by A. R. Zander
*****
The wheels of the plane touched down on the tarmac. Anya tried to work out in her head all the destinations that were roughly four hours from Moscow. She gauged from the air temperature that they hadn’t flown north, but it wasn’t much. The nausea from the plane ride lingered and she concentrated on breathing steadily to stave off any sickness. She kept silent as she was grabbed under her armpits, dragged off the plane and put into a waiting vehicle. The sound of the plane’s engines disappeared as they raced away. She didn’t struggle as they bundled her back out of the car and into a nearby building. She sucked in the clean air as the bag was ripped off her head. A graze on her chin seeped blood where the material had burnt away a piece of her skin. She tried to thrust her shoulders forward, but the handcuffs kept her back rigid to the chair. The sound of footsteps crept up on her and she saw a dark figure out of the corner of her eye. He sat down without looking up, keeping his eyes on a brown file.
“What do you want with me?” she said, her voice shaking.
Nikolaev ignored her and carried on reading. He finally placed it down in front of him and turned his attention towards her.
“You are Anya Valentinovna Naumova. Twenty five years old. A teacher at the Westminster School of English. Not very long ago, a new employee calling himself Ryan Evans came to live with you. Tell me everything you know about this person.”
“Where am I?” Anya felt a hand clasp her throat from behind and grip hard, cutting off the air supply. After a few seconds, it relented and she spluttered, her chin dropping forward onto her chest.
“I ask the questions,” said Nikolaev. “What do you know about him? The queer told us you were close friends.”
“I hardly knew him,” said Anya, her anger preventing her from crying in front of Nikolaev. “He hasn’t been at the school very long. They asked me to mentor him.”
“Were you fucking him?”
“No!”
“Not even once?”
“No! Not even once.”
Nikolaev smirked and signaled to the guard standing behind her, who took off the handcuffs. “Where is he now?”
“He went to Kazakhstan. I don’t know anything else.”
“Did he ever say anything about working for the British police?”
“No, I swear.”
Nikolaev walked round the table and stood in front of her, looking down. Her head jolted back as he grabbed her cheeks and squeezed, forcing her to look back up at him “Well, he does work for the British police. And that makes me suspicious of you.” Anya’s anger was replaced with fear and a few tears escaped from her eyes. She grabbed his wrist, but couldn’t force him to release his grip. He threw her head back and slapped her round the face.
“You’re going to help us.”
“I’ll never do anything to help you,” she said, the rage leaping back into her eyes.
“I expected as much from someone who spends their day poisoning the minds of young people with a foreign culture.”
He slapped her face again.
“You’re coming with us,” said Nikolaev, as the man in the shadows walked up alongside him. “Put the hood back on.”
- Chapter 29 -
Stanley
Stanley Bay was still. A few punters sat hunched over their drinks at the pub near the water, enjoying the Hong Kong night. Varndon slipped past them towards the jetty. A low hum of voices floated over from Murray House where diners soaked in the building’s colonial splendor over expensive seafood. Ashansky turned towards him as he approached the end of the wooden platform. Gershov was crouched on his haunches, eating tiny sunflower seeds from a bag and spitting the black shells onto the deck.
“You can almost pretend you still have an empire here,” said Ashanksy.
“People in glass houses and all that,” replied Varndon.
“People in what?”
“Nothing.” Varndon kicked one of Gershov’s shells away from his foot. “Alpha’s not happy. What the hell happened with Harper?”
“He jumped in a sewage pipe.”
“Well, why didn’t you throw one of your people in after him?”
“Look, you think I don’t want that piece of shit dead as much as you?”
“I doubt it. He saw me shoot an officer of MI6. Do you know what that could mean for me?”
“We will give you job,” said Gershov, cackling and displaying bits of sunflower seed lodged in his yellowing teeth.
“I’ll get back to you thanks,” said Varndon, looking over his shoulder as a couple strolled onto the jetty. “We should move.”
They followed Varndon onto a path covered by overhanging trees. They wound their way up and back down again, emerging onto an enclosed beach. Gershov hung back on the path as Varndon and Ashansky moved down closer to the water. An oil slick from a dumped engine blackened the sand next to the rocks.
“You need to find him,” said Varndon.
Ashansky stepped forward towards him. “Are you giving me orders now?”
“We put our necks on the line getting you out of jail so you could kill him Leonid. That’s what you wanted wasn’t it?”
“You think I’m stupid? You got me out of there because you knew sooner or later those fucking cops would come asking me questions about Cavendish.”
“The reasons are immaterial. You want Harper and we need Vitsin. We have to work together or everyone loses.”
Ashansky grunted and stepped back. “What do you plan on doing with the Vitsin kid once you get hold of him?”
“That’s our business.”
“That’s right. You people like your secrets.”
“Do the Russians know you’re working with us?”
“No. I am a good customer for their weapons. That’s their only concern.”
“Do they know where their weapons are going?”
“They don’t care if they are being used to kill IRA or fucking Eskimos. They just want the money.”
“Sounds about right.”
Gershov whistled as a couple of backpackers wound their way down onto the beach. They retraced their steps, passing the chattering teenagers on the way and walked back past the jetty into an empty market square.
“He has to surface sometime,” said Varndon. “When he does, he’ll lead us to Vitsin. And then we need to take him out. No mistakes this time.”
Ashansky slapped Varndon on the arm. “You know, you are starting to remind me more and more of Yuri.” Gershov sniffed and spat the contents of his nose onto the pavement. “He’s also a ruthless bastard.”
“It’s just a shame your snappy little pet doesn’t always do his job.” Gershov moved forward and Ashansky put his hand up to hold him back.
Ashansky laughed. “Be careful Mr Banker, he bites.”
Varndon turned his head as he walked off down the road. “If you lose Harper again, you’ll find out how ruthless I can really be.”
- Chapter 30 -
No Going Back
Harper threw the newspaper into the bin and sat down on a wooden bench. He closed his eyes, but the image of Garrett and his young family was seared into his mind. Reporter Danny Garrett, 28, murdered. Harper punched down on the bench, cutting his knuckle. As he watched the blood trickle over his fingers, his phone rang in his pocket.
“Harper, it’s Morton. Thank Christ you’re alive. Where are you?”
“I’m in Hong Kong.”
“Listen, Harper, things have changed. We need you to come home.”
“You’re not joking things have changed.”
“The operation’s been compromised. Just come back.”
“I’ve just been shot at by people I spent a year trying to put behind bars. Is that what you mean by compromised?”
“Ashansky and Gershov work for MI6 Harper. They killed Cavendish and now they’re after you. You have to listen to me and get the hell out of there.”
“Does the Commissioner know all this? Bailey?”
“They shut us down. They have
n’t got the stomach to fight Vauxhall Bridge.”
“Have you?”
“What are you talking about?” said Morton.
“I’m not coming back. I’m not finished here.”
“Harper, it’s over. Forget about Vitsin.”
“It might be over for you Guv, but not me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw one of our gentleman spies shoot his partner in the head a few days ago. Do you really think they’re going to let me walk the streets in peace?”
“We can protect you.”
“Can you protect me against Ashansky too? And what about the Russians? They’ve already killed a friend of mine, do you think they’ll stop there?
“You’ve got more chance here than you have there. Just come home.”
“I haven’t got a choice guv.”
“Harper, please, don’t do this. If you come back, the force can protect you. If you start pursuing some crazy revenge mission, they’ll deny they ever knew you.”
“And those are the people you want me to trust with my life?”
“Come back. Please.”
“I’m sorry guv. I have to finish this.”
Harper chucked the phone in the bin and set off across the courtyard. He attached himself to a group of students and walked the faculty corridors until he arrived at the lecture hall. He pulled down a squeaky seat at the back and waited. Students filed in, some speaking Cantonese, some Mandarin and some English. The blood on his hand had dried. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. But thoughts of Garrett fought their way into his mind, mixed in with an even worse darkness.
Kill him Misha.
A loud crackle of feedback from the speakers snapped him out of it and he sat up as a heavily-built man with slicked back grey hair marched onto the stage and clicked on his Powerpoint presentation. Harper watched as he scolded a girl in the front row for talking on her mobile phone. He stood scanning the rest of the crowd for any more offenders before stepping back up onto the stage.
“Ruminenko,” said Harper, under his breath. “I found you.”
*****
Cohen opened his front door as Morton pulled into the drive. He looked up and down the road for any other cars, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Morton clicked his key fob at his car and walked past him into the front room. He shook hands with Russell, who was sitting nursing a cup of tea.
“You okay Guv?” said Cohen.
“Not really. I’ve just spoken to Harper.”
Cohen sat down in an armchair. “When is he coming back?”
“He’s not.”
“He’s not? I don’t understand.”
Morton pulled back the curtain to look out of the window. Cohen’s neighbor was knelt down pulling some weeds out of a flowerbed, but the rest of the street was quiet. “Have you had your place swept?”
“I did it myself. It’s clean.”
“Russell?”
“I got someone in from another force. Someone good. My place is clean too.”
Morton nodded and folded his arms. “He doesn’t think he’s going to be safe if he comes back. There are a lot of people that want him dead.”
“We can’t just leave him hanging out there,” said Cohen.
“I know,” replied Morton. “I want you two to go out there and find him. Try to talk some sense into him. I have some friends in the Hong Kong police that owe me a favour. They’ll help you out.”
“Are you coming with us?” said Russell.
“No. I’m going to try to track down whoever is responsible for all this at Vauxhall Bridge.”
“Is that wise now the top brass have washed their hands of it?” said Cohen.
“What else do you suggest? They’re out their trying to kill our boy and I’m supposed to sit back and do nothing. A criminal is a criminal whether they’re on Her Majesty’s Secret Service or not.”
“You’re right Guv. Just be careful.”
“Don’t worry about me. Just get out there as soon as you can and bring him back. I’m not going to hang Harper out to dry just because some politician plod has lost his bollocks.”
- Chapter 31 -
Nowhere Left to Run
Harper watched as the students buzzed around Ruminenko at the end of the lecture. The old man picked off their questions and sent them on their way before starting to gather up his materials. Harper stood up and walked down the steps towards him. He was tall and wore a shabby suit. He glanced at Harper as he got closer. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so.”
Ruminenko stopped what he was doing and turned to face him. “You don’t look like one of my students.”
“I’m not.”
“Then, who, may I ask, are you?”
“My name’s Matt Harper. I’m a police officer.”
“And British? What does a British police officer want with me?”
“I need to find Seva Vitsin.”
Ruminenko tried his best to look surprised, but Harper could see this was a situation he had been expecting. “Seva? I haven’t seen him for years. I’m afraid if you want to find him, your best bet is probably Moscow.”
“Professor, please. He is in danger. And so are you.”
“I would love to be able to help you officer, but I really have no idea where he is. Now if you would excuse me, I am a busy man.”
“Professor, wait, please.”
Ruminenko placed the remainder of his files into his briefcase and rushed off towards the exit. A couple of students were still hanging around outside the lecture hall and followed him up the corridor. Harper made his way outside and stood next to Ruminenko’s Renault. The professor looked hassled when he pushed open the double doors and made his way across the car park. He only noticed Harper when he got close to his car and a flash of anger crossed his face.
“I told you. I don’t know where he is and please don’t follow me.”
“You have to listen to me, professor, there are some ruthless people looking for Seva. You have to tell me where he is. It’s the only way you’re going to protect him…and yourself.”
Ruminenko dropped some of his papers as he searched around in his pockets for his car keys. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you. I don’t know where he is. Now leave me alone.”
Harper stepped aside and allowed the professor to get in his car. The Renault backed out and drove past a taxi rank and onto the main road. Harper got into a cab and shoved some money into the driver’s hand.
“Just follow that car.”
The driver turned down the chattering Cantonese on the radio and navigated the traffic, pushing past other cars when the Renault got too far ahead. The professor put his foot down as they hit the tunnel leading to Kowloon and the Chinese mainland. An orange glow filled the taxi as it increased its speed and kept the Renault in sight.
“Go to the toll booth on the end,” said Harper, as they emerged.
A few rows over, the professor tapped on the steering wheel impatiently. “Just let him overtake you,” said Harper, as they pulled off from the booth slightly ahead of Ruminenko. The professor kept his eyes on the road, unaware of the cab that had been following him across the city. They cruised along the highway until the Renault lurched off onto a slip road and entered the urban sprawl. Ruminenko drove for a few blocks and turned down a side-street, parking up at the entrance to a scruffy local market. Harper ducked down as they passed the car and drove to the end of the street. He paid the driver and set off in pursuit of the professor, who had disappeared into the throng.
“Cheap for you, cheap for you.” Harper put his finger to his lips as a trader spotted him approaching and waved a small Buddha statue at him. The message was ignored or lost in translation and the man persisted, pulling on Harper’s shirt as he walked past his stall. His sales pitch switched to anger as Harper slapped his hand away and shot him a hostile look. The nearby traders were watching and backed off. Harper stood on his tiptoes and looked around for Rumin
enko’s shock of grey hair, but all he could see were locals. He went further into the chaos until he came to a crossroads. The market stalls stretched off in three directions. He stood looking around, but felt himself getting more desperate as he contemplated losing the professor. He span round ready to slap another hand as he felt a light tug on his shirt, but stopped when he saw a slight teenage girl looking up at him.
“You look for guilo?” said the girl, unintimidated. “You look for guilo?”
“The man with the grey hair,” said Harper, touching his head.
She nodded and held out her hand. Harper took some notes from his pocket and gave her a few, but she kept her hand where it was. He placed a few more in her palm and she reluctantly put them into her pocket.
“Cafe near tobacco stall,” she said, pointing down the row to the left.
Harper looked down the row. He could see a smoky haze surrounding one of the stalls in the distance. He started towards it, keeping an eye out for Ruminenko. The smell of flavoured tobacco seeped into his nostrils as he got closer. As he got a few stalls from the café, he looked over his shoulder and saw the girl with her hand again outstretched, talking to a group of foreigners. He ducked into a small shop and hid behind a purple banner covered in Chinese symbols. The owner paid little attention to him as he pretended to browse at the back. A steady flow of people floated past outside. Harper waited, looking through a small gap in the material, slowing his breathing. A European in a black jumper shot quickly past the shop and Harper struggled to see his face. He was closely followed by two more. Russians. Harper could see it in their features. Then a fourth man walked past and stopped directly outside the shop. Harper could only see the back of his head. He pointed his finger towards the café opposite the tobacco stand, signaling to the other men. Harper held his breath as the owner of the shop beckoned the man to come in and buy something. The Russian looked almost directly at Harper as he turned his head. This man he did recognise.
