by Tim Heath
Alex opened the door with a smile––he’d almost certainly been assuming it was Anastasia returning, no doubt realising she’d forgotten something or wanting yet one more kiss goodbye––though Alex’s smile quickly dropped from his face, as he stood there dumbfounded. Alex recognised immediately who it was standing in front of him.
“Alex, I take it you know who I am. Can I come in and speak with you?” Matvey asked, after a few seconds of awkward silence. Alex didn’t say a word, but stepped to one side, allowing the oligarch to enter, Alex glancing both ways down the corridor before he shut the door.
“It’s just me, and you have nothing to worry about, Alex,” Matvey said, catching the British agent checking who else was around. Alex, however, knew he had plenty to worry about because of the exact man now standing in his apartment.
“Why the hell are you here?”
“Please, I’ve come to talk––to help you in fact. Can we sit down?” and Matvey was already making his way into the lounge, which was reasonably tidy, though the door to the bedroom revealed sheets that had not been put back into place. Two wine glasses sat on the bedside table. Alex followed behind Matvey, taking a seat on the sofa opposite the Russian. He felt more vulnerable than he had done in a long time, though he didn’t feel he was in any imminent danger. He could handle himself in most physical confrontations and had youth on his side with Matvey. Alex had no weapons of his own at home, besides a set of cooking knives in the kitchen which sat ten feet away to his left. He eyed them casually but sank back into the sofa.
“I’ve read a lot about you, Alex,” Matvey said. Matvey had, in fact, been watching Alex for many years, having pointed his son in the MI6 agent’s direction when contact first needed to be made, when he required the passing on of necessary information.
“Likewise,” Alex replied, cold and direct. There was an edginess to him, as if he knew his secrets were no doubt obvious to Matvey Filipov at that moment. The biggest secret had left just minutes before––surely he’d seen her. Maybe that was how he’d found Alex, by following the wayward wife of Dmitry Kaminski?
“I’m not here to threaten you,” which wasn’t exactly true. There always had to be a threat, a means of punishment. That was how Matvey managed to control so many people. Though he would never call it threatening anyone. “I’m here to help you.”
“Help me?”
“I’ve some information on an attack that is imminent. Extremely high profile individuals, whose death would rock the heart of Europe, an attack designed to tear the European Union apart.” Matvey knew no such fact, though he’d always been one to elaborate a little.
“Why don’t you take this directly to Six?”
“And spoil my fun? I think it’s better if it comes from you. Besides, I’m just another of your informants. We both know you’ll pass on whatever information I need you to.”
“I’m sure you know I’m under suspension at the moment.” Alex had no doubt Matvey did know that––how he knew, Alex dreaded to think.
“Only a temporary blip, I’m certain. You’ll be back in no time––and I have the proof you need.”
“Proof?”
“That you had nothing to do with the murder of that journalist.”
“You have proof?” Alex sounded incredulous for the first time––and suddenly fearful. He didn’t want to owe Matvey anything, he’d seen first hand where that had led so many others before him. Some of these people were already dead.
“Proof.” Matvey didn’t reveal any more. “And I’ll keep the affair you are having with Anastasia Kaminski our little secret, for good measure.” The sound of her name, coming from his lips, hit like a hammer blow. Alex could sense the screw turning already.
“You can’t threaten me!”
“Threaten? Now, now, Alex. I’m helping you. Here I am saying I’ll give you information on a terrorist attack happening in just a few days, and suddenly I’m threatening you?”
“It’s blackmail, and you bloody well know it!” Alex said, his pulse racing, though he immediately knew that the outburst wouldn’t help him. It would only serve to prove to Matvey that he had Alex under control. That yet again, he’d won. Matvey stood, wandering around the lounge. Very few personal effects were on show and not a single photo.
“So do we have an understanding?” Matvey said, having paused beside Alex’s music collection, looking disapprovingly through the first dozen or so albums.
“You give me the information––if that is what you want to do––and I’ll inform the office. There is no agreement, I don’t owe you anything.”
“Fair enough,” Matvey said, instantly making for the door. Alex instinctively reached out and grabbed him by the elbow.
“Hold on,” Alex said reluctantly, and immediately Matvey knew he had him.
Twenty minutes later, Matvey was leaving, their meeting concluded. After stopping Matvey from going right away, Alex had put the kettle on, his demeanour changed and had heard out the Russian. Alex couldn’t shift the thought that his apparent involvement––or innocence as it really was––in the murder of the journalist was always there, not front and centre, but available, should Alex fail to do what he was being asked. And all he was being proposed by Matvey at that moment was to report the planned attack at a centennial event happening soon in Tallinn.
Alex had heard about the event only a little in passing––the security element from the UK perspective was being handled by MI5. This was because those who would attend––the Foreign Secretary was the highest ranked government figure––already had agents from Five in place, and it made more sense for these same people to travel with the group. There had been a short mention of it all at Six a month or so ago, so it wasn’t the first Alex had heard about Estonia’s one hundred year celebration event.
Though what Matvey shared of the dangers that faced them all, was new to him.
Matvey had promised to pass along more information as soon as he had it. He was hoping to be able to deliver the exact plan of attack long before the British could, once more proving how far ahead of the curve he was.
Standing in the doorway, the door open slightly though Matvey had yet to walk out, Alex asked one final question.
“Can you get me the information on who took out Thomas Price?” It was a long shot. Price, the former Deputy Director General, had been killed on the day of Putin’s last visit to London. MI6 had been monitoring the President’s convoy as it travelled from one venue towards Downing Street, where he was due to meet with the Prime Minister over lunch. Alex and the team had lost sight of the convoy for about twenty minutes. Then it appeared again, continuing its journey and that day’s arrangements. Putin had been on the flight back to Moscow that evening.
During that day, Price had been murdered, his body found that evening, and identity confirmed only the following morning.
The time of death didn’t fit with the time that Putin’s convoy had been AWOL. It was highly probable they’d been in the location where the body was found, but the reports showed Putin himself was already at Number 10 when Price had been killed. Alex strongly suspected it was someone linked to Putin, though they had all travelled together for the entire day. Maybe a freelance killer? The hit was itself a warning to the British government––do not interfere with Russian politics. Price had been working with Dmitry Kaminski for a long time, grooming the Russian to become a future President, a man the West, and in particular, the UK could work with.
Then Price had been killed.
Matvey smiled at Alex’s request. “Yes, I’ll look into it and give you a definitive name of who it was that killed your Deputy Director General.” He didn’t need to look into anything, however. He’d arranged the hit himself.
17
Tallinn, Estonia
February 23rd
It was the day before the nation’s centennial celebration, and those foreign dignitaries––mostly European based––who weren’t only coming on the day itself, had already a
rrived in the Estonian capital.
Three days before, Alex had called Anissa and informed her of everything he’d been told by Matvey––she’d been alarmed to hear he had met the Russian in person, the words of Phelan still ringing fresh in her ears. She put that to one side.
MI5 was made aware of the threat, and precautions were put in place until they knew anything more specific. The Foreign Secretary was made to pull out at the last minute––illness given as the reason––though others who were already planning to go were left to do so, there to represent Great Britain. They would be closely monitored by their MI5 minders.
Anissa was part of the MI6 task force which was sent over to tackle the bigger picture. Nothing more specific had yet come through from Matvey––they were very much in his hands––as the British agents settled into their hotel. Charlie Boon and his colleague Zoe had also been sent, and Anissa had been discussing the information she had with them both on the flight over.
Alex wasn’t due back to work for another few days––his gardening leave officially cancelled––but not in enough time to be overtly part of that trip. He had, however, travelled independently to Tallinn, something Anissa had only shared with Charlie and Zoe, and something to be kept between them. Alex said he would make contact with Anissa once they were settled in Tallinn, and he would be better able to dig in and look around because he wasn’t part of the British ranks. He also had the direct connection to Matvey.
Only Anissa knew who was feeding Alex the intelligence.
It was a game of cat and mouse, however. Tallinn was to become the latest epicentre in a battle for power that might cost many lives before it was settled. The Russian elections were still some weeks away, with everything to play for.
Mark Orlov––who’d lived his life one step ahead of everyone else for as long as he could remember––had a team watching the team that Matvey Filipov had sent. He’d used that situation to reveal certain things. The Machine was too valuable to allow someone like Filipov to take them on single-handedly. They now knew that was precisely what Matvey intended to do.
Maybe Mark shouldn’t have killed Andre?
That mattered little to him now. He’d never been a man to dwell on the past. What mattered most was keeping them all guessing, until it was too late. Like a magician performing a trick before a crowd, he had to keep them all looking a certain way when really the magic was happening elsewhere. And with his teams coming and going, various meetings and conversations taking place, that was exactly what his people had been doing. As his own men were following the men Matvey had sent, Mark figured he knew what Matvey would now be thinking. Matvey would think the hit would be a sniper, located in one of several hotels they’d visited––it always paid to have multiple options, different locations––from a room offering a clear line of sight to the square.
The weapon purchases had lent weight to this idea. Matvey had even tracked the man who’d arrived the day before to make the hit––someone Matvey had once used himself, too. There’d been various communications as to who the target was––a President here or a Prime Minister there. All smoke and mirrors.
It was that evening, the sun already down, some music playing from one of the towers as the Estonian flag was lowered from its flagpole, that Alex appeared in the crowd. Anissa had been standing with Charlie and Zoe––just three friends killing some free time. They greeted each other warmly––unlike the temperature around them at that moment.
“It’s good to see you again,” Charlie said, shaking Alex’s hand, sharing a sentiment they all felt. Charlie knew all about being left out in the cold when it came to Six.
“Have you heard anything?” Anissa asked after the small talk had finished.
“Nothing yet, which worries me.” The city was already showing signs of preparation for the following day. Roads were marked up with signs stating when they would be closed, metal railings were being erected on Freedom Square itself, and outside multiple car washes lines of army vehicles waited for their turn at being made to shine. There was a happy, positive vibe. It was the sort of feeling that came with once in a lifetime events.
The four agents walked around the Old Town, mostly four abreast, though sometimes the narrow alleyways didn’t allow that, and the two men would drop back, letting the ladies go in front. They had another hour––there was a final briefing scheduled for nine that night at the hotel––which gave the four time for a quick drink together somewhere before Alex would need to say goodbye.
Before Alex left, Anissa had been sent through confirmation that everyone had now arrived in Tallinn who was meant to be there. The only noticeable exceptions had been the British and German leaders, and no one had been invited from Russia, relations frosty in recent years, and this celebration marked the country’s original split from them in the first place.
Taking Alex to one side, Anissa had a quick word.
“Phelan McDermott came to see me the other week.”
“The Irishman?” Alex had never been as clued in as Anissa had regarding the names of those involved, but even he couldn’t forget that name.
“He warned me about Filipov.”
“That’s a bit rich coming from someone who's done so much of his dirty work.”
“It wasn’t like that, I don’t think. Matvey used Phelan.”
“The man became a millionaire because of his connection to Matvey, and he’s hardly innocent with regard to the role he played with Maggie Thompson, is he?”
Anissa couldn’t help feeling they were coming at this from opposite sides––she in Phelan’s corner, Alex in Matvey’s.
“Look, we can’t let them get between us, Alex, I just wanted to share what he said.”
“Which was?” but it was clear Alex didn’t trust Phelan and whatever motive or reason for speaking to her he might have had. For all he knew, it was just another ploy of Matvey’s.
“He said he traced me after endlessly seeing Filipov on the television. He said he needed to speak to someone, needed us to do something.”
“To do what?”
“To stop Matvey winning.”
Alex actually laughed out loud at that.
“How are we meant to do that? Remember, it was the thought that Price was trying to influence the election that pulled us both in. If we get involved––even if to stop someone, not aid them––aren’t we doing exactly the same? Doesn’t it still mean British interference in a foreign state situation?” He had a point.
“We can’t just stand aside and let men like Filipov do whatever they want.”
“Of course we can’t, Anissa, but as always, we have to catch them at something. You think Kaminski, Putin or any other candidate doesn’t have a whole cupboard full of skeletons?”
“Well, I believed Phelan, Alex.”
“I’m sure you did,” he grinned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anissa said, angry now.
“He has a proven track record, that one, at getting women to like him. I’m surprised he worked his charm so easily on you. I thought you had higher standards than that.” She punched him hard in the arm, which made her feel better. For a moment Alex didn’t know how to take it––she had walloped him, and her eyes suggested she wasn’t playing––but she soon broke out into a smile.
“Look at us,” she said, “getting all complicated.” She glanced over at Charlie and Zoe, who’d finished what had looked like an intense conversation of their own, now just standing there obviously waiting for her. “Keep in touch, and let me know when you hear something. We’d best get back.”
Farewells were said, and Alex stepped back into the darkness, the crowds all but gone, and was soon networking through the series of alleyways that made up that part of the Old Town, zigzagging his way back to where he was staying. He would sleep alone that night, for the first time in a few nights.
He already missed Anastasia.
Monaco
It had been a frustrating day of waiting for a ma
n who usually had the upper hand. Each team seemed to be reporting back the same; they had very little. Matvey paced his office––the walls closing in on him––as he thought through everything.
He was being played, he knew it. Orlov was somehow onto him.
His teams in Tallinn had reported a lot––he’d passed a little on to Alex that evening, but there was still nothing significant. Who was the target and from where was the hit taking place? He had teams booked into all the hotels in question, ready to storm any situation.
The attack was also his window of opportunity with Alex––and therefore with MI6 itself––and Matvey didn’t want to lose it. If MI6 managed to close down the threat themselves, without his help, Matvey would have lost his edge. He needed Alex to be reliant on him, requiring Matvey’s constant input and ready to do whatever he was asked.
“Alex,” Matvey said, at 10 pm local time––it would be eleven in Tallinn already. “I’ve got the information regarding the assassination of your former Deputy Director that you asked me about.”
“Can’t that wait? What about tomorrow’s attack?” Alex sounded edgy and angry. Matvey was sure he hadn’t woken the British agent up.
“I’ll get to that. Regarding Price,” and Matvey cleared his throat. “The hit was carried out by a local contact, under direct instruction from the Kremlin itself.”
“Putin was behind it?”
“Yes,” Matvey said, sounding as convincing as he could.
“Why?” Alex didn’t know why, but he needed more from Matvey before taking anything further. Proof before he would take what he was being told as gospel.
“Isn’t it obvious? Price had his claws into Kaminski and was positioning him for power. Some would view that an act of treason––an act of war.”
“And you know this how? Last time I checked, you and Putin weren’t exactly pen pals.” Which was an understatement. Alex couldn’t help but see that anything that damaged Putin only aided Filipov’s own campaign.
