The Hunt series Boxset 2

by Tim Heath

  “No, my so…” but she couldn’t say it. Couldn’t voice son. Sasha only then remembered she often went to watch him play football. They did that as a family. Her connection to football was linked entirely to her family, to her boys.

  “I’m sorry,” Sasha said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She took his hand which had reached out towards her involuntarily.

  “It’s okay,” she said, her words bringing some comfort, though Sasha wanted it to be the other way round. He was meant to be helping her.

  “What do you say to us getting out of here?”

  “The canteen or the hospital?”

  “Both. The doctor says once you are walking, you can leave.”

  “Sasha, I can’t…” she started, but Sasha cut in.

  “You can stay with me. I’ll look after you.” He understood that she didn't want to go back to the family home with all its reminders. Having the neighbours popping around, not knowing what to say but trying to be polite. But she couldn’t stay in the hospital forever, either.

  “Sasha, you don’t need to do that, honestly.”

  “Need? I want to, Anissa. There is ample room, of course. Alex would have wanted it, too.”

  She looked up at him but didn’t comment on that last statement. Was Alex dead?

  “What if I’m not ready?”

  “I’ll make sure the doctor sees you before you go. He’ll reassure you, I promise. You’re ready, Anissa. It’s time to leave.”

  She got to her feet, wobbly but doing so without his help.

  “See,” he encouraged, though it was not a very promising start.

  They walked back to her room, Anissa passing Sasha’s makeshift set-up next door to hers.

  “You’ve been staying here?” she asked, aware of the mess, recognising some of Sasha’s personal items.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” She had turned to him at that moment, Sasha lost for words for a second.

  “I wanted to be here for you.” He blushed a little. Anissa said nothing, holding his gaze a while before turning and shuffling back towards her bed. She started packing her bag.

  27

  Russia-1 Television Studio––Moscow

  The news room was less glamorous than some of the other studios––and indeed, not a patch on the film sets she’d been to in the past––but Svetlana didn’t mind. She was back in front of the cameras once more, though this time not in an acting capacity. She was giving an interview, the focus solely on her. The actress turned Presidential-aide. It was the first interview she’d given anyone since seemingly turning her back on Hollywood and the film industry for good. A Russian television exclusive.

  “Ms Volkov,” the interviewer started, though Svetlana cut in immediately.

  “Please, call me Svetlana.” She smiled, her charming features coming through as ever, catching the interviewer a little off guard, but he was just glad the former actress had agreed to the unique feature in the first place. He’d never been this close to her and knew before airing even happened that it would be a ratings-winner.

  “Svetlana,” he restarted, with a smile. “Thank you so much for agreeing to talk to us this morning. With so much focus having been on Filipov in the news media these last few months, we've almost neglected your seemingly parallel rise to political fame.”

  “Dmitry,” she started, keeping with the first name informal approach she’d insisted on, “I hardly think I’m much of a focus, but I’d be happy to shed some light on the subject if it would make you happy.”

  “On the contrary, Svetlana. There was huge interest when you stepped forward seemingly at the last minute and came out in full support of Filipov in his Presidential bid. You turned your back on your movie career, and not only gave him your vote but became his right-hand woman.”

  “I did what I thought was the right thing to do.”

  He looked at his notes. “The election came at a challenging time for you personally, of course. Did that have a bearing on your snap decision?” He was tiptoeing around the elephant in the room––her now well publicised split with Sergej Volkov––as carefully as he could.

  “Possibly,” she said. “Filipov approached me with a proposition. Of course, first and foremost, I wanted to do what was best for my country. I love Russia, and I’m proud to be Russian. I’d been away from the country, as you know, in a semi-forced exile following the marriage split. But America wasn’t home. The movies, the life, it wasn’t going to satisfy me. When Filipov asked me to step into his team, I listened to what he had to say. What he had to offer convinced me.”

  “It convinced a lot of people, of course. Filipov won.” He hadn’t voted for the President, however, and that came across in his tone.

  “People wanted a change, I believe. The Kremlin needed shaking up.”

  “And Filipov has certainly done that, of course,” he tried to joke, though he moved on quickly when he received a sharp look from Svetlana.

  “So can I ask, which life suits you more: the life of an actress or the life in politics?”

  Svetlana paused for a moment as if to think through her answers. She already had one for this question, half the things that the interviewer would ask her already sent ahead of schedule as requested before she agreed to the show.

  “That’s a fascinating question, and one I’m sure your viewers are eager to know. Of course, my life in the movies has been well documented. A young starlet scouted and cast in the biggest films of the last decade. We know that story.” She smiled, pausing to let her words firmly settle in. “And I’ll admit, I never imagined I would have ended my career this way.”

  “So it is over?” he asked, jumping in on that last comment. “You have made your last film?”

  “I’d never say never, but for now I think that is so.”

  “And if Filipov loses the next election, then what?” Filipov could have nearly twelve more years in power, but this particular interviewer was obviously hoping it was only six. But they were not yet even through the first year.

  “Then I will have to see.” She didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

  “So you’ve got a taste for this life then? The life you have now, I mean,” he said, coming back to his earlier question.

  “Yes, I think politics also fits me. Other nations have seen a connection between the two industries. America primarily, but all around the world people have made the switch I have. Reagan became President himself, of course.”

  “You’d consider becoming President?” She’d not actually said that and didn’t like the tone of his voice, as if he thought the idea of a woman being President of Russia was absurd.

  “What I actually said was that there isn’t such a gulf between the two professions as you might think. But to answer your question, why not?”

  “You want to one day be President?” She’d never said anything to Filipov.

  “What I’m saying is that we live in a modern Russia in an age when I believe women can become whoever they want to be. If some want to be actresses, let them be. If some want to be leaders in the world, let them be. Business leaders, company owners, sports team owners and, yes, Presidents.”

  “But you specifically, have you talked with Filipov about becoming President after him?” He couldn’t help see that it would be an impressive legacy if she followed on from the current leader when his twelve years were up.

  “I’m around everything he does, I’m in every meeting,” which wasn’t quite true, but she did know all that was going on, whether she’d attended or not. “I’m not saying I’ve actually given this serious thought,” which was a total lie, though she had never spoken to Filipov about it. “But I’d like to think that, and hypothetically speaking, of course, that when the time came, and a new President was demanded because the Constitution required it, then why couldn’t I be in the running, if that is what I wanted to do at the time? I speak for the Russian people, I love my country, and I’m around that world all the time now
. I have been for years, of course. Me and Filipov both have.” She left it at that. She’d anticipated being asked that very question, even though it wasn’t on the script. She knew her answers would have led to the followups. She was happy with how she’d delivered the seemingly unscripted response to his direct questioning.

  The interviewer blew out his lips. He knew the ratings were now going to be through the roof. He would make sure all media outlets knew about the contents of the interview long before it aired.

  “If we can come back to the months before the election, for a moment, and your split with your husband of many years, do you think that breakup changed what you were about to do?”

  “I think everything we experience changes things. The good, bad and all the little stuff in the middle.”

  “Have you seen him recently.”

  “No,” she said, which was true. She wasn’t about to say she’d heard from Rad the other day that he was now dead. Nobody needed to know about that.

  “And the divorce is official?”

  “You’ll have to speak to my lawyers about that,” she smiled back. Dead or official, it didn’t matter. She was now free, for sure.

  “But some would certainly say the two are linked, no?” He was undoubtedly hammering the point. She spent the next five minutes going around the same circles. It seemed he wanted to imply that had the marriage not broken up, she would have been acting still, and never would have stepped into politics. Without her, Filipov would never have won. The political landscape would have been very different to how it now had become. She wasn’t going to let him make her admit any of that, however. He soon got the message, and they moved on.

  “Finally, Svetlana,” he said, getting to the last topic he’d pre-warned her about what they would cover. “Is there any truth to the rumour that your connection to Filipov is more than just political?”

  “No,” she said, defiantly. It cut off any further followup. What more could be said? They’d been chatting for over forty-five minutes. The show was going to be aired for half an hour, so with editing, they had enough to work with. The interviewer was aware that time was up.

  “Well, thank you, Svetlana, for speaking to us today. It’s been a fascinating insight into your life at present, and remarkable to hear that you haven’t been put off by these last nine months inside the Kremlin.”

  “Quite the opposite. I’ve got a taste for it. Maybe one day I’ll be here weekly, talking to the cameras?” She winked. Russia-1 held a weekly slot, that had since been restored within a few weeks of Filipov coming to power, where the President got to address the nation. Questions were all pre-screened. It wasn’t an interview as much as it was the chance for the President to talk to his people. Real issues were not dealt with. It was all just good PR.

  “Given how you’ve conducted yourself today, I think many would now be a huge supporter of that idea, Ms Volkov,” he said, ending the interview by returning to his more formal beginning, but he wasn’t going to reshoot the scene just for that. It seemed fitting. If she were Presidential-material herself, formality would become the norm. Given who’d won the last election, even he couldn’t rule out the prospect of a woman one day running the country.

  The studio lights dimmed, both of them staying in their seats as instructed for a while, before the lights came back on, the show filmed and recorded.

  “I’m surprised to know Filipov is happy to have you talking about one day becoming President. I must say, you’re still way more popular than him, and far more charming.” The interviewer kissed her on the hand, respectfully.

  “Thank you, Dmitry. When will the show air?”

  “It’s scheduled for two week’s time. We’ll build up publicity before then, make sure it has the maximum exposure.”

  “Two weeks,” she repeated. “Wonderful.” Everything was coming together nicely.

  London

  Sasha opened the front door to the apartment––Alex’s home, actually––but let Anissa walk on in first. She’d only been there once before, she remembered. Sasha followed her and shut the door. He placed her bag on the hallway floor. If needed, he would go and collect some other items from her house in due course.

  Sasha went into Alex’s old room and switched on the light.

  “I’ll wash the sheets and move his stuff into my room this afternoon, but the room is yours,” he said, Anissa following him in. This was where Anastasia had apparently been, Alex and the Belarusian conducting their secret affair without telling Anissa about it. They left the room. In the bathroom, there were a few female products around the place.

  “Sorry about these,” Sasha said, somewhat embarrassed. Anissa figured they must have belonged to Helen, his former girlfriend, though Anissa didn’t yet fully know why that had ended. Sasha had been a little coy about telling anything more beside the little he had.

  “I might need some of those,” Anissa said, Sasha stopping his haste, passing what he had in his hands to Anissa.

  “Be my guest,” he said. He left the bathroom, going into what was apparently his own bedroom. Anissa didn’t follow him. Instead, she went into the lounge. She had been there before, though it had changed somewhat. There was Sasha’s presence, that was clear, but also the touch of a woman. Anissa was sure of that. She looked out of the window, but the view was mostly of other properties.

  She walked into the kitchen. A couple of dirty plates were in the sink. The dishwasher was clean and full.

  “I’m sorry about these,” Sasha said, joining Anissa in the kitchen. “Didn’t have a chance to clean up before you came here.” He’d apparently not known she would be leaving the same day. Maybe he didn’t even know if she would agree to stay there? Sasha ran some hot water and over the next couple of minutes, while the kettle boiled, he washed up the dirty dishes. Anissa made them both some tea.

  “I’ll move your case into your room,” Sasha said. He grabbed a handful of Alex’s t-shirts from the wardrobe on the way back out, leaving them on the edge of his bed, but Anissa placing the brewed tea on the coffee table in the lounge brought Sasha back to her.

  “Is this going to be strange?” she asked, the first sense that she was anything but entirely comfortable staying in Alex’s flat, with Sasha.

  “Strange? How?”

  “Me, sleeping in Alex’s bed,” she said, but her mind was apparently on other matters. “You as a flatmate,” she added as if an afterthought.

  “No, of course not. It’s going to be great!” Sasha said, smiling. She didn’t seem so convinced, but let it drop. They both drank their tea in silence.

  28

  Moscow

  Putin landed in the military base in the dead of night. He was back in the capital for the first time since the election result of nearly a year ago. For the ten months since then he’d been on the run. Filipov had come for him, but now the boot was on the other foot. Putin had the inside track, and by the end of the day, the current President would be dead. Putin would be ideally placed to take back the reins.

  Putin’s presence was a secret, only a few loyal former Russian Guards there to welcome the returning hero as he exited the aircraft. The plane was scheduled for routine maintenance, something requiring its return to Moscow. Besides the pilot, no passengers were recorded. Yet one very high profile cargo had grabbed a ride.

  A small unit of just three men drove Putin to a base not far from the airport. Putin would get a little sleep there. He would re-access his information in the morning––confirm the schedule had not changed and that Filipov was still meeting with Orlov. Putin also wanted to check the security would be minimal. He had to be sure.

  No one else was at the base. Everyone had been cleared out with no reason given, so that Putin could have the space he needed, so that word would not get back to the current President that the old one was in town. Putin knew that if that happened he would be in great danger.

  So far, so good.

  Putin slept, but only for five hours. At seven he was awa
ke, and he joined the two men in the next room who were acting as guards. They were playing cards and sharing a little vodka. They were there to keep Putin alive, after all. Putin opted for something hot and strong––coffee, in that case––but joined the two men in their game. Neither soldier knew what to do. Putin was sitting with them!

  “Let’s play!” Putin urged, the man holding the pack, his mouth agape, continuing to deal, now passing out the cards between the three of them.

  They played for an hour. At eight, a more senior officer arrived––he’d met Putin from the plane the night before––and he was initially alarmed to see the card playing and drinking until he took in the presence of Putin himself. The President for the people of Russia, as Putin had always been. His return was long overdue. Nobody currently present in that room had warmed to the new guy in the Kremlin.

  “All quiet?” Putin asked, addressing the officer who had just arrived. He stood up, thanking the two players for the game which had been a pleasant distraction.

  “Yes,” he confirmed, understanding Putin was checking that nobody else knew he was there. Word had not got out.

  “I need to set up a connection. Do you have somewhere I can do this?”

  The officer confirmed the precise requirement, before guiding Putin into another room––the door well hidden, he’d not seen it before––and said Putin should call him if he needed anything.

  Putin set up his device there, connecting it to the internet. He took a small breath. Hacking in from Israel was one thing, but doing so more locally was something else entirely. If they were watching––he was sure nobody could be––he was about to give away his location.

  He thought about that for a moment. In the past, he had teams who would organise it. A message could be bounced around the world so that the location was lost. He didn’t have that knowhow himself, nor the team, or time, to carry it out. He would just have to take a chance.