The Hunt series Boxset 2

by Tim Heath

  “I’m sorry about that. I hear they were all arrested.”

  “Yes.” It was clear they couldn’t have been picked up unless someone had informed on them and unless they really were that bad, which both knew not to be the case.

  “That is no concern to me,” she said, brushing it to one side. She’d used many third parties so that the gang itself who’d carried out the hit would have no clue as to who ultimately had ordered the kill, though they’d spoken to Rad. They were unlikely to say much, anyway. They were sure to spend many years behind bars. “I’m just glad you managed to get away yourself.”

  She was testing him, and Rad could sense it. Svetlana knew something and she wanted to know how much she could trust him, or so Rad feared.

  “I have further details from the President about your continued employment.” So Filipov wanted something more from him. “It’s more of an unfinished task than it is anything new.”

  “He wants me back in Siberia?” Rad didn’t need to be a genius to guess that. The fact one of the men in his firing line would be Svetlana’s soon to be ex-husband only made it all the more extreme. Whether he would ever officially be her ex was questionable. Rad could have killed him long before the paperwork was completed.

  “You’ll have a few days to get things in order, and you’ll need to recruit some help, but a flight is being arranged. It will leave Moscow in four days.”

  “Why doesn’t he just send in the army?”

  “Maybe you’d like to ask him that yourself?” She knew he wouldn’t. He said nothing. “I didn’t think so. The army would be too public. Someone might say something.”

  “And if I hire others myself, whose to say someone still wouldn’t?”

  “Well, that’s your job to make sure they don’t. Not until you are successful. Then, it won’t matter.”

  “It’s a hard location,” Rad said. He’d been there once. Security was heavy, what he could see anyway. He hated to think of what he couldn’t. The remoteness gave those in the building an advantage over anyone trying to get close to them. It wasn’t a battleground Rad liked the idea of.

  “You’ll have firepower.”

  “How much?” Rad couldn’t imagine how much they would need. It would take a hell of a lot of force.

  “Unlimited.”

  “Then why not just bomb the place?” Rad didn’t know why he was needed in such a mission. He was a soldier, there to help the Russian forces in conflict zones. Rad was there to take out key men, crucial leaders in rebel-held areas. He wasn’t there to kill Russians, however wealthy they were. These were just men who opposed Filipov. Rad couldn't see what crimes they’d committed, or what threat they were to the nation.

  “It would not be as satisfactory that way.” She was dismissive in her wording.

  “He wants them alive?”

  “No, but he wants them to know what is about to happen. A bomb is too quick. It will also lead to too many questions.”

  “It would be the simplest way.”

  “That might be true, but Russian jets firing on Russian property isn’t something the President wants to be seen doing.”

  “Then make sure nobody sees!” Rad couldn’t believe the line of reasoning. This was Russia. The President could make sure everyone turned a blind eye if he put his mind to it.

  “I see,” she said as if making up her mind finally on something she’d been looking to confirm. “Sasha did manage to get to you.” She passed him a photo, taken of the two Russians chatting. “This photo was taken three hours after you corroborated May’s story from MI6 that Anissa and Sasha were dead.” Rad looked at the photo, the image perfect. So they had been watching him as he had feared.

  “Does Filipov know?” Rad realised as he asked the question that had the President known about this, it might not have been Svetlana meeting him at the airport after all.

  “That’s very observant that you ask that. And no, Filipov doesn’t. I’ve not told him. Only I know.” That made it all the more interesting for Rad.

  “May I ask why you didn’t tell him when you found out?”

  She considered his question carefully, though she had been expecting him to ask at some point. She glanced out of the window as she spoke, the buildings racing past as the car headed into the city centre down mainly quiet roads.

  “I wanted to know where you stood. You are loyal, I see that now.”

  “I’m Russian.”

  “As am I, Radomir.” Rad looked Svetlana in the face as she turned back from the window to address him directly. “I didn’t know what it was about Sasha, but I’d sensed something was up the moment you took the task. You knew him from before, didn’t you?”

  “How do you know that?” She smiled as if pleased to have understood correctly.

  “Your files. Both of you. There were gaps, but the same orphanage was mentioned somewhere. I found it once I was handed this photo,” Svetlana said, tapping the image she’d just given to Rad of the two of them––Sasha and Rad––chatting in London. “You met him then?” It seemed astonishing.

  “Yes,” Rad confirmed.

  “And since? Have you been in touch over the years?”

  “No. London was the first time we’ve met as adults.” Svetlana blew out a long breath through her lips.

  “And you’d been sent to kill him by orders of the President.”

  “You see my dilemma.”

  “No, I don’t actually,” she said, sounding genuinely puzzled.

  “He saved my life.”

  “Oh,” she said, the penny finally dropping. “You felt you owed him?”

  “Yes.” He wasn’t going to mention the tip-off about Anissa, though he wondered if Svetlana now suspected that as well. The story Rad had agreed was that they were dead and Bethany May had put out a confirmation that they had both been killed. Now Svetlana knew Sasha wasn’t dead. She knew they were lying.

  “That doesn’t explain why you lied about killing him.”

  “Doesn’t it? Do you think Filipov will be happy knowing the truth?” He had a point.

  “I see,” she said, processing this latest comment. “So you fear Filipov more than you let on.” It wasn’t a question.

  “He’s the President.”

  “You must have realised he would find out?” She had significantly underestimated Rad if that wasn’t the case.

  “I thought that soon it wouldn’t matter,” he said, automatically, before he really knew what he was saying.

  “I see,” she said, nodding her head. “Change is on the cards, you feel?”

  He realised what he’d just said. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you wouldn’t cry over the man if he were to be, let me see, removed?” Rad had never seen Svetlana so candid with her wording. She was Filipov’s righthand woman. No one was currently closer to the President than Svetlana Volkov. It was either foolish talking to her now, or she had a plan.

  “I serve at the pleasure of the President,” Rad said, after thinking through his response. He wasn’t about to be trapped with something he might have said. “Whoever that might be,” he added, having seen the disappointment on Svetlana’s face at his initial response. She smiled at that last comment.

  “Very good,” she said, handing over the information he needed to know about the latest developments regarding the Machine. “We have Mark Orlov, by the way. It’s just the two others in Siberia. With Mark out of the picture, security it much lighter.”

  “Where is Orlov?”

  “That doesn’t matter. He’s alive, for now.”

  “And I’m to recruit a force to take out what remains?”

  “Yes. You’ll have whatever you need.”

  That seemed unlikely. Russia was fighting on several fronts, including the hunt for Putin and the rebels in Syria. There wasn’t a lot of spare resources to go around.

  “And the time frame?” He’d forgotten the earlier comment. They’d covered so much ground in the last ten minutes.

  �
��The flight leaves in four days. Go to your dacha, collect what you need, and recruit like hell. I think you’ll need a sizeable force.”

  “How big is the plane?” he joked.

  “As big as you need,” she confirmed. They sat in silence for the rest of the trip, Rad lost in thought about the next mission. He knew who he wanted, but most were on the front line elsewhere, if still alive. He’d been out of touch with his team for so long that they would have been another person’s team by now. They might even all be dead.

  Svetlana was thinking too. She was closest to the men of power in Russia. She was well connected. Filipov was isolating himself and had set a destructive path ever since becoming President. It was as if the power had finally gone to his head.

  He’d also humiliated her again.

  She’d been promised her own Games, a chance to once more gather men together and have them compete against each other using other people, very much a modern-day gladiatorial ring. Yet Filipov had highjacked that all at the last minute, twisting it to suit his own needs. Those desires were now being unleashed on Europe. The gas was off, the oligarchs behind all the Russian gas companies amply compensated, though it was true that new markets were being found. India was buying more, and China too had been allowed to negotiate favourable terms. Filipov would only have to prop up a small fraction of the unsold gas, all at a premium for the oligarchs. They were happy, and Filipov was delighted. He had a wealth of billions from the Bank. He had control over Europe and knew they were walking into their own disaster. The first nuclear plants were coming online that week. All European nations were following suit. As they had done with Britain’s lead in expelling Russian diplomats, now they were clubbing together to make sure Europe never needed Russian gas again. How Filipov couldn’t wait to make everything come crashing down around them.

  This was his ultimate play. The move to end all moves. The chance to get them all to back off and leave his nation alone once and for all. To tear up all the sanctions, to break down all walls of hostility. Filipov wanted an open world for Russia, and a planet that they could trade with and that wanted to do business with them. And he would achieve that by blackmail, plain and simple. He would hurt them into servitude. Force them into cooperation.

  Svetlana was only too aware of these plans. Still, she had ideas of her own.

  18

  The North London Hospital, London

  One Week After The Car Bomb

  Sasha was now beside Anissa almost all day long. Anissa had yet to come round, though the medical staff were going to keep her in the drug-induced coma, for the time being to allow her physical injuries to heal. She’d taken a blow to the head, and had several burns, some quite severe. That was before any emotional damage there would naturally be.

  Sasha didn’t know what to say to her, though she wouldn’t be awake for a few weeks. He’d been granted access to her home so that he could bring in some clothes and personal items for her. The house had remained firmly secured since the incident although the street was back in order. There was little evidence, aside from the boarded-up front door, to suggest anything so grave had actually happened.

  How life seemed to move on.

  Whether the lives of MI6 agents or civilians were involved, seemed to matter little. Alex had gone, and everyone eventually carried on. Anissa was in a hospital bed, as yet unaware that her immediate family was dead. Life in her street was carrying on. A funeral service was being arranged, the date a little fluid at the moment while Anissa remained in critical, but the family wanted to bury the dead. They needed some form of closure.

  Sasha thought that was somewhat heartless. They might be buried before Anissa was even conscious again, assuming she would finally come round. The doctors reassured Sasha that she was in there, somewhere, but the coma would allow the physical side to properly heal.

  It was questionable whether she would be fit enough to even attend the funeral. Sasha doubted it was a wise idea for her to be there, though grieving would be much worse if she didn’t get to say goodbye. Arrangements were being delayed while the doctors were assessing Anissa.

  Sasha had stopped returning the calls from Helen. The last time they’d spoken––he’d just cancelled yet another date, the crisis still swallowing him up––they had argued. She had felt second-place in his life, and she’d said it seemed like Anissa came first. That had made Sasha angry. He couldn’t see how anyone could say something like that when a woman lay in a hospital bed, her family all gone. Sasha had let the calls Helen had made since go straight through to voicemail. He would have to deal with that situation later, but for now, Anissa was his sole concern.

  Doctors came and went during his time there, each arrival meaning Sasha would stand back and give them space, before returning to the bedside when they inevitably moved out of the room again, where an unresponsive Anissa continued to lie. Sasha had never known her so vulnerable, so weak. His heart went out to her all the more.

  He had gone through childhood never having parents. That was tough. The orphans in the homes he'd grown up in had become his brothers and sisters. That was his family, the only family he had ever known. He reflected that he did have that chance now, that of his own biological family, though once more the current situation with Helen put doubt in his mind. He didn’t know how he felt anymore. The last week––the shock of the explosion, the appearance of Rad, the confirmation of the deaths and Anissa being in critical––had put it all into perspective.

  He couldn’t stand to think about Anissa passing away quietly in the night and nobody being there with her. Thankfully, however, the doctor had just said she was on the mend.

  Ten days after the explosion, the decision was made for the funeral to go ahead. Anissa would not be able to attend. The drugs that were keeping her comatose had been significantly reduced but not yet sufficiently for her to come round.

  Sasha would stay beside her bed for most of the time leading up to the funeral. The medical staff had said hearing a friendly voice might help. Sasha talked about things. He didn’t mention Alex, and he didn’t mention the explosion. Nothing sad, he determined. Nothing she might not already know. That was for another time, another place––Sasha wondered if another person would also be better suited. Instead, he focused on more neutral things. Sasha talked about the weather and his latest findings on life in England. He’d been in the country for nearly a year but was continually discovering new things, continually surprised by what he was coming across. He mentioned that flowers were beginning to appear after winter, something that never happened so early in the year in Russia.

  He missed his homeland for the first time in weeks, though he didn’t know why. He’d not left anything behind that was worth losing. Everything he knew was in the UK now.

  He was yet to mention anything about Rad. He’d talked at length with the Russian when they had met shortly after the explosion. The gang of three men behind the hit had been taken into custody. Rad assured Sasha he never had anything to do with it. Sasha believed him. The MI6 agent had allowed Rad to slip away, though the sniper was not returning to Filipov’s service for the time being. Sasha had convinced Rad that there would be repercussions. A change at the top was needed, though he didn’t know yet what was possible. Rad promised to keep in touch.

  Sasha had been in discussions with MI6 about something he'd been thinking through for a while and which he had discussed with Rad before they parted. If Bethany May was being let off the hook, she had to do something for Sasha first, do something for MI6. She had to tell Filipov that both Sasha and Anissa had been killed. Rad had said he would collaborate with that story, though he was a little cautious about putting his own situation in jeopardy. Sasha knew the misinformation would buy him some time while establishing the fact that Bethany had indeed switched sides. MI6 had also been monitoring the call Bethany made to Filipov’s secure line, another thing Sasha had put into place with Gordon's help. They now knew the code the former-DDG used to gain access to Filipo
v's voice-mail. It meant MI6 could use that at a later point to drop their own information there if needed. They might even be able to hack the mailbox as well to see what else they could find. Discover who else was feeding information to the Russians.

  The Grafenrheinfeld Nuclear Power Plant––Germany

  The day had started like any other for the workers as they made their way in that morning. The weather was okay, though rather damp.

  For a workforce who had been lined up for early retirement or redundancy––there seemed no other option than these choices since the middle of 2015 and the closure of the site––the announcement that Germany was refocusing efforts back into nuclear power was a welcome piece of news for the whole community. Germany was already feeling the effects of the gas pipeline switch off from Russia, and the nuclear industry was ready to deliver.

  Little did they know how close they would come to absolute disaster over the next nine hours.

  Morning tests were done, and as always, these came back clear. Germany hadn’t especially had any major disasters, at least not any that they would classify as such. There had been incidents. What countries didn’t have them? Nuclear was powerful but wasn’t danger-free. There was always an element of risk. Germany’s biggest headache, however, was how to deal with the waste. In the past, Russia had taken this and processed it themselves. Now they were out of the market for European waste, as it seemed Europe was no longer the market for Russian gas.

  Nuclear was the way to go.

  The plant employed a lot of people, scattered over several buildings. In the central offices, there were at least fifty people based there at any one time. The plant never went offline, nightshift workers there to carry on where the dayshift finished. Production had been increasing in recent weeks. Expansion plans were on the cards, bringing more investment and more jobs to that part of the country. The area was in a sudden upturn following a few years of decline with the planned closure.