‘Indeed. I’d dearly love to see this case resolved, if only for your sake. I do have some questions for you,’ she said, consulting her notes. ‘I’d like to ask you about K-17. I’m interested in the team’s history.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘How long have they been together? Do individuals move between teams regularly?’
‘Actually, the teams can be very, um, nepotizum. Sorry, I don’t remember the word in English.’
‘Nepotistic?’ she guessed.
‘Nepotistic. Thank you. Many of the men are related. They can stay in the same team for years.’
‘Can you tell me how long the current K-17 team has been together?’
‘I would have to check. But as I said, I would not expect to find many transfers between the teams.’
‘Do you know if K-17 was involved in any incidents?’
‘There are often incidences at the checkpoints. Many go unreported. Only the serious ones tend to get filed. How far back do you want to go?’
‘Five years.’
‘Five years?’ Kostag seemed daunted by the request. ‘That’s a long time.’
‘Three then. As far back as you can.’
‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘I’d be very interested in any incident involving a British subject.’
Her comment got Kostag thinking. He accessed the police data on his computer.
‘Ardian?’ Bethan wondered if she’d lost the connection.
‘I’m just checking something,’ he said. ‘There was an incident involving a British person. There are not many incidences involving British people at border checkpoints so it should not be difficult to find. Give me a moment.’
Bethan waited patiently while Kostag went through a list of files. The noise grew louder and then quieter again as someone left the office.
‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘Interesting.’
‘What is?’
‘I have an incident. And it was involving K-17. Eight months ago. I wasn’t in this department then. A car was passing through a checkpoint. The passenger was a United Nations lawyer, a Brazilian. The car was driven by his bodyguard who was British.’
‘Bodyguard?’
‘Yes. One minute ... a man named Alan Masters. Scottish. There was an argument between the lawyer and the border police. The report states the lawyer was arrogant and aggressive and fuelled the argument. Things became physical. Masters stepped in to separate them.’
There was a moment of silence while Kostag read the rest of the report.
‘And the outcome?’ Bethan asked.
‘Not good. Masters was shot by one of the border police. He died the next day in hospital.’
‘Where did this take place? The checkpoint?’
‘The same checkpoint where K-17 was executed,’ Kostaq said.
‘Can you send me Masters’ details?’
‘I have a copy of his passport page. I’ll send it to you ... are you onto something, Bethan?’
‘I don’t know. I have a few thoughts I’d like to pursue. Hopefully they’ll shed some light.’
‘I hope so too. As always, if I get anything else I’ll pass it on. I would appreciate it if you would do the same. I would very much like to close this case more than any other I think I have had.’
‘I completely understand, Ardian. I’ll be in touch.’
‘You have a good day, Bethan. And good luck.’
‘You too. Thank you.’
Bethan disconnected and scribbled some notes into the file. A flag popped up on her computer screen indicating an email. It was from Kostag. She opened the attachment. A copy of the British bodyguard’s passport filled the screen. She copied the significant information into the police database and seconds later a window displayed a picture of Masters and his biography. He was a former member of the British Army, notably the Green Jackets, and also served eleven years in the Special Air Service.
She looked towards Dillon’s office. He was at his desk. As she got to her feet to head over there, Dillon stepped out of his office and walked towards the elevators. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked her.
She forced a smile. ‘Fine, thanks.’
‘It’s lunchtime,’ he said, hitting the elevator call button. ‘Go and grab a meal. You look pale.’
‘Will you be back this afternoon?’
‘Yes, but late. Got a working lunch.’ He stepped inside the elevator and the doors closed.
Gunnymede sat in a cafe sipping a coffee as he watched the world go past the window. His phone chirped and he answered it.
‘It’s me,’ Aristotle said. ‘Do you know Krilov?’
‘No.’
‘You never heard of him before?’
‘Nope.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘You don’t need to get me interested in him more than I am.’
‘What is your interest in him?’
‘He’s the man who raped Megan.’
‘I see. Why do you want to know about him?’
‘Why do you think?’
‘You want revenge?’
‘If you don’t want to give me the info I’ll find it elsewhere.’
Aristotle went silent for a moment. ‘Krilov is former Spetsnaz,’ he finally said.
‘Spetsnaz?’
‘He’s a specialist thug. An assassin. The type the GRU uses to kill people with nerve agents in foreign countries.’
‘Is he still serving?’
‘Hard to say. He joined the civilian security circuit eight years ago. Spent a couple years running armed security against Somali pirates. Some close protection work in Chechnya. Then he disappeared for three years. There’s no record of his employment. Like he was dead. He closed his bank account even. Then a year ago, he showed up in Kabul. Face recognition picked him up arriving at the international airport. There was no reason to monitor him, so he was left alone. They think he went to Helmand Province. He left two weeks later. Nine months ago he turned up in the UK as a visitor. Lots of cash. Investing in property using various offshore accounts. But he was clean and so he was left alone.’
‘Anything on the rape – why he wasn’t charged?’
‘I couldn’t find out. I have an interest in your intentions,’ Aristotle said. ‘Are you going to tell me them?’
‘I don’t have any at the moment.’
‘I hope that’s remains the same. You cannot afford to have any problems with the police. The lifeline keeping you out of jail is a thin one.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Why a former Spetsnaz raped my girlfriend?’
‘I grant you that’s an interesting question.’
‘You think Spangle had anything to do with it?’
‘How do you connect him to Spangle?’
‘Who was it said Spangle is everything?’
‘She was raped while you were in jail in the USA.’
‘I don’t believe it was a coincidence.’
‘I’ll send you what I have,’ Aristotle said and disconnected.
Great.
As Gunnymede sat in thought, his phone vibrated and a banner showed a file from Aristotle. Gunnymede clicked it open. To his surprise it included Krilov’s UK home address, vehicle details and a mobile number.
Bethan walked up the street away from Scotland Yard, her mind in turmoil. She took several turnings and found herself walking past a familiar pub. She had a sudden thought and paused to look at the entrance. It was an idea worth pursuing.
She pushed her way inside and scanned the moderately busy place at the tail-end of the lunchtime rush and found who she was looking for. Jedson was in a corner clutching a pint and chatting with two other men. She looked away as if she hadn’t seen him and headed towards the bar.
Jedson stopped in mid conversation as he saw her cross the room. ‘Target front,’ he said.
‘Isn’t that the analyst on the third floor?’ a colleague asked.
‘You still trying to corner her?’ the other said with a chuckle.
‘She’s a long term project,’ Jedson replied without taking his eyes off of her. ‘Had her claws out earlier. Softly, softly, catch a tiger,’ he added with a wink before heading off on an interception course.
Bethan sat on a stool a second before Jedson arrived.
‘I come in peace,’ he said, hands up, putting on a clown smile. ‘I want to apologise for being rude earlier.’
She put on a tired expression and backed it up with a heavy sigh. ‘No, it is I who should apologise. I was out of place talking to you like that.’
Jedson was surprised to hear that. ‘We’ll call it quits then. I was just saying to the lads, we don’t often see you in the staff canteen.’
Bethan glanced at the two men who looked as socially retarded as Jedson, forced a smile and turned her attention to the row of bottles on the shelf at the back of the bar. ‘I’ve had a long and frustrating day and it’s only halfway through,’ she sighed.
‘You need some medicine. Allow me to fill your prescription. Bartender?’
‘I can get my own drink.’
‘Come on. It’s not a sexist thing. You can get the next round.’
‘I’ll have a scotch,’ she said, conceding.
‘Single malt?’
‘A cheapy will do fine.’
‘Nonsense. Only the best for you,’ he insisted and looked for the bartender. ‘A single malt, please mate. Make it a double. On the rocks?’
‘No ice. Just some water, thanks,’ she said.
Jedson looked pleased with himself as the bartender placed the whisky in front of her along with a jug of water. She poured some water into it, took a sip and expressed her deep appreciation of it.
‘Cheers,’ Jedson said, raising his glass.
They touched glasses.
‘There was a reason I came to see you earlier,’ he said.
She gave him a warning look.
‘No, nothing naughty. It was to do with work.’ He moved a little closer to her in order to lower his voice. ‘Am I right in thinking you might fancy joining our little gang?’
‘What, S C & O 19?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where’d you hear that?’
‘Your boss Dillon’s been down to the office. He was talking about you as I understand it.’
‘I don’t think he was there to see if I might join.’
‘You sure?’
She shrugged. ‘News to me.’
‘No? Pity.’
‘But then again, all that cloak and dagger Serpico undercover stuff does have a certain attraction.’
‘Like a bit of danger, do you?’
‘A little bit of excitement might improve the job.’
‘You’d be perfect for it.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘We’re short of women. Quality that is. The ones we have look like blokes. I think they’re all bloody dykes.’
She humoured him with a smile and took a sip of her drink. ‘What sort of cases are you working on?’
‘All sorts. Anything that requires an undercover element. Surveillance and technology. Working against seriously bad guys. Drugs. Guns. Organised crime. Stuff like that.’
‘Sounds exciting.’
‘You’d need to learn how to shoot a pistol and SMG.’
‘Really? That would be different. What attracts me to S C & O 19 is how laidback it is.’
‘It’s how you’ve got to play the game. It’s a tough job but you don’t see me getting stressed.’
‘And you don’t have to put up with all the red tape I’m always coming up against.’
‘Na. We’re usually the ones making the red tape.’
‘Tell me about it. I run into it all the time. Your latest red tape has been a pain.’
‘Mine?’
‘Not you personally I’m sure.’
‘What was that then?’
‘Maybe it was you.’
‘Go on.’
‘Let’s enjoy the drink and leave work out of it,’ she insisted.
And he did. Not what she was really hoping for.
‘I can’t resist the opportunity,’ she had to finally say. ‘It was to do with a case I’m working on.’
‘What was that then?’
‘It’s probably small fry for you.’
‘That’s what relationships are for, aren’t they? Helping one another.’
‘Okay. I’m looking into unsolved British military related homicides.’
His brow wrinkled as he thought on that one. ‘Unsolved soldier deaths?’
‘No. That was a bit vague of me. Homicides directly connected to the military. Where the perpetrators are military personnel.’
‘I see. I’ve never heard of that. How did we get in the way?’
‘One of the cases involves someone your people are interested in.’
‘Who would that be?’
‘A Russian. Milo Krilov. As soon as I started to dig I ran into the wall.’
Jedson gave her a sideways look. His gormless expression had hardened a little.
‘There, you see. That’s the wall I ran into earlier. Let’s just forget it.’
His tone subtly altered from buffoon to something more serious. ‘How does this Krilov person relate to unsolved military homicides?’
‘You know him, then?’
‘I’m wondering how the military related homicide fits in.’
‘He raped a girl who subsequently committed suicide,’ she said. ‘Hence the homicide.’
He nodded. ‘What’s the military side?’
‘Her father is former SAS.’
Jedson sipped his beer while considering her comment.
‘But then, you knew that,’ she added.
He looked at her again, into her eyes as if searching for something. ‘So, where’d you come across this Russian?’
‘It came up in a search I was doing.’
‘The name Milo Krilov just popped up when you were doing a search? Search of what?’
She suddenly felt uncomfortable with his darkened response. ‘I’m going to have to tell you a secret,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Go on.’
‘Could get me in trouble.’
‘You can trust me.’
‘Okay. I will. I was researching the rape and I hit the red wall, restricted access and all that and so I went to Dillon and told him what I was doing and what I’d run into and he checked for himself.’
‘And he told you about Milo Krilov.’
‘Not directly. I was naughty and took a look at his screen when he had his back turned.’
‘And you saw the name, Milo Krilov.’
‘I’d like to know more about him.’
‘Like what?’
‘Why he hasn’t been charged.’
Jedson looked around to ensure no one was within hearing distance. ‘You think I’m pretty stupid, don’t you?’
She felt the serrated edge of his irritation. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve always taken me for a numpty. All those snide comments you make in the office in order to entertain the other idiots. A bit too close, you and Dillon. Thick as thieves, aren’t you?’
Bethan was unbalanced by his aggressive posture.
‘Let me tell you something,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘I’ve always had a thing for you. Something about you always gets me going. No one else does it for me the way you do. I’d tell you anything you want in the right circumstances.’
‘What circumstances would they be?’
He grinned. ‘Ever play strip interrogation? I tell you something, you take a piece of clothing off, and we keep on going. You’ll know everything you need to by the time you’re bollocky buff.’
‘I’ll never be that desperate,’ she said, getting off the stool. ‘Thanks for the drink.’
As she turned to leave he took a hold of her arm. ‘Yes, you run along,’ he said. ‘And I’ll
decide whether to report this conversation to my boss or not.’
Bethan pulled her arm away and walked out of the bar.
‘Tiger’s getting away,’ one of Jedson’s colleagues called out to the tune of laughter.
Jedson was too thick skinned to let it bother him. He watched her leave with snake-like eyes.
Chapter 20
Gunnymede sat on a low garden wall in front of a terraced house in a dimly lit residential street in West Winchester. He’d chosen the darkest part, a section not covered by the handful of street-lamps and from where he had line of sight to a specific house along the other side of the street. The number of cars that tightly lined both sides suggested it was a busy neighbourhood although in the hour he’d been there only a couple of pedestrians had gone by.
Gunnymede took a final draw on a cigarette and tossed it. He got to his feet and stretched his legs that had begun to stiffen. He’d been there several hours and the question was how much longer would he give it.
As he sat back down, the front door to the house he’d been watching opened and light filled the small yard. Gunnymede crouched a little to ensure he was out of sight behind a car. The light went out seconds later and a man stepped into view. It looked very much like Krilov. Balding, six foot six, broad and hard to miss. He paused at his gate to look up and down the street. The man had awareness. Gunnymede kept sight of him through the car windows.
Krilov stepped through the gate to a Mercedes SUV, climbed in, started the engine and drove away. Gunnymede had identified the car on an earlier walk past based on the info from Aristotle and stuck a lump of chewing gum onto one of the rear lights. As the car headed away Gunnymede could clearly see the gap in the curved LED strip where the gum covered it.
He climbed onto a powerful motorbike, the pool bike Aristotle had been driving a few days before, pulled on a full-faced helmet, started the throaty engine and eased away from the kerb. Half a minute later he arrived at a busy T junction and searched the tail lights of the cars driving away left and right. The broken line of the LED light stood out and he followed it.
Gunnymede maintained several cars between him and Krilov. It wasn’t long before the Russian turned onto a main road and Gunnymede dropped back even further. Several miles from the city the Russian left the highway onto a country road. Two cars ahead of Gunnymede took the same turn to help maintain his cover.
The Becket Approval Page 18
