A few lines in the article referred to the fact that there was some question over the victim's openness to bribes. Maybe that was what had got him killed? It was precisely the type of situation––where little information was given, and because it involved Russia, MI6 had nothing more to go on––where Sasha would have been the best man to speak to. His absence was especially missed.

  They moved away from their small office. Everything there reminded them of all they’d been involved with in Russia––and Russia meant Sasha.

  Grabbing a coffee in the canteen, Anissa quickly shifted focus back to Alex and his relationship with Anastasia, who turned out to be married to Dmitry Kaminski. They hadn’t chatted about her since the revelation of Anastasia's real identity.

  “Look, Alex,” she started, her tone indicative of exactly what was coming next, a conversation she had been waiting to have for days in fact. “We really should talk about Anastasia.”

  “I know,” he said, speaking calmly, though not able to look up at Anissa as he spoke. “I’ve been wondering when this was going to come up again.”

  “Are you still seeing her?” It seemed ludicrous to even have to ask him––of course he couldn’t be, not a man in his position, not a woman in hers. The MI6 agent had been watching Dmitry Kaminski for the last few years, they knew all about his connections to MI6, and what the UK hoped to get back from the Russian in return.

  “Yes, I am still seeing her,” Alex said, now looking up for the first time, making eye contact briefly, though he looked away as quickly as he’d held her gaze. Anissa didn’t know what to say, maybe she should just stay silent, but she couldn’t.

  “Alex, for goodness sake, have you lost your mind?” She was speaking much quieter now as if to speak louder would be to draw attention to the topic of their conversation, as if the walls had ears. Sitting in MI6 HQ, that was possible, of course. As if anyone nearby hearing them would march Alex straight to the Director General’s office and after that out onto the pavement, his employment ended.

  Alex remained silent, however. “Alex, talk to me. You can’t seriously be continuing this now that you know.”

  “I don’t know what to think, or do, at the moment.”

  “Does she know?”

  “What, that she’s married to Dmitry…yes, I think she does,” Alex said, his attempt at humour not met with anything but hostility from Anissa. How could Alex just laugh something like this off?

  “You know what I mean!” A few heads turned, but soon left the pair to it.

  “Yes, she knows I know. We talked about it.”

  “You talked? And what, laughed all the more? I just don’t understand this, Alex, not coming from you. Why haven’t you ended it?”

  “It’s not that simple, Anissa.”

  “It’s straightforward, Alex! She’s married, and married to an extremely influential, not to mention wealthy, Russian––a man our government is backing to become the next President of Russia. It really is simple, Alex, you can’t have anything to do with her! Or has your mind stopped communicating and you’re listening to something else instead?”

  There was a cold silence between the two of them for a long while. Alex wasn't going to dignify her last question with an answer, and sat there, refusing eye contact, while finishing his coffee. It was Anissa who broke the silence.

  “Look, I’m sorry, that was a cheap and needless dig. I’m just worried about you.” She was sure Alex was sleeping with Anastasia, so there was an element of truth in her words, though she’d not helped matters by laying into that side of things so aggressively. She also cared too much about Alex to see him throw it all away for a woman, someone who could walk away from Alex at any moment.

  “I think I’ve fallen in love, Anissa. That’s the thing.” He placed his empty cup back on the table, very delicately. He seemed nervous, afraid even.

  Anissa sat back in her chair––she’d seen it coming––but still rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand.

  “It’s a mess, Alex, this is all it is. A distraction, too. It could cost you everything!”

  “Do you think I planned all this to happen? No, it just happened!”

  “Nothing ever just happens, Alex, don’t be naive. You pursued it, and you didn’t end it the moment you found out the truth.”

  “It was too late by then. Anastasia had already told me how unhappy she was, how he doesn’t…”

  “Stop, Alex, I don’t want to hear any more. She’s married.” Anissa had been married for many years, loved her husband deeply and as far as she knew they shared a happy life together. She had never cheated on him––she couldn’t help recoil as that thought passed her brain, flashbacks to St Petersburg and that last encounter with Sasha––and wasn’t the type to willingly do so, either.


  “I can’t help how I feel, and I didn’t know she was married then, of course.”

  “Doesn’t it change it all, though, now that you know?”

  “It should, I get that.” And he did. He’d been involved, in a serious way, with very few women in the past, and never had anyone been married, as far as he knew. Anissa could see the anguish on her colleague’s face and that made her soften. He was foolish, that much was clear, but acting only from emotions rather than from any ill thought or intent.

  “I’m here for you, Alex, you know that, right?”

  He looked up at her at those words, their eyes locking onto the other’s gaze for a while.

  “I know, Anissa, I know. Thank you.”

  “Earlier, I didn’t mean to, you know…”

  “I know. You are right to challenge me on this. I mean, I’d certainly do the same with you if it were the other way round,” Sasha, St Petersburg, that kiss.

  “There’s no way this ends well, Alex. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

  “I know, that’s the crazy thing. So have I,” he said, laughing at himself. “It’s ridiculous. I should be a million miles from her by now, I should have walked away long ago, yet I’m hooked. She’s hooked me, my heart’s moved towards her, and I’m left stuck. Stay with her––hiding in the shadows, meeting up secretly––as we are, and what? Walk away and then what? Either way, it’ll hurt.” It was like a heavy weight inside him, the knowledge that Anissa wasn’t the only one who knew about his affair, that deep dread that confirmed he was no longer safe. The journalist knew. It was a potentially explosive story, front page material indeed.

  Anissa had seen the confusion on his face as he’d spoken, then the subtle change as his last thought had landed almost physically across his features.

  “What?”

  Alex knew he had to say something.

  “There is a journalist. He was watching me, following me I think because of the Russian story. He knows.”

  “He knows?” but Anissa feared she already understood what Alex was saying.

  “He knows about the affair. He must have seen Anastasia leaving my apartment once, recognised her and made the connection. He managed to put the dots together, and I had already implicated myself before I knew what was happening.”

  “Jesus, Alex,” Anissa recoiled. It was nearly as bad as it could get. Only Kaminski himself, and those running MI6, knowing about the affair could make it any worse, and the story going to print would take care of both of those. Alex would be finished, and on top of that, there would be an extremely delicate situation to resolve. Because of their investigation into the Games, which had been conducted mostly under the radar for the last few years, it would throw that all into question. They might even lose the ability to press on with any of it. It would easily be assumed they came across Anastasia––Alex and Anastasia––as a direct result of that investigation. While that wasn’t at all true, it would be impossible to prove. They should have known. They’d only focused on the main players involved, but they should have gone much wider.

  Now it all faced getting more light, more exposure, than either of them would have thought possible, it was hard to see what could be done.

  “What are you going to do about the journalist?”

  “I’m working on that. He’s not printing anything for the moment, he told me that much.”

  “You’re speaking with him?”

  “I had no choice. He wasn’t after a story about an affair, that’s not his target.”

  “It’s a much bigger story now that she is involved, though, Alex. Don’t be naive to think that this doesn’t change everything.”

  “Hell, I know that. I’m working on it, okay.”

  She didn’t like what that meant.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, and talk to me before you do anything, okay?” He didn’t answer. “Alex?”

  “Okay,” he said, though there was little conviction there.

  10

  1970s––London, England

  As the week went on, Pavel continued to focus on expanding the business. He’d arranged an urgent meeting with his brother Lev, who had feared his secret affair was about to be exposed. He’d been sleeping with his brother’s wife for months already.

  Instead, Pavel had opened up about his encounter with the fellow Russians from a few days before as he had walked in Hyde Park.

  “I think you should take them seriously,” Lev had said. He always tended to be drawn towards greater power, more significant influence, though usually at a personal cost.

  “And give over the family empire? For what? Dad worked hard to get us this far.” Pavel used us as if it really was a partnership, which it wasn’t. Lev got a small part, but the handover of ownership had been far more favourable to Pavel than to him. “I would like to think that our parents raised us for more than just bringing us here, building up the business around us only to later hand it all back to the USSR?”

  “You said they aren’t connected to the Soviet government?”

  “Brother, for all I know, they’re all connected. I don’t trust them.”

  “I just think you should hear them out.” Lev had been on the outside of this situation––of all situations––and resented never knowing all the facts, though his brother had always been the driving force in the business, rightfully taking over where his father had left off.

  “I did…and it made me realise just how much we have. If they could come over here and curry favour with us, we must have something worth that kind of effort.”

  “So you take their interest as what? Just an encouragement to continue?”

  “That, and many things my brother. We have something special. I have a beautiful wife, and a wonderful life here,” which was true. Pavel had many things that his brother Lev envied; despite being well off himself, he hadn’t been able to make as much of himself as his older brother had. Lev was working on changing that, finding his own feet as best he could. He didn’t have a family of his own, and beside his brother and sister-in-law, the only other living relative that Lev knew about was his nephew, Dima, Pavel’s son.

  “So what are you going to say to them when they come back?”

  “The truth. That we’ve got this far on our own and I don’t intend to change that for anyone. We’re strong, and we’ll just continue to get stronger. There are decades of expansion ahead of us here, Lev, so why sell out to anyone?”

  “I don’t think it’s selling out,” Lev said, though he knew it was pointless to argue. His brother was nothing but stubborn when it came to situations like this, which was probably why he was so successful. Pavel never looked to others to get ahead, just focused on continuing what he was already doing, looking to improve, looking to grow. It was what kept him so busy––it was what had made his wife so lonely. Lev continued, “I think it could be a strategic move for us in the long run, from what you’ve said about them.”

  “And what do you know about strategy, my younger brother?” Pavel’s voice was tinged with ridicule for a moment. “What do you even know of this lot, besides what I’ve just shared? We don’t know them from anyone; they could be working directly for Brezhnev for all we know.” That was unlikely, of course. The things they’d said, speaking against their Communist leaders would have made them enemies of the State, and liable for arrest and deportation to some unknown, lost and deadly existence.

  Lev remained silent. He’d said enough, he wasn’t about to change his brother’s mind. He’d never been able to do that in the past––his brother was a free thinker, his own boss––so why would that now change?

  Lev left Pavel alone at that moment. He had arranged to meet Isabella at the school gates as she once again picked up Dima. Pavel would be out for hours, and if they could keep Dima entertained, they would have some time to be intimate with each other again. Lev walked with a spring in his step.

  Siberia, Russia

  February 2018

  Mark Orlov’s personal jet
had been able to land at a disused airstrip just a few miles from where the Machine owned their only physical property. Situated in a now unpopulated expanse of the Western Siberian Plain, the property had been at the disposal of all members of the Leadership for several decades already, long after the former Soviet airforce base had been closed down.

  Nowadays, few knew it even existed. The Machine had made sure its presence wasn’t shown on any satellite imaging they knew––any images that might have existed soon altered––and they continually worked to keep it that way. What helped them significantly, was that in such a vast region and with so little reason to be looking in such an unpopulated area, it was easier to hide.

  The gathering was to be the first of its kind in many years. Usually, these men hid in plain sight, often coming across each other, always communicating when needed through their secure network, rarely gathering for a specific purpose as the Machine. That had to change now, however.

  The time had come.

  They were just weeks away from marking their centenary as an organisation––a hidden backbone of the Russian Federation––able to make the kinds of long-sighted decisions their people really needed. The date––coming actually just three days after––coincided perfectly with that of Estonia’s own centennial celebrations, when the northernmost Baltic nation had first made their original declaration of independence. That had come at the same time as huge changes in Russia which had led to the setting up of the Machine.

  For more years than they would have wanted, they’d had to keep a low profile, especially during the harshest of decades at the height of the Communist control. Like a predator watching from the sidelines, they needed to keep out of sight. To bide their time. To grow stronger, more prosperous and more influential, to make corrections where these were absolutely required and to make connections where these were available. They now had people within the most senior ranks of the army, navy and police, as well as the security services such as the FSB and even the Russian Guards, though, in the latter, Putin still held ultimate control.