‘Something has come up, Mr Grechko,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if we sit?’
Grechko waved at a chair on the other side of the desk. Button sat down but Shepherd went to stand by the window.
Button smiled pleasantly at Grechko. She was wearing a dark blue suit that was almost black and a pale blue silk shirt. ‘Things have moved on since I last came to see you,’ she said. ‘We’ve taken a look at the case of Yuri Buryakov. You were also a friend of Mr Buryakov’s, weren’t you?’
‘It is a small world, Miss Button. There are not many Russians like us and we tend to stick together.’
‘But you were aware that he had died, surely?’
Grechko nodded. ‘Of course. I was at his funeral. But he had a heart attack. He was at a conference and he had the heart attack there and then he died in hospital.’
‘Why didn’t you mention to me that Mr Buryakov had also been the victim of a sniper attack?’
Grechko’s jaw dropped. ‘A sniper?’
‘About two months before he was murdered, a sniper shot at Mr Buryakov. One of his bodyguards was shot in the arm.’
Grechko shook his head. ‘He never mentioned it to me.’
‘Did you see Mr Buryakov before he died?’
‘About three weeks before. We were at a racetrack. Ascot, I think. He owns many racehorses.’ He put up a hand. ‘I’m sorry. Wrong tense. He owned many racehorses,’ he said, correcting himself.
‘And he didn’t say anything about a sniper?’
‘I would have remembered,’ said Grechko. ‘Are you sure about this? I read nothing in the papers.’
‘We have since spoken to members of Mr Buryakov’s former security team and we have confirmation that there was an attempt to shoot him at long range in Berlin. According to the people we spoke to, Mr Buryakov didn’t want anyone to know. He saw the attack as a sign of weakness on his part. One of his bodyguards was hit in the arm and was paid a substantial sum for his silence.’
Grechko frowned. ‘So he was attacked by a sniper, and then he died. Exactly the same as happened to Oleg.’
‘You see the pattern, then? Yes, Oleg Zakharov narrowly escaped being shot by a sniper. Then he died. And the same happened to Mr Buryakov.’
Grechko sat back and folded his arms. His face had gone as hard as stone. ‘Yuri had a heart attack.’
‘And you yourself were recently shot at by a sniper. Possibly the same sniper who shot at Mr Zakharov and Buryakov.’
Grechko’s eyes fixed on Button. ‘What are you saying?’ he said, his voice a low growl.
‘I think you know what I’m saying, Mr Grechko,’ she said. ‘There is every likelihood that you will be attacked again. Not by a sniper, but by an assassin who is much closer.’
‘I keep telling you, Yuri wasn’t assassinated. He had a heart attack.’
‘Heart attacks can be induced.’
‘This makes no sense to me,’ he said. ‘If they are using an assassin, why use a sniper first? And how is it that the sniper misses?’
‘Well, did he miss, that’s the question,’ said Button. ‘Did he miss, or was he shooting at the bodyguards?’
‘Why would he deliberately shoot a bodyguard?’ growled Grechko. ‘Bodyguards are ten a penny.’
‘Thank you,’ said Shepherd quietly.
Grechko turned to scowl at him but Shepherd was already looking out of the window.
‘That’s a very good question,’ said Button. ‘But until we have the answer, I’m going to suggest that you minimise your travel arrangements, and increase your security. After what happened to Mr Zakharov, Mr Czernik and Mr Buryakov, I think you have to be very, very careful until we identify this man and apprehend him.’
‘Apprehend him?’ said Grechko? ‘When you find out who he is you tell me and I’ll have him taken care of.’
‘That’s not how we do things in this country,’ said Button.
‘Which is one of the many things wrong with it,’ said Grechko. ‘When you catch him you need to get him to give up the person who is paying him. It won’t be enough to just talk to him severely with that stiff upper lip of yours. Some Russian persuasion will loosen his tongue, though.’
‘We are perfectly capable of handling this, Mr Grechko,’ said Button, icily.
‘You need to get him to tell you the truth, that he is working for those bastards in the Kremlin,’ said Grechko. ‘You need him to tell you and then you need to go public.’
‘If that’s the case, then of course that information will be released. But one step at time, Mr Grechko. First we need to catch him.’ Button took a deep breath, knowing that the Russian would not react well to what she was about to say. ‘Mr Grechko, we are coming to the opinion that the attempt on your life is personal, not political.’
‘Of course it’s personal,’ said Grechko. ‘The dogs in the Kremlin hate my guts. They hate anyone who is richer than they are.’
‘We don’t think it has anything to do with the Russian government,’ said Button patiently. ‘What the killer is doing indicates that he is on a personal mission rather than being paid to kill.’
Grechko threw up his hands. ‘You’re talking in riddles, woman,’ he said contemptuously. ‘A sniper almost took off my head. How can that not be a professional hit?’
‘Have you ever paid for someone to be killed, Mr Grechko?’ asked Button quietly.
Grechko’s eyes hardened and his jaw clenched as he stared at her. ‘I would be very careful about making allegations like that, Miss Button,’ he said eventually. ‘Your prime minister is a good friend. He would not be pleased to hear that you have made an accusation like that.’
‘I was speaking hypothetically, Mr Grechko. Because if, hypothetically, you were hiring an assassin, would you hire one who could not do the job properly? Of course you wouldn’t. And I am equally sure that if the Russian government was using an assassin, they would use the best. There have been a number of very successful assassinations of Russians in the UK over the last few years, as I’m sure you know.’
Grechko nodded slowly. ‘You are saying that the man who tried to kill me is not a professional?’
Button shook her head. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. But I am saying that if a professional sniper wanted to put a bullet in your head, it’s quite a stretch to shoot a bodyguard in the leg instead.’ She leaned forward. ‘We are starting to think that the sniper intended to shoot the bodyguard. He did that for two reasons. To scare you. And to force you to increase your security arrangements.’
‘Scare me? You think I am scared?’
Button shrugged. ‘If you know that someone is trying to kill you, you would obviously be apprehensive, wouldn’t you? And what did you do immediately after the attempt on your life?’
‘I beefed up security.’
‘You hired more people?’
‘Of course. But not out of fear, Miss Button. Do I look like I’m shaking in my shoes?’ He held out his hands, palms down. ‘See, no trembling. I am not a man who scares easily.’ He sat back and folded his arms, then he slowly frowned. Button said nothing, knowing that it would be better if he worked it out for himself. His eyes widened and he put his hand up to his jaw. ‘He wanted me to increase my security?’
‘We think so, yes,’ said Button quietly. ‘We think it is possible that he has put his own person on your team. Somebody who is feeding him intel so that the next attempt doesn’t fail.’
Grechko pointed at Shepherd. ‘I already told him I won’t be a Judas goat,’ he said. ‘I will not be bait in a trap.’
‘There is no trap, Mr Grechko,’ said Button. ‘This is an on-going investigation. So far I have cross-referenced the security teams of all four of you and there are no common denominators.’
Grechko scowled. ‘OK, let’s assume that what you’re saying is true. That the sniper didn’t want to kill me, he only wanted to scare me so that I would hire more bodyguards. Why go to all that trouble? Why not just shoot me at Stamford Bridge? He kn
ew where I’d be, he had a clear shot, why not do it then?’
Button looked across at Shepherd. He was watching her carefully and she flashed him a quick smile before looking back at Grechko. ‘Because for the killer it’s personal. He wants you to know who he is. You’ve done something to this man, something that he wants to punish you for.’
Grechko ran a hand through his hair. ‘Where have you got this idea from, Miss Button?’ he said. ‘It seems to me that you’ve been watching too many James Bond movies.’
Button picked up her briefcase and swung it on to her lap. She clicked the locks open and took out an A4 manila envelope. She put the briefcase back on the floor and slid three photographs out of the envelope and lined them up on the coffee table. Grechko walked back to the sofa and sat down. He put his head in his hands as he stared at the photographs.
‘Oleg Zakharov, Yuri Buryakov, Sasha Czernik. All three men were friends, and business contacts.’
It wasn’t a question but Grechko nodded and said, ‘Yes.’
‘All three are now dead.’
Grechko put up his hand to stop her. ‘Sasha had a heart attack.’
‘He was, as you say, forty-five and had no history of heart problems.’
‘He was overweight,’ said Grechko. ‘Fat.’
‘But according to his physician, his heart was healthy, his cholesterol levels were well within the normal range and his blood pressure was fine.’
‘You checked?’
Button smiled and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I checked. There was no reason for Mr Czernik to have had a heart attack. But there are a number of chemicals which if injected are perfectly capable of mimicking the effects of a heart attack.’
‘There was an autopsy. They would have found a poison.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Button. ‘There have been a number of Russian deaths in the UK over the past year or so which have been suspicious but which have shown nothing untoward during the post-mortems.’
‘The same killer, you think?’
‘No, not at all. I’m just pointing out that it’s possible to kill someone by inducing a heart attack and leaving no trace.’ She gave him a second or two to absorb what she had said before continuing. ‘We have made further enquiries into the deaths of Mr Czernik, Mr Zakharov and Mr Buryakov,’ she said. ‘In each case, within the week following their deaths, a bodyguard died. One from what appeared to be a heart attack, one crashed his car into a tree, and one died in what appeared to be a street mugging. All three of those bodyguards had taken their posts when security was increased.’
Button sat back and waited for the information to sink in. Shepherd could see that the Russian was having difficulty processing what he’d been told. He kept looking at Button, then at the floor, then back to Button, as the creases in his forehead deepened. ‘He has inside information,’ said Grechko eventually. ‘That’s how he kills them. And then he kills the people on the inside. He knows their security details, he knows everything?’
‘It looks that way, yes.’
Grechko sat back and ran his hands through his hair. ‘So what do we do? If you’re right, the killer already has his man on my team.’
‘Or woman,’ said Shepherd.
Grechko looked over at Shepherd. ‘Woman?’
‘Alina Podolski joined your team after the sniping incident,’ said Shepherd.
‘She came highly recommended,’ said Grechko.
‘By whom?’
‘Dmitry,’ said Grechko. ‘He said he’d worked with her.’ He turned back to Button. ‘You haven’t answered my question. What do we do? Do I dismiss my whole team and bring in a new one?’
‘There’s no guarantee that the killer wouldn’t have his own man — or woman — on the new team,’ said Button. ‘At least now we know we have a relatively small pool of suspects to work on. We’re assuming that everyone on your security team prior to the sniping is clean. So we only have to look at the new arrivals, of which there are …’ She looked over at Shepherd.
‘Six,’ he said.
‘So we have six possible suspects.’
‘I want them out of the house now,’ said Grechko. He made a fist of his right hand and pounded it into his left. ‘Actually, I’ve a better idea, let Dmitry work on them, he’ll find out who the traitor is.’
Button held up her hands, a look of dismay on her face. ‘That would be absolutely the wrong thing to do,’ she said. ‘It would immediately tip off the killer and he would vanish.’
‘At least then I would be safe.’
‘But for how long? You would never know if or when he intended to come back to finish the job.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘No, we need to identify the intel source and follow that back to the killer.’
‘And how do you intend to do that, exactly?’
‘We’ll need the mobile phone numbers of all your staff. Plus home addresses, addresses here in the UK if they have one, and any other information you have.’
‘Dmitry can supply you with everything you need,’ said Grechko. ‘I’ll talk to him. What about lie detectors?’
‘Lie detectors?’ repeated Button.
‘You have them, surely? To tell if people are lying. We can question everyone and see who is lying.’
‘Again, that might tip the killer off,’ said Button, standing up. ‘I think for the moment at least we should confine ourselves to thorough background checks and phone monitoring.’ She leaned forward and looked down at the three photographs. ‘There is something I found a little … unusual,’ she said.
Grechko jutted his chin but didn’t say anything.
‘Mr Zakharov made his money in finance and property. He started with a small office block in Moscow and grew it into one of the biggest property developers in the country.’ She tapped the photograph of Yuri Buryakov. ‘Mr Buryakov made his money in oil. He started with a small refinery and built it into one of the world’s biggest independent oil companies.’ She nudged the third photograph. ‘And Sasha Czernik. Steel and aluminium. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1992, he was an assistant manager at a steel smelting plant in Kazan. Within five years he owned a dozen factories, blast and steel-making furnaces, steel smelting and rolling units, pipe-manufacturing lines and continuous casting machines. Now his company is one of the biggest steel and aluminium conglomerates in the world with factories in Italy, Germany and Brazil, and he had just started moving into Africa.’
Grechko nodded slowly. ‘Sasha did well, yes.’
‘You all did well, Mr Grechko,’ said Button. She gathered up the pictures, put them back in the envelope and put the envelope into her briefcase. ‘Amazingly well. In 1992 you yourself were a middle manager in a trucking company that moved building materials for the government.’
‘Before 1992, everybody worked for the government,’ said Grechko. ‘There was no private sector.’ He grinned. ‘Not officially, anyway.’
‘That’s right,’ said Button. ‘I read somewhere that you made your money selling second-hand jeans.’
Grechko laughed. ‘Not just second-hand,’ he said. He banged his hands down on to his knees. ‘You couldn’t buy Western jeans for love nor money. So when I wasn’t working I used to hang around the tourist hotels and look for Western teenagers. I’d offer them whatever I could for jeans, worn or otherwise. Sometimes I’d do a swap for vodka or some crap souvenirs, but if they wanted money I’d give them money because I could sell them for three times as much on the black market. The Russian kids, they couldn’t get enough Levi’s and Wrangler’s.’ He laughed and slapped his knees again. ‘Those were the days.’
‘The interesting thing about the four of you is that you have all been friends for a very long time,’ said Button. ‘And you have all become very, very rich. To be honest, you four are among the richest men on the planet.’
‘So? We all worked very hard to get where we are.’
‘I’m sure you did, Mr Grechko. But I do find it interesting that your businesses are all s
o different. Oil and gas, banking and property, steel and aluminium, trucking and shipping. You were never in competition.’
Grechko laughed. ‘Perhaps that’s why we remained friends for so long.’
Button smiled thinly and nodded. ‘Perhaps that’s it,’ she said. ‘But it is interesting that you all started from nothing, all moved into different businesses, and all became very wealthy, and now three of the four are dead. And it’s starting to look as if the same man killed the three of them and is trying to kill you.’
Grechko’s eyes had hardened as she spoke. ‘The dogs in the Kremlin hate us all,’ he said quietly. ‘And they kill what they hate.’
‘That may be,’ said Button. ‘But the more we look at this, Mr Grechko, the more it seems to us that these killings are not political. They are personal.’
Grechko said nothing, but both his hands clenched into tight fists and his knuckles whitened.
‘So I have to ask you, can you think of anyone who might want to murder you, Mr Zakharov, Mr Buryakov and Mr Czernik? Someone you crossed over the years, someone out for revenge?’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Grechko.
‘What exactly do you think is ridiculous?’
Grechko leaned towards her. ‘You know what Putin has been doing? You have seen what happens to people who cross him. Why do you want me to jump at shadows when I know who is trying to kill me?’
‘Because if this is personal then understanding the killer’s motive means we will stand a better chance of identifying him.’
Grechko stared at her for several seconds, then he shrugged. ‘I can’t think of anyone.’
‘But you have enemies?’
Grechko snorted contemptuously. ‘The world does not give you money, Miss Button. You have to take it. The strong get rich and the weak stay poor. That’s how natural selection works. If it did not work that way, the entire world would be communist.’
True Colours ss-10 Page 32
