‘I hear you,’ said Standing.
‘Do you think he will get in touch with you? Or his sister?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Standing. ‘I think that after whatever happened in that motel with the FBI agents, he can’t trust anybody.’
12
Standing walked out of the house and climbed into the car. ‘How did it go?’ asked Kaitlyn.
‘He wasn’t trying to hurt Bobby-Ray,’ said Standing. He put the duct tape and the Glock in the glove compartment. ‘And he’s not convinced that Bobby-Ray killed the client and the other bodyguards.’
Kaitlyn frowned in confusion. ‘You said he was chasing you.’
‘Yeah, well he claims that he was just following me.’ He started the engine. ‘We need somewhere to crash tonight,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to go back to my apartment,’ she said. ‘Not after everything that’s happened.’
‘Sure, no problem,’ said Standing. ‘We’ll find a motel.’
They checked into a Best Western on the outskirts of Pasadena, and the clerk who booked them in seemed surprised at Standing’s request for single beds. As soon as they were in the room, Kaitlyn locked herself in the bathroom and started showering. Standing lay on one of the beds, connected his phone to the hotel’s Wi-Fi and hit the Internet.
He Googled Mikhail Koshkin’s name but there was nothing about him being poisoned in London. He frowned. Keenan had been definite that the Russian had been attacked before he moved to the States. He Googled ‘poison attack’ with ‘Russian’ and ‘London’ and got more than twenty million hits which made him smile.
He spent the next half an hour following the most popular links. The most talked-about attack was that on Alexander Litvinenko, back in 2006. Litvinenko was a former KGB agent who was employed by the Federal Security Service but left under a cloud and devoted his life to slagging off his former bosses, including Putin. He died in London after drinking a cup of tea laced with radioactive Polonium 210. Most of the stories he read said that MI5 was sure that the Russian president ordered the attack. The general view seemed to be that anything involving Polonium had to be government sanctioned. The radioactive material wasn’t something you could buy over the counter.
In the same year there was a much less sophisticated killing of a Putin critic. Anna Politkovskaya wrote a book accusing Putin of turning the country into a police state. She was shot in the lift of her building in Moscow by five men. It was a professional job but the Russian cops never found out who paid for the hit. Standing visited more than a dozen sites to read about the Politkovskaya assassination. She didn’t have any bodyguards but he couldn’t help thinking there were similarities to what happened to Koshkin.
Standing couldn’t understand why Putin would bother using contractors when he had the resources of the Federal Security Service to draw on. He denied having Politkovskaya killed, obviously, but it seemed to Standing that killing the writer in such an obvious way caused Putin more problems than anything she had written as a journalist. A false flag operation seemed more likely. Politics was a dirty business at the best of times and there were plenty of people – and countries – who were throwing shit at Putin in the hope that at least some of it would stick.
The most recent poison attack in the UK occurred in March 2018 when former Russian military officer and double agent Sergei Skripal and his daughter Yulia were poisoned with a Novichok nerve agent in Salisbury. Novichok was developed by scientists in the Soviet Union in the nineteen seventies, the name meant ‘newcomer’ because it marked a breakthrough in chemical weapons and was the most powerful nerve agent in the world. Again, it seemed unlikely that the chemical could have found its way to the UK without some sort of Russian government involvement.
While the attempt to kill Skripal had been a hi-tech attack, most of the assassinations Standing read about were very basic. One of Putin’s most vocal critics, Boris Nemtsov, was shot in the back four times within sight of the Kremlin in 2015. He had been deputy prime minister for a while but fell out with Putin. In 2009 a human rights lawyer called Stanislav Markelov and a Russian journalist Anastasia Baburova were shot by masked gunmen, again near the Kremlin. Two members of a neo-Nazi group were found guilty of the murders but no one really believed they did it. But a lot of commentators wondered if Putin would be stupid enough to sanction murders so close to his place of work. Standing smiled as he read that. No one had ever accused the Russian president of being stupid.
He closed the browser on his phone and stared at the ceiling. If Koshkin had been attacked in London, why was there no mention of it anywhere on the Internet? And why was it being reported that Koshkin and his bodyguards had died in a home invasion in Bel Air? If the police truly believed that Bobby-Ray was responsible, why hadn’t his details been released to the media?
Kaitlyn came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a long T-shirt and had a towel wrapped around her head. She dropped down onto the other bed. ‘So what do you think?’ she asked.
‘I think somebody is going to a lot of trouble keeping a lid on this,’ said Standing. ‘And those same people are the ones after Bobby-Ray.’
‘So what do we do?’
Standing sighed. ‘I think I’m going to have to go back to London for a few days,’ he said. ‘What happened in London is the key to what’s happening here, I’m sure of that. Something happened to Koshkin there, which is why he came to LA.’
‘And how are you going to find out what happened in London?’
Standing smiled. ‘I know a man who should be able to help,’ he said.
‘A friend?’
‘Sort of.’
13
Standing arrived at Heathrow at just after ten o’clock in the morning, after an uncomfortable eleven-hour flight. The immigration officers on duty were a lot less attractive than the Hispanic girl who had checked his passport in the US. The men and women of the UK’s Border Force were dressed in blue uniforms so dark that they were almost black, and several had tucked their trousers into their boots to give them a military look. Standing was old enough to remember when immigration officers wore suits and smiled as they checked passports – these days they looked more like Nazis and had facial expressions to match. Standing used the automatic gates, which meant he didn’t have to interact with anyone – he just placed his passport on the scanner and facial recognition did the rest.
He only had his carry-on bag, so he went straight onto the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station and a Bakerloo Line train to Waterloo.
The Union Jack Club was next to the station, a private members’ hotel for former and serving members of the armed forces. The hotel had more than 260 rooms and suites and was one of the cheapest places to stay in the capital. Standing used his military ID card to check in. His room was on the fifth floor, facing the station, and as he opened the door he heard a train rattling out. Noise never bothered Standing; like most soldiers he could sleep through an earthquake if necessary. His room was one of the cheapest, which meant that he shared a bathroom, but the room was only a place to sleep and Standing wasn’t looking for luxury. The £40 a night he was paying was a bargain, but more importantly all the guests were present or former military, which meant he wouldn’t be bumping into outsiders. He dropped his bag on the bed and went back outside. He found a phone shop and paid cash for a cheap Samsung smartphone and a pay-as-you-go SIM, then went into a Starbucks and ordered an Americano and a cheese salad sandwich. He sat at a table by the window and set up his phone. Once it was up and running it took him less than a minute to get a phone number for MI5. The Security Service had a website and its phone number was prominently displayed, though it was quick to point out that anyone wanting to report a crime should call 999 or the anti-terrorist hotline. Standing called the number and it was answered within seconds by a woman with a strong Scottish accent. Standing gave his name and said that he was a former colleague of Daniel Shepherd and requested a call back. The woman had him spell his name and then e
nded the call.
Standing ate his sandwich and went to the counter to buy another. He had almost finished it when his phone rang. The caller was withholding his number but it could only be one person. ‘Thanks for calling me back, Spider,’ said Standing.
‘What’s up?’ asked Shepherd.
‘I need help,’ said Standing.
‘What sort of help?’
‘Advice,’ said Standing. ‘And guidance.’
‘Are you in London?’
‘Yeah. Near Waterloo.’
‘I’ll see you at the Tattershall Castle at five thirty.’
‘Sounds grand,’ said Standing.
‘It’s a boat they use as a pub,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s on the Thames, opposite the London Eye, between Westminster and Embankment Tube stations.’
‘I’ll see you there,’ said Standing.
He finished his second sandwich, then went back to the hotel and shaved and showered in the shared bathroom.
He arrived at the Tattershall Castle shortly before the arranged time, and Shepherd was already up on the deck. The Tattershall Castle was a huge paddle steamer built in the nineteen thirties, which had been converted into bars and function rooms. It was a good place for a meeting, Standing realised, as everyone had to enter and leave along a narrow gangplank and could clearly be seen from Shepherd’s vantage point on the deck. Standing nodded at Shepherd and Shepherd raised his glass in salute.
Standing walked on board and went over to Shepherd’s table. He was already getting to his feet. Average height, with brown hair that was starting to grey at the temples, he was wearing a fleece jacket over a denim jacket and black jeans. He was a good decade older than Standing, but definitely fit. The old hands at Hereford still laughed and shook their heads when they talked about Shepherd’s habit of running around the Hereford base with a rucksack full of bricks wrapped in newspaper on his back.
The two men shook hands. ‘How are you doing, Matt?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Keeping out of trouble?’
‘Got back from Syria last month,’ he said. ‘I’m on a short break, then it’s back to Hereford for training.’ He nodded at the bar. ‘What can I get you?’
Shepherd held up his half-empty glass. ‘Jameson’s, ice and soda,’ he said.
Standing went inside to the bar. There were several dozen customers, a mix of office workers in suits and tourists, including four Japanese girls who were busy taking selfies. He was served quickly and was soon back on the deck. He gave Shepherd his drink and sipped his lager. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Busy?’
‘Over-stretched and under-staffed, we’re running around putting out fires left, right and centre,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s never-ending. And it’s like the IRA said to Margaret Thatcher after they just missed assassinating her in Brighton back in the Eighties – they only have to be lucky once. We have to be lucky every time.’
‘It’s getting worse?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘They go off to fight in Syria or Afghanistan or wherever, then they waltz back into the UK and start planning an atrocity here. Most of the time we know who they are and where they live but we just don’t have the resources to keep tabs on them all. So far we’ve managed to keep on top of it, but if the public knew how close we’ve come to major terrorist attacks over the past year, they’d be a lot less complacent.’ Shepherd shrugged. ‘It’s bad at the sharp end, where you are, but at least you’re trained to handle it. Here we’ve got a nation of sitting ducks.’
‘So what’s the answer?’
Shepherd laughed harshly. ‘There is no answer, Matt. The genie’s out of the bottle and there’s no putting it back. Fifty years down the line, maybe we won’t have home-grown terrorists, but it’s not going to change in the near future.’ He sipped his drink. ‘So what do you need from me?’
‘I’m helping a mate who’s got into a spot of bother in the States. He’s a former Navy SEAL who got injured out in Syria and moved into personal security. Now he’s been accused of killing his principal.’
‘Ouch,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m pretty sure he didn’t do it, but he’s in hiding and there are bad guys with guns after him.’
‘You do get into scrapes, don’t you?’ said Shepherd.
Standing shrugged. ‘It’s not by choice,’ he said. ‘But if I don’t help him I don’t see that anyone else will.’ He leaned closer to Shepherd. ‘The principal was a Russian who used to live in London. Mikhail Koshkin. There was an attempt on his life here, I’m told.’
Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who told you that?’
‘The guy who helped put together his security detail in LA. It doesn’t seem to have been made public.’
‘It wasn’t,’ said Shepherd. ‘It wasn’t my case but I saw a few memos. There was a D-notice on it, so the details aren’t widely known.’
‘So what’s the story?’
‘Some sort of poison got into his system and he was in intensive care for two weeks. He nearly died. A journalist he was talking to also got sick.’
‘There was nothing online about that,’ said Standing. ‘I did read about that former Russian double agent and his daughter who got poisoned not that long ago.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Sergei Skripal. It’s generally assumed that the attempted hit on Skripal was ordered by the Kremlin, but these days who knows? I’ve also been told that Mossad were behind it in an attempt to smear the Russians.’
‘How was Koshkin poisoned?’
‘He was in a restaurant talking to a journalist. They reckon it was in his food. They both fell ill and were treated in a private hospital. Koshkin had some pretty good connections and it was all kept quiet. The authorities were happy enough to keep a lid on it as these poisonings often lead to panic.’ Shepherd sipped his drink.
‘That’s why they slapped a D-notice on it?’
‘I assume so. Why do you ask?’
‘Because the details of what happened in LA are also being withheld. Instead they’re saying it was a home invasion. That’s what the media are being told. But the cops are looking for Bobby-Ray and he’s the only suspect.’
‘Bobby-Ray?’
‘Sorry, that’s his name. Bobby-Ray Barnes.’
‘What reason would Bobby-Ray have for killing him?’
‘None that I know. I think the assumption is that someone paid him to pull the trigger.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘Bobby-Ray’s a straight arrow, Spider. He isn’t assassin material.’
‘So who do the American cops think wanted Koshkin dead? Who footed the bill?’
‘They didn’t say.’
Shepherd frowned. ‘You’d think they’d want to know. Whoever paid for the hit is as guilty as the man who carried it out.’
‘Yeah. I thought the same. I got the feeling they wanted to find Bobby-Ray first and that he’d tell them who hired him.’
Shepherd sipped his drink. ‘So they’re firm in their belief that he did it?’
Standing nodded. ‘I’m told they’re not looking for anyone else.’
Shepherd put down his glass. ‘Who should they be looking for?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re convinced that Bobby-Ray didn’t kill Koshkin. And I believe you. So if he didn’t do it, who did?’
Standing shrugged. It wasn’t a question he could answer.
‘Who survived the attack in the house?’ asked Shepherd.
‘One of the bodyguards.’
‘Russian?’
Standing nodded.
‘So he must have seen what happened?’
‘He says not. He was upstairs and by the time he was downstairs it was all over. He fired at Bobby-Ray and Bobby-Ray fired back. Again, I only have that second-hand.’
‘So the guy’s dead?’
‘Very much alive.’
Shepherd frowned. ‘So a former Navy SEAL shot and missed. That doesn’t happen very often.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
&
nbsp; ‘Is there any way you could talk to that guy?’
‘I could try,’ said Standing.
‘Because if Bobby-Ray didn’t do it, someone else must have. Look, are you sure that Bobby-Ray isn’t dead?’
Standing sighed. ‘That’s a distinct possibility.’
‘Let’s assume the worst,’ said Shepherd. ‘What will you do?’
‘What can I do?’
‘Exactly. I’m serious, Matt. Is this a revenge thing? Is that what this is about?’
Standing pulled a face. ‘If they’ve killed Bobby-Ray, I should just let it go?’
‘That would be your call. I know you’ve got form when it comes to revenge, and I’m not in a position to throw the first stone. But you need to proceed with care.’
Standing smiled thinly. ‘I’m not scared, Spider.’
‘It’s not about fear. It’s about putting yourself in the firing line.’
Standing held up his hands. ‘One step at a time,’ he said. ‘I said it was a possibility that Bobby-Ray was dead. But until I know for sure, I’m working on the premise that he’s lying low. Which means my priority is to prove he didn’t do it.’
‘Okay, all good,’ said Shepherd. ‘Putting my cop hat on, I’d say your best bet is to find out who had the most to gain from Koshkin’s death. That should lead you to whoever took out the contract, and that in turn should ID the killer.’
‘And we’re saying that it probably wasn’t political?’
‘If it was a Kremlin-sanctioned hit, they would probably have been cleverer about it.’
‘So who then?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Sorry. Other than a few memos that passed over my desk, I know next to nothing about the case.’
‘Can you find out?’
Shepherd grimaced. ‘Not without explaining why I had an interest,’ he said. He sipped his whisky. ‘But I could put you in touch with one of the cops that was on the case.’
Last Man Standing Page 11
