by Tim Heath
Two days after putting themselves forward for the task, Alex and Anissa were heading up their own team of five junior technicians, supported by a senior technician––the same man who’d contacted Alex having received the message from Andre in the first place. That had made sense to the three at the time, Anissa agreeing that having him lead the team working in the background would give them a heads up on anything they might need to be aware of within MI6.
A full day had been spent detailing every crucial piece of information they held on the hundred companies represented, the five computer experts each taking twenty firms, each report already coming together. Alex and Anissa took the seventeen that interested them most, not knowing which of these might also be a part of the Games events in Russia, though sure that some of them were. It gave them an excellent background to each person, a list which also included three women from the Russian ranks.
Alex had also tried, unsuccessfully, with the Lottery Commission to obtain information about some of the previous winners who had claimed very late, usually doing so on the last day possible and then remaining anonymous. The Commission had refused to give them that information, quoting their right to defend the winners’ identities. Without something from the highest courts, they couldn’t disclose anything about any of these people.
The same had been true for the European wide Loto. Alex knew he wouldn’t be granted this permission, nor did anything he was working on––that MI6 knew about––warrant even his interest in that information. He put it to one side, knowing when to walk away quietly in order not to draw the attention of anyone within his own organisation to his actions and that of his team.
What Alex had been able to task the team with––and they’d taken to it without question like any other task––was mapping, not just in the UK but right across Europe, every single lottery result for the last five years. A considerable grid was drawn up with claim times and undeclared tickets, looking for any patterns in the system, anything that would give them an idea of what had happened and when.
The dates that Andre Philip had initially given them were added to the side of the board, their meaning to anyone else just random numbers, apart from the three people in the room who understood why they were there. It was then, once the results had been collated, the dates written out in front of them, that patterns first started to emerge. Unclaimed tickets for large amounts were mostly from the Continent in any of the dozen-plus lotteries that there was each week, while still, a significant number were from the UK. The Euro Loto––EuroMillions to the British— a European-wide draw that usually offered the regular, huge winnings, featured most, however.
With the benefit of this more comprehensive information, what they were seeing was a connection to each of the dates they’d been given by Andre back in that original––and last––transmission. Be it a Greek ticket, or the Spanish National Loto, French Loto or Irish Lotto, the Italian Super Enalotto, or any number of others in countries right across Europe, and there were unclaimed tickets that coincided with each of the dates that were listed. The gap between draws and the date depended on each country’s rules regarding how long a winner had to claim––some as little as ninety days, others as much as one hundred and eighty. An internet search had shown that Austria, with three years for claimants to come forward, gave the most time, but as far as they could tell, there were no Austrian tickets that matched any of these events.
The sums involved in each of the draws that coincided with a date were now written onto the board in red ink. All the other times a ticket had been claimed after a sizeable gap were printed in black ink. Now they had a clear pattern. Every red ink number, with just a few exceptions, was one of the higher amounts. The red numbers that were not that high, keeping roughly with the average value of the black figures, had no higher value draws around them at the time the ticket was presented.
“Do you see the pattern?” Alex said, taking Anissa to one side as the team of enthusiastic juniors kept building the picture for them. “There is no huge black ink draws. All the ones in black are small amounts, and there’s a red ink number that’s significantly higher from around the same time. It tells me the Russians are watching these draws in much the same way we’ve just been analysing them. If there is a large amount won, they must target it. They either get to the winner before they make mention of their luck––thereby bringing it into their game––giving us the red numbers we have displayed on the board…”
“Or the winner claimed the prize before anyone was able to get to them so that we don’t see it at all on this board,” Anissa said, aware of where he was going with his logic.
“Exactly. It gives us a way in, in real time. In any one week, there must be two dozen draws across Europe, probably more. Most will be small amounts, which only come into play when there are no other options. Some will be big, especially when there has not been a winner for the previous few draws. These prize funds always get increased attention, the jackpot rising higher the more weeks it goes unwon. So when we see this happening, and knowing these Russians we are watching are needing a constant supply of tickets, we’ll get some knowledge as to where they’ll be looking to source their tickets.”
“But how do they know where to look, besides some general information?”
“I don’t know, but they do. I don’t believe they could have a network large enough to have people in every country. So there will be some movement of key personnel. If we can pinpoint who these people are, we have a start. Let’s get one person working on that,” and he made a note to follow that up with someone later. “We also know they must have a way of recruiting people into this thing, though for that I don’t have any ideas how we’ll know about who these people are until it’s too late.”
“Yes, I’ve thought that one through, as well. Without getting an idea of the people they are using to watch these victims, we won’t know where or whom they’re watching.”
“Coming back to these dates,” Alex continued, more animated than she’d seen him in a while, blood pumping through his veins as he finally felt they were getting somewhere in the investigation. “We now know when previous events took place, including the one that was happening the last time we were in St Petersburg two months ago. I’m going to get two, maybe three, people from the team tracking the whereabouts of some of these hundred names on the list, mainly the foreign nationals, and I’ll include all seventeen Russians. If we can place even a handful of them as travelling or away from home on any of these dates, we potentially have some firm evidence that these particular people might be part of the Games. If their travels match up with several dates, we can put people on them, keep a closer eye on them. Maybe that way we’ll come across some of the people they have working for them in the roles we’ve just highlighted as essential.” He made another note, deciding to put at least three of the remaining four people on that task, with the additional input of the senior technician. Getting half a dozen names of people likely to be part of the Games before the next week’s conference in London would enable the two British agents to attend the event and meet these people face to face. Alex went around the room, tasking those there with what he needed them to do, no explanation required from him as to why he was asking them to do anything, their job just to follow orders.
The office they were working together in kicked into life once more–– the fresh impetus to the task at hand giving them the boost they all needed.
17
The London FSTE100 Conference was a big deal within the business world, though it had been decided before the first ever event took place many years before that it would not appear on any publicly circulated business calendar. It was not for the outside world, but a significant coming together of the top one hundred business leaders in the country, a place where even the press was kept at arm’s length. Many of the most respectable papers knew about the event, of course. The tabloids could only try to find out what they could, and were more of a nuisance in the early yea
rs, though they had lost interest somewhat in it all lately, rejected once too often, perhaps. The financial papers that did include anything on the conference did so without making specific references.
The venue also changed from year to year, now on a three-year cycle with the three most suitable––and securable––facilities in the capital. MI5 and 6 were tasked with overseeing the security arrangements from the beginning of the event, despite it being something the police force themselves could have handled––maybe Scotland Yard at a push. But due to the sort of people involved––and their willingness to pay for greater protection––it was left to the security services to work together to oversee the safety of each annual event.
Working together was never easy, which was why those in government liked to insist it happened. Finding personnel to take to the task was also a challenge, though this year was an exception. Alex and Anissa volunteering to oversee the project was a welcome relief, letting off the hook those who might have been landed with the task.
The venue that year was located in a part of London which had once been rundown docks before a vast revamp had taken place. The iconic Canary Wharf had once towered above most other buildings, though a few of similar height had been added in recent years, giving that part of London a slight New York vibe. The conference facility used was in the shadow of London’s tallest building.
A spacious entrance way, cameras watching everywhere, mostly out of view of the general public, gave way to a broad staircase which spanned the width of the building, taking visitors up about two dozen steps onto the main concourse. Lifts took office workers up to the floors above, the spaces on those higher levels used exclusively for meetings, mainly for people working in offices that didn’t have their own conference rooms. The entire building was booked out for the FTSE100 event, so these floors were to remain empty throughout the days ahead.
Beside the lifts, there were four sets of double doors which opened into the main conference auditorium, the venue for the next few days for the one hundred business CEOs, and the small teams that each person tended to have tagged along with them. Mixed with the crowds were a group of highly capable catering staff, bringing drinks in and out always, serving food and other refreshments when it was time. MI5 and 6 completed the setup, their personnel blending in as best they could, but most could spot them easily.
Alex had arrived first that morning, a set of cleaning staff just finishing and leaving the place. He’d proceeded to do a complete tour of the building, understanding where each room lined up, where the kitchens were located, noting all entrance and exit doors, fire escapes, etc. Alex checked out the higher floors, mainly focusing on the floor above the auditorium, figuring anything higher than that was mostly out of reach. He was doing his job, tasked with the security element after all, and he had several extra people drafted in to continue round the clock monitoring of the building.
He had to be seen doing what they expected of him, but he and Anissa, who joined him now as he emerged from the lift on the ground floor––his tour finished––were there to meet the Russians they’d been getting to know more about over the last few months.
The previous week had been intense but helpful. In the end, a pattern of dates and names semi-emerged, the information a little sketchy in places and a few assumptions made, but they had five names of Russians attending the forthcoming conference that they had a strong suspicion were involved in the Games. That was a tremendous head start. By the end of the week both agents were falling asleep with the facial images of their critical targets burnt into their minds, their faces still visible when they closed their eyes. They had determined to learn as much about the people as they could, to be able to instantly recognise these five men in any crowd, to be able to spot them as soon as they arrived. They had to have the information learnt and stored for quick recollection at a later point, without it becoming too apparent that they were paying such close attention to any one particular party.
Alex strolled around the main room, just the two of them, the occasional person from the catering team walking in and out, it still three hours before the first guest was expected. They were going over the names they’d learnt, taking it in turns to test each other.
“Lev Kaminski,” Alex started, Anissa taking a moment before speaking from memory.
“Known among closest friends as the Lion Man and the richest Russian here today, latest figures suggesting his net worth is $12.5 billion spread across steel, telecoms and investment businesses. Owns a firm in the UK that’s been in the top seventy for over a decade, been to every event the FSTE100 have ever hosted.”
“Appearance?” Alex added, going over the same information as she was speaking, each now able to run the info off the top of their heads without much effort.
“He’s sixty-two, round face, receding greying hair, well built and six feet tall.”
“Valery Holub,” Anissa said in return.
“He’s fifty-nine, also in steel but has large transport links too, has amassed a fortune that Forbes calculates being worth $9.3 billion. Black hair though it’s showing his age a little around the edges, not balding yet. Facial hair is grey; he usually has at least a short cut beard, sometimes growing it out across other parts of his not overly plump face. Akim Kozlov.”
“Akim is forty-nine, worth $2 billion, made through aluminium and State utilities. Lives in Moscow mainly, owns a metal supplier here in the UK, hence his appearance today. A good head of brown hair, most usually clean-shaven. Married with two kids, has a degree in Arts & Science from Moscow State University. Dmitry Kaminski.”
“Worth $1.7 billion, mainly through some financial institutes. Now owns the Futures market here in London, under a much larger investment portfolio. Has political aspirations, too. Forty-eight years old, good head of jet black hair, brown eyes, well built and about five feet ten.”
“Last but not least we have Osip Yakovlev,” Anissa said, “worth $1.2 billion, making him Russia’s 55th richest man. He owns cement suppliers and airport builders. He’s fifty, married with two kids, and graduated from the Leningrad Institute of Physical Culture a Bachelor of Art & Science. Has blond or almost ginger hair keeps himself in shape, and stands five feet eight inches tall.”
They were now back at the main doors, proud that they’d got the essential details down for these men they were anticipating later. The room seemed to be prepared, ready to welcome the first guests, and these began to arrive after forty minutes, those closest to London turning up first, others who might be flying into London’s City Airport coming only in time for the start of the first session.
As lunch was brought out for all the delegates later that afternoon, Alex had spotted all five of the Russians they were expected. They tended to stay together, though usually in two groups, Lev with Valery, and the other three by themselves. Alex couldn’t tell if that was a net worth kind of thing––the first two being by far the richest of the five––or an industry thing as both the former two were steel magnates, usually in direct competition with each other, as they indeed were in the UK market.
Only one of the one hundred delegates was yet to make an appearance; their flight delayed leaving America, the private jet not now expected until later that afternoon, in time for the evening’s hospitality.
It was always a difficult thing to do––put on an event for billionaires.
Somehow, and so far, the Hosts had once again managed to pull it off, but it was mainly the company, being in a room of one’s peers, that was the biggest draw.
Both British agents mingled freely with the crowd, the organisers keen to introduce the two MI6 agents to anyone they were able, it being somewhat of a coup to have anyone of their experience amongst them.
“Alex,” the organiser said, not for the first time that day, taking him by the hand and introducing him to another delegate. “This is Lev Kaminski,” he said with a particular element of pride as if the name would have meant anything to Alex had he not been learning so
much about these men.
Alex took the outstretched hand, the handshake firm and forceful, the Russian exerting something of his personality towards someone he assumed was of little importance, most probably security personnel, given Lev knew all the other delegates, and Alex was not one of them.
“Lev, this is Alex Tolbert, he’s heading up the security operation for this conference.”
“I hope we aren’t making you too busy, Alex,” the Russian said, his English clear and understandable, though his heavy accent suggested he had not learned the language until he was an adult.
“Lev is Russian for lion, isn’t it?” Alex didn’t see the danger in stating something that many might know.
“You speak Russian?” Lev replied in his native language, before repeating it, a smile on his face, in English, once Alex had given him a confused look.
“No, I just hadn’t come across the name Lev before, and couldn’t tell where it was from, and it showed up on a translation site as meaning lion.”
“Lev is one of a handful of Russian guests with us these few days,” the organiser added as if giving information that might otherwise not have been known. Lev could tell Alex was well aware of every person present, his eyes giving away the fact there was more going on behind his calm expression than he was letting on.
“Are there now, how fascinating,” Alex replied, weakly. At that point, Anissa walked over and joined them. Greetings were exchanged, the organiser once more introducing the agent to the Russian, the formality repeated.
“Well I hope these days, for all our sakes, are very uneventful for you both,” Lev said, ending the conversation that had kept to general topics without much substance to any of it. It left the Russian with a vague sense of caution, but he didn’t know why. The organiser went on his way too, mingling with the crowd as everyone enjoyed a three-course lunch, the two agents left to themselves once more. Alex and Anissa walked over to an area of seating that was raised and currently deserted, before speaking with one another.
