The Hunt series Boxset 2

by Tim Heath

  Alex was back in the office––the inquest into the death of a British journalist was still open, though with evidence shaky that Alex was even involved, he had been allowed back on duty. No one within his world thought Alex had anything to do with the death, and the police were also now taking it as a professional, possibly international, hit.

  As Alex cleared security at Vauxhall House that morning––his third day since being taken off gardening leave––he was not alone. Sasha Barkov, one time FSB agent and MI6 connection for a few years, was with him, now wanting to switch agencies permanently.

  Alex had immediately shared on his return what their Russian friend intended to do. The two men, after their time together in Tallinn, had flown back to England once it was clear Sasha would be allowed into the country. Alex had gone through all the debriefs required for his own return––warnings about this and that, though very much going through the motions. The British Security Service had to be seen, at least on paper, as dealing with internal issues correctly.

  Sasha was known to several at MI6––his help in previous operations, even if only mentioned by name, meant his reputation preceded him. It hadn’t taken long to connect the history to the present, and his enrolment was fast-tracked. Deemed at high risk if he had remained in Russia, Sasha was granted a temporary right to stay in the UK for five years, the case reviewed by the Home Secretary’s office personally. It was assumed that once the five years were up, Sasha would silently be offered permanent residency, as well as a British passport if he wanted.

  Charlie, Zoe and Anissa were there to personally welcome Sasha as he walked into the canteen with Alex, who had dropped just behind the Russian as they entered, to give Sasha space. They all greeted Sasha warmly, Anissa the only one to feel a little awkward––Sasha had all but forgotten their last encounter until he saw her reddening face––though he said nothing. Thankfully for Anissa, the moment passed, Sasha grinning before embracing her. Nothing more needed addressing.

  After half an hour––as much time as they could spare during a busy day––they all parted, Charlie and Zoe going off to the office they shared, Anissa following the two men to their office. Sasha would be housed with them temporarily until a more suitable situation could be worked out. It had been a squash for two, let alone three.

  At noon, Alex walked Sasha up to the top floor, where he was to introduce him personally to the Director General. The office of the DDG still sat empty, though Alex knew a woman had been lined up for the job––which she’d accepted––and she was due to take up the post that week.

  Walking into the Director’s office, the man himself rose from behind his desk and came to greet the Russian warmly, as if welcoming back an old friend. To have a high-level Russian agent switch as Sasha had, was no small thing. He would have plenty of unofficial––and he wasn’t actually meant to voice them, though such men always did through excited whispers––bragging rights around the golf club because of this one, that was for sure.

  “It’s good to meet you, Mr Barkov,” the DG said, showing them both to the sofa, where a pot of tea was waiting.

  They chatted for half an hour––it reminded Alex of his time there when he was offered the job of DDG, something he’d later turned down. When it was time to leave––both men drinking plenty of tea and having shaken hands again all round––Alex led Sasha downstairs.

  “He seemed a nice sort of man,” Sasha said, just the two of them taking the stairs down to their floor. For the Russian now in London and at the home of MI6, it was a very different world. Everything he knew from his FSB days in St Petersburg seemed a million miles from where he now was.

  “He has his moments.” The last time Alex had been in the office of the DG, it had been quite a different experience.

  That afternoon, Anissa, Alex and Sasha were discussing the Games in their office, the cork boards sitting on the floor, the door locked. Sasha was amazed at the detail contained in their growing display.

  Alex had talked to them about Matvey, going over some of the things Matvey had passed on to Alex. Sasha suggested once more that he would like to look into the accusation that Putin was personally behind the Thomas Price assassination. Anissa wasn’t as enthusiastic about sending Sasha in so soon after his reentry into the world of spooks, but Alex calmed her down. He’d been thinking about that idea for days already. The more he dwelt on it, the more interesting the idea became.

  Sasha was paired with both Alex and Anissa for the foreseeable future. Their shared history and level of seniority in the Service made them the ideal choice. They’d been working as a team for some time already, and it made sense to see that continue now that they were within the same four walls.

  The question concerning Sasha’s safety had come up many times––true, he’d been living a very precarious life before, as he had been helping MI6 over the last few years. But that had mostly gone unnoticed––especially among his colleagues at the FSB. Now, it was clear he’d fled. Soon, if not already, they would find out. Few agencies anywhere could stand to see an agent defect. The FSB was amongst the most unforgiving.

  Sasha brushed these concerns under the carpet, it seemed. If he was worried, he wasn’t showing it. He was staying at Alex’s for the time being––MI6 aware that Alex lived alone, and had space––though something more suitable would be arranged soon. Alex hadn’t been able to have Anastasia over since Sasha’s arrival. It was a conversation he’d yet to have with his new Russian flatmate. Not that Sasha would have known who Anastasia was, but there were only so many vices you could reveal at any one time. Besides, Anissa was far from happy about that whole situation and had believed Alex had ended things with the Belarusian already.

  The three amigos––as someone sarcastically joked––finished the afternoon by taking a look at the Presidential race. Sasha knew all about the connection Dmitry Kaminski had apparently had with Thomas Price––the implications of that for the British government had been touched on, though neither Anissa nor Alex felt like elaborating more than was entirely necessary. They were fascinated with Sasha’s views on it all––hearing it from a Russian mindset showed them a different angle. He’d given up his vote by leaving Russia, though Sasha commented that given what he knew of the candidates from what they’d just shared, he would have voted for the sitting President, allowing Putin to see out his final six-year term.

  They left the office that evening a little after six. It had been enough for the first day together, and they wanted to have a drink to celebrate, though Anissa stayed for just one. She had plans with her husband that night and didn’t want to be late. She said goodbye to the two men––to her two colleagues, which still felt strange to say––and left them to it.

  Alex bought another round, though after finishing up, they both headed home, walking the whole way, the sky clear, the change in the climate still so new to Sasha. He enjoyed seeing flowers already out in the parks they walked through, recalling to Alex that in St Petersburg, spring would sometimes only come in June. Alex picked up in Sasha the first signs it was all beginning to sink in, Sasha’s continued references to a home he would most likely not see again. Alex didn’t mention it––it would be something to talk about at a later point when there was a little more water under the bridge. Sasha wasn’t ready yet.

  They got home just after eight. A football match that was twenty minutes into the first half was on the television.

  “The English FA cup is famous around the world,” Alex informed Sasha, the two teams playing in what was a fifth-round replay. Sasha was more into ice hockey, though he watched the game with some interest. Midway through the first half, Alex received a text message. He got up and typed a reply, as he walked into the kitchen. Five minutes later he came back with his jacket on already.

  “I just need to pick up some things from the shop. Enjoy the game, and I’ll see you later.”

  Two hours later, match long forgotten and mostly unremarkable, Sasha was thinking about sleep, the
day catching up with him, as Alex arrived home, empty-handed, though Sasha knew enough not to say anything at that moment. Something had been up––Sasha had known that immediately––and that Alex had no intention of getting any shopping. He kept silent. Apparently, there were still things Sasha needed to learn about his colleague and current flatmate.

  London––Moscow––Los Angeles

  Over the next few days, one Russian-themed story was challenging all others for the front pages of newspapers around the world, and for once it had nothing to do with the election.

  Images had first appeared of a distraught looking Svetlana Volkov departing her Moscow mansion, bags packed, without her husband. Official word was she was leaving for the latest role she was playing in a big Hollywood production, but they’d always travelled together for such things in the past. Besides, she looked anything but her usual sophisticated self as her driver took her from home to the airport.

  Journalists were waiting for her at every turn, and over the next few days, the story finally broke. Russia’s leading couple were getting a divorce.

  Sources close to Sergej were quoting him as saying how things had been difficult for months, and they’d finally made the heart-wrenching decision in recent weeks to end their marriage. Sergej was hounded in London, and again when home in Moscow; the gossip columns were loving every part of a story that few had seen coming. However, the match had always been seen as favouring Sergej. More than a few papers were speculating what this would now do to his business image.

  In Los Angeles, journalists pursued Svetlana relentlessly, the Diana-esque figure shadowed by the world’s press, trying to escape the lens and work it all through in private. Most stated that she’d lived in the public spotlight for all her life, so the reaction was therefore only to be expected. Her first day of shooting had to be called off due to it all––there was even talk of whether she was the best fit for the role.

  In Moscow, the newspapers were discussing how it all reflected badly on Putin, the current President. A couple, deemed to be at the pinnacle of Russian society, now appeared in various papers with Putin, even though no previous association had existed. Rare photos of the three Russians together had been used to back up the growing claim. It had all been Matvey’s doing, his pressure in just the right places suggesting the now estranged couple were somehow central to everything which Putin represented. Their split was viewed as an ill-omen for the coming election.

  In the UK, a national press that for the most part had been anti-Russian, mainly because they were anti-Putin, picked up on that angle, and the coverage of the split got more air-time as a result than it otherwise warranted. That caused yet more journalists––who had chased Sergej out of London and didn’t have easy access to Russia––to jump on a flight to California instead, where a now single Svetlana was doing her best to avoid their attention.

  Anissa watched the news that morning with added interest, the closing report on the breakfast time broadcast talking about the world-famous Russian actress and her very public marriage breakup from reformed Russian gangster Sergej Volkov. Anissa wondered if she had a perspective on Svetlana that few people in her country, maybe even in the world, shared.

  She recalled Dmitry Kaminski’s words he had once used to describe her: that wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  Svetlana had been central to the Games. Anissa had discovered it was the actress––maybe playing her most prominent role, at least amongst those of enormous wealth and influence in Russia––who was key to it all taking place. It was Svetlana who welcomed the men to her home, doing so as far as they could tell, without Sergej finding out. How she’d managed to keep it from him, Anissa couldn’t know, though it was clear they were both busy people. Anissa had once spent the day watching Sergej––anticipating a meeting they thought was about to take place on New Year’s Eve––only to leave disappointed. They’d been watching the wrong person. That had given them a glimpse as to how busy Sergej was, especially during the Games events. Was that why she had managed to keep doing what she had been doing?

  Had Sergej, therefore, finally found out what was going on? Or had he known all along? Had they been working together for all that time, she the mouthpiece, he the muscle? Whatever had been the case, it had now all emphatically come crashing down.

  When Anissa got to the office––Alex and Sasha had also seen the news that morning––they went to the canteen and talked over a coffee about what it all meant. It would be the first of many conversations that happened, across dinner tables and water coolers right around the world. Svetlana Volkov became the topic of the hour, as well as the most desirable, and single, female on the planet.

  As the next few days went by––both Sergej and Svetlana had started to speak to the press, individual papers given so-called exclusive access to either person––what got shared was amicable, though the more one of them spoke, the more the other responded with their perspective. Divorce papers had already been filed with their respective lawyers. There was no turning back, it seemed.

  In the Presidential race, the separation of a Russian couple, an albeit famous couple, which shouldn’t have played any role in the election, still did. The polls had Putin now level with Kaminski, a drop of a few points. Somehow, despite the desperate efforts of the Kremlin and those behind the Putin campaign, the association between their President and that celebrity couple couldn’t be shifted. It was as if the public were thinking: if this couple could split––a seemingly inseparable pairing––then maybe the same was possible for the people and their President?

  24

  Krasnodar, Southern Russia

  Mark Orlov landed in the Black Sea region after a flight down from Moscow. The change in weather was evident to see, and Lev Kaminski and Sergej Volkov were already at the hotel waiting for him. For Sergej, getting away from Moscow was a welcome relief. He’d had a tough week so far.

  No one would be allowed to follow him down south.

  Not far from the Crimea––there was no longer a border dividing Krasnodar from the disputed territory––it was fitting given the location that between the three of them, they were meeting to discuss what outcome they wanted from the upcoming election. A call had to be made. As the Leadership of the Machine, which man were they going to back?

  The proximity of the Crimea and all the repercussions that had resulted in Russia’s annexing of their naval base back into the Russian Federation was only too apparent. Putin had caused much harm with his actions in Ukraine. Had it all been worth it?

  The polls currently had Lev’s nephew level––Kaminski had proved a viable competitor, and because of his link to Lev, would surely be the best man to back. That was the conversation that needed settling. Lev had convinced them he had the inside track with his nephew, and the Machine had nothing to fear in him. Lev was pleased to be finally in such a position, bringing something that big to the table––to be the man on the inside, playing a central role. It felt good.

  That afternoon, they discussed every candidate in detail. Little time was wasted on the other parties’ candidates––they’d never been a genuine threat, nor would any of them survive the first round of voting. There were only three men in the running.

  Mark Orlov had been most adamant that Matvey Filipov could not be considered. While the other two didn’t feel quite as strongly about it as Mark did, they all knew Filipov couldn’t be trusted with such a position of power. Filipov’s revenge handed out on two of Mark's properties had rattled Mark. Filipov was trailing in the polls––thankfully, the Russian people also saw through the oligarch––and the three of them would make sure Filipov would remain out of the running.

  Sergej Volkov had been the one most unsure about Kaminski––he liked men who were ruthless and could handle themselves. Nothing he’d seen in Kaminski had shown him that. Added to that Kaminski had been too cosy with the British, which made him a liability. However, Lev had pointed out that the office of President would bring Kaminski back
to Russia. The collapse of his nephew’s UK based Banking Union also cut his ties––Lev assured them they had nothing to worry about. A Moscow-based Kaminski sitting in the Kremlin would be a different prospect from the man’s current position. Add to that the family connection, and the Machine would have access to a President as they had never had access before.

  By that evening, as the three men walked freely along a mountain path with views down onto the Black Sea, they were finally persuaded by Lev’s confidence, that they should fully support Kaminski’s election campaign at the cost of all others. Their current President had served them well, but more crucially they had no control over him––that was a problem. Besides, Putin could only serve another six years. If they could get Kaminski in, he would have a clear run for at least a twelve-year term. There was so much the Machine could do over such a long time with direct access to the very centre of political power in that vast nation.

  They drove the thirty minutes it took to get back to the city. They were staying overnight. The sunshine was a welcome relief, though it was too early in the year to carry much heat. Sergej appreciated the time away from the limelight––the press coverage had got so extreme that he had banned all of them from further interviews. That had stopped most journalists from following him around Moscow, but with Svetlana continuing to talk to papers in the US, there was no end in sight. Sergej had submitted the divorce papers to his lawyers––the great carve-up was yet to start, though he was happy to give her half. They had brought roughly the same assets into their marriage––she with influence if not as much as his initial billions––but she had aided him significantly through the years by her association. He wouldn’t begrudge her having an equal share. They both had more than enough to live a very comfortable life.