Gray Salvation

by Alan McDermott

  ‘It’s urgent,’ Ellis stressed. ‘I need you to do it now.’

  Bryan looked over to Bury, who simple gave a shrug that said ‘she’s in charge’.

  Clearly upset at having his routine interrupted, Bryan stood and took another bottle of Luminol from his forensic kit, then walked along the side of the carpet and through to the kitchen, stepping over the corpse on his way.

  Ellis followed, careful to follow in his footsteps to avoid contaminating the crime scene. The kitchen was small, with two aisles separated by a stainless-steel workspace. Under the workspace were a couple of ovens and storage space. The rear door was open, with an officer standing guard outside.

  Bryan turned out the lights and began spraying the floor near the opening, and Ellis held her breath as she waited for the telltale signs to emerge.

  Nothing.

  ‘It’s clear,’ Bryan said, then went outside and repeated the task.

  ‘Anything?’ Ellis asked from inside.

  ‘Not a trace.’

  ‘Could they have cleaned it up?’

  ‘Not completely,’ Bryan said. ‘If there was any blood here today, we should at least see a sign. There’s nothing.’

  The discovery left Ellis both elated and confused. It meant Sarah probably hadn’t been taken out that way, but then where could she possibly be?

  ‘Gary, you need to see this.’

  Bryan followed the sound of his technician’s voice to the hallway separating the dining area from the kitchen.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The traces follow a line from the door to here, and then . . . stop.’

  Ellis looked back through the building and saw the lines of markers snaking from the front door. The blue glow from the Luminol was no longer visible as it only lasted around thirty seconds, but Bryan’s square markers showed where each trace had been found.

  The most recent ones were also losing their luminosity, but Ellis could clearly see them reach a certain point and turn towards the wall before stopping. The wall consisted of several wooden panels, some of which contained framed pictures of Russian landscapes.

  ‘There must be a switch somewhere.’ Ellis tried tapping the wall to find a hollow spot, but the sound was consistent across its width. She then ran her hands along the edge of a panel, but it appeared solid.

  ‘Everyone, look for a button or anything that might be a door release.’

  The SOCO team made way for two police officers, who joined Ellis in the search. They covered every inch of the wall, from top to bottom, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

  ‘It must be here somewhere,’ Ellis muttered as she walked back into the dining area.

  She looked under the corner table where Bessonov always sat, but it was clear. She then walked behind the bar, flicking all the switches on and bathing the room in light. None of them triggered any secret passages.

  Now that she could see better, Ellis checked all of the shelves under the bar. They were full of glasses, but it was the undersides she was most interested in.

  It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for. Her fingers tripped across a small recessed button, and when she pressed it she heard a click come from the hallway.

  ‘Sarge, we’ve got something,’ one of the officers said.

  Bury walked over and saw the small opening. It had opened barely an inch, and he gave it a little push inwards. The light from the hallway partially illuminated the interior, revealing a set of stairs to the first floor as well as another leading underground.

  Already at his side, Ellis whispered, ‘I don’t hear anything,’ not wanting to alert anyone who might be inside.

  ‘I’m not taking any chances,’ Bury said, leading her away from the hidden entrance. He signalled for the other two officers to follow and called two more over to join the huddle.

  ‘We don’t know what’s inside,’ Bury told them, ‘but chances are the woman is in there somewhere.’

  He divided the men into two teams, assigning one the upstairs and the other the basement.

  The officers checked their weapons and ensured their flak jackets were secure, then walked to the hidden door and stood ready for the go signal.

  ‘Get these guys out of here,’ Bury said, indicating the six prisoners.

  Ellis watched Bessonov being helped to his feet, his smug expression now gone. Instead, a bead of sweat clung to his brow, and he looked both defiant and extremely pissed off.

  ‘If you’ve harmed her, you’ll wish you were dead,’ Ellis said, and motioned to the police officer to get the Russian out of her sight.

  Bury waited until they’d all been led outside, safe from any gunfire, before sending his men into the darkness.

  Sarah Thompson hadn’t experienced pain like it in her life.

  She’d once broken a tooth while eating pork crackling and bitten down on the exposed nerve, but that was nothing compared to her current state.

  They’d started by pummelling her face and body, taking turns to land excruciating blows, and after getting bored with that game they’d moved on to her fingernails, one by one, twisting the nail out with pliers before pouring surgical alcohol onto the exposed flesh. She’d screamed at the top of her lungs, but no-one had come to her rescue.

  Instead, the two giants had gone about their business as if stacking shelves in a supermarket. No emotion whatsoever, not even a hint of a smile to indicate that they enjoyed their work.

  Next, they’d focused on her thighs. One of them cut deep grooves, almost down to the bone, and the other had pulled the skin apart and placed salt into the gaps. Half a dozen of them on each thigh, as though preparing her as the main course for a barbeque.

  The electric shocks had come next. They’d stripped her naked before securing her to the chair, and after dousing her with water, they used a makeshift cattle prod all over her body, including her most intimate areas.

  Thompson didn’t know how long she’d been going through the ordeal; she only wanted it to end. If that meant a bullet to the brain, so be it.

  Anything to stop the pain.

  The two tormentors were currently taking a break, having a drink while smoking and chatting in Russian. They could have been discussing football or classical music for all she knew, but she suspected they were working out which method to use next on her tortured body. She closed her bruised eyes and prayed that both men would die of acute lung cancer, or even simply clock off for the rest of the day. But fate had other ideas.

  She heard a chair scrape and opened her eyes to see them approaching her once more, one of them holding an industrial-sized power drill.

  Thompson knew what was coming, though it was just a case of which part of her battered body got the treatment. She screamed, more out of fear than in the hope that someone would hear her cries. She struggled against her bonds, but it was no use. Her time had come to an end. A relief, really, she told herself.

  The Russian knelt down in front of her and looked up into her eyes as her screams reduced to sobs.

  ‘Please, don’t do this.’

  He ignored her, unmoved by her pleading.

  Thompson watched the drill inch closer to her kneecap, and she bit down hard on her lip and screwed her eyes up, waiting for the pain to strike.

  Thompson immediately opened them again as the door crashed in and shouts echoed throughout the small room. She saw two figures in black pointing firearms at the Russians, ordering them to drop to the floor.

  The one kneeling in front of her spun around and quickly got to his feet, and in just a couple of steps he was almost on top of the police officer, the drill buzzing away in his hands.

  Three bullets hit him high in the chest, the sounds of the shots magnified in the confined space, but still he advanced, bringing the drill up and aiming at the policeman’s head. Two more rounds struck him, one in the throat and the other under the chin as the shooter dived out of the way of the whirring tool.

  The Russian collapsed to the floor, but his
twin was only getting started.

  Howling at the demise of his brother, Aslan Beriya leapt at the nearest policeman and knocked the muzzle of his gun sideways before stabbing at his throat with a stiletto. The cop spun out of the way but the knife found its mark, slicing an inch into the side of his neck. Both men were off balance, and the Russian’s momentum sent them crashing to the floor, knocking the other cop down in the process.

  Beriya pulled his arm back for another strike, but before he could deliver it, the back of his head exploded outwards. A third officer stood in the doorway, weapon up, calling in the all-clear.

  Thompson was stunned by the ferocity of the sudden onslaught, and she could barely control herself when Veronica Ellis appeared at the doorway. Tears flowed down her bloodied cheeks at the sight of a friendly face, and her boss came over and removed her jacket, using it to cover Thompson’s naked body. She then went to the side table and got a knife to cut Thompson free.

  With her bonds removed, Thompson tried to get to her feet, her body refused to obey her commands.

  ‘Just stay there,’ Ellis said. ‘We’ll get an ambulance crew down here.’

  Ellis passed the instructions to Sergeant Bury, who called up the stairs for the paramedics. They entered the room a couple of minutes later, and after assessing Thompson’s state, put her on a stretcher and carried her up the narrow stairs and out into the cold January evening.

  Ellis climbed into the ambulance and sat next to her as they set off through the rush-hour streets.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ Ellis asked, as the paramedic inserted a cannula into Thompson’s arm and hooked up an intravenous drip.

  ‘I guess I wasn’t,’ Thompson said, wincing as a dressing was applied to her hand. ‘I just felt useless and angry. Andrew’s stuck in Tagrilistan and we know Bessonov’s behind this. I just wanted to . . .’

  ‘I know.’ Ellis sighed.

  ‘The deadline must have passed by now,’ Thompson said, and fresh tears began to flow.

  ‘Enough of that,’ Ellis told her. ‘I spoke to Tom Gray a couple of hours ago. He managed to snatch Andrew from the Russians, but they’re still stuck in-country. I asked Greminov to help get them out.’

  Thompson tried to sit up, but the paramedic eased her back down.

  ‘What did he say? Will he help?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. He passed it on to President Milenko. We should hear something soon.’

  The ambulance made rapid progress despite the traffic, and when they reached the hospital Thompson was wheeled straight into the trauma unit. Ellis tried to follow but was asked to step outside. Not even informing them of her position was enough to convince the consultant on duty, so she asked how long it would be before she would be able to see her colleague again.

  ‘At least three hours,’ the man in scrubs said.

  It was a long time to spend kicking her heels, so Ellis ordered a taxi and had it take her back to the Petrushkin.

  The front and rear of the restaurant had been cordoned off with police tape, and Ellis found her car where she’d left it. A couple of uniformed policemen were standing guard outside the building, and after flashing her badge she was allowed access.

  Inside, she found Bury with a phone to his ear. He put it away when he saw her enter.

  ‘Just the person I was looking for,’ he said. ‘We found a small apartment upstairs.’

  ‘Hardly earth-shattering news.’

  ‘I know, but in it we found several changes of clothes as well as a plastic bag containing a bloodstained suit and shirt. They look to be a good fit for your suspect.’

  That perked her up. She’d feared that Bessonov’s lawyer could explain away his presence at the crime scene as legitimate, and that any evidence was circumstantial. With nothing but inconclusive CCTV in her favour, she’d have a hard time making a conviction stick. Bury’s discovery of the bloody clothes put a new spin on things.

  If only they could match the blood to Thompson.

  ‘I’ll get my office to send a sample over to you. If you identify a match, please let me know as soon as possible.’

  Her phone rang, and she stabbed at the Connect button.

  ‘Veronica, it’s Tom.’

  Gray sounded practically next door. No gunfire, at any rate.

  ‘Sweet Jesus, you made it! Are you guys okay?’

  ‘We’re fine. The locals are looking after our wounded. Andrew should be fit to fly home tomorrow morning, but my guy will be here for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Do you need anything?’ Ellis asked.

  ‘Some post-dated medical insurance wouldn’t go amiss.’

  With the mission being off the books, she doubted the government would foot the bill. That said, involving Greminov and Milenko practically ensured that her superiors would find out soon enough. She only hoped securing Harvey’s release and a conviction against Bessonov would placate them.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she promised.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll ring you once our flights are confirmed. In the meantime, Andrew wanted me to pass on some information about an assassination attempt on President Milenko.’

  ‘We’re working that,’ Ellis said. ‘Their team skipped the country, and we’re looking for likely replacements.’

  ‘Andrew said you need to be looking for a sniper,’ Gray told her. ‘He was being held at a farmhouse and heard the Russians order the farmer to hide their rifle.’

  ‘Hang on a second.’

  Ellis called Bury over and explained what she’d just heard. ‘Send an armed unit to check it out, and bring the farmer in for questioning.’

  She returned to her call. ‘The police are on it, but we’ve already ruled out a sniper as a viable option.’

  ‘I’m just passing on the information,’ Gray said. ‘No need to shoot the messenger.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound harsh. There’s a lot going on here at the moment.’

  She considered telling Gray about Thompson’s ordeal, but decided it could wait until they got back, giving Sarah a little time to heal, both physically and emotionally.

  ‘I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done,’ she said.

  ‘Andrew’s safe, that’s the main thing. You can owe me one.’

  The call ended, and Ellis put the phone back in her pocket. She had one last look around the room, then went to retrieve her car.

  A lot had been resolved in the last twenty-four hours, but if Harvey were correct, President Milenko remained in grave danger.

  Chapter 27

  27 January 2016

  Ivan Zhabin dialled the number on the estate agent’s website and stared out of the apartment window as he waited for the call to connect. The view was underwhelming, but at least the area was quiet and the room was relatively clean, though much smaller than he was used to. It was certainly better than some of the dumps he’d had to stay in throughout his career, but he still craved his expansive apartment on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, with spectacular views and a living room the size of a basketball court.

  ‘Parry and Mason,’ the chipper female voice said, interrupting his thoughts.

  ‘Hello, I’m calling with regards the property for sale on the Ashcroft development.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. Can I take some details, please?’

  Zhabin told her his name was Alfred Baume, spelling it out for her, and that he was a manufacturer from Frankfurt looking for a London property ahead of opening his UK branch.

  ‘We could show you around at two this afternoon, if that’s convenient.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Zhabin said, emphasising the German accent, ‘but I will be in meetings for the next three days and have to fly home on Thursday. Would it be possible to arrange for an evening viewing? Say, tomorrow at seven?’

  This was the third estate agent he’d contacted, and the other two had refused his request. They were obviously confident of shifting their properties during normal business hours, but he hoped this smaller fir
m was willing to go the extra mile for a sale.

  It was a tense few moments as he was put on hold, but the woman came back to the phone and said her colleague could accommodate him and would meet him in the lobby at the agreed time.

  ‘And is the waterfront apartment still available?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ she assured him.

  ‘Excellent! Tomorrow at seven, then.’

  Zhabin hung up.

  From what he’d seen of the property listing, he’d have to take the shot at an angle of about thirty degrees, but it was still well within his comfort zone. The weather forecast for the next day called for overcast skies with a slight chance of rain. Not ideal conditions, and when he factored in the early sunset, a night shot would make it a little more difficult. That said, Viktor Milenko was no longer a young man, and wouldn’t be bounding up the stairs to the hotel. He should have plenty of time to get his sights on the president of Tagrilistan.

  With the arrangements made, he had more than twenty-four hours to do with as he wished, and only one thought crossed his mind. He opened a new browser window and searched for red-light areas in London. The results told him his best chances of finding a woman were in King’s Cross and Soho, so he searched both areas using the online maps.

  An hour later, he decided on Soho, but there would be a lot of preparation before he could go and enjoy himself. He put his suitcase on the double bed and unzipped the top compartment, then removed the hidden panel to reveal his make-up kit. Inside the small bag were the false beard and prosthetic nose he used to disguise his features.

  He applied the nose first, using alcohol to remove the natural body oils that would prevent the Pros-Aide prosthetic glue from adhering to his skin. Next, he used a Q-tip to apply the adhesive to both the foam latex and his skin, and once it had cured, he carefully stuck the new nose on top of his own. Once he was satisfied with the look, he used a small brush to finish sealing the edges to his face with spirit gum.

  It took twenty minutes to get to this stage, and he then began the more laborious chore of applying layers of prosthetic make-up to match his own skin colour.