by Tim Heath
13
London, England
Alex pulled himself free of the bed sheets––how she could sleep in such a tangle, he didn’t know––and put on his boxers and jeans when he was clear of the bed. Anastasia lay there motionless––in a deep sleep no doubt. Pulling on his t-shirt, Alex strode back to the bed, pulling the sheets around Anastasia to cover her exposed backside, not before taking another good look first.
He smiled and turned to exit the room. A strong cup of coffee was needed.
He’d lied to Anissa about his ongoing relationship. After it had become clear who she was––married, though he had wondered if she was indeed the spouse of Dmitry Kaminski––Anissa had insisted he end things. And on some level, Alex understood that. There was no future, he could see that. And it all had the genuine possibility of blowing up in his face.
Yet he’d never felt like this before, either. How could what he now felt be so wrong? Could it be wrong?
Less than five minutes after he’d been lying next to her warm, succulent body, he wasn’t so sure if anything was wrong. It all seemed pretty damn good from where he was standing.
The kettle boiled, calling him back into the kitchen.
Anastasia wasn’t a subject-line that came up much between him and Anissa, mainly because he quickly changed the topic if he saw Anissa angling that way. It was all still relatively new for Alex, of course. He also knew Anissa assumed he had done the sensible thing and ended it now that they both knew the truth. That would have been the right thing to do––but then again, when was love ever sensible?
Alex knew what he felt towards Anastasia––he loved her. Loved her more deeply than he’d ever loved anyone, he was sure. Alex would have said he had loved women in the past, each one coming and going, his heart given to them only to have it torn when the relationship fell apart. He was already protecting himself from that happening again––but couldn’t help giving her more of his heart than he’d ever allowed anyone else to have.
They’d talked a little about how they felt and from what Alex could tell, Anastasia loved him back. She wasn’t happy in her marriage, didn’t have any children and was seeing less of her husband over recent months, as Dmitry pressed on with his political ambitions. She had said she’d been left in the wake. Alex offered her escape, a new start.
Alex never asked directly about Dmitry––he was always the other man, the elephant in the room Alex for one didn’t need reminding about. When they were together, it had to be just the two of them. But since he knew the truth and more to the point, a journalist knew too, something had to be addressed, and sooner rather than later. Even in his happy delirium, Alex knew they couldn’t go on indefinitely without a clear resolution to these issues.
It was as Alex was halfway through his second cup of coffee––the television on in the background, though Alex was not really watching anything––that his telephone rang and he was dragged from his thoughts. It was the head office. Over the space of just a minute, he was ordered to come in. A body had been found––nothing too unusual in their line of work, though usually the police dealt with things like that––and once the victim’s identity had been discovered, Alex’s name had come up multiple times when they went through the man’s flat. The victim was a journalist.
Alex didn’t say anything more, and after ending the call, he placed his mug in the sink. At his bedroom door, he saw Anastasia still sleeping peacefully. Alex would leave her there. He wrote her a quick note, dropping it on the floor outside the bedroom door, and grabbed his car keys.
Forty minutes later Alex walked into the office at Vauxhall House, the home of MI6 in central London. Anissa was sitting at her desk, and she turned to him, her face the epitome of confusion and anger, but didn’t say a word. She’d apparently heard something already. He left her there––he couldn’t face a grilling from her before the bollocking that was undoubtedly about to come his way––and headed to the top floor.
The last time he’d been there, and in the Director General’s office itself, he had been considered the potential replacement for the DDG, a job he’d said he couldn’t take on a permanent basis but would stand-in if needed until the suitable candidate was found. Now he had been summoned––the connotations couldn’t have been more different if he’d tried.
“Sit,” the Director General said as Alex walked into the room, the man behind the giant desk motioning to the chair in front of him as he ended his phone call. Alex sat down like the student he’d once been many years ago, waiting outside the headmaster’s office after yet another altercation.
“Alex, I have to talk to you about the murder of this journalist,” he started. “It’s now been confirmed as that. Tell me, what was your connection to him?” Just like that, again no other information given––the same as that morning’s phone call––and Alex wasn’t sure what he should assume they knew. How much he should say. He wasn’t going to implicate himself, even if his superiors already had.
“You’re talking about the journalist you called me about, someone who had my name in his contacts?” Alex was deliberately vague––too much so, in fact––which didn’t sit well with the man in front of him. Just days ago, it seemed, they’d been sitting on the comfortable sofas just metres from where they were now sitting, enjoying a leisurely lunch, as they had talked about the role the DG wanted Alex to apply for. Now, that had seemingly all changed with one call. The niceties had been abandoned. Maybe Alex should never have turned down the job?
“He had a lot more than just your name in his contacts, Alex. For god’s sake, stop playing me for a fool! He had some dirt on you, right? You’ve got to tell me everything.”
“I’m not sure I understand what has even happened.”
“Alex Tolbert, if you aren’t straight with me immediately, I have no choice but to relieve you of your agent’s status and hand you over to the police so that they can continue with their investigation. I’m trying to help you here!”
“Sir, I’m at a loss to know what to say. I’ve done nothing wrong.” For once, he sounded genuine. That went some way to defuse the tension, his boss going a slightly more healthy shade of red, though still seeming worked up.
“That’s good to hear, but you’ve got to be totally straight with me. Tell me everything you know about Wilson Manning, and especially why he had so much on you.”
Alex took a deep breath––he had no idea what Manning would have written down, probably a lot––nor what his boss knew or didn’t know.
“He’d been following me, and I picked up on that. I confronted him outside my home the other week. I think he’d been digging into some connection he found between the British government and Dmitry Kaminski,” Alex said, looking for any recognition that his boss knew this, looking for any tell-tale signs that he understood. There was nothing for Alex to go on, however. “He was threatening me with releasing the story, though I asked him to wait,” Alex said, immediately realising that his last statement didn’t come out as he meant it, “I didn’t do anything to the man, of course. I haven’t seen him again since that confrontation outside my home.”
“But you called him many times.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. Apparently, they’d gone through the dead man’s phone and seen the call log.
“Yes, we spoke a few times after that initial encounter.”
“Why?”
“Why? To get him to back off, of course. His story would have been explosive. I was just doing my job.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“Of course I did, you know how it goes. But not in that way, no. I had nothing to do with whatever happened to him.” Alex realised he still didn’t know what had happened to the man. He was dead, clearly, but beyond that, hadn’t been told anything else.
“He was poisoned if that’s what you mean,” his boss said. “Looked like food poisoning at first, but the test results show it was administered through an injection to his neck. He was murdered; there is no doubt
about it. Someone,” and his boss paused at that point for a second, looking Alex square in the eyes, “wanted him dead.”
“And what, because he had my name, I’m suddenly the guy?” Alex was now becoming angry himself. Where was the loyalty, the belief in his character over whatever the facts might suggest?
“No, Alex, of course, it’s not just that,” and he threw down onto the desk in front of Alex a printout of Manning’s calendar from the day he was found dead. Circled, as if to help Alex spot the event, was the following: Alex, MI6, lunch 12 noon. The location was listed as home.
“That’s not an appointment I had with him.”
“You can see my issue, though, can’t you? The day he’s murdered, one of my agents is noted as meeting him for lunch.”
“I wasn’t there. I didn’t have any arrangement to see him. For god’s sake, you must know this is all crazy. If I had done this, if I had been there, don’t you think I would have erased all record of my involvement? Don’t you think I would have deleted any reference he might have made to me? If my character hasn’t raised the alarm in you that this isn’t me, go on my training. This is basic stuff. You know I know these things!” Alex had never raised his voice to his boss before.
“That’s why it’s just the two of us having this conversation, Alex, and you aren’t already in an interview room under caution!” barked back his boss. There were a few seconds of frosty silence, though both men needed it to cool a little. “I’m on your side, Alex, you have to understand me here. But as the Director General of the British Security Service section Six, I can’t be seen to look the other way in matters like this. We have to be seen to be doing our jobs, and at the moment that means putting you under the microscope. Until this investigation has run its course, I’m putting you on gardening leave.”
“But…” though there was nothing more to be said. Alex shut his mouth.
“Believe me when I say this, Alex, I do hope this is all cleared up as soon as possible. My hands were tied on this, I really have no choice. You are one of my best agents, and I regret having to do this. Please promise me you aren’t going to do anything stupid?”
“Like what?” Alex said, already at the door.
“You know exactly what!” which was probably right. Still, it was Alex’s neck on the line so he would do whatever it took. Alex left the room, taking the stairs down to his office, Anissa sitting behind her desk, though she turned as he walked in, concern showing on her face.
“How did it go?”
“I’ve been suspended until they can clear it up.”
“Jesus.”
“I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” Alex said, with a smile. Anissa hadn’t caught on to his meaning, annoyed that Alex could in anyway smile about it. Her anger showed suddenly.
“And did you have anything to do with it?”
“Bloody hell, not you as well. I would have thought that at least you of all people in this sodding building would vouch for me.”
“Don’t brush my question aside, answer me!”
“Answer you with what? No, of course I didn’t have anything to do with his murder, and I’m beginning to think that whoever did wanted it to look exactly that.”
“Does the DG know about Anastasia?” There, Anissa had mentioned the name again, finally, the connection she most feared which linked Alex to the crime.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Do you think he knows?”
“I don’t know. I think he would have mentioned something if he did, so no, I don’t suppose he does know.”
“And you didn’t feel it worth mentioning?” Anissa said, incredulously.
Alex stood, pacing around, a crazed smile coming to his face.
“Do you think telling him about her would have made it any easier? I would have been fired, for sure, not given bloody gardening leave. Besides, it has nothing to do with her.”
“It has everything to do with her, and you know it!” Anissa said, coming and standing in front of Alex, though shying away from actually squaring up to him. She wasn’t the overly aggressive type. Alex remained silent.
“You’re still seeing her, aren’t you.” She knew.
“No,” he said, without any conviction.
“Are you stupid? Or just got a death wish? I told you to walk away!”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is perfectly simple. God, Alex, do you have any idea what this will do to the case against you if they find out the truth?”
“They don’t know about her, otherwise he would have just said,” but Alex was clutching at straws, and he knew it. There had, however, been no appointment, no meeting over lunch at Manning’s home, indeed nothing Alex had been informed about, anyway. So whoever had put that there––assuming it hadn’t been the victim himself––could quickly make the connection between Alex and his lover known if they wanted, assuming they knew about it.
“You’re a fool if you’re clinging to that one, Alex, there’s no doubt about it.”
“I know,” he said, his demeanour for the first time suggesting his guard was faltering. “I had nothing to do with the murder, Anissa. I was at home when I got the call to come in. It was the first I heard about it.”
“I believe you,” which was only partly true. The thought that Alex might have actually done it––especially when the threat to expose his affair with Anastasia had been mentioned––was something she feared more than anything. The affair had been a stupid thing, something she was still at a loss to explain, especially as he’d now admitted to her he hadn’t ended it. He had clearly lied to her about that. Maybe he was lying about this? “I just think that whoever has made it look like you were involved, might not have stopped with an entry in the guy’s calendar. What if there is something more?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“That might not be enough to save you, Alex, and you know that.”
He did. He’d seen it happen dozens of times, he’d even been on operations in his early years where they’d done things similar themselves––planting evidence to expose already guilty people, granted––but still it had been them making the evidence fit. What if someone now wanted to do that against him? What if they knew about the woman?
“Look, I’d better get moving. The DG will be expecting to see me leave the building,” he said, collecting his few things together and putting them in a bag. Standard procedure was to be out of the building within fifteen minutes of being relieved of duty. “See what you can find out, and let me know.”
“I will,” Anissa said, coming over and giving him a kiss on the cheek as she hugged him goodbye. She shouldn’t technically pass him anything, but he’d been there for her throughout her time at Six, and she wasn’t about to abandon him in his time of greatest need.
14
Tallinn, Estonia
The three-person team were up early the following morning. They had sent the report to Mark Orlov the previous night, briefly detailing the intended target. The female of the three had gone to meet a city planner, leaving the two men to finish breakfast together in the hotel’s comfortable surroundings. They would move hotels in a couple of days to one looking directly onto Freedom Square, the entrance to the car park in fact directly in front of the hotel. They would base themselves there for a week, leaving just two days before the centennial, by which time another team would have come in to see through the actual operation.
As they finished breakfast, one of the men checked his phone––there had been confirmation from Orlov, who liked what they had proposed; they were to proceed as planned.
It was grey and relatively cold as the two men exited the hotel and braced themselves against the wintery conditions. Snow was not presently falling, though white piles of the stuff gathered in certain corners where it had apparently been cleared to by street sweepers. The temperature was around minus ten Celsius, the wind biting, making it feel colder. Nothing that they were not used to, and if anything, be
hind their scarves and hats, the extra clothing helped them to blend in a little easier, vanishing into the natural surroundings, even if the foot traffic was lighter than it might have been at other times of the year. There were still plenty of people out, going about their everyday lives.
How much their lives were to be changed by the events happening at the end of the month, it was not yet clear.
About fifty metres from the hotel they were next booked into, there was a row of steps that took pedestrians underneath the road and across to Freedom Square.
There was also an entrance to the car park right there, for drivers to be able to exit from and return to their vehicles. They’d used that same exit the evening before when they’d brought the van in.
In the tunnel that took them under the road, there were some little outlets, one sold threads and sewing material, another was a restaurant, and still another a small and cosy café. It was this last one that the two men entered, the agreed meeting point for their female colleague who was due to come and find them in a few minutes. They passed the time with a coffee.
Ten minutes later than expected, she walked into the café. They checked if she wanted something to drink, but she was keen to get moving, so downing their remaining coffee, they left the café and seconds later were climbing up the stairs which led to the Square.
It wasn’t a day to be standing around, and those who were visible were crossing the open space at a pace, mostly in ones or twos, though a tour group could be seen descending some steps on the left, where the giant war memorial stood. Beyond that, the higher point of the Old Town was visible, with one of its many towers standing clear from the clouds above.
