by Albert Able
Igor understood. In any event, he also wanted to get back to his own hectic routine. “Sure, I’ll get you on the next flight.” He dialled a number and spoke rapidly in Russian. “That’s good - you are on the twelve thirty five flight to London.” He looked at his watch and dialled another number. “I’ll organise your transport to the airport. She will collect you at ten from my office. Is that alright with you?”
“That’s fine, thank you.” Alex replied.
They drove to Igor’s office still discussing the various implications of the evidence they had accumulated. It was seven thirty in the morning.
“I have put an office and fax machine at your disposal,” Igor said. “I’m sure you will have a few calls to make.” He turned and introduced the lady standing at the desk to Alex. “Georgia here speaks English and will help you if you need anything.”
The smartly dressed middle-aged woman nodded politely. “Perhaps a cup of coffee to start the day?” she offered in precise though toneless English.
“Thank you, that would be very nice.” Alex responded with a smile and spent the next two hours writing, sending and receiving faxes.
Georgia appeared and tapped discreetly on the glass door. “Your transport to the airport is here.”
Alex looked at his watch in surprise. “Good gracious” he exclaimed and noticed the cold cup of coffee sitting on the corner of the desk for the first time.
Georgia noticed it too. “Not quite like English tea?”
Alex opened his mouth to apologise just as Igor rushed into the office, almost knocking Georgia over as he barged through the door.
“We have a big problem,” Igor gasped. “Just had a call from Yuri: there’s been an explosion reported at the summer house where Sophie and Sarah are staying.”
“What kind of explosion?” Alex exclaimed, leaping from his chair, his mind flashing instantly to the stolen nuclear devices.
“Don’t know any detail yet. I’m going out there now. Want to join me?” Igor was already heading to the elevator.
The driver scheduled to take Alex to the airport now carried them at breakneck speed to the summer house. The normal two-hour journey took considerably less time.
They finally pulled up behind a large fire-truck and two police cars. The fire had been extinguished but wisps of smoke still rose from the charred timbers as the firemen methodically dampened down the site. There was very little of the timber framed bungalow still standing. Fifty metres away a neighbouring property had part of its roof torn away and all the windows facing Yuri Drumenco’s house had been blown in.
The stench of the fire dominated the scene as Yuri Drumenco, accompanied by one of his uniformed officers, hurried across to the car as Alex and Igor arrived.
“No sign of them so far,” Yuri whispered to Igor.
“Bastards,” Igor hissed and pointed to a piece of blooded plastic sheet which was obviously camouflaging something.
“We found a man’s head and several body parts. We assume it must have been a suicide bomber.”
“No sign of any other bodies yet, Sir.” A young police officer dressed in a plastic overall approached and reported in Russian.
Yuri sighed. “Thank you,” he said automatically and explained to Alex.
“What about the neighbours?” Alex asked by way of a reply.
“They’re not here this week,” Yuri turned to the officer standing at his side, “but hey, did anyone check inside the other house?”
The officer looked a little sheepish. “There is some external damage but it is all locked up so we didn’t do any more for the moment.”
Still curious, Alex asked: “Why would a suicide bomber target your summer house?”
“The Muslims blame Yuri and his men for a terrible shooting accident last year - they’ve threatened him several times,” Igor explained.
“Well, if the girls are not here they must have done something or gone somewhere,” Alex reasoned, striding towards the neighbour’s house and shouting out: “Sophie? Are you in there, Sophie?”
As he hammered on the door, the slightest of sounds caught his attention. “Sophie, is that you?” Alex called again as Igor and Yuri joined him.
“Shush.” Alex held a finger to his lips and listened intently. “Hear that?”
“Get that door open.” Yuri ordered a man who had just arrived carrying a sledgehammer.
The man made a mighty swing at the lock, which splintered at the first blow. Yuri charged through the door calling: “Sacha where are you?”
Alex and Igor followed shouting: “Sophie! Sophie!”
It took only a few seconds to find the source of the noise: a large tabby cat with three newborn kittens sitting in a laundry basket on the floor of the utility room. The mother arched her back, hissed and spat defensively at the intruders.
“Take it easy, old lady,” Alex said in English. But the cat continued to stand protectively over her children and reacted by raising her back even higher while she spat aggressively.
Alex withdrew, leaving the little family in peace.
“We’ve checked everywhere and there’s nothing here, Sir,” the sergeant reported.
“OK, Sergeant, thank you,” Yuri replied quietly. “So just where the hell are they?’ he said to no one in particular.
He returned to the front door and looked across at his ruined home.
Another officer approached; the man looked awkward. “I’m afraid we’ve found several more body parts.” Obviously exasperated, he removed his cap and wiped his shaved head with a handkerchief. “Looks like at least three male torsos, but nothing obviously female so far, Sir.”
Yuri shook his head. “Three men.” He looked up at the others: “What exactly does that mean?”
Igor tapped his forehead with one hand, trying to think. “The cars,” he said quietly, “where are the cars?”
Yuri’s garage was located next to the bedroom where the blast had originated and although the blast had completely destroyed the building, it was obvious from the wreckage that there had only been one car in the garage at the time.
“Try next door’s garage. Sometimes we use it when they’re away.”
Yuri ran to the neighbouring garage and rummaged behind a large plant pot, looking for the key. “Where the hell is it?” He cursed.
“It’s not locked,” Alex observed, giving the handle a twist and swinging the garage door open, revealing a completely empty garage.
“So where are they?” Yuri groaned.
Igor placed a hand on Yuri’s arm. “Come over here a moment.”
He led Yuri and Alex a short distance away. “I don’t know how many of these men are to be trusted, but let’s play safe, eh?”
“So?” Yuri questioned impatiently.
“We know Sophie definitely had her own car here!” Igor wrinkled his brow. “That can mean one of two things. The worst is that they have been kidnapped and driven away in her car and are being held somewhere.” Igor didn’t like to think of the possibility that they could have already been murdered.
He smiled, trying to be a little more optimistic: “Or - and I suspect the most likely possibility - is that somehow they escaped and got away in Sophie’s car and are hiding somewhere.”
“I truly hope so,” Alex added encouragingly but in reality he was not quite so confident.
***
Henshaw’s timely shout had saved Sir Gerald Fisher’s life, but having politely allowed Sir Gerald to re-enter the Club ahead of him, he had taken the full force of the blast when the taxi exploded. He was flung unceremoniously into Sir Gerald and the pair of them ended up in a tangle on the floor inside the lobby. Fortunately, the Boss had been standing only a few feet inside the building and had been protected from the blast. Not being physically injured, he was the fi
rst to react.
Stepping over Henshaw and Sir Gerald’s prostrate bodies he closed the heavy door and then bent towards the two men. “You OK, Gerald?” he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Tough though ex SAS officer Sir Gerald Fisher was, the narrow escape from the booby-trapped taxi and the subsequent explosion left him pale and trembling.
Gradually a mixture of relief and anger replaced the initial trauma. “I think I’m still in one piece,” Sir Gerald reassured the Boss as he hauled himself slowly to his feet, grateful for the support of the Boss’s out-stretched arm. “But what about Henshaw?” he managed to croak, his throat dry as sawdust.
A protracted groan emanated from the floor as Henshaw turned on his side to face the two men. It told them that at least he was alive. The Boss immediately knelt down beside him.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
Henshaw’s eyes blinked as they focused on the Boss.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He coughed a couple of times. “What the hell was that?” he asked as Sir Gerald and the Boss assisted him to his feet.
“The taxi exploded,” the Boss spat. “Syndicate, absolutely no doubt about it. It’s the bloody Syndicate.” It was very rare for him to swear.
“This is why I called you back, Gerald.” The Boss handed him the fax sheet he had plucked from Henshaw’s hand.
It read:
‘Terrorist’ attack on Yuri Drumenco’s holiday home the building completely destroyed as yet no sign of his wife or Sophie.
Am delaying return. Will contact you ASAP. Alex.
Many miles away in a baronial Schloss in Austria, the man sitting at the blinking computer consol carefully read the brief Text message. The jerky contortions of his ravaged features represented, for him, a smile of satisfaction; for anyone else it would have sent a shudder of fear down the toughest of spines.
***
The firemen was just reporting that they did not believe there were any other recoverable human remains left in the fire zone when Alex Scott’s mobile phone noisily interrupted the report. Recognising the sender, he cautiously answered: “Yes?”
“It’s OK, Alex, we are safe.” Hans’s voice reassured him. “I won’t bother you with the details but being the genius that I am, I have established a way of shielding our calls for about two minutes.”
“What would we do without you, eh?” Alex patronised him.
“I often wonder. However, in the meantime I have also located the source of the number you gave me, and guess what? It tied in with one of the signal sources from those transmissions from your friends in California.”
“So where is the source?” Alex persisted.
“I have pinpointed it with GPS reference to a Schloss in Austria,” Hans replied triumphantly. “However I will call again later with the full details; we are close to our time limit. Take care.” The line went dead.
Alex had been standing away from Igor Pulaski and Police Chief Yuri Drumenco; he walked over to the two men.
“At least there is some good news: it seems I can use my cell phone safely for short calls.”
“That’s good! So why don’t we try Sophie’s number?” Igor reached for the mobile, carefully dialled a number and waited. The call tone throbbed in his ear. He looked drawn and desolate as he waited, praying silently for a reply. He was on the point of giving up when Sophie’s tensed up voice answered cautiously: “Who is this?”
“It’s me. I’m using a borrowed phone,” Igor replied gently, the relief in his voice evident. “Where are you?”
“I’m with Sacha and the children,” she paused, “at the camp.”
She whispered covertly: “Oh Igor, it’s been terrible. We were nearly blown up but managed to get away.”
She sobbed, but then took a deep breath and with her voice back under control said with her usual authority: “It’s all very confusing but at least we are OK. There is an awful lot to explain. We need to meet. Where are you now?”
Looking at his wristwatch, Alex interrupted: “Igor, you must end the call now.”
“Where are you exactly?” Igor persisted, looking anxiously at Alex.
“Same hut as before.”
“Stay where you are,” Igor commanded and terminated the call.
“They’re safe at the camp for the moment but we should get out there right away.” Igor turned, heading back to the vehicle.
“You’re right and thank God for that.” Yuri exhaled with relief, but as he turned to follow Igor, one of his officers moved quietly up to him.
“Excuse me, Sir, but apparently there is a ‘most urgent’ fax at your office for the Englishman.”
The officer was holding a VHF radio in his hand and nodded towards Alex. “And also there’s some big terrorist situation in Moscow - Red Square, they said - it just came in on the radio.” He shook his head: “Sounds like big trouble to me, Sir. Do you think there could there be any connection with this lot?”
Yuri Drumenco couldn’t think about anything for the moment other than the fact that Sarah and Sacha had somehow escaped the explosion that had completely destroyed their summer bungalow. So what could possibly have been bigger trouble than the situation he faced right now? But as he followed Igor to the car, his instinct told him that such coincidences hardly ever happen.
“It’s a bomb threat, Sir,” said another officer who approached Yuri. “It seems a suicide bomber is sitting with a bomb at the main entrance of GUM in Red Square!”
GUM is the largest and most famous shopping mall in Moscow if not in all of Russia. Its imposing façade faces directly on to the famous Red Square.
Yuri quickly explained the excited officer’s report to Alex, concluding: “And I don’t believe in coincidences, do you?”
“No, Yuri, I do not. I think we should find a quiet spot and have a brief council of war. I’ll start with a call to Hans.”
Alex Scott reached for his mobile phone. “I bet those faxes are from the Boss.”
“Hans, my friend, can I talk safely to the Boss yet?”
“Yes, but not more than two minutes at the moment - less, preferably.”
“Thanks. Things are hotting up around here so I’ll get back to you later.”
Alex dialled the Boss’s mobile number.
“Yes?” Sir Adrian answered, suspiciously.
“It’s me, Boss. Hans has fixed it so we can use the mobiles for a minute and a half max, so listen. Have you sent me a couple of faxes care of Yuri’s office?” He reduced the possible safe period of use deliberately, to take into account the Boss’s habit of forgetting time when he was on the telephone.
“Yes I did, I can’t explain everything in the time limit so you best read them, where are you now?”
“Doesn’t matter, but there is also a terrorist with a bomb somewhere in Moscow’s Red Square. Can you check it out from your end? I’m going back to Yuri’s office now. I will get back to you.”
“OK, I think I know how it all ties up now but you’d better read those faxes first,” the Boss replied excitedly and terminated the call.
The three men agreed that Igor should go to the camp with his vehicle and driver to collect the women, whilst Alex and Yuri headed back to his office in St Petersburg.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll drive,” Igor politely instructed his driver, who moved across to the passenger seat without emotion.
Igor took the wheel and drove fast but in complete control. The sixty miles journey or so took less than forty-five minutes.
The adventure park was located in a beautiful area of hilly forest with a large lake at its centre. The main camp and facilities was situated close to and overlooking the lake with the kayaking club and other aquatic activities based on long floating pontoons close by.
Sophi
e’s discreet “same as before” message told Igor that they were in the same group of chalets where they had stayed together last summer.
The sprawling camp catered for over one thousand people and the accommodation was provided in an orderly group of chalets surrounding the main facilities.
Igor drove straight to ‘Community Village Seven’ and as he cruised slowly along the first row of timber holiday homes he spotted Sophie’s car parked alongside one of them. Pulling up with a jerk he jumped from the car and ran to Sophie and Sacha who had just appeared at the door.
Once he was inside the chalet, Igor was surprised to find Sacha’s two boys and her mother sitting facing a man he was soon to learn was Hassan Eddie, the suicide bomber sent to kill them all. But for the moment Sophie, tears flooding down her cheeks, held on to Igor while Sacha moved closer to her boys and comforted them.
Hassan looked away in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, Igor, I’m just being silly.” Sophie pulled away and wiped her tears.
“You’re not being silly, my darling, but I must admit you have given me the biggest fright of my life.” He held her at arms length. “I hadn’t realised just how much I really do love you.”
Igor pulled her back, hugging her fiercely until finally she croaked: “You shouldn’t hug me so tightly or you’ll succeed where Hassan failed!”
“Sorry,” Igor released her immediately, “and who the hell is Hassan?” Igor added, visibly growing angry and conscious of the man sitting opposite them.
Sacha spoke for the first time gesturing to the young man on the sofa. “This is Hassan.”
“I think somebody better tell me what’s going on,” Igor demanded.
“Perhaps it is I who should explain, Sir.” Hassan stood up. “First, I must ask you to listen and try to understand. Hopefully you will then be able to forgive me for what I might have done.”
Still holding Sophie’s hand, Igor thought for a moment: “I make no promises,” he looked at Sophie, “but try me.”
