[James Ryker 01.0] The Red Cobra

by Rob Sinclair

  They took a seat by the window, away from the only other couple in the bar, and ordered two glasses of red wine from the waiter.

  The wine came and Ryker gave in to temptation and ordered a plate of chorizos. Some cheese too.

  Half an hour later, Ryker had finished off the food and was working through a second glass of wine and a third basket of bread. The alcohol and food was making him feel contented, but still focused.

  The chat was banal and a little flirty. What more would he expect from Eva? It hadn’t escaped his attention that every so often she’d shuffle a little closer to him. Her shoulder, arm, leg was within an inch of Ryker and more than once she’d accidentally brushed him.

  Accidentally? Ryker thought. No, bad choice of wording. ‘It’s quiet.’

  ‘It’s early. It’ll get busy later on.’

  ‘You’re a regular here?’ Ryker asked, having noticed the warm smile and overtly friendly manner of the waiter.

  ‘I own it.’

  Ryker couldn’t help but smirk at that.

  ‘Oh get over yourself,’ Eva said. ‘It’s not what you think. I used my own money to buy this place.’

  ‘Your own money?’

  ‘My. Own. Money. I bought it, a derelict shell. I put together the plans, oversaw the refurbishment, found the staff. My father had nothing to do with any of it.’

  ‘It’s nice. You’ve done a good job.’

  ‘I know I have.’ Eva glared at him. ‘Perhaps you need to rethink who I am.’

  ‘Perhaps I do.’

  ‘I love this place. This village. This is who I am. Not what you see in Marbella. Not the money.’

  ‘Not the mansion or the pool or the cars.’

  ‘No. I don’t just own this bar, I have a restaurant too. I’m making a life for myself. I’m working, doing things I love to do. I help out with local activities too. Charities, foundations.’

  ‘The dancing?’

  ‘Yes. There you go. Every other day we – the others at least – perform in one of the local towns. They get a small payment for each performance. I don’t. The whole group is funded by donations, mostly from me. I pay to be a part of that. For the other dancers to be a part of it.’

  Ryker nodded, impressed with her passion.

  ‘And I may live in a mansion in Marbella, but my grandma has lived in this village for nearly ninety years. It’s her home. It feels like my home too. My real home.’

  ‘But you don’t live here.’

  ‘No.’ She looked down at her drink. ‘My father won’t let me. He wants me with him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because... it’s dangerous.’

  ‘And why would that be?’

  Eva paused before answering. ‘Who do you think my father is exactly?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

  ‘So ask me? What do you want to know?’

  ‘Why did your father come to Spain?’

  ‘To make a living.’

  ‘Why couldn’t he do that in Russia?’

  ‘Have you seen what’s happened since the collapse of the Soviet Union? Lots of us have left, seeking a new life.’

  ‘Away from the watchful eyes of the Kremlin.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘So is he pro-Moscow or anti-Moscow?’

  Eva gave Ryker a cold stare before answering. ‘Anti.’

  ‘So they hounded him out. He ran off to Spain.’

  ‘Do you hate all Russians, Mr Ryker, or is it only rich Russians?’

  ‘I don’t hate all Russians, or even all rich Russians. But I do mistrust a lot of people.’

  ‘Why do you mistrust my father?’

  ‘Because he’s very rich. And I’m sorry to say that a lot of men that rich don’t get there through playing by the rules.’

  ‘A bit far-fetched, don’t you think?’

  ‘No. I don’t. Plus there’s an ongoing murder investigation that he’s trying everything he can to distance himself from. And because yesterday minutes after leaving your house I was attacked by two men.’

  Eva looked unsure. ‘I didn’t know about that.’

  ‘I’d be upset if you did.’

  ‘Why do you think it was my father?’

  ‘A hunch.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No. After being attacked yesterday, I’m pretty sure at least one policeman in Marbella, where you live, is bent. And now all of a sudden you have your own personal bodyguard to take you out for drinks. A bodyguard who I’m certain has a dark past. I see it in his eyes. It’s a look only certain people have. People who have seen things. People who have done things.’

  ‘Do you have it?’ Eva asked with a devilish stare. ‘The look?’

  ‘Yes, Eva. I do.’

  Eva held Ryker’s gaze as she sipped on her glass of wine. Despite her battle to keep in control, Ryker could feel the mood of the conversation shifting. He could sit there all evening drinking and flirting – clearly that had been Eva’s intention – but it wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Ryker wasn’t in Spain to hook up. He wanted answers from Eva.

  ‘You’re quite the conspiracist, aren't you?’ Eva said.

  ‘No. I just say what I see.’

  ‘He’s not what you think. My father.’

  ‘You have no idea what I think.’

  ‘Actually I reckon I do.’

  ‘Then let me ask you this. One simple question. And I want a truthful answer. Can you do that?’

  Eva looked doubtful, her normal confidence escaping her. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long has your father been working for the Russian mafia?’

  29

  Eva looked scared. ‘That’s quite a thing to say to someone,’ she said, trying her best to regain her composure.

  ‘I say what I see.’

  ‘And can you explain why you would think that?’

  She sounded truly outraged. Offended. But it didn’t deter Ryker one bit. He was quite certain of his deduction.

  Ryker sat back as the waiter came over to remove their empty wine glasses. Eva ordered another. Ryker asked for a coffee. Two wines were plenty. He didn’t want his judgment clouded by alcohol. Not now.

  ‘Let’s start simply then,’ Ryker said. ‘How long have you known Sergei?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eva said, frowning. ‘Two, maybe three years.’

  ‘He came over from Russia?’

  ‘Georgia, I think.’

  For a moment, the unexpected answer sent Ryker’s brain whirring. Georgia. Ex-Soviet state. A lot of its culture, including that of its mafia, shared many similarities with Russia. More than that, though, Georgia was where Anna Abayev, just a teenage girl, had first killed. The pieces of the jigsaw hadn’t yet fully fitted, but they were coming closer together.

  Ryker brought himself back on track. ‘You’ve noticed Sergei’s tattoos?’

  ‘On his hands? Yeah, I guess.’ Eva shrugged.

  ‘And on the rest of him?’

  ‘I’ve never seen the rest of him.’ Eva scowled. ‘Why? Have you?’

  ‘No. And I don’t need to. Have you heard of the Vory? Thieves in law?’

  ‘Of course I have.’

  ‘And what do you know?’

  ‘That they’re mostly make-believe. People create scare stories that make the Vory out to be these all-powerful beings who rule the world. Most of the real Vory are in prison. That’s where the Vor culture started and that’s where they’ll stay the rest of their lives. They’re a bunch of lowlifes. A prison gang. The ones on the outside are mostly petty criminals who want to be like the Vory they read about in the papers and see on TV shows.’

  Ryker agreed with every word she’d said. The organised criminal underworld, rising in prominence in Russia in the early twentieth century, had been virtually exterminated following the 1917 Russian revolution. The secret police of Stalin’s government shunted criminals and political opposition alike into the many forced labour camps. The Vory and their an
ti-authority culture was born in the gulags and crept into the outside world as the years went by.

  Following the break-up of the Soviet Union, organised crime, led by the Vory, was once again able to infiltrate every aspect of society. Including the government. But many Vory were still fiercely opposed to all elements of government authority. They were the ones who fled Russia, taking their money and their criminal culture with them.

  Ryker would have betted his life that Sergei was one such Vor. And if he was there in Andalusia, working as a babysitter for Kozlov, it meant Kozlov was somehow connected to that world too. But Kozlov didn’t strike Ryker as a leader of the mafia. Probably just a money spinner. There would be others in the mix somewhere. The big fish.

  ‘You think Sergei is a Vor?’ Eva said with what Ryker determined to be fake incredulity.

  ‘I don’t think it, Eva. I know it.’

  ‘What, because of a couple of tattoos on his hands?’

  ‘No, not just that.’

  The drinks came, and Eva took a large swig of her wine. Ryker picked up his cup and inhaled. The scent of the thick, treacly black coffee sent a wave of clarity through his brain.

  ‘And what about my father?’ Eva said. ‘You’re saying you think he’s a Vor?’

  ‘Not at all. In fact I’m certain he’s not. But I do believe he’s got himself mixed up with them, one way or another.’ Ryker sipped the coffee. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘Let me put it like this. If what you’re saying, these accusations, if they’re true, shouldn’t you stay away rather than pry? The Vory are very dangerous people, are they not?’

  Ryker scoffed. ‘Seriously? That’s your answer. Some lame threat. What, is Sergei going to take me out the back for a beating? Perhaps you’ve misunderstood exactly who I am, Eva.’

  Her cheeks blushed red. This wasn’t the cock-sure woman he’d seen before, which only further confirmed his growing suspicions.

  ‘You didn’t answer my first question,’ Ryker said, to keep the pressure on. He wanted to see her reaction when cornered. ‘How long has your father worked for them?’

  ‘I’m not saying another thing about it,’ Eva snapped. ‘This is crazy. You’re crazy.’

  Eva downed the remainder of her glass of wine and got to her feet. Ryker smiled at having rattled her.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Come on. I’m sorry. Why don’t we talk about something else. Your grandma? This village? Your charity work. How you live in a billionaire’s mansion and drive hundred-grand cars but hate material things.’

  For a second it looked as though Eva was about to explode. He could see she wanted to take charge of the situation, to be the one to hold the power. But virtually all of her power came from her looks and her charm, and her ability to use those traits against unwitting men. Ryker wasn’t going to fall for that, no matter how strong her allure. She was lost in the situation she now found herself in and it was clear she knew it.

  ‘I think I’m done here. Bye, James.’

  ‘My car’s at your house,’ Ryker said, not moving from his seat.

  ‘Then you can find your own way back there to collect it.’

  ‘Daddy wouldn’t be pleased if he came home to find it there, would he? To know that you’d gone out with me.’

  ‘Fine. Come with us. Get your car then go.’

  Ryker smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  They walked the short distance back to the SUV. Sergei was leaning against the driver’s door and smoking a cigarette, his face passive as ever. He looked up when he spotted Eva and Ryker heading over.

  ‘Come on,’ Eva said to him in Spanish. ‘It’s time to go.’

  Sergei looked surprised at them being back so soon but still didn’t say a word.

  The sun was setting as they headed back down to the coast. Despite the silence in the car, Eva seemed to warm up again as the awkwardness from the conversation in the bar dissipated. She tapped away on her phone for a few minutes then finally looked up at Ryker and smiled. It came across as warm and pleasant. But Ryker didn’t buy it. She was planning something.

  ‘Sergei,’ Eva said. ‘My friend here told me he thinks you’re a Vor. Can you believe that?’

  She spoke in Russian. Perhaps she thought she was being cute. Or clever. Or snide. Or all three. Clearly she’d not reckoned on Ryker speaking Russian fluently. He’d worked in Russia and the ex-Soviet states countless times in his long JIA career, and it was by far his most comfortable foreign language.

  Sergei said nothing, just glanced at Ryker in the rear-view mirror then back to the road.

  ‘He says he’s going to have you arrested. Sent to the gulag,’ Eva continued, smiling. ‘What do you think you should do to a man like that?’

  ‘If you believe a word that comes out of her mouth,’ Ryker said, in Russian, ‘then you’re even dumber than you look.’ Sergei again made eye contact with Ryker and held it for a few seconds. Ryker didn’t care that he’d insulted him. The last thing he wanted was to show a man like Sergei any hint of weakness. ‘And I’ve been to a gulag. I’ve been held there, more than once. I’m not a threat to you. Not unless you make me one.’

  When Sergei finally looked away, Ryker gazed over at Eva. He could see the anger in her eyes. But it was him that should have been angry. Her words to Sergei had been one hell of a stab in the back for Ryker. It wasn’t that he’d thought he could trust Eva, but to have her try to lay a trap for him while he sat next to her? That was cold. Heartless.

  Ryker knew he wasn’t off the hook though. He could only hope that his words would ward Sergei off. For now. But Ryker wondered what Eva had been doing on her phone – what message she might have sent. Ryker’s brain filled with thoughts of what might come next. Last time he’d been to the Kozlov house, Rambo and Buzzcut had come after him. Who or what would it be this time?

  He contemplated reaching out and choking Sergei as he drove. It would take away any immediate threat.

  But was that a step too far?

  Yes. All Ryker had was the suspicion that Sergei was a Vor, probably a low-ranking one, and that alone wasn’t reason enough to take a man’s life. Even if he was about to drive Ryker straight into an ambush.

  Instead, Ryker prepared himself for the worst. It was the sensible thing to do. In the end, he was surprised when Sergei simply kept going along the same roads back to the Kozlov’s house. Ryker had been expecting to be driven to some secluded spot where they’d try to take him out.

  Still, the estate where the Kozlov’s lived was such a secure and private location that it wasn’t unthinkable that the trap for Ryker lay within the gated sanctum. It was dark out now – much easier to attack with stealth under the cover of night.

  Yet when they arrived at the house, there wasn’t a person in sight on the property, nor any additional cars. Ryker looked over at Eva suspiciously as the car came to a stop. Eva smiled at Ryker as she reached for her door handle. Was it all in his mind?

  Ryker opened his door and stepped out, did a quick scan of the grounds around him. Saw no one. But it was difficult to tell with the faint glow of the streetlights. Sergei got out of the car. Ryker didn’t take his eyes off him. He was ready, waiting for the move.

  It didn’t come.

  ‘Next time you want to come over for a little chat,’ Eva said, sourly. ‘Don’t bother. Come on, Sergei.’

  Eva walked away from Ryker toward the house. Sergei followed. Ryker didn’t hesitate. He turned round and walked with purpose back to his car. He just wanted to get out of there.

  He had his hand on the door handle when he stopped. He glanced along the side of the car. It was difficult to see clearly in the dark, even with the glow from nearby streetlights, but the metalwork was covered in a thin layer of dust from the dry, sandy air. Ryker stepped back and inspected the body of the car, paying particular attention to the handles, the door frames, the panels that ran along the underside. He was looking for finger marks. Scuffs in the dust. Anything that would indicate someone had b
een snooping around the car. Or underneath it.

  Ryker dropped down onto the ground, lay flat and looked under the car, using the light on his mobile phone to help him see more clearly. He saw nothing unusual. He moved around each of the four sides, inspecting the chassis as closely as he could. No. There was nothing there.

  Maybe he was being overly suspicious. But he had to be sure.

  When he was done, Ryker went back to the driver’s side and opened the door. He sat on the seat and sunk the key into the ignition. As he turned the key, he held his breath. The engine rattled to life and Ryker exhaled.

  He looked up at the mansion and spotted Eva standing in one of the ground floor windows. She was staring over at him with a wicked smile plastered over her pretty face.

  Okay, that’s plenty of excitement for one day, Ryker thought without even the faintest hint of amusement. It was about time he got some much-needed sleep.

  30

  Early the following morning, Ryker was rudely awakened by the incessant buzzing of his mobile phone. He groggily opened his eyes and waited a couple of seconds as his brain re-calibrated where he was: his hotel room in Malaga. Ryker answered the vibrating phone. It was Green.

  ‘Ryker, where the hell are you?’ The policeman sounded harried.

  ‘In bed,’ Ryker said, pulling himself upright, suddenly alert.

  ‘Get the hell up and get yourself over here, right now.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Inspector Cardo. He’s dead.’

  From Malaga, it took Ryker a little under an hour driving along a twisting mountain road up the Sierra de Mijas to reach the hotel where Inspector Cardo’s body had been found. On the outskirts of the Moorish town of Alhaurin el Grande, the hotel was on a modern road junction that connected the town directly to both Marbella and Malaga.

  As Ryker approached, it was clear to him that the building out-dated the recently tarmacked roads by a considerable number of years. Large wine barrels were scattered around the outside of the hotel – makeshift tables for drinking and eating at. Built from a hotchpotch of stones and timber, the hotel looked like a rest stop for ranchers and their horses from years gone by. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Wild West. All that was missing was a paddock to tie up your horse and some swinging saloon doors.