by Shaun Hutson
‘Good morning, everyone,’ Voronov said, the hint of a grin Jess had seen finally spreading into a fully-fledged smile which seemed to contain genuine warmth. ‘Thank you for coming.’ His accent was even less intense than the woman next to him. His diction and his tone were perfect. Jess was beginning to wonder even more why the interpreter was needed. Voronov spoke better than most of the people in the room waiting for him, she told herself.
‘I hope that this Press Conference will answer some of the questions that have been asked about my business interests here in London and, in fact, about my very presence here in your city,’ he went on. ‘I know outsiders are not always welcome despite your famous English hospitality.’
There were some chuckles and Voronov seemed to warm to his subject, relieved that his arrival had been greeted more with polite acceptance than hostility and mistrust. There was plenty of time for that later, he thought.
‘Why did you decide to call this Press Conference, Mr Voronov?’ a man in the row behind Jess and Hadley asked. ‘You’re renowned as a private man, a recluse almost. What made you want to expose yourself to the press like this?’
There were more laughs from around the room. Voronov reached for the glass of water which the woman beside him had just poured for him, sipped it then looked at the questioner.
‘As you know, the Crystal Tower opens very soon and I wanted to do as much as I could to help with its launch and to ensure that it receives the right kind of publicity,’ Voronov said. ‘I have seen many articles and news stories that only seem to show the bad side of it. How it has disrupted London. How it has changed the landscape for the worse. I wanted people to remember that it has also already done and will continue to do much good for this city.’
‘How many jobs did it create?’ a voice asked.
‘Over five thousand people were involved at various times during the construction of the building,’ Voronov said. ‘The creation of five thousand new jobs must be a good thing. I’m sure you would all agree.’
‘And how many businesses are moving into premises inside the Tower?’ another wanted to know.
‘There are more than one hundred businesses setting up inside the Crystal Tower so far,’ Voronov said. ‘I can’t be sure how many people they will employ but it will be a lot. So, the tower has been and will continue to be an asset to London and the people who live here.’
Jess kept her gaze fixed on Voronov as he spoke, noticing that not once did his gaze drop or his tone falter. For a man who spent so much time alone and out of the spotlight he certainly wasn’t fazed by being in it now. He spoke like a seasoned orator, working the room verbally as efficiently as anyone she’d ever seen.
‘Is it true you’re trying to build a hotel complex not far from here, Mr Voronov?’ one of the other journalists wanted to know. ‘But planning permission has so far been refused.’
‘Mr Voronov will be answering questions only about the Crystal Tower,’ the woman next to the billionaire said, sharply. ‘I did say that before he arrived.’
Voronov merely smiled and put one hand on the woman’s arm.
‘I will answer the question,’ he said, quietly. Then he turned and looked at the man who asked it. ‘I did apply for planning permission to build a hotel nearby and yes, so far it has been refused.’
‘Why do you think that is?’ the same reporter enquired.
Voronov shrugged.
‘I encountered much resistance to the Crystal Tower when I first enquired about planning permission,’ he said. ‘I am told that those responsible for granting permission must have good reasons for denying it. But so far no one has given me any good reasons.’
‘What made the authorities change their minds concerning the Crystal Tower?’ another voice asked. ‘There were rumours of bribes and possibly even threats.’
Voronov smiled.
‘You have been watching too many gangster films, my friend,’ he said, smiling even more broadly.
There was more laughter in the room.
‘I am a businessman,’ Voronov went on. ‘I do not threaten people. I have people working for me who do that.’ Again he smiled and again there was laughter.
Jess looked at Hadley and raised her eyebrows.
‘I am not the kind of man who is used to hearing the word no,’ Voronov said, lightly. ‘In business I believe that one must always believe that anything is possible and must do whatever can be done to make things happen. What is that saying you have here? “The end justifies the means.” I believe very strongly in that.’
‘Are there any plans to build structures like the Crystal Tower in other parts of the world?’ someone wanted to know.
‘There are already plans to construct similar buildings in Prague and Moscow,’ Voronov revealed. ‘The early stage planning is well under way.’
‘Do you see these buildings as a legacy?’ another journalist wanted to know. ‘A monument to your presence, if you like?’
‘Well, everyone likes to know that they are leaving a little of themselves in this world, don’t they?’ the billionaire said. ‘That must be why you all write. You want to leave something of yourselves in this world.’
More laughter greeted the remark.
Voronov looked around the room waiting for the next question.
‘Will you be in London for the opening of the Crystal Tower, Mr Voronov?’ someone wanted to know.
‘Unfortunately no,’ the billionaire said. ‘I have business to attend to elsewhere but I will be flying back here frequently to check on things. I have a wonderful staff but I like to keep close to all of my business interests. I like to keep my finger on the pulse. That is what you say, isn’t it?’
There was more good humoured laughter.
Voronov smiled and seemed to be luxuriating in the atmosphere within the room.
‘There were lots of accidents during the construction of the Crystal Tower,’ Jess said, raising her hand so that Voronov could see her. ‘Does that bother you, Mr Voronov?’
‘Accidents are unavoidable in a project of this size I’m afraid,’ he told her. ‘Obviously I am sorry if anyone was injured but you cannot blame me for that.’
‘More than seventy people were killed during the building of the tower,’ Jess went on. ‘That’s a huge number.’
‘And a very regrettable number,’ Voronov said, gently. ‘If anything could have been done to avoid those accidents I’m sure it would have been. How many people were involved in accidents during construction of the Empire State Building? Or the Petronas Towers? Or even your own Wembley Stadium? As I say it was very regrettable but there is nothing sinister about it.’
‘No one implied that, Mr Voronov,’ Hadley went on. ‘We’re just asking questions about how many people were killed, not just injured but who lost their lives during the building of the Crystal Tower.’
Voronov nodded sagely.
‘It is regrettable as Mr Voronov said,’ the woman in the grey suit interjected. ‘But this press conference was called to discuss the future of the Crystal Tower not its past. Has anyone else got any questions?’
‘Was it a coincidence that the Crystal Tower was built on the site of the place your grandfather used to live?’
Jess stood looking fixedly at the billionaire as she asked the question.
If he felt any twinge of surprise he didn’t show it.
‘Congratulations on your research,’ he said, quietly, his smile only slipping slightly.
‘The Tower is built on the same site isn’t it?’ Jess went on. ‘Did you intend it as some kind of monument?’
‘That is not relevant,’ the woman in the charcoal suit said.
‘Why was your grandfather forced to leave London in the 1930s, Mr Voronov?’ Jess went on. ‘Why did he run away? What did he do that made him get out so quickly? What was he running from?’
SIXTY-SIX
The smile was still on the billionaire’s face but it was now beginning to look as if it was there purely and s
imply because it had been frozen into that position.
‘That is a strange question,’ he said, finally. ‘Why are you interested in my family? Or in something that happened decades ago?’
‘I’m a journalist, we’re curious people by nature,’ Jess told him.
‘It is correct that the Crystal Tower is built on the site of where your grandfather used to live?’
This time the voice belonged to Hadley who was now standing beside Jess.
‘That is true,’ Voronov conceded. ‘There is no mystery about that.’
‘But there was a mystery surrounding your grandfather, wasn’t there?’ Jess went on. ‘There have been lots of mysteries in your past, Mr Voronov. Are you a secretive man?’
The woman in the charcoal suit glared at Jess.
‘That’s enough,’ she snapped. ‘It was understood that Mr Voronov would be answering questions only about the Crystal Tower. These questions about his family and his past are rude and unnecessary.’
‘Only if he has something to hide,’ Jess said, unimpressed by the woman’s tone and withering gaze.
‘And what do you think I’m hiding then, Miss?’ Voronov challenged.
‘I have no idea, Mr Voronov,’ Jess told him. ‘But if you’d like to share some of your secrets with us I’m sure your candour would be appreciated.’
‘I have no secrets,’ Voronov said. ‘Not that are any of your business.’
‘What about the truth?’ Jess pressed. ‘Is that our business?’
‘This is outrageous,’ the woman in the charcoal suit hissed. ‘I will have to ask you to leave. I will have to ask all of you to leave. This Press Conference is over.’
There were shouts from inside the room.
‘It’s a valid question,’ Hadley shouted, raising his voice to make himself heard over the growing din inside the room.
Despite the activity around him, Voronov remained immobile behind the table, his gaze fixed on Jess. Even the fixed smile he wore had stayed in place. Two of the security guards had moved closer to the table but other than that there was no movement from anyone except the woman in charcoal suit who was gesticulating angrily, her eyes also homing in on Jess like laser sights on a target.
‘I have nothing to hide,’ Voronov said. ‘You people are all the same, in every country. You accuse without reason. You persecute because it is easier than it is to understand and know someone. You are all the same.’ He got to his feet, flanked now by his security guards.
‘The man who refused planning permission for your hotel was murdered recently,’ Jess shouted. ‘How do you feel about that, Mr Voronov?’
The billionaire was heading for the doors now, his gaze never straying from the back of the security guard who walked directly in front of him.
‘His name was Brian Dunham,’ Jess went on. ‘Did you know him?’
Voronov didn’t turn, he continued on his way out of the room, the woman in the charcoal suit and the interpreter now hurrying to join him among the throng of security men.
‘He was beaten to death, Mr Voronov,’ Jess called after him.
‘Why don’t you shut up.’
The voice came from behind Jess and she turned to see one of the other newsmen glaring angrily at her.
‘We’ll probably never see him again now because of you,’ the man snapped. ‘You were supposed to keep your questions to this place, not start asking the kind of stupid questions you were asking. What’s wrong with you?’
‘He’s news, I’m doing my job,’ Jess rasped. ‘Perhaps if you did yours better instead of spending your time kissing his arse you’d have a more interesting story to write.’
‘What the hell has Brian Dunham’s death got to do with Voronov?’ the other journalist went on.
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ Jess told him, turning away from him in time to see Voronov disappear into the corridor beyond. The double doors slammed shut behind him.
‘I think you got his attention,’ Hadley said, quietly.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Andrei Voronov poured himself another measure of Jack Daniel’s and sipped it, ice clinking against the expensive crystal tumbler as he raised it to his lips.
It was quiet inside the Penthouse apartment of the Crystal Tower despite the fact that there were five people gathered there in one of the sitting rooms. Voronov himself looked slowly from each expectant face to the next. The two bodyguards who stood impassively near the door, then the man with the goatee beard and finally the woman in the grey suit. Voronov cradled the glass in his hand for a moment longer then walked slowly back towards the sofa near the middle of the room. There were two others identical to it arranged around a marble topped coffee table.
Spread out on the top of this table were a number of photographs and Voronov looked at them as he sat down, taking another sip of his drink.
‘You’re sure of their identities?’ he said, finally, moving one of the photos with a long index finger.
‘Jessica Anderson and Alex Hadley,’ the woman in the grey suit told him. ‘Both reporters. If there’d been any way of knowing what they were going to ask …’
Voronov raised a hand to cut her short.
‘It doesn’t matter about their questions,’ he said, flatly. ‘If I had reacted the way they wanted me to then it would have been more of a problem. As it is …’ he allowed the sentence to trail off and shrugged.
The man with the goatee shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looked first at the woman and then at Voronov.
‘How do you want to deal with it?’ he asked.
‘I cannot have stories circulating about this building,’ Voronov said. ‘Or about my own family. It is no one’s business but mine. I certainly don’t want it all over the newspapers.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘These people must be made to understand that.’ He looked down at the table top and the photos of Jess and Hadley. ‘I wonder how they found out about my grandfather?’
‘They’re reporters,’ the woman said, dismissively. ‘They have ways of finding out about anything.’
‘I have always tried to maintain a certain anonymity,’ Voronov said. ‘You know that.’
‘It is difficult in a world with the internet and …’ the woman began.
‘Difficult perhaps but not impossible,’ Voronov interrupted. ‘Trust is an important thing. Perhaps I have too much of it. Or it is misplaced.’
‘No one in this organisation would ever betray you,’ the man with the goatee protested. ‘They are all loyal to you.’
‘You seem very sure of that,’ Voronov said, quietly. ‘For the right price and under the right circumstances anyone’s loyalty can be bought or tested. Perhaps the time has come to re-evaluate the natures of some of those who work for me.’
He drained what was left in his glass and got to his feet.
‘I want these two dealt with as soon as possible,’ Voronov said, pointing at the pictures of Jess and Hadley. ‘Is that understood?’
The man with the goatee and the woman nodded. The woman was about to speak when Voronov simply turned his back on her, wandering towards a door at the far end of the room. He turned and glanced at the other occupants of the penthouse then reached for the door handle and turned it. The others watched him enter, closing the door behind him.
The room was cooler than the main sitting room, the walls and floors bare stone. Voronov could hear the gentle hum of air conditioning but other than that it was silent too. His footsteps echoed as he walked slowly across the floor.
The room was empty but for the one solitary figure at the centre of it.
Voronov crossed to the figure, running his gaze up and down the massive form, studying the blank expressionless features.
He reached out gently and touched one of the arms, rubbing the grey stone and rolling some fragments between his fingers. Motes of dust turned in the air and Voronov walked around the figure, studying it from all angles with a combination of awe and foreboding. He murmured something unintell
igible under his breath and looked down at the grey specks of stone on his fingertips.
He spat gently onto his fingers and rolled the fragments of stone around in the saliva then he reached out and pressed those moist fingers to the chest of the figure, drawing them downwards as if he were anointing it. He looked directly into the face, deep into the tunnel like eye sockets.
They stared back blindly at him.
SIXTY-EIGHT
Jessica Anderson rubbed her eyes with both hands then peered myopically back at the computer screen before her.
She read the first two thousand words of the article she’d written, nodding approvingly to herself or shaking her head dismissively as she corrected mistakes or changed a word here and there. She had learned early on in her career that to re-read something one has written too many times leads only to disappointment (and also to endless editing). An older colleague had taught her that valuable lesson and she was sure that it had been Hadley. He had taught her a great deal about work, life and lots of other thing too. She sat back in her seat and gently rotated her neck, hearing the bones crack loudly as she did.
She wondered for one brief second if she should e-mail the article over to Hadley now. Just let him run his expert eye over it and give her some instant feedback. Maybe, she thought, when she was finished. Just let him have a quick look.
Just for old times’ sake?
Jess wrote another three hundred words and re-read those too.
She had photos of Voronov to accompany the article and she quickly scrolled through them, selecting the ones to use. She chose a couple she’d taken at the press conference earlier and also one of the Crystal Tower itself. For a moment she wondered about adding one of Brian Dunham complete with the caption;
POLICE HAVE YET TO QUESTION VORONOV OVER BRIAN DUNHAM’S DEATH
But she thought better of it. The article she’d written was accurate, informative and challenging (and probably lots of other clichés too but she could only think of those three at the moment) but it couldn’t be libellous and until a definitive link was found linking the billionaire to the death of Dunham she could not add anything that might imply Voronov knew how the other man had died.
