Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  The date for the RusCom sale was three weeks away. It was due to be completed just before the New Year when all offices in Russia would be closed for a ten-day period. By then, William Hackett would have been executed, if everything was to go according to plan. And so far, it had all done just that. Anya was becoming increasingly suspicious, as she arrived back from the courthouse, with still no breaking public news of the appeal having failed for Hackett. The Russian press, seemingly so on top of things, was just not saying anything. Maybe they had just not been told? However, Anya, using a coded message that the FSB often used when needing to leak something to the press, sent a message to the main Moscow news agency, apparently leaking news of the appeal verdict. She went home after that, leaving the office before nine, though she was far from the last one to be there. Getting home at half past, she was amazed to hear nothing on the news still. They had not broken the news that should have come from her coded tip-off. The BBC News channel had nothing on the story either––why would they? It was all now remaining too low profile for her, which told her something wasn’t right. Someone in Moscow was putting a lid on the whole thing. Charlie was right; there was much more going on behind the scenes on this one. Against her better judgement, she opened up the same email program that Charlie had contacted her on. Messages were typed and saved as a draft. It was therefore totally untraceable. She wrote that she wanted to meet, the same place as before, in two days’ time. She saved the draft and closed down the program. Then she sent a normal message to his phone, which would just notify him that he had a message. While that might be traced, if anyone were actually watching her, it would give nothing away. She took a shower before going to bed, though she was unable to sleep. Instead, she started working on some things on her desk, making notes as she went along. At two in the morning, she rechecked the email program and was happy to see that Charlie had left a reply, confirming that he’d meet her in Zurich. Anya spent the next hour devising a cover that would allow her to fly south without raising suspicion. She was good at creating alibis but would have to be at her best to stay hidden this time.

  It was the day after the appeal had been lost and yet there was still nothing in the news reporting the fact. Bill had been taken away without anyone noticing, locked up once more and due to face the firing squad in less than a fortnight. His lawyer had not spoken to him since the appeal. Bill’s hope sank, now condemned to his own fate. Nothing could save him now, it seemed.

  News surrounding RusCom was still filling the business pages, however. The share price had plateaued somewhat, but the company was still valued at just over one hundred million dollars. Nowhere near the value of the giants that it wanted to compete with, but nothing to be sniffed at either. Speculation surrounding the device that RusCom owned the rights to was still spreading wildly, but without anything further, there was little fact for the gossip to be based on, just pure guesswork. The futures market, especially in London, had been the biggest place for speculation. Trading was at four times the current record high share price. They were all gambling on the share price jumping up substantially, otherwise many banks in the city stood to lose millions, pledged to buy shares for a much higher value than they might otherwise be worth. Of course, the thrill of the futures market was that very gamble. The hype around the company, and especially the tablet device that they’d reportedly developed, had been at levels not often seen before. For the average trader, that meant money. The futures markets around the world, but especially in the financial capital, were doing a roaring trade. They hadn’t seen trading like it since the early days of the internet when those first companies were floated, and people became millionaires overnight. RusCom was now somehow attracting that same type of buzz. It showed no obvious sign of slowing down with the public sale of the company less than three weeks away.

  23

  Anya’s flight touched down in Marseille before taking the train north, getting to Zurich at half past ten in the morning. Being a keen skier, she’d arranged for a couple of days’ leave to pursue her hobby. She’d not told anyone where she was heading, though she had suggested it was to France when completing her private work calendar. If anyone were to be sniffing around her office, at least they’d be slowed down by that one. As Anya left the station, there was a chill in the air, but it was nothing for her. She’d just flown from near blizzard conditions. The cold front was still moving south but was nowhere near Switzerland yet. She jumped into a taxi and using the little German she had, told the driver where she needed to go. He set off. He was probably not Swiss himself, as many Italians, Austrians and Germans lived and worked in Switzerland also. It was a mix of nationalities and languages.

  Forty minutes later, she walked into the main entrance of her hotel, the same one as before, and again spotted that Charlie was already there, sitting in the lobby, no doubt awaiting her arrival. It was a different person on duty at the reception desk though they knew she’d visited before. As decent hotels do, they’d put her in the same room on the seventh floor and had her breakfast preferences, and choice of newspaper noted. She took the key card, walked towards the lifts, but gave Charlie a glancing smile this time. He remained seated. Somehow he knew she’d be down shortly.

  She dropped her things in the room, which was just three doors down from Charlie’s on the hotel’s seventh floor. She then freshened herself up a little, having had an early start with the flight. She looked casual today, having thought a little about what to wear as she dressed that morning. The clothes suited her, but Charlie always thought she looked great in anything. Anya was less sure, and changed her top quickly, opting for the light blue option instead. Colour was important for her. It helped to set the mood in any given situation. Also, when working, she always had to dress to blend in. Be the person people spot and then forget. Nothing in her wardrobe was meant to draw attention to herself. Colours were, therefore, a little limited or basic. Grey and black seemed the usual order of the day. Dressing for pleasure, therefore, had a whole new side to things. She could wear colour and went out of her way to do so.

  She left her room and got back into the lift. When she walked into the lobby, Charlie was still in his seat, looking at his phone, a glass of something sitting on the table. He looked up straight away as she entered the bar area and smiled. She came and sat at his table.

  “Good morning, Anya,” Charlie said.

  “Morning,” she smiled in reply.

  “You’re looking good. What can I get you to drink?”

  “What are you drinking?” she said, motioning to his now empty glass.

  “It was apple juice.” She’d have to take his word for that, though it still was the morning, so he was probably telling the truth.

  “I’ll have one of them then, too.” He smiled and got up to go over to the bar. He came back moments later and sat back down.

  “Thanks for coming. I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy for you to get away again.”

  “It’s not so bad, Charlie. I’m skiing in France, wouldn’t you know.”

  “Are you now? Well, be careful.” They both smiled as the drinks were put on the table by the barman.

  “So, catch me up on things. How was Moscow?” Charlie said when it was just the two of them again. There was no-one else in the lobby bar at that time of the day. She filled him in briefly, talking about her time with her mother and then having picked up that tail in Moscow. She then talked about the appeal, the verdict and the speed of it all. Charlie sat back in his chair as he listened to her. Her lips formed every word so beautifully; he loved the way her lips looked. There was passion there and beauty. He loved the touch of her lips on his, too, but their kissing days were a distant and painful memory.

  “Are you with me?” Anya said, stopping mid-flow.

  “Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Miles away there for a moment.”

  “Well, don’t be. This is serious,” she said, but she wasn't too harsh. She’d taken a risk travelling to Moscow, and he appreciated that. He
could also see that now she, too, was intrigued, that she’d picked up on something, having her suspicions. That could only be a good thing. He knew she wouldn’t let it go.

  “So where does this all leave us?” Charlie said.

  “I don’t know, but you were right. There is something else going on here. And I think my mother is somehow involved.”

  “And the Hackett trial––that’s it? Is it all over? Why has no one said anything?”

  “That’s what scares me. Someone’s put a lid on it. The press in Moscow know about the verdict and still have not reported it. That takes money and power to stop a story like that. Your press has nothing, either?”

  “No, absolutely nothing. Do we leak it to them?”

  “I don’t see what good it will do to the investigation, do you? It’s not our primary concern, after all. It would also tell Moscow that they have a leak and would make them come looking. We don’t want that type of attention, not while we still don’t know who or what we are dealing with.”

  “But they’ll execute Bill without anyone knowing about it?”

  “Unless we can do something about it before then, I guess.”

  “Do you think he’s innocent now then, Anya?” She paused, finishing the last bit of juice in her glass that she’d been working through slowly. Charlie instinctively signalled to the barman for two more.

  “That’s just the thing. No, I don’t. The evidence hasn’t changed. I was too involved to see it any other way. But, I will give you this, all this background interference only makes me start to question what is going on. I mean, if the man is guilty, if you have all the evidence, why go to all these lengths to do what they are doing?”

  “Why push for the death penalty at all?” Charlie added.

  “True, I guess we now have to consider even that. Why this case?” The drinks came over once more, and they both let the barman place them on the table and leave before continuing. The pause gave them time to think.

  “Maybe there is something Bill has that Moscow fears being exposed?” Charlie said, thinking through a new scenario as it was forming in his head. “Maybe he knows something that Moscow wants burying?”

  “But you’ve never bought this whole spy thing. You said your bosses had denied it to be even remotely possible.”

  “Yes, and I’m not saying I think otherwise now because I don’t. As far as I can tell there is no way that William Hackett is or has ever been a British spy. But look at the treason angle. It justifies the death penalty, and the Russian press has run with the spy story further supporting their claim. It ends with Hackett in the ground. It silences the whole situation. If someone wanted Hackett silenced, they are about to get their wish.”

  “But it still all implies that the old man has something about him, that he knows something, which Moscow wants burying. Charlie, you know I’ve never seen it the way you have with Hackett. The way you protested his innocence. But even I can’t see how that fragile, beaten old man could have anything on him that would threaten someone enough to need him dead. Why should it involve someone so high in the Kremlin that they can orchestrate this whole situation to produce a result and sentence so damning, so final and so quick?”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said, catching the time on the large clock that hung on the wall next to them. “Look, let's go and get some fresh air, then find somewhere for lunch.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I'll grab my jacket and be right with you.”

  Five minutes later they were out on the street walking towards a park before later setting off in search of somewhere to eat.

  In the corridors of the Kremlin, there was fast movement. In a private wing, far from the tourists and any watching eyes, was situated, amongst other things, an FSB hub that was as modern as it was covert. In its former days, under the KGB, it was a place many feared, but about which few talked. Those who did soon disappeared. A young aide entered with information on a piece of paper.

  “We’ve just got this from our London office,” he said, as he was ushered into the room. There were no windows, so the light was always noticeably dim. Even the lack of decent lighting made you want to avoid the room at all costs. A general took the piece of paper and read it aloud.

  “British MI6 agent Charlie Boon departed Heathrow airport for Zurich this morning. His second recent visit, following his absence at a UN energy conference. Reason for being there highly dubious. Possible leak of information. Response awaited.”

  “Take this next door,” the general barked. “Do whatever she says.”

  The aide scampered out of the room and knocked on the door of the adjacent room. This one was lighter, it did have some windows, but there were many more shadows along the wall, allowing people to meet in private without revealing their face. A woman sat at a desk, working through some files. She seemed to be the only one in the room. Once she ushered the aide forward, he handed her the piece of paper. She skimmed it.

  “The general says we are to do whatever it is you require on this one,” he said once it was clear she had read the note. She handed it back to him.

  “Let’s start by listening in to what he is doing. I want a team of people on this man. If he steps out of line, if he’s looking into anything surrounding this situation, he is to be killed.”

  “Understood, ma’am,” came the reply and he started to leave.

  “Tell me,” she said, and the aide stopped. “Where is my daughter at the moment?”

  “Anya took a three-day vacation, to France. Left this morning.”

  “Okay. Get news to her that I would like to see her as soon as she is back.”

  “Will do,” and he turned once more and left.

  24

  After a pleasant hour walking around Zurich, Anya and Charlie found themselves in the Kronenhalle, an upmarket gourmet restaurant that had been there for over one hundred years. Art hung all around them on the crumbling walls. They were seated at a small, romantic table for two on the furthest wall from the front door. A candle had been lit for them as they each took their seat. Charlie let it all play out; he was enjoying it too much. He wondered what Anya was making of the assumption that they were two lovers out for a romantic candlelit lunch date together. When the menus had been passed to them both, and the waiter had left to get their drinks, Anya put her menu down for a moment.

  “Well, this is all rather nice. A little over the top for our needs, but I’ll entertain you for an hour for this.” She was a lover of art. Who could live in St Petersburg and not be? She’d visited her own State Hermitage many times, and the restaurant now reminded her of it a little, in a scaled-down format, with all the artwork so obviously on display.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Charlie laughed, nearly blowing out the candle as he did. That made Anya laugh too.

  “This reminds me of old times,” she said, being much more serious now. “We did seem to have fun together, at times.”

  “It was always fun for me.”

  She paused. “I don’t want to do this now, Charlie.”

  “Do what?” he said. They’d hardly started doing anything.

  “Going over the past. Processing where it all went wrong. You know what I meant.”

  “I just pointed out it was fun. We were fun. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all though, is it, Charlie? You and me, we have this history. That adds something to the mix. Fun isn’t the question.”

  “Then what is?” They both paused for a moment. The drinks then came, too, the silence awkward. The waiter didn’t linger to take a food order; he could sense the tension.

  “And here I was saying I didn’t want to go over things...” but she knew she now needed to say something. “Fun was not the reason we were together, Charlie. It was the reason we aren’t together anymore.”

  “Come again?” he said, not understanding anything she was saying.

  “All you ever wanted was fun. You were immature, Charlie. You didn’t see that I wanted a serious relation
ship, a mutual relationship. An exclusive relationship. I was looking for the real thing, at a time in my life when I could handle that. You were just in it for fun.”

  “Hold on, that’s not quite fair...”

  “Charlie, it’s completely fair! You didn’t take our relationship seriously enough to stop flirting with other women. I saw what that looked like. I saw how you were. It hurt me.”

  “There were no other women, Anya. It was just you.”

  “Charlie, it was never just me, and you know it.” They agreed to differ on that one in the heat of the moment.

  “I’ve changed, you know, Anya. I’ve matured.”

  “And I’ve changed, too, Charlie. I can’t ever go through a situation as you put me through.”

  “You make it sound like I did something awful to you. We just had fun.”

  “And there it is again, Charlie Boon. It’s all just fun and games for you. Nothing serious, nothing worth working for. You’ve not changed a bit.” She stood up, placing her napkin on the table. She blew out the candle.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  “I can’t stay here with you. I can’t eat lunch somewhere like this and act as if everything is normal between us. You broke my heart, Charlie. And that’s something I’m never going to let you do again.”

  “I broke your heart? You destroyed me when you left me,” he called back to her, across the crowded room, but she was already at the door and walking out onto the street. A few heads had turned, but most knew a domestic when they saw one, regardless of what language was being spoken. The waiter came back over to Charlie.

  “Will you be ordering lunch, sir?” he said with little emotion in his voice.