by Faye Brann
Sitting back down on the balcony and logging into the VPN with a glass of fizz bubbling away next to her, she sent a quick message to Jonathan to let him know she was in situ and that all was well. She left out the bit about the upgrade and the champagne. No need to rub it in. He’d been annoyed enough with her in the first place, and anything tantamount to her having a good time while she was here would mean she was never again allowed out of London.
There were no messages for her on the phone or in her email; but thanks to the brief from Jacob she was able to get caught up on JOPS’ latest intel. The Kozlovsky family were booked into a very private beachfront villa on the far side of their hotel, facing away from the mainland and staring into the dark Gulf waters beyond; Tariq’s operatives reported that Sacha had offered an extraordinary amount of cash upon check-in to ensure he got it. They also noted a package containing new clothes, a soap bag and a fresh supply of American dollars had been waiting for Sacha at the hotel reception. She scanned the remainder of the report for any details pertinent to her part of the operation. Dmitri would be attending the kids’ club every morning from 10 a.m. until 1 p.m.; Matisse had a facial and a massage booked at the spa during the morning on the twenty-first of December. Sacha did not.
She took the laptop and report back inside and then wandered back out onto the balcony to drink her champagne. The conflict she felt was intense: on the one hand, she was itching to get on with things and get Sacha in cuffs, but, on the other, she was sorely tempted to go directly into holiday mode.
She sent a quick WhatsApp to Matisse from her real phone.
OMG we got upgraded! Check out the room!
Vicky snapped a quick photo from the balcony, looking back into the living room of the suite. With a bit of luck Matisse would reply with a picture of her own, of her accommodation. People took holiday snaps without paying attention to detail a lot of the time. A reflection, papers left out on the coffee table, an incongruous personal item: Vicky hoped for anything that would give her some scraps of information without Matisse even realising.
No such luck. Matisse replied after a few minutes, in text only, to tell her that their hotel was beautiful too, to enjoy their holiday, and they would see about meeting up in a few days. Vicky breathed heavily in annoyance. She couldn’t message again; she didn’t want to arouse suspicion.
‘Well this is pretty all right, isn’t it?’ Chris cut through her thoughts and came to sit next to her, a glass in hand. He put his arm around her and they took in the view together. ‘Did you get everything sorted?’
‘Yep; I’m being picked up tomorrow morning at nine-forty-five,’ she said. ‘Can you take the kids to the waterpark and I’ll join you there for lunch?’
‘Sure. Ollie will be okay to wander by himself, and Evie can stay with James and me,’ Chris said. ‘There’s a really cool kids’ area they’ll both enjoy, and a lazy river. When you arrive, I’ll hand them over and take Ollie on the shark slide thingy.’
‘Sounds good.’ Vicky slid a little lower in her seat. Her phone bleeped. It was Matisse. Another message, with a photo included after all.
Guess who we just bumped into?
Vicky waited for the photo to download. She groaned.
‘What’s the matter?’ Chris said.
Vicky held up a picture of William, the former PTA Chair, his wife, and their insufferable children, who were all smiling like little William clones along with Sacha and Dmitri. Chris had a confused frown on his face.
‘What’s the matter?’ Vicky said.
‘William doesn’t have any kids at the school any more, and Matisse didn’t start doing the PTA until this year, after he’d gone. How would they even know each other?’
‘Well,’ Vicky said. ‘I know how, but I shouldn’t really tell you.’
‘William’s involved?’
‘Yes. No. Kind of. It’s not really his fault … I didn’t expect him to be in Dubai, mind you.’
‘Neither did anyone else by the sounds of it.’
‘The problem is, we should have. It was sloppy that no one picked this up.’ Vicky dialled Jonathan, but it went straight to answerphone. She left a short message and banged the phone down in frustration.
At that moment the door opened, and Evie and Ollie piled in. Vicky threw the laptop under a cushion on the sofa and casually flicked at her phone. The kids sat down either side of her.
‘Mum! Dad! The pool is amazing, it goes right on to the beach, and there are ice-cream and pizza stalls and kayaks and stuff down by the sand, it’s so cool,’ Evie said, over-excited and flushed.
Her phone bleeped. It was Matisse again, with a photo taken at the waterpark. Dmitri and one of William’s kids were holding a giant ring next to the lazy river, with the caption underneath: The kids loved Atlantis! Another message followed: William and Sacha playing golf tmrw. Want to meet up?
Evie glanced at the phone and saw the photo. ‘Is that Dmitri? Are they here already?’
‘Yes, they are; we’re sorting out when we are going to meet up,’ Vicky said.
‘Is that Alex? Are they here too?’ Ollie peered at the screen over her shoulder. Alex had been in the same school year as Ollie; they’d got on well, both big fans of anything involving a ball, although they hadn’t seen each other since they’d gone to separate senior schools and Vicky hadn’t exactly encouraged a continuation of the friendship.
‘Yes, it would appear they are staying at the same hotel as the Kozlovskys,’ Vicky tried not to grit her teeth too tightly. William’s presence complicated everything even more.
‘Awesome!’ Ollie said, pleased that he’d found a playmate to hang out with for the holiday. ‘Can I message him and tell him we’ll be at the waterpark tomorrow?’
‘You’re supposed to be helping me look after your brother and sister at the waterpark tomorrow,’ Chris said. ‘You can meet up with him in the afternoon, if you want to see him and his parents say it’s okay.’
‘Cool,’ Ollie said, and disappeared off with his own phone in his hand to unearth Alex’s messenger details and make arrangements.
Vicky sighed. It had been a very long day. ‘Evie, it’s bedtime,’ she said.
‘It’s not fair; if Ollie gets to see Alex tomorrow, why can’t I see Dmitri?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, all right. I’ll message Matisse and we’ll see what we can sort out about going over to see them, okay?’ she snapped. She was tired, and fed up, and the holiday feeling she’d got close to earlier had dissipated like dust in the wind.
‘Okay, Evie, why don’t you go to bed and we’ll sort it all out in the morning.’ Chris’s soothing voice guided Evie into her room and she heard him tell her to get ready for bed quietly so as not to wake James.
Vicky poured herself another glass of fizz and went back out onto the balcony.
‘Golf?’ she said to herself. ‘Really?’ She could no more imagine Sacha discussing handicaps than William shattering kneecaps. There was sadly no doubt, though, that William was up to his neck in Sacha’s crap. How that lily-livered wannabe would manage imprisonment was anyone’s guess.
Ollie wandered out onto the balcony. ‘I think I might go to bed now as well, Mum,’ he said.
‘Sounds like a good idea, Ol, I’ll be following you any minute,’ she replied, and blew him a kiss. She put her glass down and went to check on Evie.
‘When Ollie gets in bed, it’s time to turn that thing off,’ she pointed at the iPad in her daughter’s hands.
‘Okay, Mum, I will. Night.’
‘Night.’
Ollie came into the bedroom, still clutching his phone.
‘Don’t make it too late, Ollie.’
‘All right, Mum, I won’t,’ he whispered.
Chris and Vicky said a last goodnight, left the room and shut the door.
‘I think I might go to bed as well,’ Vicky said.
‘Shall we have a bath before we turn in?’ Chris said.
Vicky looked at the large circular b
athtub plonked in the middle of an en suite nearly the size of her living room.
‘Well … it would be rude not to, I suppose,’ she said, smiling.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The buzzing of alarm clocks rang out from what seemed to be every corner.
‘Jesus!’ Chris sat up and knocked over the glass of water on his bedside in a bid to stop the hotel phone next to it from ringing off the hook. ‘Shit!’
Vicky’s mobile phone was also bleating. ‘Where the hell is my phone?’ she staggered out of bed and tried to locate the noise. ‘Ow! OW! Ah, my toe. I’ve just broken my bloody toe.’
She gripped her stubbed toe and hopped towards the table that had Tariq’s basket on it, hoping her phone would be there as well. It was, and she turned off the alarm and then turned her attention back to her foot.
‘What did you do?’ Chris turned on the bedside light. ‘Christ, they don’t mind a blackout curtain in this place, do they?’
‘I stubbed my toe on the edge of the bed, it really hurts,’ Vicky said, examining her toe. ‘Oh my God, it’s swollen up already. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch … it really hurts.’
‘I’ll get a flannel and see if there’s any ice left in the champagne bucket.’ Chris got up and opened the curtains a crack. ‘Woah, it’s sunny out there.’ He disappeared into the living room. Vicky looked at the clock. 9 a.m. It felt like the middle of the night.
‘Here you go,’ Chris said, bringing back a cold flannel to pack her toe with. ‘No ice, but the water is still cold.’
‘Thanks.’ Vicky wrapped the flannel around her toe and prayed it would stop throbbing. She had forty minutes to get ready before the car picked her up to take her to Tariq. The last thing she needed was a sodding broken toe.
‘The kids are still asleep … shall I wake them up?’ Chris said.
‘If they slept through all that, maybe leave them for another fifteen minutes.’ Vicky hobbled to the bathroom and inspected herself in the mirror. ‘How formal do you think I should be?’
‘I don’t know,’ Chris said. ‘You’re the expert. Where are they taking you?’
‘No idea,’ she said. ‘It could be anywhere.’
She limped into the rain shower and luxuriated for a few minutes. Getting out and drying off, she heard James’s little voice through the sliding doors, talking to Chris.
‘Are the others up yet?’ she called.
‘Just getting them now,’ came the reply.
Vicky suddenly remembered she’d stuffed her laptop rather inelegantly under a cushion in the living room the night before. ‘Just a minute,’ she said to Chris, and having retrieved it, limped back into the bathroom to check if Jonathan had replied. He had, to say he’d passed on her information about William and to try to keep tabs on the accountant whenever possible. Vicky was worried; now she had two lots of wives and kids to keep safe.
She turned her attention to the more immediate task: getting ready for her meeting with Tariq. She decided on a pink-and-white-striped dress, down to the knee and with cap sleeves. Fine for the beach, but she’d probably get away with a cardigan thrown over the top if they went anywhere inside. She brushed her hair and applied some mascara. The dress managed to show up every lump, bump and bulge and she had a zit coming on her chin thanks to the long-haul flight. Not exactly perfect, but it would do.
She winced with pain as she slipped on her flip flops. They weren’t made for broken bones and every time she took a step it was agony. She took them off again and grabbed a couple of plasters from her soap bag and some cotton wool from the glass caddy by the sink. Once her toe was splinted, she slid her foot into a pair of roomy espadrilles, instead of the flip flops, and sighed with relief. At least she could walk now.
Everyone piled down to breakfast, the kids chattering about the day ahead and Chris shepherding them along the way. Vicky looked at her watch. It was already nine-thirty.
‘I’m going to grab a coffee and then I need to run,’ she said.
‘Not with that toe,’ Chris said. His smile disappeared. ‘Good luck. Be careful.’ He gave her a kiss.
‘Don’t worry, it’s just a meeting; there’s not much that can go wrong,’ Vicky said, not sure if she was reassuring him or herself. She felt nervous, suddenly, about leaving Chris and the kids behind.
‘Go,’ Chris said. ‘Merlando’s got our back.’
She nodded, slurped on her strong filter coffee and waved at her children. ‘I’m off to do a bit of shopping. See you later, be good for Dad.’
Jacob was already waiting for her, this time driving a smaller sedan with blackout windows. Not as noticeable here as at home, she thought, looking around at the other cars, which all had various shades of darkened glass. Jacob opened the door and she got in, placing her bag next to her on the back seat.
‘You must be Vicky,’ came a voice from the other side of the car. She swung in and stuck her hand out.
‘Tariq? Good to meet you.’
Tariq was younger than her, in his thirties, and ridiculously good-looking. His dark hair was long on top, swept back from his perfectly symmetrical face by a slick of gel that was just on the right side of lothario. His teeth were even and pearly white, and his skin was a clear, tan colour with just a hint of stubble around his jaw. His body, as far as she could tell, embraced the theme of physical perfection; the fitted blue shirt he wore skimmed a clearly toned torso, and the belted beige jeans sat snugly with no discernible love handles in sight. If he wasn’t a spy, he could have been a model. No use in London, where he would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but in Dubai, land of the beautiful, he melted right into the crowd. In comparison, Vicky felt hot and awkward, fulfilling her role beautifully as ‘Brit Abroad’.
‘I thought we’d grab a coffee and go for a walk along the beach,’ he said.
‘That would be nice,’ Vicky replied. ‘We only arrived last night, so some fresh air and sunshine would be nice.’
Tariq chuckled. ‘Fresh air. You don’t hear people saying that about Dubai very often.’
They drove past the Burj Khalifa, the famous sail-shaped hotel.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Tariq said. ‘Hard to believe that twenty years ago this place was considered an out-of-town destination. Now it’s right smack in the middle.’
‘This city is unbelievable,’ Vicky agreed. ‘It looks just as amazing by day as it did by night.’
‘It certainly has a way of bewitching you,’ Tariq said. ‘Be careful, Vicky, you may end up wanting to stay.’
Vicky thought of London, and the grey dull skies, the traffic, the smell, the endless relentlessness of it all. ‘I’m already sold,’ she said, smiling.
They turned off the main road into a side street, heading towards the beach. As they slowed to a halt, she summoned up the courage to ask the question that had been on her mind since she woke up that morning.
‘Will anyone else be joining us?’
On cue, Jacob pulled up at the dead end, facing the blue waters of the Gulf. A pale-suited figure stood by the boardwalk, smoking a cigarette.
‘Ah, Anatoli,’ Tariq said, opening the door. ‘You’re early.’
Vicky felt her heart speed up as she climbed out of the car to stand with the two men. If it was possible to feel lumpier and more middle-aged than she did now, standing between her ex-lover dressed from head to toe in Ralph Lauren and the chiselled, coiffed, Ryan Gosling body double that was Tariq, she didn’t know how. She pulled her dress down, doing her best to iron out the creases, draped the cardigan over her arm and tucked a sweaty bit of hair behind her ears. Thank God she had her sunglasses with her, to hide some of the wrinkles.
‘Vika?’
Anatoli looked surprised, although whether it was her mere presence or the state of her, was debatable. Quite frankly Vicky was amazed that he recognised her at all. She didn’t know what to do. The last time she’d seen him, he’d thrown her clothes at her and walked away, leaving her ashamed, embarrassed and disappointed. So much had happened
since … she blinked the memory away and forced the years to roll forward. From the silence, Vicky guessed he must be going through similar thoughts, but his sunglasses masked his eyes, making it impossible for her to read him. She realised she had hers on too and was thankful he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
Tariq broke the silence. ‘I believe you two have met.’
‘Yes, I believe we have.’ Anatoli’s mouth broke into a small smile and he held out his hand. As she took it, he pulled her into him to kiss her on the cheek. ‘It’s been a long time.’
She laughed and accepted the embrace. ‘Yes, it certainly has. Although you wouldn’t know it, looking at you.’
‘You look great, Vika. Like you are having a good life – one filled with family and love. You have a family, yes?’
‘Yes, yes I do.’ The tension was replaced by relief. She brushed an escaped tear away. They were still the same people. But they were both older and wiser, and with hearts that belonged to other people. She smiled up at him. ‘Three kids and a very nice husband,’ she said, thinking of her family and feeling proud, suddenly, that she had accomplished this amazing feat. ‘You?’
Vicky’s smile faltered and she cursed inwardly at her idiotic knee-jerk reaction to their exchange of pleasantries. The last thing she wanted to get into conversation about with Anatoli was family.
‘I have not been so lucky,’ he said.
‘So,’ Tariq said, taking the lead on the conversation and interrupting Anatoli before it got any more awkward. ‘Let’s walk.’
Vicky hobbled along between the two men and tried to ignore the stabbing pain where her toe used to be. Tariq and Anatoli slowed down their pace to meet hers, although graciously neither mentioned anything.
Tariq began talking. ‘Vicky, we need to get you up to speed on the takedown plan, and I thought it would be good for you to hear it straight from Anatoli.’
