by Tim Heath
Alex joined Anissa in the suite, as one of the technicians––having gained access to the hotel’s CCTV network––confirmed their target was walking through the main doors at that moment, the lobby area camera feed playing on the main screen in front of them.
On another monitor, a camera feed from the hotel suite next door to them showed Dmitry Kaminski still in place, the Russian’s security sweep his men had carried out on arrival not finding any signs of what the two agents had been working on. Why would he have suspected anything, anyway? It was his hotel, and he was meeting with a senior figure within MI6. They’d surely know if there was any breach of security ahead of their meeting––or so you would think.
The corridor camera, now displaying on the main screen, showed the Deputy Director General walking out of the lift, turning left before getting to the door for Kaminski’s suite. It opened, and two security types could be seen from the corridor view. The room cameras were not positioned within the suite to pick up that part, the focus on where the men would meet to chat. The image now came onto the screen, audio kicking in for the first time. The DDG was seen greeting the Russian, a man with political ambitions and worth $1.7 billion––a man they now knew was part of the Games. He was due to fly out to St Petersburg the very next morning. This was his last meeting in the UK during his three-day visit.
Inside the Russian’s suite, there was a little small talk, the sound coming through clearly. Anissa had made sure the recording devices were working––capturing both the audio feed and the video. It was their back up, their safety net should they need it––she feared before all was done, they would.
In the room, drinks were poured, the DDG taking his jacket off, folding it neatly in half before placing it onto a spare chair. Kaminski sat down, motioning for his guest to do the same.
Even through a black and white image, Kaminski looked impressive––calm, relaxed, a man in control. Alex could understand why some were predicting big things for him. Anissa sat with a notepad resting on her lap, pen in hand. Despite the fact everything was being recorded, and they could listen to it later to their heart's content, she always jotted stuff down, often questions that came to mind, that she might otherwise forget about later. It was this attention to detail that made her such an expert agent.
“Any problem getting away from the secretive world you must operate in?” Kaminski said, his voice clear, though accent quite strong.
“It’s probably far less exciting than I think you imagine. Most of the people are on holiday already.”
“Surely the British Security Service don’t take holidays? That’s a useful piece of information to know,” he said. It was not immediately apparent to those listening next door whether he was joking or serious.
“That’s what makes you such a friend to Six, Dima, that we can be straight with you and know you aren’t going to use that information against us.” They shared a laugh, each man taking a sip of his drink. The fact their own DDG referred to Dmitry in the very informal shortened variation of his name––something that usually only the family would tend to do within Russian culture––was telling. Anissa had not come across any official publication that had used Dima. They had always kept to the more formal Dmitry.
“That’s why you’ll make a great President one day, and why we are doing everything to make that possible.” Hearing these words coming from the mouth of their own Deputy Director General sucked the air from their lungs for a moment. Both Alex and Anissa turned to look at one another, their silent expression doing much more than words might have done. This was big.
The British government––it would have to be assumed, due to the DDG’s direct connections to parliament, not to mention his senior role within MI6––was looking to bring in a change of leadership within Russia.
“Listen, Sokoloff still bothers me a little.”
“You did well to ruffle him as you did,” the DDG said, the reference to Dmitry Sokoloff in this conversation now making both agents move even closer to the monitor.
“I had nothing to do with that. I’d assumed it was something you guys were behind? Now I guess it was just bad luck on his part––good fortune on mine.”
“No, we had nothing to do with him. I told you before; we can’t be seen to be directly involved.”
“But you’re more than involved, aren’t you? Political assassinations, gathering incriminating evidence to take out Putin’s most trusted sources, breaking into the FSB spy ring that had been running riot in London for years.”
“All with Her Majesty’s interests at heart, I might add.”
“Anyway, Sokoloff is still a threat, and I don’t know what he’s planning to do next week. He’ll still be involved in St Petersburg.”
“I see. Economically Sokoloff’s half the man he was six months ago.”
“Yes, yet he’s still going––and that concerns me. I can’t make a significant move to power while he’s still around to influence proceedings.”
“What are you suggesting, Dima?”
“I’m merely saying that if he’s not finished economically and therefore politically––by the end of next week––maybe you need to find another way to finish him, maybe a little more permanently.”
There was no doubt what was being discussed, and the DDG didn’t bother with a response. He just took a sip of his drink, the video feed showing there was undoubtedly eye contact between the two.
“My god, he’s agreed to eliminate Sokoloff if things don’t go their way in St Petersburg,” Anissa exclaimed, Alex motioning her back to silence while the conversation in the next-door room continued.
“And Volkov still very much runs the show?”
“Yes, a nasty piece of work in my opinion, very much the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Nothing has been done to stop Sokoloff from continuing his agenda.” Anissa scribbled down notes frantically as the conversation flowed next door.
“And what is his agenda?” the DDG said next.
“Those who matter most within Russia and Ukraine are in the same group as Sokoloff, which is something he's quite content with that, it seems. Sokoloff could have been in the top group with the huge hitters if he’d declared things that way. His intention was always, therefore, to be around these men––I guess me included. Root out each and any threat to Putin, press gang others into aiding that cause. Stanislav Krupin was another of Sokoloff’s targets; it seems––their personalities clashed, despite both being key money men for the Kremlin. It was going head-to-head with Aleksey Kuznetsov last summer that seemed to break Sokoloff finally. I think Aleksey got lucky on that one, instead of smart.”
“Who was behind it then?”
“I don’t know––and that concerns me––though it’s working in our favour, so I’m happy for it to continue. Is Phelan still underground?”
The reference to Phelan moved the conversation up to a whole new level. The fact that a British MI6 senior agent would even be discussing it made it all a sensitive and precarious situation.
“Yes, and we don’t know where. I had two agents sniffing around––as I shared with you––some time back. They seem to have finally got bored with it all now and have moved on to more pressing things. You can always count on good old al-Qaeda to give a distraction when we need one,” both men laughing at the thought.
Alex couldn’t take in all that he was currently hearing, nor work out what it all meant for them. His boss was seemingly selling them all out and this right in front of their eyes. What they had already on tape would be incriminating, though he knew it wasn’t enough. There was more to come, and there were broader issues at play here. They would have to bide their time and tread very carefully from now on.
“One more thing. Foma Polzin made an appearance in Luxembourg the other month.” The DDG knew the name certainly, though little more than the fact he was yet another wealthy Russian oligarch. “Volkov said he was bumped down from the other group.”
“Someone new has joined? I thought th
at was not going to be possible anymore?”
“Well apparently, it is still possible. Maybe with Sokoloff’s imminent downfall, they wanted to bring someone in higher up, making his position untenable––I don’t know. But Polzin is going to change the dynamics within the group, for sure. He’s got the wealth to throw his weight around and not care about it. He would have been the smallest fish with the others yet now becomes a shark amongst our group. He’s dangerous, therefore––and that concerns me. I’m not sure I can get him on board.”
“You must at least try. Where does Polzin stand politically?”
“I don’t know. Until Luxembourg, I didn’t have any idea he was even a part of this whole thing. It came as a shock to us all.”
“I’ll try and meet with Volkov, approach from a British intelligence angle, see if I can get anything that will shed light on the situation.”
The fact the DDG was so openly talking about knowing and then planning to meet with a man like Sergej Volkov––whose reputation, at least in his early years––was nothing more than a glorified Mafia don, was alarming. Anissa had circled the name Volkov herself several times on the sheet of paper in front of her.
The two men on the screen stood up, the meeting apparently coming to an end. The Deputy Director General picked up his jacket, shaking the hand of the man before him––a few words spoken––but they were out of range of all the mikes by that point, as well as the camera, too. The technician switched to the corridor feed, the door opening after a few seconds, their own Deputy Director General stepping back into the empty corridor, walking over and pressing the button for the lift.
Alex and Anissa set about helping the technician to pack everything away. They had to make sure their exit from the building went unnoticed.
“Get this recording backed up and send us a copy in the morning,” Alex said, the technician acknowledging what would be an easy task, as he unplugged several cables. The actual cameras in the suite would have to come out the following day when the room was due to be vacated.
“That was quite a show,” Anissa said. She was collecting her things together––passport checked once more, for the third time that afternoon.
“You ready?” Alex said.
“Yes, for what it’s worth––let’s go,” she replied.
Alex looked through the spy hole in the door, confirming the all-clear outside, and they left the room, taking the stairs down instead of the lift and then using a backdoor exit which they could access from the second floor.
Once on the main road, he hailed a black cab, opening the rear door to allow Anissa in first, before getting in himself, pulling the door shut behind him as he turned to the driver; “Heathrow airport, please,” he said.
33
December 31st
A weather front had swept across much of central and northern Europe, bringing with it a fair amount of snow meaning there had been a few delays. By New Year’s Eve, everyone who wanted to be in St Petersburg had arrived.
That evening, starting just after the President’s broadcast to the nation was over, a massive fireworks display was planned from right in front of the Peter and Paul Fortress beside the River Neva.
Partygoers were already out on the streets, young people wanting to celebrate with their friends before joining those attending a considerable concert happening as always in Palace Square, right in front of the State Hermitage Museum. At midnight the crowds lined the bank of the river and the bridges often four or five deep and watched the fireworks as they lit up the dark winter sky.
Alex and Anissa had been in the city for a while already, this being their third day. They’d used the email program to speak with Sasha––though they were here on their own passports––simply posing as tourists coming for a winter break together. They’d told him they were coming but hadn’t yet been able to meet up with him in person.
He had given them information about where Sergej Volkov was based that day, and he also confirmed that their own Deputy Director General had landed at Polkovo 2, the international terminal at St Petersburg’s main airport. Sasha would keep watch at the airport all day. The DDG’s migration card suggested he was leaving again later the same day, very much a flying visit. Flight options out from Russia the following day were significantly reduced and in high demand given the fact it was the start of the public holidays.
The Volkov’s had arrived in town the previous evening, Sergej expected at various functions that were arranged––mainly social events––especially the functions taking place on the last day of December.
Alex and Anissa, with Sasha’s remote help, were camped out in a second-floor apartment overlooking the convention centre at which Sergej was speaking. Given the time frame, and the DDG apparently leaving that same day, this would have to be where they were going to meet. It was presumed the chat would have to happen in the upstairs rooms––visible from across the street––cameras and directional microphones set up in advance.
Elsewhere, amongst the tens of thousands of both Russian and foreign tourists who were roaming the streets of St Petersburg, ten specially selected individuals were also making their way around town. They were taking in what they could, enjoying both the atmosphere of that time of year, as well as mapping the city as much as possible––learning what they could about the city’s layout.
Come tomorrow, and they would need every piece of knowledge they could if they were to have any chance. Each would go easy on the drink that night, maybe watching some of the fireworks––getting sleep when it was possible––desperate to remain at their most alert for what promised to be a life-changing day.
None of the Contestants had any idea what was in store for them, mainly because neither did any of the Hosts this time around, either. None of them knew what to expect: all they had been told was that all would become clear. Instinct would be their best friend come tomorrow––that, and animal survival.
Inside the Volkov mansion, the oligarchs had started to gather, those that were not otherwise out celebrating the New Year with friends. By five that afternoon, there were seven already within the very secure compound––more a military fortress inside the skin of a building than just your average home––yet to any person walking past on the street, just another of the splendidly designed older properties in the most historic part of the city.
At the conference centre, as afternoon turned to evening, people were starting to leave. There was still no sign of the DDG, but early evening made more sense for his arrival, with things at the conference apparently drawing to a close. Just then Alex’s phone rang––it was Sasha.
“He’s just cleared through security at Polkovo, heading home.”
“What?” Alex said––it made no sense. They’d been watching the venue all day. He relayed the message to Anissa while Sasha continued:
“Do you want me to stop him?”
“No,” Alex said, instinctively, not sure what it meant. Was he onto them? Had he been made aware of someone watching the conference centre when he arrived and therefore opted to leave straight away?
Anissa was frantically looking back through her notes, only now landing on a page from the other day, the first signs that the comment said in passing was suddenly making sense.
“Alex, he wasn’t meeting Sergej,” Anissa said, Alex lowering the phone, not understanding what his fellow agent was saying.
“Look, Kaminski said, referring to Volkov, a nasty piece of work, very much the wolf in sheep’s clothing.” Anissa opened up a stock image they had on the computer of the famous couple––Sergej in his usual suit, red tie, giving him an air of importance. Dressing well, looking the part of wealth, his money and status all crucial to him. Alongside him was his always beautiful wife, in her trademark white fur coat. “It’s not Sergej the DDG came to see––it was Svetlana!”
For a moment Alex wanted to laugh, to dismiss the notion straight off. He’d looked into her profile only briefly, Svetlana coming across as the glowing l
ight in such an oddly paired couple. Then it started to take root, the thought and idea that Anissa had just shared. They’d been sitting there all day, and as good as the DDG was, there was no way he had got into that venue they were watching for time with Sergej before leaving again without them noticing. They’d just been waiting at the wrong place.
“Sasha, we think he was here to see Svetlana Volkov, not Sergej. Anissa has suggested that it’s Svetlana who runs this whole thing and the more it sinks in––the more I’m starting to believe it.”
“Svetlana, the actress? You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” Alex could see it would be hard to take in, Svetlana being a national icon for so many years, publicly personifying grace and elegance, the mere idea that she could be controlling such a group of Russia’s wealthiest men, absurd. “Look, I’m just about done. I’m free to come join you at your hotel––I’ll be with you at nine.”
In the Games Room that night––everyone was gathered, though some would leave before midnight to see in the New Year by joining the crowds as was traditional––Svetlana Volkov stood before the men, in total control of the room as always. She worked the people before her as if it was just another movie camera.
“Gentleman,” she said, the room going quiet as always when the Chair was speaking, “it’s great to see you once more, in what promises to be a most exciting week ahead of us.
“First, let me address the fact that for the first time, we come to an event with a previous victorious Contestant still at large. Twenty,” she boomed as if speaking a line in a film, Dmitry Sokoloff not liking the fact he was already made a focus, “tomorrow will be your last day in this group. Your inability to settle this matter is visible and you have been given more than enough time to regain whatever honour you might have been able to salvage. You are finished with us. It doesn’t matter what happens to you tomorrow––even a victory would only be a small, insignificant, consolation. You will be made to settle your outstanding debts to Fifteen entirely, and I can assure you, despite your outbursts last time, his bet was an honest one, and your defeat a final one.
