by Tim Heath
The team leader looked through the information he had, the two men he’d sent to the house now back in the van having reported the situation, and they pulled away, eventually making it onto the motorway, heading for Oxford. Tracking other family members was now the key.
A little over an hour later, they were pulling into the system of streets that would lead them to the home of Mr and Mrs Jenkins, Phelan McDermott’s in-laws. Here, approaching the front door, they saw that the curtains were drawn. There was no reply to their knocking, and they were about to go around the back when a neighbour opened the front door of the house to the left.
“They aren’t home,” she offered, seeing the yellow uniforms, taking them as some meter readers or gas workers. “Gone away,” she added before either of them had said anything.
“Can you tell me where they have gone?” one said, clearly showing he was not from England with his accent, though that only fitted the image more.
“They didn’t say anything, I just saw them loading two bags into a taxi yesterday, and they cleared off.”
They thanked her for her help and returned to the van. The team leader made a call to Moscow, catching Dmitry as he was arriving at his office, reporting the fact that both UK homes were now empty. Did he want them to travel to Ireland?
“Yes, get on a bloody plane and get me some answers, or so help me I’ll feed you to the wolves!” he screamed down the handset, ending the call, dropping the phone into his pocket.
“You shouldn’t let it get to you,” a voice spoke from the chair at his desk, the man swivelling around only as Dmitry switched on the lights, revealing himself to him. It was Aleksey Kuznetsov, the man who had won most of what Dmitry now couldn’t afford to let go.
“What the hell are you doing here, and who let you into my office?”
“Your office? Now, Dmitry, we both know it isn’t going to be yours for very much longer, now, is it?”
There was rage burning inside him at this point, to be spoken to by someone so much below him––and in his office––whatever fantasy this man might otherwise have.
“You’ll never get this, you piece of street trash. It was you, wasn’t it! You set me up.”
“Rubbish. I’d choose your words more carefully than you choose your Contestants.” He was loving every minute of this and didn’t mind letting that show on his face. “I’ve come for what is rightfully mine––won fair and square.”
“Rightfully yours? You can go to…” but Aleksey cut him off.
“Oh no, you don’t! Don’t you dare think you are walking away from this one! I’m taking everything that’s mine.”
“It would destroy my empire. I don’t have the liquid assets to be able to cash out.”
“You should have thought of that.”
“There are two thousand people I employ that are desperate for their next paycheque.”
“That isn’t my problem, now, is it.”
“You complete…” Dmitry said, fists clenched but again Aleksey acted before he could finish his sentence, a gun pulled to the face of the man standing just feet in front of him.
“I’ve come for everything I’m owed.”
Dmitry froze, taking in the gun, the determination in the eyes of the man in front of him, only now seeing that he had wildly underestimated the lengths to which this fellow oligarch would go. For the first time, he saw a side of the man that must have existed but had been kept hidden, at least from his eyes.
“What do you mean by putting a gun to my head? Are you going to kill me in my office?”
“If I have to.”
“And what would the Chair say about that, if you were found out?”
“Our Chair sent me here today. You’ve failed to keep your word.”
“My word? My word? I’ve been set up, if not by you, then by someone. That Irishman knew what was happening––had to have known. How else could he have given me the slip? What’s more––he’s fled the UK, his family upped and left, relatives too. No one does that in a few days. No one empties a house and leaves everything that quickly. Don’t you see? It was a set-up from the start. Someone played me, and you need to ask yourself, if it wasn’t you, then who was it, because if it wasn’t someone in the Games Room, it means someone on the outside knows about us, and if that’s the case we are all screwed.”
Aleksey took those words, the reasoning compelling. He hadn’t thought about the chance that the man had been set up, but that was still a secondary thought. He’d come to get what was his.
“It doesn’t matter to me, right now. I still don’t have what I came to collect. The Chair will destroy your company via its share price if you have not agreed to settle our bet before the close of business today. Either that or I put a bullet through your skull right now and just pick up the pieces of your bloody broken empire after they’ve buried you. Either way, you are finished, a dead man walking, or not, as the case may be.” He threw some papers on the table, documents he’d had his lawyers draw up, giving him access to everything he’d bargained for in the bet. “If you refuse to sign these papers right now, it gives me no choice.” He deliberately cocked the weapon in his hand, the click of the bolt the only noise either man heard at that moment.
“Okay,” Dmitry said, his hand coming up in defeat, determined to come through this––and for that, he didn’t need a bullet in the skull. If he could somehow survive, there was the chance of revenge somewhere down the line. He picked up a pen from his desk, signing the documents without even reading them, effectively signing away everything he’d worked for, his companies needing to be sold off to provide the cash required to meet the bet. He’d been burnt in the most terrible way possible, and it would be a long way back from there––if that was even now possible.
It was a fresh new morning in eastern Montana, Phelan up early, running across the ranch, amazed that he could run flat out for five minutes and not leave the property where they now resided. His in-laws had arrived yesterday, sleepy and needed to catch an early night, but he’d seen them both up and about as he’d passed their new house that morning, the effects of jet lag no doubt playing havoc with their sleep, as it had also done for him that morning.
By ten, they were all around their breakfast table, the kids playing outside, still not venturing too far from the comfort of home. A pot of tea sat in the middle of the table.
This move––this escape to America as it was––had taken much agreement, many conversations had in secret over the previous month, getting to the point where all Phelan could do was tell them everything, and the reason why they couldn’t stay where they were. He knew that both sets of parents would have been visited once it was clear his own family had vanished––he was sure someone would come looking.
He had only really briefly told them back in England the fact they might have to move around many times and having shared that news in more detail just then, two-thirds of the room still feeling the effects of their latest journey, the news was not met with much joy. It would be hard on them all to move around too often, but especially for the kids.
Phelan could see the point his wife was making, but their safety was his highest priority at that moment.
“Tell me more about this man you mentioned, the one you’ve been working for,” his dad had said, taking another cup of tea and standing by the window, the kids outside in the distance throwing stones into the river.
“Matvey Filipov approached me some time ago. He ultimately owned the firm where I was working. That only came to light after I had some brief interactions with him and then did some research. He’s one of Russia’s richest men, and he said he had a special mission for me. Not much more happened until three months ago. He pointed out I was being followed by a team of Russians working for another wealthy man. He said he knew why and that I should carry on as usual. He then explained everything to me.”
“And that’s when you talked with us about needing to move?” his dad said.
“Yes, Filipov ma
de the suggestion, giving me details about this ranch. He’s funded it up to this point.”
“So he knows we are here? Doesn’t that make us vulnerable if he decides to let on to someone about our location––I mean the men hunting you down?” his wife said, her father speaking up next.
“If we can’t trust this man with everything he’s already done so far, darling, I don’t think we can trust anyone.”
“True,” Phelan said, picking up the conversation again. “Look, Filipov laid this out right from the beginning, planned it all. He guided me throughout St Petersburg, kept me safe and helped me escape.”
“So what does he gain from it all? I mean, he’s let you keep the money, hasn’t he?” his mother said.
“Yes, that’s true son, so what’s his angle on helping you like this?” his dad added.
There was a little tension growing in the room, and Phelan wished he had something concrete to tell them, but he’d been asking himself the same things on and off for ages while pinching himself that this was even really happening to him.
“I don’t know, is the short answer, but I’m sure he benefits in some way. Does it matter?”
“Son, when there is €33 million involved, it always matters. These people don’t mess around.”
“I know, Dad, don’t worry. Filipov has got us this far, hasn’t he? He’s done us proud.”
“While it lasts.”
“Mum, we have the money, it’s been wired around the world to different accounts that now only I have access to.”
“Still, it makes me nervous. We can’t live life on the run.”
“I don’t intend us to, either. Everyone, please, bear with me. We’ll be able to handle this, Filipov knows what he is doing. If he saw the need for me to be the one to claim this lottery ticket, by sabotaging some event a group of Russians were putting on, he’s done it for a good reason. He says he’ll keep us safe, that he’s got our backs, and I for one believe him. I mean, look at where we are. Who’s going to find us here?”
“I just don’t like the idea that we have to hide for the rest of our lives. What about those we knew before, our friends? What about them?”
“For now, we have to let them be. It’s the only way of keeping everyone safe, including them. Look, this is not going to go on forever. Filipov said a year, eighteen months max.”
“And then what?”
“Then, we can go back to normal life.”
“And the money?”
“It’s ours to do with what we want, and he was clear on that. We get to do normal life millions of pounds richer than we could ever have dreamed.”
“It still feels too good to be true, that’s all,” his mum said, standing up and going outside to see the children, it all getting too much for her. Phelan went to go after her before his dad caught him by the shoulder.
“Leave her be, son. She just needs time, we all do. This is a big change for everyone, and we aren’t as young as we used to be––that’s all.” He left his son in the house, going out to join his wife and the grandkids. Phelan’s in-laws also got up and left at that moment, leaving just him and his wife, who was standing at the window above the kitchen sink, watching the children playing with their grandparents outside. Phelan stood behind her, resting his chin on her head, holding her in his arms.
“It’ll all work out well for us, I promise. I wouldn’t ever let something bad happen to any one of us.”
“I know, darling. I do.” He turned her around, kissing her on the lips, holding her close for a few moments before they went and joined the others outside.
24
Alex and Anissa had been granted some extra resources to find their missing contact, but they didn't have a lot of time. Someone wanted more information from them before they would be given the full freedom they wanted, and that made them cautious.
They were flying to Oslo that morning to meet up with Sasha, their plane leaving London City Airport at ten. The flight was only half full, and as the Russians watched them enter the airport––confirming on the website that there was a direct flight to Norway taking off in one hour––they reported this back. A message was sent to the team already in place in Oslo to take up their positions, ready to be at any venue where the British agents might be planning on meeting their informant.
As the plane touched down in Oslo, a light rain was falling, but the aircraft unloaded through a walkway directly into the terminal building, meaning they didn’t get wet. Sasha was to meet them before customs before they exited the control area––but he wasn’t there.
Just then a stranger handed them both an envelope, without saying a word and moved away, before they could comment.
It wasn’t Sasha, they were sure about that, and they only watched him briefly before taking in the details they had been handed. Inside––as well as a plane ticket for them both––was a short note; ‘Take the connection to Tallinn, we’ve been compromised. Unfriendly people are potentially waiting for you outside. Go now; the flight leaves in twenty minutes.’
They looked up, following signs directing people to flight transfers, and got to the gate for the flight departing to Tallinn just in time, the crew about to close the gate. They handed their boarding passes to the lady and were allowed to board, the very final passengers to do so before the door shut and the flight prepared for takeoff. It was an hour’s hop over the Baltic Sea to the east.
The drizzle hadn’t made it to Tallinn as they climbed down the steps of their plane, touching tarmac before being escorted into the terminal building, following the flow of people, though the aircraft had not been a big one, and it was far from busy.
Sasha met them outside the airport building, dressed in a smart suit and holding a board with their names on it. Anissa smiled at the sight of him, their Russian contact playing the role of a chauffeur, but went along with it, at least until they were in the car, and driving towards the centre of the city.
They didn’t get that far, as only about one kilometre from the airport there was a huge shopping centre, and Sasha pulled into the parking area in front of it. They got out of the car, and walked into the main entrance, taking an escalator up to the second floor and sitting down in one of the many eateries they found. It was not too busy around them, the lunchtime trade already easing off. They sat at a six seater table overlooking the front parking area where they had just left the car. Aside from the waitress who came to take a drinks order, there was no one within earshot of them, meaning they could speak freely.
“Tell me what happened,” Alex said, the three now sitting down, jackets off, drinks in front of them.
“They were listening to your side of the conversation you had with me––must have been following you in London.”
“How do you know it was just my side of the call they heard?”
“I wouldn’t still be here if that had been the case, but they knew you were meeting me in Oslo, they had a team there. They also know about Andre Philip.”
Alex kicked himself, recalling the conversation they’d had, having referred to the name at least once.
“It came up on my search when I went looking for what we had on Mr Philip himself––the fact that there had been a recent search for the same name. They would have found what I found––which was nothing. We don’t know that name.”
“That’s something. It’s the only name he ever used with me.”
“That’s probably saved his life, anyway, and brought us a little time, but not loads. Besides, it’s all kicking off within this organisation you’ve been looking into,” and Sasha went on to tell them the information he’d come across. The sudden apparent downfall of one of Russia’s wealthiest men, the equally impressive rise of another, the fact they’d both been on a trip to St Petersburg during the same days the week before, across the same dates Anissa had highlighted as a possible event gathering. He also had information that suggested Dmitry Sokoloff had men moving around the UK.
“This comes from where?”<
br />
“FSB base in London itself. They arrived the day after the event in London. They tracked them to two addresses, one on the edges of London, the other in Oxford.”
“Another person was victorious; it’s the only possible reason they would be hunting around.”
“Yes, I’ve come to the same conclusion. Teams were sent to check out the two addresses––both empty––one completely so.”
“Find out who’s registered to those addresses,” Alex said, his comment intended for Anissa before Sasha dropped some papers onto the table.
“Already done that one, Alex. The London address was a Mr & Mrs Phelan McDermott. The Oxford one for a Mr & Mrs Jenkins.”
“Have you found the connection between these two?”
“Yes, I have actually, thank you for asking,” Sasha said, smiling at his own sense of humour. “They are the parents of Mrs McDermott.”
“And they’ve gone?” Anissa repeated out loud, more so for herself as she was taking in the facts than anything else.
“Absolutely. No sign of them. The situation has already been raised with the local police in that part of London, the kids just not appearing for school. There had been no suggestion they were going to be away, and your country now fines parents for doing that.”
“My goodness, so another person has made good with the money. How much was it again?” Alex asked Anissa, who had looked up the details for that particular lottery draw the previous day.
“€33 million.”
They paused at that moment, the waitress coming back to take their food order, none of them having looked yet at the menu but certainly wanting something to eat. They each scanned the offerings, making their choices and the waitress said she would have their food for them in about fifteen minutes, leaving them to it once again.
