The Dead db-3

by Howard Linskey

  I didn’t know how long the firing lasted but it seemed like hours. Eventually, as abruptly as it started, the shooting ceased and there was an incredibly tense silence. There were only Vasnetsov, Evgeny, Mikhail and me left in the room and we all held our breath as we waited for something to happen. I was looking at them and they were staring at the door.

  Just as I turned my head it happened, the window exploded, the glass bursting inwards and showering us, then there was an enormous bang and a cloud of smoke and my ears began to ring from the stun grenade. I was dimly aware of figures somehow swinging themselves through the shattered window and bursting into the room.

  The four men who came through the window all wore black uniforms, black helmets and night-vision goggles and carried submachine guns. I knew they could make us out through the smoke and darkness and I was thankful for that, because they were less likely to gun me down if they could see I was lying harmlessly on the ground, my hands outstretched, palms down against the carpet, looking as much like a non-combatant as possible. One of them zeroed his weapon in on me and levelled it like he was about to fire. I thought ‘This is it, he’s going to kill me, just to remove any witnesses,’ then he hefted the weight slightly so that it sat more easily in his hands and kept it trained on me. ‘I’m not moving,’ I told him, ‘I’m not moving.’ I was hoping that hearing me speak in English might make him hesitate to kill me. Perhaps he would be fearful of some sort of international incident and in any case they were clearly not after me.

  I managed to turn my eyes slightly towards Vasnetsov and I could see that his bodyguard had given up. He had placed his weapon on the ground and very slowly put his hands up. He looked entirely helpless. ‘Evgeny!’ hissed his boss, as if he expected the unarmed man to do something, even though the presence in the room of four armed men indicated he was the only one of Vasnetsov’s private army still breathing. Evgeny was pleading with his eyes. He was trying to tell the commandos he was prepared to go quietly. One of the attackers took a step towards him, carefully aimed his semi-automatic and shot him anyway, putting three, perhaps four rounds through his chest. Evgeny fell backwards and his lifeless body hit the ground.

  That was when Vasnetsov made a break for it, a desperate, stumbling run. He didn’t get far. They moved quicker than he ever could and soon caught up with him. He was cursing, kicking and screaming but they sat him down in an armchair and one of them gave him a hefty slap around the face to silence him. A second later, the lights came back on.

  I put my face down because the bright light was hurting my eyes and the smoke made them sting. I was blinking furiously, trying to focus, when a man marched purposefully into the room. He was dressed in black combat trousers, a black army-issue sweatshirt and combat boots and his face had been blacked out by camouflage paint, but his only weapon was the pistol he wore on his belt. He glanced over at me, then at the half-American banker and finally Vasnetsov and when he spoke it was in English, so we could all understand him.

  ‘Yaroslav Vasnetsov, I am Major Uri Nikulin of the GRU. You are under arrest; charged with treason and acts of terrorism, along with many other crimes against the state.’

  ‘No,’ Vasnetsov’s voice cracked.

  I could hear the sound of a helicopter’s rotors, perhaps more than one, and they were getting closer.

  ‘You will return to Russia where you will stand trial.’ Vasnetsov was pressing himself back against the chair, as if he could somehow disappear into it. ‘You will go to prison for the rest of your life. This has already been decided,’ then he said, ‘one last thing, my president says hello.’

  ‘I will give you twenty… thirty million dollars…’ Vasnetsov’s panicked eyes were darting round the room, looking for signs of weakness, seeking out corrupt men who, like everybody else he had ever done business with, would be willing to take his money, ‘Each… every one of you… thirty million dollars!’ He was pleading now. Nobody moved, nobody even flinched.

  ‘You!’ he shouted at the man who had his gun trained on me, ‘Kill your Major and let me go and I will give you fifty million dollars… the same for your two friends… just one bullet… I’ll pay every man outside… how many of them are there … tell me…?’ He was nodding like a lunatic, ‘tell them there has been a mistake… tell them I am already dead… I will pay each of them five million dollars and you three will get fifty million each. Think about it!’ he implored them.

  If the Major was alarmed by this offer, he didn’t show it. He just let Yaroslav Vasnetsov carry on making a fool of himself.

  ‘You are going on a helicopter now Vasnetsov,’ the Major told him, ‘the journey won’t be comfortable but it will seem like luxury compared to the cell we have waiting for you. Your billions of American dollars will buy you nothing there. It is very small and very cold and you will rot and die in it.’

  The colour had gone from Vasnetsov’s face. He already looked like death.

  The Major then turned towards Mikhail, who had been cowering silently in a corner while a commando held a gun on him. He walked up to him and, astonishingly, shook Mikhail’s hand. ‘Mikhail Datsik, you are a hero of the motherland. My president salutes you. You will be rewarded for your services to the state.’

  Mikhail just blinked at him but Vasnetsov immediately understood, ‘ Mikhail! You bastard! You fucking traitor! I’ll rip out your guts!’ and he launched himself forwards but one of the commandos grabbed him by the shoulder and punched him back down. Despite the blow, Vasnetsov carried on ranting, ‘You fucking Judas, Mikhail. It doesn’t matter where they put me, I’ll kill you. I’ll put one hundred million dollars on your worthless head. They’ll kill you, they’ll kill your wife, they’ll kill your fucking children!’

  ‘What do we do with him?’ asked one of the men and he jerked his head towards me.

  ‘This piece of shit?’ answered the Major. ‘He is a drug dealer. Take him into the woods and shoot him.’ Then he eyed Mikhail keenly, ‘Take the banker outside with you,’ Mikhail went pale, ‘to wait for the second helicopter.’

  Two men held Vasnetsov while the Major opened a small case and advanced with a new weapon in his hand; a hypodermic needle. When Vasnetsov saw it, his eyes widened in terror and he tried one last desperate time to free himself from the grasp of the two soldiers, but they held him firm. I witnessed the needle go into his arm and watched Vasnetsov’s terrified face until his eyes rolled back into his head and he slipped into unconsciousness. When he awoke again, he would be back in Russia.

  I was forced from the room along with the banker. One of the soldiers pushed us out through the front door and made us walk across the courtyard. Mikhail was talking to himself manically, praying perhaps, or just muttering in a panic, despite what the Major had told him about being a hero of the motherland. There were many more soldiers standing guard, hefting machineguns or quickly and efficiently preparing to leave on the first helicopter which had landed a hundred or so yards away. Vasnetsov’s bodyguards still lay on the ground where they had fallen. The location was so far from civilisation that Vasnetsov’s attackers could have brought heavy artillery and the authorities would still never have heard a thing.

  We left the building behind us and trudged across the snow just as a second helicopter landed in the courtyard. I turned to look behind me and there were three soldiers following us, all armed.

  ‘Keep moving,’ one told me. There was no sign of the Major.

  Christ they were really going to do this. They were going to shoot us both and leave our bodies in the woods.

  ‘Keep walking and shut up,’ the soldier was addressing Mikhail but he was beyond reason now. His voice just went higher as his panicked rambling continued in earnest. He began to sob between the words. Me? I stayed silent, waiting for a miracle.

  We walked on until we reached the edge of the wood and both turned to face our killers. The first soldier took a pistol from his holster and gestured with it for us to go on. Mikhail shook his head and the commando smacked
him round it with the gun, drawing blood. The banker howled in protest and the other two soldiers hauled him into the trees. They gestured for me to walk and I followed dumbly. What choice did I have?

  The cold air was biting and my breath was coming out in white plumes, my feet made the snow beneath my boots crunch with every step. I’d done this before, marched on ahead while a killer held a gun to me and forced me to walk to my grave. That time I’d been saved by Palmer but he wouldn’t be coming to my rescue now. Nobody would. I was twelve hundred miles from home, in a foreign land. There was no way back now and the men behind me couldn’t be bought. Vasnetsov had already tried that.

  We reached a clearing, an open space in the woods where the leaves of the overhanging trees parted above our heads, creating a space in the canopy that allowed us to look up and watch as the helicopter flew over our heads with its precious cargo; Russia’s most wanted man. Everyone watched the helicopter disappear and, along with it, went my last chance of salvation. I turned towards the men who were about to kill us.

  ‘We do it here,’ said the soldier, with no trace of emotion.

  Burly hands rested on my shoulders and I was pushed down on to my knees. Beside me the sobbing Mikhail was forced into the same position. I don’t think he’d shut up once since we’d left the house but he finally fell silent now. I watched as the soldier went round behind Mikhail. In one swift and simple movement he raised the gun, aimed and fired. The bullet went straight into the back of Mikhail head and came out the other side, obliterating his face. His body pitched forward until it slumped lifelessly onto the ground. The snow around him was spattered with fresh blood.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ I gasped.

  The soldier frowned. ‘You are a Christian?’

  I tried to say something but I couldn’t because I knew I was next and it would soon be my blood splashed all over the snow.

  ‘You can stand up now,’ the soldier told me and when he saw the confused look on my face, he actually laughed, ‘you thought we were really going to do it?’ And his men laughed too. ‘That was just for him, and for Vasnetsov. You needed them to think we killed you too.’ There was no disputing that but I couldn’t believe they had taken the trouble to march me all the way out here just to fake an execution. I took a deep breath and my knees gave way. I stumbled to my feet and had to put a hand out in front of me to stop myself from pitching forwards face first into the snow.

  ‘Do you think we don’t keep a promise, English?’ the soldier asked me, ‘that we have no honour? You helped us take a man we have been trying to capture for ten years. You think we would kill you for that? No, you are our friend now, a hero of Russia,’ he told me, ‘but I think it is better for you if no one knows that.’ I managed to nod. I was fighting back the bile in my stomach, trying not to puke at the sight of Mikhail’s brains in the snow.

  ‘Thank you,’ I managed and slowly, very slowly, I climbed back to my feet.

  ‘Obviously, English, we cannot give you a ride,’ the soldier told me and there was more laughter from his men, ‘and I don’t think you want to go where Vasnetsov is going.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed.

  ‘You should leave quickly…’ He didn’t finish the sentence, but didn’t need to elaborate. When the Finns worked out that a smash and grab commando raid had been carried out by Russian special forces on their home soil, there was going to be one almighty row.

  ‘And the money?’ asked the soldier who’d done all the talking. ‘The two million dollars at the house?’ he gently enquired, and I did not hesitate, not even for a second.

  ‘Keep it,’ I told him and he looked a little affronted, as if I might be daring to imply he was corrupt. ‘A gift to your president,’ I added quickly, ‘for his re-election campaign.’

  He smiled and nodded, ‘I am sure he will be most grateful.’

  I didn’t give a shit whether he kept some or all of the money, gifted it to his Major, his intelligence chief or the president himself, all I cared about was my life. I started to walk back towards the house, treading carefully to avoid the blood-drenched snow.

  When we reached the house, the second helicopter was ready to leave. The dead bodyguards had all been piled up just inside the house and I watched as they were doused with petrol. The commandos moved briskly, as they removed all evidence of their presence. The Major spotted me and walked over. He handed me a set of car keys. ‘Silver Mercedes’ he told me. We both looked at a row of cars parked not far from the building and, sure enough, a silver Merc waited patiently among them. I turned back to the Major and he handed me a padded brown envelope.

  ‘From the banker,’ he told me, ‘as you requested.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I said.

  ‘Good luck Blake,’ he told me, then he was gone without waiting for a reply.

  I walked towards the car as the commandos melted away from the building and the sound of helicopter rotors whirring intensified. A charge went off inside the building. It didn’t make a huge amount of noise but it must have been an incendiary device because a fire broke out and spread quickly. I watched as the helicopter took off and rose vertically above the trees, then tore off at an eye-watering speed until it was gone, disappearing into the darkness. I climbed into the Merc and started the car as the fire really took hold. I drove away from the house just as the first window exploded.

  EPILOGUE

  I drove back into Helsinki as quickly as I dared. I left the car in the underground car park of a large hotel. Then I went shopping. I bought new, casual clothes and a traveller’s rucksack then walked for a while until I found the small, family-run hotel. I collected the package waiting for me under an assumed name and took it to my room. In it was the passport Palmer had acquired for me and some money. Once in the room, I changed my clothes and emerged wearing backpacker jeans, T-shirt, baseball cap and the blandest jacket I could find. I bagged up the suit in a black sack and ditched it in the large bin at the rear of the hotel. Before I left the place, I gave them the padded, brown envelope to mail out for me then I took a bus to the airport.

  I sailed through Customs with the fake passport and boarded a flight to Stockholm, just to get me clear of the country. Then I took another flight from Stockholm to Berlin. I checked into a hotel, took a long hot shower and fell into bed. I planned to stay in Berlin for one night only. I hadn’t finished travelling yet, not by a long way.

  You can buy English papers in Berlin and the next morning one of the broadsheets wrote. ‘International condemnation is mounting against the Russian government following the alleged kidnapping and repatriation of a western-based oligarch who is resident in London. Yaroslav Vasnetsov, a long-time campaigner for human rights and a staunch opponent of the Russian President, was apparently snatched from a house near Helsinki by agents of the GRU or FSB, the Russian Military Intelligence and State Security Service, following a pitched battle with his bodyguards, which reportedly left several people dead. The President of Finland was said to be outraged by such an inflammatory act on Finnish soil.

  The Russian government has denied the kidnapping, stating instead that Vasnetsov had returned to Moscow voluntarily, to answer numerous criminal charges levelled against him. A business associate of Vasnetsov has described this as laughable, adding that, ‘A return to Russia is just about the only thing Yaroslav Vasnetsov was afraid of’.

  Vasnetsov resurfaced in the Russian capital yesterday, standing in the dock of a Moscow court in handcuffs and regulation prison uniform, where he was charged with nine counts of tax evasion, embezzlement, money laundering, sponsoring terrorist organisations and treason. If convicted, he faces a life sentence in a Siberian prison. Human rights organisations have dismissed the spectacle as a show trial with the verdict already beyond doubt.

  Mystery surrounds the fate of an unnamed British businessman who was also reported to have attended the high-level meeting near the Finnish capital. However, the Foreign Office stated that it was not aware of any British citizen being harmed.
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br />   Though there has been denial of any state involvement in the alleged kidnapping, a source close to the Russian Security Service said, ‘Russia staunchly defends its sovereign right to defend its territorial borders against the threat of international terrorism. Terrorists and their sponsors do not have human rights. Yaroslav Vasnetsov was not taken on foreign soil but when the west does this, you put your suspects in orange suits and fly them to Guantanamo, locking them away for years without charge or even the opportunity of a trial. The Americans call this ‘extraordinary rendition’. When the Russian government is accused of returning one of its own citizens to his homeland to stand trial, the American President and the British Prime Minister call this kidnapping. The hypocrisy of the western so-called democracies is staggering.’

  ‘It was the US who launched a commando raid into another sovereign state, Pakistan, to carry out the assassination of Osama Bin Laden. The Russian government did not sanction a similar raid in Finland to seize the terrorist Vasnetsov but, from the precedent set by the United States of America, it seems we would certainly have been within our rights to do so.’

  I was happy with the coverage. It made my subsequent disappearing act a lot easier. We ensured reports of a British national being caught up in the shoot-out at Vasnetsov’s estate reached journalists and the DNA that was eventually recovered from the banker’s body in Helsinki matched that of north-east businessman David Blake. The little package the Major gave me contained a sample of hair and blood and I had handed it on to the pretty receptionist at the hotel, so it could be mailed back to the UK. Sharp got it into the evidence room and filed it under my name. There was also a buccal swab, which I knew all about thanks to our recent experience with Henry Baxter. One of the commandos had kindly stuck the swab into what remained of the banker’s mouth, catching his saliva and blood in the process. This also went into Sharp’s evidence bag. It was labelled as DNA, apparently taken from me during a routine investigation into the death of a Glasgow gangster some years earlier. Sharp then went into action, making strident demands of his counterparts in Finland to release the DNA evidence taken from a corpse with an obliterated face they apparently discovered on land formerly owned by the oligarch Yaroslav Vasnetsov. When the two DNA samples were compared, Sharp was able to categorically prove that the man murdered and left in the woods near Helsinki was none other than ‘Tyneside gangster, David Blake’. I didn’t mind that last bit. Sharp could have his moment in the sun. After all, you can’t slander the dead. My stated occupation also tempered the outrage of the British Foreign Office, which was keen to avoid another row with Russia.