True Colours ss-10

by Stephen Leather

  For almost two years he lived a semi-feral existence, using his wits and his fists to survive, always in and out of trouble with the law for thefts and assaults. Then he made what could have been a fatal mistake, giving a savage beating to a man who richly deserved it, but who was also the son of a Russian mafia boss. With a price on his head and no other way out, though still aged just sixteen, Monotok lied about his age and enlisted in the army. The minimum age was eighteen but he was tough and powerfully built, and his battered face, marked and scarred in scores of fights, made him look much older than his years.

  He joined the Spetsnaz — the Soviet Special Forces, or ‘Special Purposes’ troops, as the Russians themselves described them. Unlike the British SAS, the Spetsnaz were not soldiers first who then became special forces by passing a bruising selection process; raw recruits were inducted straight into the Spetsnaz and did their entire military training with them.

  Spetsnaz training was designed to break down recruits and then rebuild them, but they never broke Monotok. He never once failed to do what was asked of him, no matter how gruelling the task. When his instructors ordered him to do a hundred press-ups with a full bergen on his back, he did it. When ordered to run a mile through a forest with a colleague over his shoulders, he gritted his teeth and did it. They made him lie fully clothed in an icy mountain stream for two hours, and he emerged close to death but still smiling. He knew that there was nothing they could do to him that was worse than what he had suffered at the hands of his tormentor.

  When fully trained, Monotok and his unit were deployed to a barracks north of Prenzlau, close to the Polish border and a few miles from the Baltic coast. They left there only for training exercises and to go on operations, where Monotok proved himself the fittest, strongest and most ruthlessly effective soldier of his entire unit. He was too much of a loner to be a good team player — none of his comrades liked him or trusted him — but he was a cool and cold-blooded killer, who never showed the slightest trace of emotion, fear or panic, no matter what was thrown at him, and he never failed in the task he was set. His talents were noted by his superiors and he began to be selected for special assignments, assignments that more often than not involved assassinations.

  Monotok was a skilled assassin, and he killed without remorse or conscience. He had been trained as a sniper but was as comfortable killing with knives, garrottes and handguns as he was with a rifle. After a dozen kills he was sent with his unit to Chechnya. Russia was tightening its grip on the republic following a terrorist attack on a Moscow cinema by armed Chechen rebels that ended with the death of one hundred and thirty civilians. Monotok was part of an assassination unit tasked with killing a dozen of the rebels who had planned the raid. Within six months of arriving in the republic all were dead. In 2006, Monotok was part of a unit responsible for the targeted bombing of Shamil Basayev, the prime mover in the Chechen Islamic rebel movement, but Basayev was only one of twenty Chechens that he helped kill that year. He had become a relentless killing machine, devoid of all emotion or empathy as he carried out his orders.

  It was in 2009 that Monotok saw the picture that took his life down a different path. He was still in Chechnya, but Russia was winding down its anti-terrorist operations there and Monotok was preparing to return to Prenzlau. The picture was in a week-old copy of Komsomolksaya Pravda, the biggest-selling newspaper in Russia. It had started life as the official organ of the Communist Union of Youth but following the break-up of the Soviet Union had become a tabloid with more than three million readers. One of Monotok’s colleagues had returned from leave with the paper in his pocket, and during a break between missions Monotok had flicked through it. He had never been a big reader and rarely watched television. He didn’t care about anything that happened in the outside world, his life revolved around the Spetsnaz and his assignments, he cared for little else. Monotok had recognised the man in the photograph immediately, though the name meant nothing to him. Pyotr Grechko.

  The story was about Grechko trying, and failing, to buy Liverpool Football Club. Monotok wasn’t interested in football, or any sport, but he read and reread the story more than a dozen times. Peter Grechko was one of the richest men in the world, the story said, a man who had fought his way up from humble beginnings to head a transport empire that literally spanned the world. But Monotok knew the truth about how Grechko had started on the road to unimaginable wealth, and as he stared at the newspaper he decided that the time had come to get his revenge. He left the Spetsnaz in the winter of 2010. His superiors offered him all sorts of incentives to stay — promotion, money, more leave, foreign travel — but Monotok refused them all. The only thing he cared about was the revenge that was rightfully his.

  Monotok went freelance, working for a former Spetsnaz colonel who had joined up with a former KGB assassin to set up a murder-for-hire company. Assassinations were a common way of solving political and business disagreements in post-Soviet Russia and Monotok had an average of one job a week. Clients included the Kremlin, the Mafia and even legitimate businesses, eager to use a professional service that guaranteed to keep the killings at arm’s length. Monotok earned good money, ten times what he earned as a soldier, and he learned quickly. For the Spetsnaz he had been a simple killer, following orders, but as a freelance he learned about electronic surveillance, accessing databases, and gained access to fake documentation that allowed him to move freely around the world under a number of aliases. His hired a tutor to teach him English, and as his fluency increased the company sent him farther afield and Monotok killed in Europe and the United States. When he wasn’t working, Monotok dug up as much information as he could on Pyotr Grechko. And it didn’t take him long to track down three more faces from his past. Oleg Zakharov, Yuri Buryakov and Sasha Czernik. All four had become rich and powerful oligarchs, men who had the sort of wealth that others could only dream of, men for whom the world was a giant playground. But Monotok knew the truth about the four men, he knew that it wasn’t hard work or luck that had brought them their wealth. It had been cold-blooded murder, and for that they had to pay. Now Zakharov, Buryakov and Czernik were dead, and soon Grechko would join them. Then maybe the nightmares would finally stay away and he could sleep soundly for the first time since he was nine years old.

  He tensed as he heard a key slot into the front door lock, but then almost immediately relaxed. It was seven o’clock in the morning. It was the girl, returning home. He heard the front door open and close, and then a shuffling sound as she removed her shoes. He smiled as he heard her tiptoe down the hallway and gently open the bedroom door. She paused, then tiptoed towards the bathroom. He let her get all the way to the bathroom door before speaking. ‘I’m not asleep.’

  She jumped, and then laughed. ‘I was trying not to wake you.’ She jumped on the bed, rolled on top of him and kissed him.

  ‘Alina, you will never be able to sneak up on me, no matter how hard you try. If I had been a heavy sleeper when I was a teenager, I would have died, beaten to death as I slept.’

  ‘My wild man,’ said Podolski. She laughed as he ran his hands over her body. ‘Are you going to hammer me?’ she asked.

  He rolled her on to her back and she opened her legs as he moved on top of her. ‘There’s no one I’d rather hammer than you.’

  She put her hands either side of his face. ‘Bullshit, Kirill. You’re using me. Don’t pretend otherwise. You’re using me to get the inside track on that pig Grechko.’

  ‘You’re helping me,’ said Monotok. ‘And I’ll show you my gratitude.’ He started to pull off her shirt and slid his hand up to her breasts.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said, pushing him off her. ‘You fumble.’

  He laughed as he rolled on to his back and she straddled him. ‘I do not fumble.’

  She undid her shirt, slid it off and tossed it on to the floor. ‘You fumble,’ she said. ‘But I forgive you.’ She undid her bra and let her breasts swing free. ‘Now shut up and hammer me.’

  Af
terwards, he lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, his arm around her as she toyed with the hairs on his chest. She felt tiny lying next to him, soft and warm like a small bird. ‘Something strange happened today,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Really? What?’

  ‘We’ve all got to take a lie detector test. Grechko’s orders.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ he asked.

  She laughed softly. ‘Because I wanted you to hammer me,’ she said. ‘And if I told you, you’d want to talk and not fuck.’

  He gave her a small squeeze. His heart had started to race but he forced himself to stay calm and to keep his voice level and soothing. ‘You’re a bad girl,’ he said, then kissed her softly on the top of her head.

  ‘And you’re a bad man. That’s why we’re so good together.’

  ‘You’re not a bad girl, Alina. You have no idea what it is to be bad. So who has been questioned so far?’

  ‘The butler. Two of the maids. They did Dmitry first, he insisted.’

  ‘And who is carrying out the tests?’

  ‘Some sort of expert.’

  ‘Russian? Or English?’

  ‘Chinese. British Chinese. Or Chinese British. But he speaks Russian.’

  ‘And he will be questioning everyone at the house?’

  ‘That’s what Dmitry says. But it’s nothing, it’s about a stolen watch. Grechko has lost one of his watches. It’s worth four million dollars, they say. It’s a Patek Philippe, made of platinum. Old and very valuable.’

  ‘And they say someone stole it?’

  ‘From his bedroom. There is no CCTV there. It’s not a problem, he’s just asking if you stole the watch, I didn’t so it’ll be OK.’

  ‘How long does each test take?’

  He felt her shrug. ‘Half an hour. Maybe more.’

  ‘Then he’s not just asking about the watch,’ said Monotok. ‘This expert, does he seem to know the two British guys who joined the security team?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But Tony is sitting in on the tests. He’s in the library all the time.’

  ‘And who did he arrive with, this expert?’

  ‘He came alone. Just after three o’clock yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘And when did the watch go missing?’

  ‘Yesterday, I think. Grechko called Dmitry in yesterday morning.’

  ‘Who hired this expert? Who called him in?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Dmitry didn’t say.’

  ‘But it wasn’t Dmitry’s idea?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘And he’s British, you said?’

  ‘That’s right. Well, like I said, he’s Chinese. But he has an accent like he comes from the North. Not Scottish. It’s strange.’

  ‘If it was Grechko’s idea he would probably have used a Russian. Don’t you think?’

  ‘He prefers Russians, yes.’

  Monotok nodded. ‘What about the woman who comes to see Grechko? The one who knows Ryan. Has she been again?’

  ‘No. What’s wrong? You think this is about you?’

  ‘I think it is unlikely that any member of Grechko’s staff would be stupid enough to steal from him. Especially a four-million-dollar watch.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘They know,’ he said quietly.

  He felt her tense. ‘They know what?’

  ‘They know that someone is passing information on Grechko. At least they suspect. When are you due to be tested?’

  ‘Tonight. After I report for work.’ She frowned. ‘It’s a problem?’

  ‘They’ll be looking for signs of anxiety. Nervousness.’

  ‘I’m not nervous,’ she said, stroking his chest.

  ‘You don’t feel nervous but the signs will be there. Respiration rate, sweat, skin conductivity, pulse rate. Things that you have no control over.’

  ‘I’ll take deep breaths and think sweet thoughts.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll think about you hammering me.’

  ‘That won’t work,’ he said. ‘There are ways of beating the machines but it takes practice and the right drugs.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Did they say when they want to test you? Is there a schedule?’

  ‘They just come and get you. It could be any time.’

  He nodded as he stared up at the ceiling. ‘We do it tonight,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Tonight? Are you sure?’

  ‘It has to be,’ said Monotok. ‘If they suspect you in any way they’ll move you from the team and then you’ll be no use to me.’

  She grabbed a handful of chest hair and pulled, hard enough to make him yelp. ‘See! You are using me!’

  He rolled on top of her and kissed her. ‘You’re helping me, and I’m grateful. Really grateful. And when this is over, I’ll show you how grateful.’

  ‘You won’t leave me?’

  ‘Alina, I swear I won’t leave you. Once I’ve taken care of Grechko it’s over. The four of them will be dead and I can move on.’

  ‘With me?’

  ‘With you.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  She smiled and kissed him again.

  Monotok returned the kiss and then broke away. ‘Who is on the shift with you tonight?’

  She frowned as she tried to remember. ‘Vlad, and his bloody porn. He’ll be in the security centre for the whole shift. Leo will be there, he’s not on shift but he lives in the house. Same with Konstantin. The British guy. Ryan will be there. He’s been working with the lie detector guy. And Boris. And Max. And Dmitry. He’s always there. Thomas will be on the gate. That’s all. Grechko is in all night and there are no visitors expected.’

  ‘Max still fancies you, right?’

  ‘He’s just a boy,’ she said. She laughed and ran her hand down his chest towards his groin. ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘Of course I’m jealous,’ he said, and kissed her on the forehead. ‘OK, we’ll use Max. You can call him and tell him you’ll give him a lift. Tell him there’s something you need to talk to him about.’

  ‘OK, but you need to do one thing for me,’ she said, slipping her hand between his thighs.

  ‘Anything,’ he said.

  ‘Hammer me again,’ she said, rolling on to her back and opening her legs.

  Shepherd and McIntyre walked across the lawn at the rear of the house. It was lunchtime and Jules Lee was taking a break from his second day of conducting the lie detector tests. They had already done four of the new intake of bodyguards — Thomas Lisko, Viktor Alexsandrov, Timofei Domashevich and Yakov Gunter. Lisko had been one of the first to be done the previous day, and Alexsandrov had been tested just before Lee had left at seven o’clock. Both had passed with flying colours. They had done Domashevich and Gunter that morning and they had also passed. Max Barsky and Alina Podolski were pencilled in for later that evening. Lee had agreed to work until late, though he had dropped heavy hints about expecting to be paid overtime once he went beyond six o’clock. That meant that either Barsky or Podolski was the mole or the test just wasn’t working. Or his whole theory was wrong and none of the six was helping the killer.

  In a perfect world they would have just questioned the six suspects but that would have tipped off the mole that it wasn’t about a missing watch so Lee had to interrogate the bewildered kitchen and housekeeping staff with the same intensity that he questioned the suspects.

  ‘This is money for old rope, isn’t it?’ said McIntyre, taking a pack of Wrigley’s chewing gum from his pocket and slotting a piece into his mouth.

  ‘Bodyguarding?’ Shepherd shrugged. ‘It’s all good up until the moment you have to throw yourself in front of a bullet.’

  ‘Yeah, but the pay’s good and that cook is brilliant. Her club sandwiches are out of this world. Chicken, egg, ham, cheese and I don’t know what else. And those chips. How does she make them taste that good?’

  ‘She fries them twice,’ said Shepherd. ‘She explained how it works, something about cooks them inside and k
eeps them crispy. Jock, you know this isn’t a real job, right?’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said McIntyre.

  ‘You know what I mean. I’m here to catch the guy that’s trying to kill Grechko. Once that’s done, I’m off.’

  ‘And what about me?’

  ‘Jock, you’re here to help me. When I go, you go. You’re not even here under your own name, remember? You’re Alastair McEwan.’

  ‘I get that, but a job’s a job, right? I can do this standing on my head, and it pays a hell of a lot better than babysitting an empty office building.’ He grabbed Shepherd’s elbow. ‘I’m serious, Spider. I want to give this a shot.’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘Go for it, then. Your CV’s good enough.’

  ‘Dmitry was saying that he’s got mates out in Cyprus who work with former SAS guys.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard that. I didn’t get any names, but there are some principals who prefer SAS protection.’

  ‘And I can do the old Sean Connery impersonation a treat, that’ll go down well.’ He grinned. ‘The name’s McIntyre,’ he said in a passable impersonation of the Scottish actor. ‘Jock McIntyre. Licensed to kill.’

  ‘Licensed to bullshit, more like,’ said Shepherd. ‘But yeah, seriously, go for it. Now to get to the point, we’re doing it tonight.’

  McIntyre nodded, suddenly serious. ‘OK.’

  ‘You need to meet up with Jimbo this afternoon and get the suppressors sorted. Lex will pick you and Jimbo up in the van and I’ll meet up with you in Bayswater.’

  ‘How do I get to Wembley?’

  ‘I’ll call you a minicab. Get it to drop you at Paddington and then catch a black cab from there to Wembley but get out a few hundred yards from Jimbo’s house and walk the rest of the way. I’ll tell Popov you have to collect some things from Reading. Remember to leave your mobile here.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m tied up here with the lie detector test but I’m only interested in one and when that’s done I’ll drive over in my X5. We’ll use the van out to the New Forest then when it’s done we’ll shower and do laundry at my place and then drive back here.’