The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  ‘Where is Georgy anyway? I haven’t seen him for a week or more.’

  ‘I can’t say comrade Serov,’ replied Daniels. This served to stop any further questions from Serov but did not provide any reassurance. This was apparent to Daniels, but by now, he no longer cared. Their job was nearly done and his involvement with Serov at an end. He felt no ill will towards the grandmaster, but he wanted to finish this operation. Also, he was lying. He hadn’t seen Bergmann either and the thought of this made him uncomfortable.

  Daniels left him a few minutes later to go up to his room. Serov remained in the lobby. He felt on edge and walked into the bar. The anger had not subsided. And the intuition of Daniels was correct. He was far from reassured. The game was two days away. Whether it was the events of the last half hour or the prospect of facing Aston, he didn’t know, but he felt a premonition. A wave of despair washed through him. A barman approached him.

  ‘Vodka,’ said Serov, not looking up.

  The barman poured him a small vodka. Serov picked it up and then drained its contents before indicating to the barman he wanted more. Whatever was troubling him, Serov knew just how to address the issue. He would go about it with resolution.

  Another vodka arrived and was dispatched with alacrity. As the barman poured another shot and went to take the bottle away, Serov tapped his hand.

  ‘Leave. I’ll take all of it.’

  He made himself comfortable; it was going to be a long evening.

  Chapter 26

  Harry Miller rushed along the Kings Cross concourse accompanied by Sam. He was late. The train had arrived five minutes ago. He’d been surprised by the early morning traffic. As he jogged towards the platforms, it became clear the little terrier was struggling to keep up. Miller bent down and lifted him.

  ‘You’re getting lazier in your old age,’ pointed out Miller.

  Sam acknowledged the lift by licking Miller’s cheek before settling in for the ride. Miller finally found the platform he was looking for. He could see two people standing there. They looked at him expectantly. Miller nodded, and they both came forward.

  The older lady was around thirty, judged Miller, not unattractive even if her hat was not very fashionable and a smile wouldn’t have killed her. He looked down at her companion. The girl looked up at Miller and smiled. She held out her hand, much to Miller’s surprise, so he shook it

  ‘Fiona Lawrence,’ said the young girl introducing herself.

  ‘Harry Miller.’

  ‘I’m Miss Upritchard,’ said the older woman. Miller shook her hand also. He sensed a degree of irritation in her manner, possibly due to his being late. Or perhaps, judging by the disapproving set of her mouth, this was just her manner.

  Fiona Lawrence looked at Sam and then back to Miller, expectantly. It was clear she was a dog lover. She’s welcome to Sam, thought Miller.

  ‘This is Sam,’ explained Miller, ‘Would you like to hold him? He’s getting on a bit these days. Likes to be chauffeur driven. Bit like his owner.’

  ‘Yes please,’ beamed Fiona. The arrangement appeared to suit Sam also as he embarked on a frenzied amount of licking. Both Fiona and Miller ignored the unhappy reaction of her guardian for the trip and walked ahead.

  ‘What’s Lord Aston like?’ asked Fiona.

  Miller took an instant liking to the young Scottish girl. Her accent had a beautiful lilt and clarity which was in stark contrast to some of the men he had served with who hailed from Glasgow.

  ‘Have you read much about him?’

  ‘Everything. He’s my hero. I’m so nervous.’

  Miller looked down at the young girl who had already made Sam a friend for life.

  ‘Why?’ asked Miller, puzzled.

  ‘I suppose I’m afraid he won’t be as I’ve imagined him,’ responded Fiona.

  ‘How have you imagined him then?’ inquired Miller.

  ‘Tall, good-looking, cultured, highly intelligent, funny.’

  Miller laughed and then answered, ‘I think your expectations will be exceeded, Fiona. He’s the very best of men.’

  Fiona looked up at Miller as he said this. He could have sworn he saw tears form in her eyes. They reached the car moments later. The young girl gasped when she saw the Rolls Royce. She walked around it twice before getting in.

  Once inside, Miller asked, ‘Do you think you’ll help him, Fiona? He’s a bit nervous about the match. Don’t say I told you, by the way.’

  ‘Mum’s the word,’ confided Fiona before adding chirpily, ‘And yes Harry, I can help him.’

  Miller turned around sharply. Her voice no longer seemed that of a star struck young girl. The look on her face made Miller’s heart leap. It combined resolution with certainty. As they drove away, Miller began to believe with this girl in his corner, Kit really did have a chance against the Russian. He certainly wouldn’t lack for inspiration with this other little terrier beside him.

  -

  Kit had arranged for Fiona and Miss Upritchard to stay at the same hotel as Esther. After they had deposited their belongings, Miller took them to Kit’s apartment. As he opened the door, he explained, ‘No one will be here, they’re at the hospital.’ He didn’t elaborate, and Fiona quelled her curiosity to ask why.

  If the Rolls Royce had made Fiona gasp, then the first look at Kit’s apartment almost made her pass out. She walked around the main living room, mouth agape, drinking in the paintings and the sculptures. The part of the room dedicated to Kit’s library caused her to scream with delight. She flew around the shelves trailing her finger along the titles. Miller looked at her with a broad grin. Miss Upritchard successfully conveyed how unimpressed she was.

  After a few minutes examining the library she turned to the rest of the living room and looked on the table at the two chess boards. Her eyes widened as she looked at them. Miller sensed this was no longer a little girl in awe of her surroundings. She was a huntress.

  ‘This one is beautiful,’ said Fiona, indicating the larger of the two boards.

  ‘John Jack or something, I believe,’ said Miller.

  ‘Jacques,’ corrected Fiona before pointing to the smaller of the two boards, ‘I presume this is the board he plays on.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Miller. ‘Can I bring either of you ladies something to drink?’

  Miss Upritchard shook her head, but Fiona Lawrence was already lost. She sat down and gazed intently at the smaller board. Pouncing like a panther she moved a white piece followed black. She stopped and looked at the board for a minute before replacing the pieces. Then she burst out laughing, oblivious to the fascinated stare of Miller and the feigned indifference of Miss Upritchard. The young girl had transformed the atmosphere of the room and Miller judged, correctly, even Miss Upritchard could not be unaffected by this energy.

  Slowly she moved white again and then black. Once more she sat back grinning. Rather than replace the pieces she had moved, she continued to play the game. Sam stood by the board, as fascinated by the intensity of the young girl’s attention on the game as the other two. His head moved from board to Fiona and back again as the game progressed.

  After a few minutes, the board which had once been arranged in neat groupings resembled a battlefield. As she reviewed her handiwork, she was unconscious of Miller leaving the room with a stage whisper to Miss Upritchard that he was to collect Lord Aston.

  -

  The morning started off badly for Filip Serov and proceeded to get worse at an alarming speed. He woke up to the realisation that he was lying, fully dressed, on top of his bed. There was a sickly smell in the room. As he was face down, he was able to locate the source very quickly because he was sleeping on it. This led to a string of oaths that increased in vehemence as the full extent of his headache became apparent. He briefly wondered if his companions had a gun. At a moment like this, he would happily have put it to good use.

  It took several minutes, but he finally managed to rise from the bed. He removed his shoes and socks and padded over t
o the bathroom. He made it just in time as, once more, the effects of the impressive intake of vodka from the previous evening became manifest.

  It was while he was arrayed over the toilet that he heard a key in the door. Unable to move, and frankly not caring anyway, he continued to decorate the commode. Outside the room he heard some men; they didn’t sound like either Kopel or Daniels. Then the door to the bathroom opened and, from his kneeling position, he looked up to find two policemen looking down at him. They didn’t look very impressed by what they saw. He couldn’t blame them.

  -

  The cell where Serov found himself was a dark, unhappy place, which rather matched his mood. He’d spent the morning there, dividing his time between the bed and the bowl. No one had spoken to him since he had arrived. He had no idea why he was there. His memories of the previous evening were a fog. The vodka had not only desensitized him from his depressive mood of the previous evening it had rendered him senseless, too. He gave up trying to recall if he’d done anything untoward and settled down to awaiting his fate. After a short period, the door opened and in walked a man in his fifties. He had a beard and his face looked mournful. He was not wearing a uniform. Serov guessed, correctly, this was a detective.

  ‘Mr Serov, I understand you speak English?’ said the man slowly, clearly trying to ensure Serov could comprehend.

  Serov nodded his head but remained silent. This was less to do with anger than his desire to avoid further humiliation by being ill in front of the detective. He wasn’t sure, either, if his breath might not knock out the man in front of him.

  ‘Would you care to come with me please?’

  Once more Serov said nothing but stood up and sullenly accompanied the detective outside. They walked down a corridor, with another policeman, into a small, windowless room. There was a wooden table and two chairs on either side. The man invited Serov to sit down.

  ‘Mr Serov, may I introduce myself. I am Chief Inspector Jellicoe. No doubt you are wondering why you’re in a police station.’

  Serov nodded impassively. By now he felt too ill to be angry. Instead, his mind matched his body’s lethargy. He just wanted the nightmare to be over. He concentrated partly on what the detective was saying and partly on not being sick again. Through the haze of self-pity, remorse, and residual anger, he was aware of the man’s eyes on him. On any other day, he would have happily stared right back. Not today, though. Jellicoe placed two pieces of paper on the table in front of Serov. Each had a charcoal drawing of a man. Serov looked up at Jellicoe.

  ‘Do you know these men?’

  Too tired to be belligerent, Serov nodded yes.

  ‘This one is Georgy Bergmann,’ said Jellicoe pointing to the drawing of Bergmann, ‘and this is Leon Daniels, correct?’

  The question was greeted with another nod in the affirmative.

  ‘Where are they now, Mr Serov?’

  Serov finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper, ‘I don’t know. Why are you asking me this? Why am I here?’

  ‘Your two friends have murdered at least three people to our knowledge and have kidnapped another. So, I will repeat Mr Serov, where are they now?’

  The stupefied reaction of Serov seemed genuine to Jellicoe. It confirmed the suspicion of Peel, who he had met this morning, that Serov was an innocent dupe in the events of the last week.

  ‘I don’t believe you. This is a lie,’ growled Serov, voice a little stronger, anger finally conquering his lassitude. He glared back at Jellicoe. ‘I demand to speak to someone from my embassy. I want the Ambassador.’

  ‘There hasn’t been one in London for two years now, Mr Serov, so I suggest you calm down and start answering my questions.’

  -

  Leon Daniels had witnessed the police taking Serov away from across the road of the hotel. He hurried back to Kopel to update him on what had happened. Much to his surprise Kopel seemed unworried and continued to eat his breakfast.

  ‘You’re not concerned by this?’

  ‘No Leon. I didn’t intend for us to attend the match anyway, at least not in any formal sense. We have another job to do.’

  Kopel didn’t elaborate, much to the frustration of Daniels. It made no sense to him. If the police had made a connection between the murders and Serov, then it would only be a matter of time before they would be hunted down. In fact, this seemed to be Kopel’s intention all along.

  Daniels walked over to the window and pulled back the lace curtain. He felt on edge now. Many aspects of this operation had mystified him. Why they hadn’t just killed the men quietly, made no sense. Using the chess match and, frankly, bizarre methods of execution, now seemed perverse. It was as if Kopel wanted them to be caught. He sensed Kopel looking at him and turned around.

  ‘What’s wrong Leon?’ asked Kopel benignly.

  Everything thought Daniels.

  -

  Kit walked into the apartment with Harry. His first view of Fiona was her back, hunched over the chess board. To her right he saw Miss Upritchard. She was just as Miller had described her, only less fun. Which was a pity, acknowledged Kit. Miller certainly had a good eye.

  ‘Lord Aston, may I present Miss Upritchard and Fiona Lawrence,’ said Miller with a smile. Fiona Lawrence spun around and greeted Kit with an enormous smile. Miss Upritchard maintained her grave, disapproving, demeanour.

  Fiona leapt up from the seat with wide eyes. Kit walked forward grinning. He held out his hand.

  ‘Fiona, I’ve heard an awful lot about you, young lady. I gather we’re going to give Mr Serov a beating.’

  ‘Oh yes we are sir,’ said Fiona with a beaming smile, ‘Can I show you something now?’

  Kit’s eyebrows raised at this announcement and he laughed. He joined Fiona at the table.

  ‘Absolutely young lady.’

  The arrival back at the apartment of Kit took Fiona Lawrence to hitherto unexperienced levels of excitement. Her delight was evident and infectious, lifting the mood of Kit after yet another morning of limited progress at the hospital.

  ‘Mr Serov thinks he can take your Castle here,’ explained Fiona.

  ‘Yes, for a lot of reasons I don’t want this to happen,’ replied Kit.

  ‘I know because it’ll be mate in eight moves,’ agreed Fiona.

  Kit shot a look at Fiona, ‘I made it ten.’

  ‘Definitely eight, sir,’ said Fiona with a certainty that Kit was not going to argue against.

  ‘By the way, please call me Kit. My friends call me Kit, and I think we’re going to great friends, Fiona.’

  Fiona was squealing with delight inside but thought better of making that apparent. She moved the pieces back to their original position.

  ‘The thing I learned about Mr Serov is that he is easily rattled. He likes order, clean lines of attack and the slow constriction of his opponent.’

  ‘Indeed,’ laughed Kit, stroking his neck, ‘I’ve been feeling it.’

  ‘What you need to do is create complications. Make moves that are irrational and throw him off his pre-prepared approach.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Kit looking at the board.

  Fiona made a few moves that included the sacrifice of Kit’s Queen. Kit looked aghast at the board which, thanks to the pocket Boudicca beside him, resembled more of a war zone than a chess match.

  ‘Good lord,’ said Kit, struggling to make sense of the disarray. ‘Are you sure Fiona? His Queen will be very difficult to counter in the end game.’

  ‘He’ll want a draw, trust me Kit. There are some other tactics you may want to consider also.’

  ‘Such as?’ asked Kit looking at Fiona archly.

  By the time Fiona had taken him through some of her favourite off the board moves, Kit and Miller were bent double laughing and even Miss Upritchard was observed to smile, albeit briefly, before returning to her normal, serious mien.

  ‘Fiona I couldn’t possibly do any of these,’ laughed Kit.

  ‘Why not? Chess is not a game on a board, it’s war: psychol
ogical war. Have you read Sun Tzu, Kit?’

  ‘I’m familiar with him but, no, I can’t say that I have,’ said Kit slowly, looking in astonishment at the little girl before him. He was becoming more in awe of her with each passing minute. A glance at Miller confirmed he was having a similar reaction.

  ‘If your opponent is of choleric temper, irritate him,’ quoted the young polymath.

  This caused more amusement for the adults which made Fiona smile proudly.

  ‘You may laugh, but I can tell you, Mr Serov has a foul temper. It doesn’t take much to have him frothing like a rabid dog.’

  Through his laughter Kit managed to say, ‘Do you know, Billy Peel, who told us about you, said you’d pulled so many tricks on Serov, he felt sorry for the big man by the end. I think I understand better what he meant now.’

  If anything, Fiona’s smile grew wider. Being appreciated as a good chess player was one thing, having it come from Lord Kit Aston was quite another, but recognition for her skills in gamesmanship, seemed to represent the very pinnacle of praise.

  Kit and Fiona resumed playing. This time they began to work through the implications of the moves suggested by Fiona. By the end of their session, Kit was feeling distinctly more optimistic than he had previously. However, he could not be sure the match would even take place. The context was so extraordinary, Kit half expected either Jellicoe or ”C”, to call a halt to proceedings.

  Chapter 27

  Kit was sad to see Fiona leave for the hotel. She had been a tonic for him. For the three hours they had been together, he found his mind focused exclusively on chess rather than Mary or his friend, Olly Lake. Her departure saw his thoughts return to the two people he felt closest to. He sat alone gazing out of the window at a darkening sky.

  He couldn’t decide if it was the mental effort from the game planning earlier or worry, but fatigue overcame him. Inside he felt hollow, his spirit spent, an invisible weight on his stomach. His breathing became laboured, infected by a feeling of helplessness. It felt as if his heart was imprisoned by a despair that would never end.