by Rob Sinclair
Chapter 26
Aktobe Province, Kazakhstan
‘Carl, wake up.’
Logan slowly lifted his heavy eyelids. His weary brain took a few seconds to process the image in front of him and remember where he was.
‘Carl, come on, wake up.’
Grainger was crouched down beside him, gently shaking him. Logan turned, his head spinning wildly, and realised that he was lying on the floor, fully clothed. He held a hand up to his forehead and pressed down hard, hoping the contact would ease the sharp throbbing. He groaned and tried to lift his lead-like body up off the floor. It only seemed to make his head worse. He managed to get into a sitting position before he had to stop and wait for the pulsing in his skull to ease.
‘Sore head, I take it?’ Grainger said.
‘Yeah.’
‘How much did you drink last night?’
‘Too much.’
‘Can you even remember last night?’
‘Most of it, yeah.’
‘So you remember falling down on the floor and not getting up?’
‘No.’
Grainger laughed, but Logan sensed it was an unimpressed laugh.
‘You just staggered in and collapsed right there. I tried to wake you up to get you into bed but you were out of it. Completely wasted.’
‘It certainly looks that way.’
‘You should’ve just come to bed when I said.’
‘Maybe. What time is it?’
‘Nearly eight. I’ve only just woken up. I think I really needed that sleep. I’m feeling much more alive for it. You, on the other hand …’
She smirked. Logan groaned again as he tried to get to his feet. The hangover wasn’t really that bad, he’d certainly had a lot worse, but it had been a long time since he’d had a drink at all and he’d forgotten just how horrendous it could make him feel.
He took hesitant steps toward the bathroom, trying not to cause his head any more discomfort. He badly needed some water – he was parched, his mouth furry and dry, his lips cracked and sore.
‘Carl, I woke you up because there’s something you need to see.’
‘Just give me a minute,’ he said, entering the bathroom.
He didn’t want to focus on anything until he had some water in his mouth. He turned on the cold tap and hung his head over the sink.
‘I’m not sure you can drink that, can you?’
Logan ignored her and started to lap at the ice-cold liquid. He let it wash over his face, feeling a bit of clarity and energy return to him as he did so. After a few more seconds, he turned off the tap and lifted his head, then dabbed at his face with a hand towel.
‘Carl, come here. You really need to see this.’
Logan turned around to face Grainger. She was standing in the bathroom doorway. Her hair was wet, she was dressed and she looked fresh and bright. The long sleep and lack of alcohol had clearly helped her. She looked the polar opposite to how he felt. But he didn’t regret having a skinful the night before. If nothing else, it had allowed him to get one over on Butler.
‘What is it?’ Logan said, moving over to the bedroom window.
‘Out there. Take a look.’
He looked outside. The sun was shining and the bright glare from its rays on the snowy white ground caused Logan to squint and sent another shock through his already throbbing head, the pain stabbing somewhere between his eyes. He lifted his hand to cover his face and after a few seconds, when he felt acclimatised to the piercing light, he took it away and started to slowly scan the area outside the window.
The sky was clear and blue now but the snow looked fresh. In the grounds around Fleming’s home, the guards had been hard at work clearing the snow into large piles up against the outer wall, meaning the courtyard where the cars were parked was more or less clear.
Logan’s gaze followed the track outside the gates that led back to the main road. After a short distance, the clearing work stopped and the track became less visible. Large grooves cut by the few vehicles passing along were the only sign that a road was there at all.
As Logan followed the track further, he soon spotted what Grainger had wanted him to see. About a hundred yards from the building’s gates was a black four-by-four, its paint gleaming in the bright sunlight. It wasn’t moving. It was parked with its bonnet facing the road, the driver’s side of the car facing Logan. The tinted glass meant Logan had no view of the occupants.
‘Who is it, Carl?’
‘I could take a guess,’ he said.
The list of likely candidates wasn’t long.
‘But how did they find us so quickly?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And why are they just sitting there?’
‘I wouldn’t want to attack a building like this. Would you? These guys would put up a hell of a fight, I’m sure.’
‘Or maybe they’d just roll over and let whoever it is at us.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Do you think it’s the Russians?’
‘It could be. But it could equally be the Kazakhs, the NSC.’
Logan moved away from the window and sat down on the bed. There was only so much his fuzzy head could take.
Grainger came and stood over him. ‘What are we going to do?’ she said, both her voice and her look doing little to conceal her angst.
‘We’re going to have breakfast,’ Logan said.
He looked up at Grainger. Her face was lined with worry. But what more could he say? He didn’t have any more answers than she did.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said, getting up off the bed.
They headed downstairs and to the kitchen. As Logan had expected, it was a hive of activity. Fleming was sitting on his seat from the previous evening. The guards too were stationed in the same positions. But there was no sign of Butler yet.
‘Good morning,’ Fleming beamed. ‘How’s the head?’
‘Could be better. Could be worse.’
‘Well, I’m glad it’s not any worse than it is,’ Fleming said. ‘Because that would mean you’d drunk even more than you did and I’m not sure what mess you and Butler would’ve caused if that were the case.’
Grainger looked over at Logan questioningly.
‘It was nothing,’ he said to her, answering her unspoken question.
She huffed and sat down.
‘So where’s Butler?’ Logan asked, taking a seat.
‘Sleeping it off still. To be honest, I thought you would be too.’
‘I had a rude awakening,’ Logan said, smiling at Grainger.
‘Help yourselves. There’s plenty of food.’
Fleming wasn’t wrong. The table was covered with an array of offerings: bread, cheeses, meats, preserves. Nothing fancy, but lots of choice and lots of volume.
Logan and Grainger began to delve into the food. Logan piled a plate with bread and meat and filled a glass with some juice.
‘So who’re the visitors?’ Logan asked.
Fleming glanced up at him with a serious look on his face but he didn’t respond.
‘The black four-by-four outside your gates,’ Logan added. ‘Who are they?’
‘I’m guessing they’re here because of you,’ Fleming said. ‘They’re certainly not visiting me. If they were, they’d have knocked.’
Logan took a bite of bread that he’d loaded with butter and a soft cheese, then took a large swig of his juice. He eyeballed Fleming, who was sitting back from the table, casually drinking a coffee.
‘You seem rather calm,’ Logan said.
‘You too.’
‘Do you usually get visits from the intelligence services?’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Fleming said. ‘But who said that’s who they are?’
‘Who else would it be?’
‘Fair point. But what exactly did you expect would happen? That the Russians would just wave you off at the border and you’d be home free?’
‘No. That’s not what I thought at all.’
‘Then why are you so surprised that there’s someone here for you?’
Logan thought about the question for a few moments.
‘Because they had no means to follow us here,’ he said. ‘There’s no reason at all for them to trail hundreds of miles from where we crossed the border to this place.’
‘Just spit it out,’ Fleming said, suddenly riled. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘He’s suggesting that you called the Russians here,’ Butler said, coming into the room.
Grainger and Logan both turned, their eyes following him as he walked over to a chair and stood over it. He glared down at Logan. His face was puffy and blotchy and his nose was a big, red, swollen mess. Dried blood caked the inside of his nostrils. There was a lump just below his left eye too, where Logan’s fist had caught the cheekbone. Grainger looked at Butler, then over at Logan, and shook her head.
‘Butler, you look even worse than Logan,’ Fleming said, giving a wry smile.
‘Yeah, well, he didn’t get sucker-punched last night,’ Butler snapped.
Logan huffed. It had hardly been a sucker-punch. It was Butler who had come after him when his back was turned.
‘Okay, boys,’ Fleming said. ‘The fun’s over now.’
‘So is it true?’ Logan asked. ‘Are they here because of you?’
‘No, they’re not,’ Fleming said, his voice raised now. ‘Why the hell would I call the Russians? Or anyone else for that matter. I wouldn’t even know who to call! I’m not one of you, remember.’
‘Then how do you explain them being here?’
‘Why should I have to? You don’t even know who it is out there. Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are at evading whoever’s chasing you.’
Logan didn’t respond to that. It wasn’t the first time Fleming and Butler had questioned his aptitude. But as much as the comment angered Logan, Fleming did have a point. Logan had been followed plenty of times recently without his knowledge. Never over such a great distance, though, or for such a period of time.
‘Don’t forget where you are,’ Fleming said. ‘This isn’t England. The police and NSC and the other agencies here are anal, always on high alert, looking for anything, anyone, out of place. Particularly foreigners. This is a free state, but in some respects it might as well be communist Russia. In all likelihood, you were tailed by the NSC from the moment you crossed the border.’
‘We would have seen them.’
‘They’re not amateurs. They don’t sit on your rear end. Their whole network is connected. Your movements could have been passed from one team to the next all the way here without you ever spotting anyone on your back.’
It was certainly plausible. And Logan knew it was the best way to track across large distances.
‘Then why make their presence known now?’ Logan said. ‘They could have stayed out of sight and continued to follow our moves.’
‘How the bleeding hell should I know! This is really fucked up, Logan. Is this how you repay my hospitality? You know, it should be me questioning you for bringing unwanted heat to my door!’
‘I don’t get it either,’ Grainger said. ‘Why are they just sitting there?’
‘If it’s the NSC, it’s because I have certain arrangements with them,’ Fleming said. ‘They wouldn’t dare come in here without my say-so. That’s all you need to know.’
‘So it really is the NSC?’ Grainger said, looking over at Logan, appearing almost relieved. ‘It’s the only explanation that makes sense.’
‘I don’t know,’ Logan said, getting to his feet. ‘But I’m not sitting here speculating any longer.’
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Fleming shouted, standing up.
‘Well, there’s only one way to find who they are and why they’re here,’ Logan said. ‘I’m going to ask them.’
Chapter 27
Logan walked out of the house and headed to the gates. He’d thrown on one of the guard’s overcoats, but as he left the house, he was still hit by the bitter cold, which seemed worse than ever. Maybe it was just because he’d become too used to the warmth of the house.
He traipsed across the cleared courtyard. The snowy remnants under his feet were slippery and hard and he had to plant his feet heavily to stop himself sliding. As he reached the outer gates, a guard jumped out of the hut on the opposite side and started shouting at Logan in Kazakh.
‘Open the gates,’ Logan said back in Russian as he came to a stop.
The guard didn’t move, just carried on shouting. Logan heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Grainger following him. Fleming stood further behind her, by the open doorway. He shouted loudly and the guard on the other side of the gates went quiet and skulked back into his hut. A few seconds later, Bulat scurried out of the house, past Fleming, and over to a control box on the outer wall. He pressed a button and the metal gates began to whir and slide open.
‘Carl, are you sure this is the best idea?’ Grainger said when she reached him.
‘I want to know why they’re here,’ he said.
‘Please. Just think about this.’
She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘I’ve thought about it,’ he said, shrugging her off.
His decision to confront the vehicle’s occupants might have seemed rash to Grainger but it wasn’t one he was undertaking lightly. He’d already identified the occupants of the car: the Kazakh NSC. It was the only plausible conclusion.
For starters, the number plate of the four-by-four was Kazakh, so it didn’t belong to another FSB surveillance team that had followed him and Grainger over the border. Sure, the FSB or CIA could have hired a Kazakh car, but Logan didn’t believe either of those agencies could have tracked them to Fleming’s so quickly.
And even if they somehow had, the fact the vehicle was just sitting there like it was spoke volumes. It was possible the NSC could have been there at the behest of someone else, but if that was the case, they either would have stayed in the shadows or already launched an attack.
So while he didn’t fully understand why the NSC were there, or even how they’d found him, so far he didn’t see them as a threat. And he saw no point in sitting around to wait and see what would happen. They were either friend or foe and he may as well figure out which one it was sooner rather than later.
If anything, it was intriguing to Logan that the NSC were on his tail in the first place. He and Grainger could have tried to escape and go on the run once more, but Logan saw no benefit in trying to evade them before he even knew what their intentions were.
He turned and marched through the open gates, then headed up the track toward the parked four-by-four. He didn’t look behind him, but guessed from the silence that neither Grainger nor Fleming and his men had followed him out of the compound. That was fine. He didn’t need them tagging along to complicate matters. He wanted to appear as unthreatening as he could.
Logan was just ten yards from the car when two of its doors swung open in unison, the front passenger door and the rear door on the driver’s side. Two men emerged, dressed identically in long black coats that came past their knees, smart trousers underneath and shiny black boots. It was an unusual combination. The boots, which were more like what you would expect on a soldier, looked out of place against their formal clothing, but Logan guessed in the snowy winter they were a necessity.
The man who emerged from the rear hung casually from his open door. The other came around the car and moved toward Logan. He and Logan were only a few yards apart when the man took a hand out of his pocket to reveal a gun. He didn’t point it but Logan stopped moving, as did the man.
The man said something to Logan. He spoke calmly, no hint of anger or tension, but Logan didn’t understand what he had said. It did at least confirm to Logan what he’d thought – that the car’s occupants were from the Kazakh NSC. Even with the man brandishing his gun, Logan still felt calm and in control.
‘I don’t speak
Kazakh,’ Logan said in Russian.
The man glared at Logan, his face giving nothing away. Then, without saying another word, he lifted his gun and pointed the barrel at Logan. He had two hands around the butt, his arms outstretched.
For a few moments, everything went silent. But then, all of a sudden, the man shouted something at Logan. He was still speaking Kazakh but his whole demeanour had now changed. Logan held his hands up in the air. He could only guess that was what the man had asked him to do. But it didn’t seem to calm him down at all. He continued to shout, inching forward.
Logan remained calm. The man wasn’t going to shoot him. Not if Logan didn’t give him a reason to. Logan was convinced of that. If the man had wanted to kill him, he would have already. Logan glanced over and saw that the second man was also now brandishing a weapon, though he was still cowering behind the open car door.
The first man continued to move closer, until the barrel of his gun was only a few inches from Logan’s face.
‘What do you want from me?’ Logan said, trying his best to stay calm.
From the position the man was now in, Logan could quite easily attack and disarm him before a shot was fired. Logan was of half a mind to do just that, but then he heard shouting from behind and he instinctively spun around. It was Grainger. She was running toward him.
‘Angela, what the hell are you doing?’ he blasted.
It was the last thing he needed. She came to an abrupt halt, her vision fixed somewhere behind Logan’s right shoulder. He immediately guessed why. The man had become spooked. He was making a move.
Logan ducked down and began to spin around, but the man was one step ahead. The butt of the gun caught Logan on the jaw, splitting the skin on the inside of his mouth and sending him reeling. He fought hard to recover before another blow came, readying himself for the attack. But Logan was too slow. Maybe it was the hangover.
The thick sole of the man’s boot thrust down onto Logan’s neck, pinning him to the floor. From nowhere, another man appeared and quickly cuffed Logan’s wrists behind his back.
