But where his arrest and subsequent fall from grace should have served as a warning to him it had instead made him more reckless.
No longer satisfied with the easy pickings Miri represented, Allan had purposely sought out more thrilling ways to indulge his wicked tastes, going to ever more dangerous extremes to achieve the sexual buzz he so desperately craved.
This had led to him regularly taking prostitutes back to his Knightsbridge flat, sometimes two or three times a week and doing to them what he once did to Miriam. Yet with her he always had to be careful not to harm her general appearance, so others would not suspect. However, with the prostitutes there was no need for such restraint so he dealt with them far more severely.
Even though Gillespie had no respect for Miriam he did at least give her some credit for becoming a doctor, which from his twisted viewpoint proved she had some worth at least. The girls he picked up on the street, however, had no human value in his opinion and he viewed them as little more than scum - as his appalling treatment of them attested.
He was very much in the mould of Jekyll and Hyde; by day a talented surgeon - not liked and increasingly more unpleasant since his downfall - yet respected for his skills nonetheless, but by night he was a violent predator who targeted vulnerable women in a bid to satiate his basest desires.
The girls on the street had learnt to be wary and the wise ones stayed clear if they ever saw him approaching. But there were still many who would get into his car out of pure desperation just to earn enough to survive - hoping that he would treat them better than he had their friends.
However, regardless of the high sums of money the doctor was prepared to pay, the girls’ pimps were getting angry. It was one thing to get off on beating up a woman but to do the things Gillespie did to them, to leave them in such a state that they were no use to anyone for weeks afterwards, was simply not good business. Indeed, the doctor was playing a very dangerous game with some extremely serious people and it was only a matter of time before they put a stop to it.
But in the meantime he continued to prey on streetwalkers at random and still make Miriam’s life hell.
Indeed, he had arrived at their home in Surbiton just before midnight, on the first Friday of June, two hours after Miriam, herself, had gone to bed. As usual his arrival was unannounced and quite unexpected. After all, on a Friday night he would normally be trawling the darkened streets of the capital searching for excitement before turning up at their house on the outskirts of the city at some point on Saturday afternoon.
But not on this particular Friday.
Miriam had been awoken with a start from a banging downstairs as Allan opened and closed doors without any consideration for the lateness of the hour or the fact that his wife might be sleeping.
What is more, when he finally arrived upstairs and thoughtlessly snapped on the bedroom light she could immediately see by the look in his eyes that she was in for another punishing night.
By 9.30am the following morning she was nursing yet another cracked rib and a large purple bruise was blossoming around her swollen left eye.
Allan was sitting at the kitchen table reading the morning paper, clearly without a care in the world, whilst Miriam, aching and sore, cooked him a full English breakfast as per his orders.
She was trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb her husband unnecessarily and give him cause for further provocation, knowing that the slightest thing could set him off.
Indeed, other than the sound of sizzling bacon the house was completely silent so when the doorbell rang it gave both Miriam and Allan something of a start. No one ever visited them so the very fact that someone was at the door was a remarkably rare occurrence and the cause for a degree of consternation.
Gillespie glared at his wife menacingly. “Who’s that?” He demanded, “Are you expecting someone?”
“No - I don’t know who it is - honestly,” Miri replied, shaking her head vigorously.
“Got a fancy man have you?” He pressed as he folded the paper and climbed to his feet, “The postman perhaps - or the milkman? Someone who whispers sweet nothings in your ear whilst I’m hard at work at the hospital?” He was mocking her, of course, knowing how unlikely that was due to the terror he instilled in her but enjoyed watching her squirm nonetheless.
“No, Allan - I swear. Nothing like—“
“Be quiet, then woman!” He snapped, as he marched from the kitchen and down the hallway to answer the front door. Yet before he opened it he turned and glared at her again. “Not a word - understand?” He hissed. “And stay there - otherwise you know what you’ll get.”
Miri nodded fearfully, knowing all too well exactly what he meant. However, she could not help but wonder who might be calling at 9.30 on a Saturday morning and watched with curiosity from the kitchen as her husband unlatched the door.
However, Allan was obscuring her view somewhat and as he opened it she could not get a good look at the person who was standing on the doorstep.
But Allan could see him all too clearly and he stared coldly at the chubby, smiling man, having never seen him before.
“Ah, good morning,” said the man, “you must be Allan?”
Gillespie heard just the slightest trace of a foreign accent and he sneered with disdain. “I am,” he replied in the most unfriendly voice he could muster whilst haughtily looking the caller up and down. Aside from being overweight, the man was using a walking stick. He was also a good six inches shorter than Allan himself and although probably around the same age, his dark wavy hair was prematurely receding. “And who might you be?” Allan enquired.
“Well it’s lovely to meet you at last,” the man said cheerfully. “I’m an old friend of your wife - we went to Cambridge together. I expect she’s told you - my name is—“
“Vas?” Interrupted Miri from the kitchen doorway, her voice betraying the utter shock she felt. “Mon dieu! Vasily Voronin - is that you?” Her face suddenly lit up with delight as she strained to get a better view, the sound of Vasily’s voice like music to her ears. Was it truly him?
“Hello Miri!” Vas roared, his face cracking into a delighted grin as he tried to peer around Allan, who was making himself as large as possible in the doorway and doing all he could to block Vas’ view.
“Christ it’s good to hear your voice,” said Vas, undeterred, searching for an opening so that he might yet set eyes on his old friend. “I’m so sorry it’s been so—“
“I’m sorry. Who exactly are you, again?” Gillespie demanded, standing firmly on the threshold.
Vas was a little taken aback. “Like she said,” he replied. I’m Vasily Voronin - Miri and I are old friends.” He offered his hand, “pleased to meet you.”
Allan glanced at the outstretched hand but did not take it. “You’re not welcome here,” he said. “Please go and do not come back.”
Vas laughed, momentarily thinking he was joking but then realised he was, in fact, being deadly serious.
“What? I don’t understand, he spluttered, his smile now gone. “Miri, tell him please - I know it’s been a long time - and I know that’s no excuse - but if you’ll just let me explain—” He again tried to peer around Gillespie, hoping to get a glimpse of his friend. She was hiding herself in the kitchen but as she poked her head out beyond the door frame to speak he saw her at last.
“Please, Vas. Do as he says,” she pleaded, all hope suddenly evaporating. For the briefest instant she had dared to believe she had at last been saved but knew now it was a forlorn hope. Indeed, Miri was already dreading the beating she would undoubtedly receive from her husband due to Vasily’s unexpected appearance on their doorstep. “It’s for the best,” she exclaimed, unable to prevent her voice from cracking with emotion. “Please, go!”
Suddenly, very fleetingly, Vas got a clear view of Miriam and what he saw shocked him to the core. She looked tired
and gaunt, terror etched clearly on her face; her expression haunted and scared. What is more, there was a deep purple bruise around her swollen right eye and Vas had seen enough of those types of injuries in his life to know exactly what caused them. Also, even though he had not seen her for many years, he understood his friend well enough to know when she was afraid and he snapped his gaze back to Gillespie, anger flooding through his veins.
“You hit her?” He said, his voice incredulous.
Gillespie studied him for a moment, his expression smug and his manner arrogant. He then shrugged, “And what business might that be of yours?”
“You bastard!” Vas snarled through gritted teeth. “How dare you lay a goddamn finger on her - you do it again and I’ll make you—“
“No. Mr. Voronin - or whatever your name is,” Gillespie broke in, “you will not do anything. This is private property and you are trespassing. Furthermore, whatever my wife and I do in the privacy of our own home is certainly no business of yours - so I suggest you go away and do not come back or I will have no choice but to call the police.”
“You do whatever the hell you like,” spat Vas, “but I’m telling you now, you fucking coward, you have not heard the last of this.” He then looked past Gillespie again. “I’ll come back, Miri, I promise - you have my word!”
“No Vas, please don’t - he’ll kill us both!” She sobbed, no longer able to hold back the well of tears that had been building since first hearing his voice.
“You would do well to heed her advice,” said Gillespie. “I am not a man you should trifle with and I guard my property most vigorously.”
“Your property?” Vas was aghast. Was that how he viewed Miri?
“I have said all that needs to be said,” continued Gillespie. “Now good day to you - and do not ever come here again.” He then slammed the door shut leaving Vas outside alone.
Vas stood there for a moment, his blood boiling, rage pumping through his body. He was sorely tempted to break down the door and drag Miri out by force if he had to. Anything to save her.
However, the truth was, Gillespie was everything Vasily was not. He was tall, muscular and in good physical condition. If it came to a fight - and there was every chance that it would - then Vas would not stand a chance, which would ultimately do Miri no good at all.
But he would be back. He would not desert his friend. She would not have to suffer another moment longer than necessary.
It was all just a matter of picking the right moment.
Chapter Forty-One
New York City 2003
It took Sam the better part of three months to get home. Unforeseen hold-ups in Africa such as civil unrest, lack of transportation and a clamp down on border controls all playing their part to delay his homecoming.
However, by the time he finally made it back to Marcus Ellison’s brownstone on the Upper West Side, the war in The Congo and the beautiful African girl he had met in Kinshasa all seemed like a very long time ago.
Indeed, with Darius Purcell now dead it was Sam’s intention to move swiftly onto his next target; Miles DeVilliers, whom Purcell had identified as ‘The Fixer’.
Sam hoped DeVilliers might then lead him to James Locke and finally to the mysterious person who had actually ordered Claudette’s murder.
However, since leaving Africa and having the time to reflect on all the violence and devastation he had witnessed during his time there - and especially since seeing the grotesque sight of Purcell’s head being split in two like a ripe cantaloupe - Sam had decided he had seen more than enough death for one lifetime.
Miraculously, he had even stopped seeing it in his dreams, too. The nightmares that had constantly plagued him for the last ten years had now abruptly ceased; his subconscious seemingly unwilling to accept such horrifying images anymore.
Indeed, Sam now badly wanted his quest to be over and would have gladly given up on it had the ringleaders already been brought to justice.
But, to the best of his knowledge, the evil men who had orchestrated the hit had never been held accountable for their crimes.
Furthermore, they were still in possession of their freedom - still at liberty to enjoy their lives when, thanks to their despicable actions, Claudette was long dead.
To Sam this seemed wholly unjust, so no matter how much he wanted to quit or how much the violence of retribution sickened him, he knew he could not simply give up.
After ten years of searching he was desperately tired and his dreadful anger almost spent but he had to see it through to its bitter conclusion and fulfil the oath he had made to his murdered fiancé and unborn child, regardless of the toll it was taking on him personally or how long it might yet still take.
Because only when it was over would he finally find the peace he now craved.
However, until such time, he would press ever onwards.
To that end, he intended to spend a short time with Marcus in New York, to recuperate and catch up on what was happening with Beresford Industries and also to familiarise himself once more with the ways of the Western world before jetting to London in search of DeVilliers.
As suspected, Marcus was delighted to see him and much relieved to find him fit and well. Ellison, himself, was now in his early seventies but he did not look a day older than when Sam had last seen him. Indeed, running Beresford Industries seemed to suit him; the cut and thrust of big business keeping his mind active and his body healthy, even though such a stressful existence would not be so invigorating for everyone. Yet Marcus was thriving and Sam was pleased.
Sam offered to book himself into a hotel but his father’s oldest friend would not hear of it and insisted he stay at the brownstone for as long as he wished.
As it was, he stayed for just two weeks but in that time he and Marcus went through all that had changed with The Company since the older of the two had taken the helm. Indeed, Sam could not have left it in safer hands; his inheritance was in excellent shape and Benedict Beresford would undoubtedly have been very impressed by what Marcus had achieved at Sam’s behest.
Upon arriving in New York, the first thing Sam did after meeting up with Marcus was telephone Moscow, hoping to speak with Vasily. However, he was most surprised to be told by Vladimir that his youngest son had not only moved back to London a few months earlier but was also married now, too.
Vladimir passed on Vas’ telephone number but Sam said that he would be flying to London himself in a few days so would rather surprise him in person. Vladimir understood and promised not to say anything that might spoil his son’s delight.
Before hanging up, Vladimir handed the telephone to Mikhail and Pytor in turn, both of whom were relieved to hear Sam’s voice after so long. They had spoken to him sporadically during his time in Africa and corresponded with him via mail through their younger brother, but none of them, including Vasily, had received any communication from Sam for sometime and were beginning to fear the worse. So to discover he was not only alive but that he had also found the man he had been tracking filled them, and Vladimir, too, with an enormous sense of pride - not least because their training had proved successful.
However, that conversation had taken place almost two weeks earlier and it was now time for Sam to say goodbye to Marcus and head for London for that long awaited reunion with Vasily.
Marcus accompanied his godson to the airport to see him off, sensing that Sam’s quest for vengeance was nearing its end; the final few pieces of the puzzle tantalisingly close - although there was much that could still go wrong and the stakes were now perhaps higher than they had ever been.
Yet if all went to plan, Marcus knew that Sam might soon be taking his rightful place as C.E.O. of Beresford Industries - and that was fine with him. Much as he had enjoyed his time in charge, much has he had thrived on it, his years standing in for Sam had served their purpose in helping to exorcise the terrible grief h
e had felt after losing his wife. Even though he still missed her almost every moment of every day, he now felt able to continue his life without her, whether it be as head of a multinational conglomerate or as a retired gentleman living alone, happy that he would meet up with his wife again whenever the time came.
So he wished Sam godspeed and good luck, saying that the position of C.E.O. would be there waiting for him whenever he wished to return. In the meantime he would continue to take good care of The Company in his absence.
And Sam knew that he would.
***
Surbiton, England.
Vas returned to Miri’s house in Surbiton at 4am on Monday morning. He had stewed on the problem for the last two days, wishing that either Sam or his two brothers were there to help him. But Sam was lost somewhere in the depths of Africa, incommunicado, whilst Mikhail and Pyotr were thousands of miles away in Moscow.
A simple phone call would have brought his brothers rushing to his side, but even if they had left Russia immediately it might still have been too late for Miri by the time they got to London.
Indeed, Vas was concerned that he might be too late also. He suspected Miri would have been severely punished for his appearance there on Saturday morning and cursed himself for not being braver in tackling Allan Gillespie at the time.
Yet he had now steeled himself for what he must do, hoping that he had chosen the right moment for the least amount of fuss, but he could not be certain.
His suspicion was that Allan Gillespie had only been in Surbiton for the weekend and would be returning to work at the hospital first thing Monday morning - which would be in line with what Vas had been told when enquiring after Miriam initially.
That being the case, he could help Miriam escape whilst her husband was gone.
However, if Gillespie did not go to work, then Vas would simply have to revert to Plan B, which involved a baseball bat, lots of shouting and maybe a certain amount of violence - although hopefully not against either Miri or himself.
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