Murder at Canary Wharf (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 8)

by P. J. Thurbin

  “When we land, just wait until the driver comes on board. Then take his hat and jacket and he’ll remain on the plane until we are out of the area. You will use his pass. With dark glasses and a cigarette it should be easy. You’ll drive and I’ll do the talking.”

  Ralph was worried about the ‘should be’ bit. The thought of finishing up in the notorious Kresty prison where the Russians had put the GreenPeace Artic protesters started to figure in his mind. Being beaten up by KGB guards in brown jackets and flat caps was not something that he wanted to dwell on. The Russian press would have you believe that all that had changed now, but somehow he doubted it. He remembered that the journalists had reported that the Russians called the prison ‘Investigative Isolator Number One’.

  He pulled the driver’s cap low on his forehead and puffed on the cigarette that Alex had handed him. He found driving the Mercedes SUV comforting, as at least here was something that he could control. Alex directed them away from the airport and towards the docks and the river. Although it was only early September, the night was dark and cold and the automatic window demisters whirred away. The red taillights of the late night traffic ahead began to mesmerise him and he tried to shake off the lethargy that the flight and the earlier rush of adrenaline had induced. Alex had already handed two brown packages to the guards as they left the airport, and as they approached what looked like a road block, he saw him take another from his briefcase. There was a lot of shouting and gesticulating at the check point and the soldiers raised what Ralph recognised as AKM’s: a modern version of the Kalashnikov AK-12. He had heard that it was used as an urban rifle because of its ability to penetrate heavy cover. Alex called the officer over and handed him three more envelopes. The guards raised the barrier and they drove up to a line of vehicles that were about 100 meters from, as best as he could make out, the Dar Mlodziezy. Its bare masts stood out lonely and silent against the lights from across the river.

  “Stay in the vehicle, Ralph and for god’s sake don’t move. These soldiers will shoot anything that moves. Believe me, one round from one of those Makarov pistols those men are carrying will blow a hole in you.”

  Ralph had no intention of moving. In fact he thought his legs had probably ceased working altogether. Alex strode off flanked by two soldiers, both with revolvers out and ready. He could see Alex talking to an officer who appeared to be a senior commander. The stakes had escalated beyond the mere bribery stage and Alex seemed to be negotiating some sort of proposition. After what seemed like an age, Alex and his two shadows returned.

  “Okay Ralph. It all looks pretty bad. They’ve agreed that you can talk to Vadim on the radio they’ve rigged up to the ship. I told them that you are Vadim’s doctor and that if you can get close to him you may be able to inject him with a tranquilizer. It’s our only choice. Are you game?”

  Ralph hesitated. He was not sure how this could work. He had no tranquilizer and had no idea what he would do once he was aboard.

  “What are they planning to do if I don’t go aboard?”

  “From what I can determine, they’re waiting until around 4 or 5 in the morning when they know that Vadim will be at his lowest point. Then they will probably attack. They have divers out there waiting around the ship and I expect they have snipers positioned on that bridge. Then knowing them it will most likely be stun grenades and a rapid assault.”

  Ralph remembered seeing on the BBC the way they had dealt with the Chechens. At the Opera House they had killed everyone, terrorists and civilians alike, and then in the school they had killed the children as well as the rebels. The Russians did not seem bothered that they sacrificed innocent lives to achieve their objective. Some Poles at a conference had once told him that for Russians the end always justifies the means. And now that Putin was on his way to his hometown, they would want everything sorted before he arrived.

  Alex’s voice broke in to his reverie.

  “They will take Vadim dead or alive. You are his only chance. You have to talk him into a surrender. They might just take him prisoner if you’re there, but of course I can make no promises. What do you think?”

  “It might work. I’m willing to give it a go. Just tell me what I should do now.”

  “For a start, take that damn hat off, then follow me. Don’t make any sudden moves, and keep your hands away from your sides where they can see them.”

  Alex led Ralph to a military vehicle where a surly looking youth ungraciously handed him a headset.

  “Just press that there and it should put you right through to Vadim. He’s in the chart room,” said Alex as he pointed to the raised on off button and patted Ralph on the arm.

  After a brief and somewhat disjointed exchange, Ralph walked to the ship where a dishevelled and slightly shaky Vadim greeted him.

  “How did you get here?” Vadim asked him as he guided Ralph to the relative safety of the chart room where a small red light glowed above the table..

  “I wanted to help you,” Ralph said. “You’re not well.” It was an oversimplification, but he could see that Vadim was near the end of his tether.

  “Have they agreed about the money?”

  Ralph saw a gleam of what he could not tell was hope or despair in Vadim’s eyes. He knew that he must be honest with him. The police surrounding the ship were only waiting for the order to attack.

  “There’s no way they will do that, Vadim. You must remember what happened when the Chechens made demands. The police killed everyone. They won’t give in no matter who else gets hurt in the process.” He saw Vadim’s shoulders slump.“

  Ralph decided to at least try and salvage what he could from an impossible situation.

  “Vadim, where’s the Captain? Is he alright?” Vadim gestured in the general direction of Koval’s cabin.

  “The Skipper’s alright. He’s just angry that I locked him up.” He smiled. “Look Ralph, it was all a bluff. Even if I could, I would never blow the ship up. I just wanted the Russians to pay for what they did to my family and all of the other families who were victims of their mistakes at Chernobyl. Thousands died because of the Russians and they should pay.” He coughed and slumped into a chair.

  Ralph looked at his watch. He had only a couple of hours before the police would attack and he was under no illusions about the ferocity the police and the army would apply to close this episode.

  “Why don’t we get the Skipper out and get you to hospital, Vadim. With all the media on the docks, they’re certain to accept your surrender. I can speak to our friend Alex Shevchenko on the phone. He can help us.” Vadim laughed.

  “Alex Shevchenko? He’s with them. He’s KGB. We told him about a man warning us the ship was to be attacked in Greenwich.” There was a pause as he coughed and gasped for air. “Shevchenko said he would tell the police, but he lied. And you think he would help us? You’re wrong my friend.” With that he slumped over onto the navigation table.

  Ralph sat back, unable to believe what he had just heard. Alex working for the KGB? How could that be possible? But it started to fall into place. The envelopes being passed around, Alex’s connections, his interest in the ship and Canary Wharf and his ability to get the police and army to do his bidding. His story about using the ship for money laundering was probably just a cover so that Ralph would help him to get Vadim to surrender. His brain whirred. Was the KGB involved with ISIS? Had the KGB sponsored the attack on the ship to disrupt financial trading in the City of London? Had Amin tried to warn the Skipper? And if so, had Alex had him and Nasser silenced? Was it some form of retaliation for the sanctions that the UK were applying to Russia for their involvement in supporting the separatists in Eastern Ukraine? His mind buzzed with unanswered questions. Ralph picked up the phone that Vadim had used to talk to the police and was startled to hear Alex’s cold and cultured voice. “Ralph. Have you got him to see sense?”

  “Yes. There are no explosives. It was a ploy to get the money. We are coming out, but you must get a doctor. He’s very ill. Y
ou have to make sure that he and Anton are safe.” As he said it he realised that it was the only card that he had to play. But if Alex was with the KGB, then he had little hope for either their safety or for his own.

  “Well done, Ralph. I knew you could do it. Give me five minutes and then just come straight out. I know it sounds a bit melodramatic, but have everyone put their hands on their heads.” Ralph heard that smooth laugh and knew he had been duped.

  Ralph went to the Captain’s cabin and announced himself before he opened the door and released the Skipper. Captain Koval had no idea how or why Ralph was there, but he was relieved to see him. After a brief exchange he helped Ralph to lift Vadim, and between them they walked towards the gangplank which was now bathed in white light from a searchlight mounted on one of the army vehicles that had moved forward into position. As Ralph put his hand up to shield his eyes, he heard what he thought was a wasp or flying insect as it buzzed past his ear. Anton spun around as he let Vadim fall. Then more noise and smoke as an object rolled across the deck. “The bastards are shooting,” Ralph shouted. But it was too late. Vadim and Anton lay dead on the deck, their blood already staining the salt weathered oak planks.

  Ralph dodged behind a bulkhead then ran towards the stern of the ship. In his mind he envisaged diving into the river and swimming ashore. He needed to get away from those damn snipers. His Navy instructors had taught him that a skilled sniper armed with a Dragunov SVD and 10 rounds could drill a hole in a small coin at 50 metres. He was not about to put it to the test. He grabbed a red life jacket from a stack on the afterdeck. He looked down into the pitch black water that swirled around the stern. The tide must be on the turn, he guessed. He kicked off his shoes and slipped out of his jacket. He knew that the water temperature could be no more than 40 degrees Fahrenheit. He slid down the ropes until he reached a point where he could glide into the water without making too much noise. He let the tide carry him away from the menacing spectre of the hull of the black ship. He concentrated on keeping close to the shore. Being swept out into the main channel and heading for the Baltic with the flotsam and jetsam from the city waste was not an attractive prospect. After about 10 minutes, he struck out for the shore. He managed to cling onto a stanchion and clawed his way up some slime covered steps. At the top he flinched as he heard a shout. For a moment he thought he was dead.

  “Ere mate. You okay?”

  “He won’t understand, Jim. Just some poor sod. Had too much Vodka and fell in.”

  “No. He’s got a life jacket on. You alright, mate? Best sit down. You look knackered.”

  Through the mist and yellow light from the dock buildings he saw two large men wrapped in coats and wearing blue and white coloured woolly hats.

  “You speak English?” Asked the taller of the two.

  “Just a bit,” said Ralph. “I’m Ralph Chalmers.” Suddenly he felt stupid and woozy. He wondered if he was in a time warp and he had been transformed into Stanley while the two large blokes had morphed into one Doctor Livingston.

  “Blimey. You orf a ship or som’fin, mate? I’m Jimmy. This is Bob. We’re over fur the game. Spurs playing a friendly aginst FC Dynamo. S’pect we’ll frash ‘em,” he laughed and turned to his pal.

  Ralph was so relieved he could have wept. Here he was soaked to the bone and almost frozen from the icy Neva where Rasputin had been shot and thrown in to drown all those years ago, and who should come along but two Tottenham Football Club supporters. Two Londoners.

  “Thanks for helping me.” He mumbled.

  “No worries, mate. Look, you’re shivering. ‘ere put this coat on.” And with that he helped Ralph remove the life jacket and put on his large thick overcoat over Ralph’s wet clothes. “Jimmy put that wool hat on his head.”

  “Now you’re one of us, mate. Up the Spurs.” They chanted.

  “Look I need to get to the British Embassy. I’ve lost my wallet.” He knew it all sounded a bit bizarre, but his intrepid rescuers weren’t fazed. It was a foreign country and everything there was bizarre to them.

  Jimmy took charge. “No worries, mate. Look we’ve got one of them Ivan’s for the night. He’s been takin’ me and Bob ‘round the night spots. He’s over there and he’ll know where it is. Ivan!” He shouted and gave a two fingered whistle towards an old beat up East German Trabant that was parked across the cobblestoned square. Ralph remembered the old jokes about the Trabant 601. What does the 601 stand for? Space for 6 people, zero comfort and one to push it. But now he would have swopped his Jag for this old rust heap. They all piled in and Ivan grunted as Jimmy tried to explain that they wanted to go to the British Embassy. Ralph recalled a name from his trip to Saint Petersburg with Katie a few years back.

  “Smolinsky Raion?”

  The driver shrugged and continued to puff on an evil smelling cigarette. Ralph tried again.

  “Place Proletarskoy Dikartury?” Ralph could almost hear Katie groan at his pronunciation. Ivan just grunted and slammed the car into gear and drove across the bumpy streets.

  “Sounds like you upset him there, Ralph,” shouted Jimmy as he turned in his seat. “Probably called his Mum a turnip or somefin,” he laughed.

  “More likely told him to drive to the nearest pub. I could do wiv a drink” shouted Bob as he hung on to the thin strap over the door. They all laughed and Ralph for a moment felt that he was safe and back with friends in England. But without a passport or any documents. How on earth was he going to get in to see the British Consulate at 4 am in the morning with no shoes and looking like a tramp or a drunk? He tried to control the shivers, but lack of sleep, no food, being shot at and a spell in the Neva was starting to take its effect. Bob sensed it.

  “Soon be there, squire. Old Ivan’s a good driver. Bit rough, but just one of us when it comes down to it.”

  “Just like us,” shouted Jimmy. Everyone, including Ivan, laughed.

  They pulled up outside the British Consulate and Ralph looked up at the Union Jack flapping in the early morning breeze. Jimmy jumped out and started arguing with the guard. Some money must have been exchanged and the man rang the bell. After a few minutes the door opened and a well-dressed man walked over to the car. Ralph opened the door and stepped out.

  “Professor Chalmers. We’ve been waiting to hear from you. Please come in.”

  Ralph was stunned. Jimmy must have told them his name and where they had found him. It all seemed like a bad dream. He shook hands with his two friends.

  “Thanks chaps. Where can I find you?”

  Jimmy grinned. “Terraces at White ‘art Lane. Every o’ver Saturdy. Look, you go on inside mate, or you’ll freeze.” Ralph gave the coat back as the two Londoners pilled back in to the car.

  “Home Ivan an’ don’t spare the ‘orses.” Ivan grunted and wound his window up.

  With a crunch from the gears they disappeared into the dawn light. Ralph was ushered inside and no one seemed to notice his strange garb.

  After a hot shower he went into a small room where he saw they had laid out a blue shirt, a suit of clothes and a pair of shiny black shoes. He dressed and was shown into a dining room where he was introduced to what he guessed was a junior civil servant.

  “Just help yourself to breakfast, sir, and then I expect that you will want to rest a bit before we try to sort things out. There’s no hurry. Just ring the bell in your room when you feel refreshed. There’s a phone by the bedside table if you wish to call home, but as they are a few hours behind, it might be best to wait until later.” Ralph interpreted that as ‘don’t contact anyone until we agree what you should say’. Still, it was nice to be in a civilised world again, he mused. The young man smiled and left. As he tackled the breakfast and poured a welcome cup of tea, he thought about Katie and wondered what he would tell her about all of this.

  Ralph must have slept for at least five hours. He awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows of his room. He opened the shutters and looked out onto a small square which was covered in the orange and
yellow leaves of autumn. A breeze caused them to swirl around. He gave a small involuntary shudder as he realized that it could as easily have been a view from his cell in Kresty prison.

  Ralph rang the bell. The young man he had met earlier led him down a magnificent staircase whose thick pile muffled their footsteps. The walls were panelled in dark oak and there was a large gilt framed painting of the Queen over a stone fireplace. He was shown into what he assumed was the Consulate office where he was introduced to Sir Arthur Maitland-Smythe. He had silver-grey hair and moustache, and Ralph guessed he must be the Consul General. But there were no more introductions or explanations. It was almost as though he were simply having a chat in Granger’s office about some trivial timetabling problem.

  The young civil servant explained that they were aware of his arrival in the city and what had happened at the ship. He said that there had been a media clampdown which was usual with these kinds of incidents, but they had heard that unfortunately Anton Koval and Vadim Melnyk had been shot and believed dead.

  Ralph was saddened but not surprised. If he had followed Alex’s instructions he would no doubt be among the unfortunate as well. The senior man leant forward.

  “Well Professor, it may interest you to know that we have spoken with Colonel Stigart, whom I think you know, and to the people at MI5 in London. Commander Harris and Commander Renton have been informed about this unfortunate affair and your involvement in it.”

  There was that word ‘unfortunate’ again.

  Well thank you, Sir. And thank you for your hospitality.”

  “It’s the least we can do, Professor Chalmers. You are a British citizen, after all. Visitors are usually given a warmer welcome than you have just experienced. Our Russian colleagues are a good bunch by and large, just all damned unfortunate.”

  They must have said that when the Titanic went down or when the Charge of the Light Brigade turned out to be a slaughter. It was a useful word, but it covered a multitude of sins. He relayed what Vadim had told him about Alex Shevchenko being KGB. When he had finished the younger man leant forward.