by Tim Heath
Men acting on the instructions of Fifteen were seen entering the hotel shortly after twelve, the Trackers noticing the event but failing to report it in. It was evident that the Host would do something––they always did. The Trackers had an unambiguous job description, and getting on the wrong side of an oligarch for no discernible reason was certainly not one of them.
7
Alex had risen first the following morning, getting out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake Anissa who he couldn’t see, unaware if she was yet awake or not. He pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt and left the room just before eight. Anissa had been reading but knew Alex liked to go jogging in the morning so left him to it. It would give her time to get showered and dressed before he arrived back anyway.
By ten they had finished breakfast and were standing in front of the hotel, where Sasha had dropped them the night before, as agreed. After just a few minutes’ waiting, both agents starting to get a little cold as neither had a hat or gloves with them, making them stand out as apparent tourists, Sasha pulled over and they jumped in the back seat once more. He pulled away as the road cleared a little in front of him, taking an immediate right and working what looked like the side roads, which were clearer and where progress was a little more rewarding.
“Where are we heading to?” Alex asked, his tone calm.
“There is a wonderful place not too far from here that has some great views of the city, plus they do a delicious lunch if we need it later.”
Nothing much more was said, besides a little small talk about their night’s sleep, though Sasha was not one for such discussion. Twenty minutes later they pulled up into a space, the front wheels of his car mounting the kerb in front, though from the look of the other cars around, it didn’t seem to matter one bit, as long as you weren’t blocking the small street. A canal ran alongside the road, an ornately decorated church prominent in the distance. Both British agents admired it as they climbed out of the back seat.
“It’s the Church on Spilled Blood,” Sasha pointed up, hand gesturing in the direction they were both looking. “Its architect had his eyes gouged out after he completed it so that he wouldn’t be able to create anything more spectacular.”
Anissa looked at Sasha to see if he was kidding but turned back when it was clear this straight-faced Russian was just giving them some history.
“The building was used as a storage area during Soviet times, which nearly destroyed the interior, which is wall to ceiling in mosaics. Quite spectacular,” and he turned, heading back up the road. “Follow me,” is all he then said, both Alex’s and Anissa’s eyes taken from the church as they finally turned and headed after Sasha.
The end of the road intersected with Nevski Prospekt, the city’s main thoroughfare that linked the two sides of the centre. On the corner was an extremely ornate building, which appeared to be a bookstore and Sasha led them inside, much to Alex’s initial surprise. As if guessing the confusion, Sasha commented; “Upstairs there is a great café, with huge windows looking out across to the Cathedral.”
They hadn’t noticed that, across from the bookstore, opposite in fact, stood a giant cathedral, gardens visible in front though it was not yet the season for any plant life. The café, at the front of the building on the second floor and overlooking Nevski, was busy. Sasha found a table, moving another spare chair so that the three of them could sit down. Alex couldn’t help but feel it was too public and crowded to allow them to talk much about anything. Sasha thought otherwise. Around the various tables it was now apparent there were a large number of tourists, the occasional English voice heard, but Spanish, German and French too, plus a few others they couldn’t pick out, as well as Russian, but it wasn’t the place locals came to that often. The prices, for one thing, were showing the café was aimed mainly at the tourist market.
The views were impressive, and the five tables by the windows were by far the most popular. They were a little further away, but the vista was still dramatic. The windows were floor to ceiling, most probably twenty feet at least, and light poured into the area, though it wasn’t a particularly sunny day. A waitress came over, and Sasha ordered something for himself, before turning to his two guests and seeing what they wanted. Once the order was placed, the waitress left them, stating she’d be back with their drinks in a little over five minutes.
“So what’s all this about then, Alex?” Sasha said, looking at this stranger across the table from him. Alex involuntarily looked around, Sasha continuing as if reading his mind; “It’s okay to speak freely here, no one is bothered by us, no one can hear us. These are just tourists taking in the sights. They’ll come and go. If anyone is obviously listening, we’ll soon know.”
“Okay, I believe you. Look, Sasha, we’re going to need some help on this one.” Alex passed across a piece of paper, prepared that morning for such a moment as this, which contained the four names they’d been given two months ago. “We believe all four of these people might have entered your city within the last twenty-four hours. Two we know for sure left the UK yesterday before we did. Of the other two, we aren’t sure. One is Irish, and we never traced where the fourth guy came into things. His name would suggest he’s Spanish or Portuguese, most probably living there, too. Nothing checked out for anyone using that name as being currently resident in the UK, anyway.”
“And what do you want me to look for? Are they a threat to security here?”
“I don’t believe so, no. Certainly, nothing in their past would suggest they were capable of anything, mind you until yesterday, we’d been looking into them for two months already, and nothing about them suggested they were anyone of interest, until both the women suddenly cleared security through British airports, destination Russia.”
“Where did you get the names from again?” Sasha had been told this already, and they all knew this.
“From our contact, that’s all I can say at this moment. He knew even then that this was going to happen.”
“And last night you said it involves many wealthy people.”
“Yes.”
Sasha sat back in his chair, moments later the drinks coming which gave them a little more time in silence.
“What’s the crime?”
It was a good question, Anissa picking up the workings of this younger man in front of her. He seemed to be straight up with them, which was refreshing, given the stereotype often used for the FSB.
“That’s what we want to find out. We have nothing on this organisation if it even exists. For months, years, it was just a whisper in the background. Nothing of substance. Then we were put in touch with someone who would go deep, off the radar.”
“You have an informant, here in Russia?”
“Something like that, yes. It was a long shot really, and only a few at Six were happy about us looking into it. He isn’t an MI6 agent, not even directly on the payroll. We’d heard very little, but two months back he reports in, only a little information, and very obscure. He listed these four people,” Alex said, tapping the piece of paper he’d placed in front of Sasha as if to clarify the point. “He also gave us some dates that have passed, and the first name of presumably a Russian male, who we must assume is somehow part of this whole thing.”
“The name?” Sasha said, taking a sip of his tea, Anissa watching him tightly from behind her glass of juice, but only out of curiosity.
“Dmitry.”
“Dmitry? Just a first name?”
“Yes, that’s all the report said. And this is the last we’ve heard from him.”
Sasha put his tea back on the table in front of them.
“That’s not a lot to go on, and you still don’t know what the crime is.”
“True,” Anissa said for the first time in the conversation, “but these four people, if they are in this city today, will give us a good idea as to what the hell is going on. This is the first time we’ve got something to go on. We find these four people, and we find some answers.”
&n
bsp; “And you’ve come to me because MI6 haven’t given you the go ahead?”
“Something like that,” Alex said, looking to Anissa but continuing himself. “Though I was the main contact for the mole, his report never reached me. Officially, I’ve never been told that he gave us these names, these dates or the name Dmitry. They’ve not reported to me that we’ve lost contact with our man since this report was sent.”
“So somebody, presumably high up in your service, is keeping a lid on this whole situation?”
“Yes,” they both said in unison.
“What a marvel––you Brits think it’s only my employers that are full of crooks!” Sasha laughed, his point well made.
“Can you help us?” Anissa said, warming to him the more she got to know him.
“It won’t be easy, and believe me, if certain people from Moscow are involved in this, rich people with power, we could be walking into a nightmare. But I said I’d help you, and that is what I intend to do. We’ll take a look at these four people if, as you say, they have all just arrived in the city. I’ll make contact with migration services, get a list of everyone’s names that landed at the airport yesterday. We’ll start there and see what it shows us. Most major hotels will also require that guests register their arrival, so if that is done promptly, it might show where they are staying. That said, I wouldn’t expect to know that information for a few days. The hotels have seventy-two hours to report these details.”
“They might be gone before then.”
“Yes, well, assuming they arrived in Russia as you say, their migration card which they would have completed on arrival will tell us what we need to know. It’ll prove if in fact they have arrived, and will also tell us the day they are due to leave. Anything more than three days and the hotels will report their whereabouts before they’ve returned home.”
“I don’t think we’ll have that luxury. Something tells me it’ll be today or tomorrow that whatever they came for at such short notice, they will do.”
“Then we haven’t any time to lose,” Sasha said, standing up and putting on his coat. “I’ll call in at the office and get the information on the migration cards. You can wait here, enjoy the ambience, or go for a walk. I’ll come back in two hours.”
They agreed to his plan, scanning the menu as he left them, though they weren’t yet ready for lunch. They finished their drinks, deciding a walk was called for, and left the café, keeping an eye on the time for when Sasha was due to head back.
8
Annabel Herbertson had located the ticket quickly, the directions she’d found pushed under her hotel room that morning leading her directly to what turned out to be a drain pipe attached to a building just a short walk from the hotel. The Trackers recorded the fact she’d found the ticket. History told them that a Contestant would always try to make a run for it if they got to this stage.
She returned to the main road, people walking past her, going about their everyday life. An old woman struggled with two bags of shopping, a young woman carried her designer dog in a little bag hanging from her shoulder, quickly navigating the icy pavement in high heels. Life seemed so normal, and yet for Annabel, she’d just come across a ticket worth more money than she’d ever hope to make in her life. World-changing money, for her and her young son.
She decided then and there not to return to the hotel. She had her bag, and therefore her documents, with her. The clothes that were left behind were nothing compared to the mission she had before her. Get out of that place and back to London that day, and she’d be rich beyond her wildest dreams.
She didn’t know if it was the closeness of riches or just the fact she now had something she dreaded losing, but suddenly it was as if she didn’t feel safe anymore as if every old woman carrying shopping was a threat to her, every young Russian beauty out to get her. She needed to move.
Recalling the railway station was nearby, she started to walk towards that. Whoever had posted the note under her door knew where she was. They’d focused this thing on her. Now she felt vulnerable. Were they watching her that very minute? She located the station, and an array of buses and coaches were spread out on a horseshoe-shaped road in front of the building.
She entered the main concourse, the Trackers behind her at every turn. Going for a train was a smart move as most Contestants headed for the airport, unwittingly playing into the hands of the Hosts who could pull in favours with migration police. Her odds had dropped, as another Contestant offered the rare possibility of actually getting out of Russia, undoubtedly the first, and quickly hardest hurdle, to overcome.
Annabel, not understanding anything around her, saw what she thought she was looking for, confirmation that trains were heading out of Russia from where she was departing. Tallinn, the capital of Estonia and due west of her position, was showing. She’d flown to Tallinn once before, many years back before she was even a mother, and knew it offered cheap direct flights to the UK. Finding a man who was queuing who spoke English, she quickly explained to him what ticket she wanted to buy and he went with her, happy to help, speaking Russian with the lady behind the counter, and once her passport had been checked, nothing more was said. She thanked the man, passed over the rubles that had been indicated and was handed her ticket. The whole process of entering the station to obtaining her ticket took less than three minutes. The gods were smiling on her, she mused. She jogged to where she needed to be, feeling every minute counted, though she had ten minutes to board the waiting train, which was ample.
Three of the Trackers also boarded the train, Annabel spotting them walking past the window, ignoring them as best she could, but there was something about them she didn’t trust. She’d also seen one of them at her hotel. Two other men, who were part of the Host’s party, also boarded the train. As the whistles were sounding, and the train started to pull away, she made her move, low so that no one could see her, and back to the door, easing it open as the train slowly picked up speed. Being sure she was out of sight, she leapt off, landing back onto the platform less than fifteen metres before it ended. The train continued to pick up speed, moving away from the station, its passengers unaware of what had just happened.
She doubled back to the front of the platform once more, using a different cashier’s window this time, and motioned as best she could for a ticket for the next train, leaving within the hour and also heading to Tallinn. It had helped, despite not knowing any Russian, that she’d just seen the kind of information needed, and she even passed her documents across as the instruction was given, paying the ticket price, a little more than the previous one had been, but it was a faster train with fewer stops. It was due to arrive in Tallinn thirty minutes before the previous train, which is why she’d done what she did. Looking around, no one was apparently following her. She found a quiet café to hide in, paid for a drink and sat down, waiting for the hour to tick by before she’d reappear, check her surroundings and make for her new seat on the express train.
It was thirty minutes before the concern was raised within the Games Room that they didn’t have a visual on the Contestant. The Host, a little anxious by this point already, was in constant contact with his two men that he’d sent to board the train. Their instructions had been unambiguous––under no circumstance was Annabel to be allowed to enter Estonia. They walked the length of the train, expecting to pass her at any moment, but getting to the last carriage, and there was no visible sign of her. The Trackers had now reported this information too, a frenzy of noise coming from the other oligarchs, as once more the possibility of a Contestant getting away was made clear to them all. The Hunt had suddenly become very interesting.
A little north of where Annabel had picked up her ticket, Twila too had been on the Hunt for her ticket. Once she’d come across it, she discovered it to be an unclaimed £1 million from the UK Millionaire Maker game, and she too had felt that burst of power and fear that hit every Contestant. Panic set in almost immediately, which is really what ultimately stopped
most Contestants. Twila, however, managed to control that initial high and started to focus. She ran back to the hotel she’d been staying at, the Trackers needing to work hard to keep in touch with her, losing her briefly before she was spotted entering the hotel, taking the stairs and ascending three at a time, wasting as little time as possible. She grabbed everything she had, most of which she hadn’t bothered to unpack anyway, and zipped up her bag. She’d paid for the room up front and for the next few days, so it didn’t matter if she was heading out without telling them. Checking she had everything, her passport in her handbag, she dropped the room card on the floor before closing the door behind her, heading back to the stairs and descending back out onto the street. She’d been not even five minutes.
In the Games Room, since she had been picked because of her athletic prowess, there was a rumble of admiration. What she did next would indicate whether she had a chance or not, but as she avoided all the waiting taxi cabs, again a roar went up in the room. Bets were doubled, declarations made that put some of the other oligarchs, especially Twila’s Host, in an awkward position should she also become successful in this particular Hunt. The Trackers following Twila had the use of a car at this point, which enabled them to keep a watch on her. Avoiding the taxis meant she had opted not to head towards the airport, a trip south through the city at that time of the day sure to delay her for hours.
“She’s heading for the station,” one of the oligarchs said, the Host already seeing that possibility and putting men in place within the main concourse as well as on the platform. The thought that two Contestants were taking trains made this an unprecedented Games day already.
