The Moscow Cipher (Ben Hope, Book 17)

by Scott Mariani

  The longer the pilots waited, the more their spirits sank until they became convinced that they would be returning empty-handed once again. Leroy was pacing the floodlit tarmac in agitation with his shoulders hunched and hands in pockets, while Marchand had retreated to a corner behind the hangar to steal a cigarette in defiance of all the No Smoking signs that plastered the private jet terminal. Let someone come to give him grief over it. He was in just the mood for a good punch-up.

  ‘What d’you reckon?’ Leroy called over to his colleague, for about the fortieth time.

  ‘Reckon they’re not coming, is what I reckon,’ Marchand called back sullenly.

  Leroy suddenly straightened up from his slouch and cocked his head. ‘Wait, I hear something.’

  Marchand was about to brush him off with some disparaging comment when he heard it too, and flicked away his cigarette. The co-pilot was something of a bike enthusiast in his spare time, and there was no mistaking the flat-twin thud of an approaching motorcycle. Fancy limousines and SUVs were a common enough sight at the private jet terminal, but …?

  The pair exchanged baffled looks, then followed the sound – and both men’s eyes opened wide in astonishment at the sight of the strangest-looking contraption rumbling towards them across the tarmac.

  Marchand would have been able to tell Leroy that it was a Russian Ural, the nearest thing still being made to the old Wehrmacht BMW military sidecar outfits of World War II, if he’d been capable of speech at this moment. Even more jaw-dropping than the vehicle was the state of its three occupants. They recognised its rider as Ben Hope, but as they’d never seen him before, bruised and bloodied as though he’d turned up fresh from a battlefield somewhere. Yuri Petrov was perched on the pillion, wild-eyed and hairy like a bedraggled refugee from a labour camp. Sitting in the crude open sidecar, her pink gilet and jeans torn and filthy and her hair all awry, but beaming a smile ten times brighter than the airport floodlights, was little Valentina. Marchand and Leroy’s hearts leaped both at once, and they went running to meet and embrace her with tears of joy. Even Leroy’s promise to smash Yuri’s teeth in was forgotten.

  ‘Sorry we’re late,’ Ben said. ‘We got a little waylaid en route.’

  ‘What … where … how …?’ Leroy was so full of questions for him that he was logjammed and couldn’t blurt a single one out.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Ben said, and pointed at the waiting aircraft that stood gleaming under the lights. ‘Now, I suggest we get out of here pronto, before the Russian authorities start to cotton on to what we’ve been up to in their lovely city.’

  They were ready for takeoff within minutes. Ben parked the sidecar outfit next to the hangar, and on a scrap of paper scribbled an apology note for its owner who would be waking up tomorrow morning to find his pride and joy stolen. If Ben hadn’t been in such a rush to get his charges to the airport he might have been able to procure them something with a roof and proper seats, but the Ural had served its purpose just fine. Now he and his weary passengers made the extreme transition to the comfort of an ultra-luxurious private jet. As long as MiG fighters didn’t shoot down the Gulfstream before it left Russian airspace, there would be no more stops between here and France.

  And three perfectly uneventful hours later, they were landing at Le Mans-Arnage. There to be welcomed by a motorcade that would have made the French President feel inadequate. Auguste Kaprisky and his niece clambered from their limo as the plane taxied to a halt, Eloise bursting with anticipation and the old man so jittery he looked as though he was afflicted by St Vitus’s dance. What followed was the most joyful homecoming in the history of the Kaprisky dynasty. Floods of tears were spilled all over the runway as Valentina was reunited with her mother and granduncle. Yuri somewhat self-consciously kept himself at a distance, and went to sit alone on a wheel of the stationary aircraft.

  Ben had taken a long, hot shower on the plane, patched up his shoulder as best he could with the on-board first-aid kit, and knocked back quite a number of whiskies. All he wanted now was a soft, warm bed. But that wasn’t about to happen just yet. No sooner was he released from the smothering of kisses he received from Eloise than the old man was all over him with clasping handshakes and tears of gratitude and a thousand questions he couldn’t begin to answer. ‘You are a hero,’ Kaprisky kept saying. ‘A saviour. A knight.’ Ben felt like none of those things, but to protest would have been pointless. Meanwhile Valentina hovered around Ben like a little butterfly, talking incessantly, bubbling with laughter, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling every time she looked at him. Spotting the solitary figure of her father sitting under the aeroplane, she ran over with a cry to grab his hand and tug him across to meet the others.

  Yuri wasn’t the only one reluctant to be reunited with his former family. The old man’s face hardened like steel at the sight of him, while Eloise turned to stare at her ex-husband and the smile fell from her lips. ‘What is he doing here?’ Kaprisky said icily.

  ‘You’ve got Yuri wrong, Auguste,’ Ben said, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Both of you have. It’s a long story, but trust me when I say that no man ever loved his little girl more than he does. He’d die to protect her. And I mean that literally.’

  Ben’s words must have counted for something. He watched as Eloise went over to Yuri and the two of them tentatively embraced. Valentina clasped her parents’ hands and looked at Ben with a glow on her face that would have melted the most implacable heart to sugary goo.

  At last, the motorcade sped back to the Kaprisky estate, which was lit up like Versailles to greet the homecomers. Valentina rode up front with her mother and granduncle, while Yuri travelled in the second car with Ben. ‘Well, we did it,’ Ben said. Yuri mournfully shook his head. ‘No, my friend. You did it.’

  On arrival at the chateau, Valentina was whisked off by her mother and Yuri wandered off to be alone with his thoughts, his sadness for his dead friend Grisha and his concerns about the uncertain future he now faced. Kaprisky homed in on Ben like a goshawk and ushered him to a private drawing room the size of Winchester Cathedral, where they sat in vast leather armchairs and toasted the success of the mission with Louis XIII cognac from a Baccarat crystal decanter. Ben spent the next hour debriefing the old man in as much detail as he felt able to give him.

  ‘And so we will never know what this mysterious cipher contained,’ Kaprisky marvelled when Ben had finished giving his account.

  ‘No. Not even Yuri. The thing turned out to be uncrackable. Except his former boss was convinced he was trying to run out on him. Like I say, that’s what this whole thing was about. Yuri’s actions were solely to protect his little girl. If you want to pin a hero badge on anyone, it should be him.’

  Kaprisky was silent and pensive as he swirled his brandy around in the glass. ‘What you tell me is truly amazing. Were it from another man, I must confess I would find it hard to believe. Yet everything now makes perfect sense to me. Little wonder that Yuri went to such lengths to conceal from us the truth about his past career. And if I have erred in my judgement of my former nephew-in-law, I will be the first to admit it, and to atone for my mistake.’

  ‘The question is what happens to Yuri now,’ Ben said. ‘He can never return to his own country. He’s sick and hurt. His friend is dead. He has no home, no career, no money, nothing left to live for. Except Valentina.’

  Kaprisky waved that aside. ‘Yuri need not worry. He can be provided with all he will ever need. A new home, a new life, even a new identity if required. Anything is possible. He will be able to see Valentina as often as he wishes. As for his state of health, I happen to own a modest medical clinic nearby. It will be a top priority to ensure he makes a full recovery. And you too, my friend,’ he added.

  ‘I’m fine. A couple of scratches, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Kaprisky said. ‘You are in pain and exhausted, Benedict. And you will oblige me by accepting the care that the hero of the hour merits.’

  Kaprisky’s modest clinic turned ou
t to be one of the finest private hospitals and health spas in northern France. Despite his stubborn reluctance as well as the unearthly time of the night, the hero of the hour was coddled and fussed over like a prince and seemed to have been allocated an entire staff of doctors and nurses all to himself.

  Ben spent the next two days under informal house arrest at the hospital, supposedly convalescing. Which mainly meant wandering about its extensive and prettily landscaped grounds, sneaking packs of cigarettes from a friendly porter and smoking them when nobody was watching. It was on one of his long exploratory walks through the gardens that he last saw Yuri Petrov. The two of them sat on an ornamental bench in the sunshine, overlooking a sweep of green lawns and country park. Yuri wore a fluffy hospital gown and a pair of crutches leaned against the side of the bench.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ Yuri said.

  ‘Makes a change, all right. This clinic’s a bit nicer than the one in Moscow.’

  ‘Maybe the old man isn’t so bad after all.’

  ‘Deep down, he’s just a sentimental fuddy-duddy,’ Ben said. ‘Whatever people might say about him.’

  ‘You know, Eloise has been to see me. Twice. Things are … well, things are a little better between us now. I should have been more honest with her. No more secrets.’

  ‘I’m happy things are working out,’ Ben said. ‘You deserve it, all three of you.’

  ‘I’m forever in your debt, Ben,’ Yuri said earnestly. ‘A debt I can never begin to repay.’

  ‘There’s nothing to repay,’ Ben said.

  ‘You’re family now. To me, to Eloise and to Valentina.’ Yuri smiled. ‘Uncle Ben.’

  ‘Like the rice,’ Ben said.

  Yuri chuckled. ‘Actually I think it goes deeper than that. I get the impression that my daughter wants to marry you. Which, if she were ten years older, would be just fine by me.’

  ‘Twenty-five would narrow the age gap a little more,’ Ben said. ‘I’m flattered. But it’ll soon pass.’

  ‘She asked me to give you this.’ Yuri reached into the flaps of his fluffy robe and pulled out a small pink envelope. ‘It’s a letter, I think. She’s too shy to give it to you herself.’

  ‘May I open it?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Ben gently broke the seal on the envelope, unfolded the single sheet of pink notepaper that was inside, and read. The letter was in French, written in the neat cursive hand of a well-schooled child, and said:

  Dear Ben,

  Thank you for what you did for me, and my Papa. I will never forget you. I hope that you’ll come and visit us very very often.

  Love from your best friend in all the world,

  Valentina

  XXXX

  Ben folded the letter away, feeling deeply touched. ‘Please tell her I’ll always hold on to it,’ he said.

  Yuri smiled. ‘I’ll do that.’

  For a while, the two of them just sat and enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the view of the gardens. Breaking the silence, Ben said, ‘One thing I meant to ask you.’

  ‘Hmm? What’s that?’

  ‘For the record, just where exactly is Object 428? It seemed to vanish quite suddenly.’

  ‘I fed it to Alyosha,’ Yuri said. ‘The microfilm and the flash drive, too.’

  ‘Grisha’s dog?’

  ‘After we left the trailer, when we stopped on the way to that broken-down farm. I didn’t know then that we were going to be separated. It was the only safe place I could think to put the stuff, so when nobody was watching I rolled it all up together with a bit of old tripe I’d found in my pocket.’

  ‘You generally walk around with pocketfuls of old tripe?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Grisha and I were always bribing the brute with chunks of it, to make him shut up, though it never worked. Anyway, he swallowed the whole lot. He’ll eat anything, that dog. Ate a can opener once. I suppose I was hoping to recover the brain chip and the plans later, although I probably wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time.’

  ‘Well,’ Ben said. ‘That’s one way to dispose of the evidence.’

  ‘The fact is, Bezukhov was going to kill me whether I gave it to him or not.’

  Ben couldn’t disagree with that. ‘Not such a pleasant bloke.’

  Both men might have thought about it then, but neither chose to mention how, and specifically by whose hand, the intelligence chief had met his end. Some secrets should remain unspoken even between those who shared them.

  Yuri shook his head sadly. ‘Poor Alyosha, though. He was a nuisance sometimes, but I hate to think of him suffering. I wonder what’ll become of him, running free like a wild animal.’

  ‘A dog like him will survive fine,’ Ben said. ‘You said yourself, he’ll eat anything. Maybe he’ll find a new home for himself, earning his keep by keeping down rats on some farm or other. Wherever he ends up, the brain chip won’t stay inside him long. If it’s even still there now.’

  Yuri cracked a sudden wicked grin. ‘No, if the bastards want it they’ll have to poke around inside every dog turd for a thousand square miles of wilderness.’

  Ben checked out of the clinic that afternoon, itchy to get back to Le Val. He stopped off at Kaprisky’s estate to pay his regards and pick up his Alpina. The old man spent a long time expressing his heartfelt thanks all over again. If Ben couldn’t be prevailed upon to take payment for his services, then at least he’d accept a ride home by helicopter? The car could easily be delivered to Le Val by a chauffeur.

  ‘No, thanks, a nice long drive is what I need,’ Ben replied. And he was looking forward to it, with Miles Davis on the CD player and a fresh pack of Gauloises to attack on the road.

  ‘And you’re quite sure that—? I mean, it doesn’t seem right that I don’t—’

  ‘I don’t want any money, Auguste,’ Ben repeated. ‘But if it makes you feel better, you could always make a donation to the Le Val expansion fund.’

  ‘Rest assured it will be done,’ Kaprisky said, much relieved.

  ‘Goodbye, then,’ Ben said, and headed for the door.

  ‘Until the next time.’ There was an insinuating note in the old man’s tone, and a twinkle in his eye, that hinted at a deeper meaning. Ben halted at the doorway.

  ‘There won’t be a next time,’ he said vehemently. ‘I’m done now. No more adventures. From now on, I’m Mr Stay-at-home. Carpet slippers in front of the fire and a pipe, just like Jeff said. And I mean it.’

  In all the time Ben had known him, he had not once seen Auguste Kaprisky so much as chuckle. Now the poker-faced old billionaire, the man who never laughed, broke into peals of thigh-slapping giggles and he wept until the tears of mirth were spilling down his parched, wrinkly face.

  ‘Did I miss something?’

  Kaprisky wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘How you delude yourself. For you, my young friend, there will always be another adventure. You will never stop doing what you do. Not until the last shred of injustice has been purged from this world and there are no more wrongs to right. It is the life you were born to lead.’

  And as Ben sped back towards Le Val with the music blaring and the wind blowing through his open windows, he wondered how on earth the old geezer could have got such a daft and ridiculous notion into his head.

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  About the Author

  Scott Mariani is the author of the worldwide-acclaimed action-adventure thriller series featuring ex-SAS hero Ben Hope, which has sold millions of copies in Scott’s native UK alone and is also translated into over 20 languages. His books have been described as ‘James Bond meets Jason Bourne, with a historical twist’. The first Ben Hope book, The Alchemist’s Secret, spent six straight weeks at #1 on Amazon’s Kindle chart, and all the others have been Sunday Times bestsellers.

  Scott was born in Scotland, studied in Oxford and now lives and writes in a remote setting in rural west Wales. When not w
riting, he can be found bouncing about the country lanes in an ancient Land Rover, wild camping in the Brecon Beacons or engrossed in his hobbies of astronomy, photography and target shooting (no dead animals involved!) .

  You can find out more about Scott and his work, and sign up to his exclusive newsletter, on his official website:

  www.scottmariani.com

  By the same author:

  Ben Hope series

  The Alchemist’s Secret

  The Mozart Conspiracy

  The Doomsday Prophecy

  The Heretic’s Treasure

  The Shadow Project

  The Lost Relic

  The Sacred Sword

  The Armada Legacy

  The Nemesis Program

  The Forgotten Holocaust

  The Martyr’s Curse

  The Cassandra Sanction

  Star of Africa

  The Devil’s Kingdom

  The Babylon Idol

  The Bach Manuscript

  To find out more visit www.scottmariani.com

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