Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  “What is it the Africans have on him?”

  “I can’t say for certain. Enough for them to set up this whole business to destroy Hackett, however.”

  “So do we go after this FSB man who brought Hackett to Russia?” Charlie said, itching to destroy anyone who had been part of setting up this whole charade, a situation that ultimately had led to the death of Anya. Her loss made anyone involved guilty of murder, not to mention the death of an innocent man, Mr William Hackett.

  “That’s not so easy. He was found shot dead in a small Kremlin office last week.”

  “The Russians now covering their tracks?”

  “Possibly. But it happened in the office of Elena Lubova. She was the one who also sent this information to St Petersburg, maybe wanting to clear her conscience, I don’t know. Clearly, she didn’t know quite how much her daughter was caught up in matters.”

  “Where is Elena now?” Charlie said.

  “Gone. There is no trace of her in Moscow. The FSB is checking solo female travellers leaving Moscow for the last week in case she left under a fake name.”

  “Who was she working with at the Kremlin? Word is she was involved in the inner circle somehow?” Charlie said, far more interested in the situation now, seeing Sasha for who he was, an unlikely ally.

  “That’s where it gets a little complicated. Her records are rather empty.”

  “Meaning she was either no one, which I know is not the case, or...” but Charlie didn’t get to finish the sentence as Sasha did it for him.

  “...She was far more central to things than we realised. Yes, that’s crossed my mind as well. I’d only heard of her a little from Anya. She talked very seldom about her parents.”

  They sat there in relative silence for some time, the conversations around them at that moment giving them space to think. Zoe finished the rest of her wine in one go.

  “I’m going to get another drink,” she said. “You guys want anything?” Both indicated they’d have another beer and off she went. Zoe could see it was safe to leave the two men together alone, at last.

  “Did she ever talk about me?” Charlie said to Sasha when it was just the two of them.

  “A little, yes. I’d not seen her in a long time, but you were both still an item when we worked together, so I heard something, anyway. She was fond of you back then.”

  “And were you fond of her?” Charlie said, airing the question that had been bouncing around his head for the last thirty minutes.

  “I don’t think that matters now, does it?” is all the answer Sasha would give. There was a frosty silence, broken by Zoe’s arrival back at the table with a new round of drinks. She picked up on something but didn’t want to say anything herself.

  “There is one more thing,” Sasha said once they were all sitting down again. “When I was looking into everything after first receiving the note from Anya before this package even arrived, there was one visit that I found interesting. Someone came up from Moscow on the day of the execution. Anya referred to the fact in a report she had penned but never filed. Someone with a high ranking status. Someone close to the inner circle. They’d been in to see the condemned man before leaving just before the marksmen did. Their vehicle was then carried onto a military transport plane and returned to Moscow the same day. From there they were driven to the home of Elena Lubova.”

  “She went to see Hackett?”

  “No, I cross-referenced her activities that day. Elena was definitely in Moscow that day. No doubt about that.”

  “Was it the other body found dead in her office, then?”

  “No, those don’t check out either. One victim was the FSB agent involved in the Hackett crime. He’d been in the Kremlin all day. The other was a money man who’d been involved in the RusCom sell-off. He’d just received, on behalf of the company, one billion dollars.”

  “So there’s a mystery person involved that might have a bearing on the whole case?” Zoe said.

  “No, not such a mystery,” Sasha said. “I realised the only other people who would have seen this man were those present at the execution. I went after the marksmen...” Sasha said without any drama. “All I got was that the visitor was not Russian...he was a Brit.”

  “Fernandes!” both Zoe and Charlie spoke at once.

  “I think that would make sense, yes,” Sasha said, pleased that the other two had come to the same conclusion.

  “So if they fled together...” Charlie was starting to say, but the Russian agent was already ahead of him.

  “...Then we’d need to look for two fake IDs leaving Moscow on the night of the Kremlin shootings.” He was smiling to himself. “They flew to the Caribbean, via Heathrow, on a British Airways flight.”

  “My God!” Zoe said. She could have kissed him.

  They’d finished up their drinks, Sasha and Charlie even hugging each other as they exchanged contact details, before saying goodbye. Sasha was due out early the following morning, but they promised to keep in touch.

  “Do you fancy another drink?” Zoe said, aware she’d had enough to drink at that moment already. Charlie took her up on the offer.

  34

  In England, on the same day they were meeting in Stockholm, the financial market had collapsed, as had the government which had been seen as the ones to blame for the whole situation. A general election was called for two months’ time. The political horizon seemed to be a very difficult one, in anyone’s opinion.

  The collapse of the stock market was to affect more people, especially in the short term. Dozens of businesses were facing the prospect of bankruptcy as a direct result, and more were expected to struggle. There was panic on the high streets as banks ran low on cash supplies, frantic customers looking to withdraw all they could fearing the collapse of the pound. Inflation rose sharply. Those previously on the poverty line in the United Kingdom were now dangerously exposed. Internationally there were ripples too, though nowhere else was affected quite as much as it was in the UK. Money markets around the globe lost trillions in share value, directly because of what was happening in London.

  Apple and Samsung, the two companies most directly affected by the actions of RusCom, had weathered the storm somewhat, taking a financial hit but they’d both recover, in time.

  These reports were being watched around the continent as newsreaders spoke of the doom to come. By the early hours the reports were going global, the Americas hearing news as they hit their evening commute home about a country, and economy, facing difficult months ahead.

  Among those listening, with more knowledge of the cause than most, was an unusual couple, sitting in their Caribbean home while watching the BBC World News. Travelling on Canadian passports, they’d flown there from Moscow just over a week before. They were due to leave the following morning, destination as yet unknown.

  It was late in Stockholm, gone midnight already, as Charlie and Zoe watched the unfolding story on the news channel. They’d brought back two bottles of wine with them to Charlie's room an hour ago, already working through the second as the reports finished.

  “Wow,” Zoe said, trying to take it all in, though it was harder than normal, given the amount of alcohol in her blood at that moment.

  “It’s all because of those two murderers,” Charlie said, a little more with it but loosened by the drink as well.

  “So what are we going to do about it all, Charlie Parlie,” she said, laughing to herself.

  “Who would have their own daughter killed?” he said, oblivious to what Zoe had just said. “What type of person does it take to do that?”

  “I think they were trying to get to you, my darling,” Zoe said, knocking the rest of the bottle over accidentally, before picking it up, a stain appearing on the carpet. It reminded them both of blood. There had been too much death around them lately.

  “I never stopped loving her, you know,” Charlie said, more to the room than to Zoe.

  “I know,” she said, resigned as she was to the fact that
his feelings for her would never be what they obviously were for Anya.

  “It’s such a waste. It should have been me,” he started saying, tears forming just so slightly in his eyes.

  “Don’t speak such nonsense. I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

  “I wish I’d have told her how I still felt,” he said.

  “I think she knew, Charlie, in her own way.”

  He turned to her, his vision a little blurry now.

  “You think she did?”

  “Yes, women know these things, Charlie.”

  He kissed her on the lips. It wasn’t as much romantic as it was drunken. She received him, kissing him back, encouraging him. He coughed and pulled away.

  “What was that about?” he said, unsure of his actions.

  “It’s okay, Charlie. I’m here for you,” she said.

  At some point in the night she’d got herself off the floor, where they’d fallen asleep, and pulling a blanket over Charlie who seemed dead to the world, she got into the bed. Waking up before he did, she went into the bathroom to shower. As she was finishing, she heard him moving around the room, the kettle switched on, wine bottles being placed on a hard surface. She emerged from the bathroom wearing the dressing gown that the hotel provided, which was far too big for her.

  “Morning,” she said as Charlie stood to make a coffee in just his boxer shorts. As she came out of the bathroom, he instinctively covered himself with the blanket.

  “Morning, Zoe. Did we...” he started to ask, a little foggy about last night’s events.

  “Not really, Charlie.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t think you were actually with me. You kept saying her name.”

  He looked at her for a moment. He could see sadness there. They’d both been through an intense day. She’d killed a man the day before, probably for the first time. He’d yet to deal with the loss of Anya, but he could see Zoe wasn’t angry nor was she saying she’d been used. She had wanted it all along, but in the clear light of day, he wondered if he did have any feelings for her. It was all too soon for him anyway.

  “Look, I’m sorry...”

  “Don’t be, Charlie. I’m not.”

  “You mean that?”

  “Yes, I do. We’d had a rough day. It was just a long, very drunken, kiss, anyway.”

  “Even if I can’t remember much about it?” he laughed.

  “You’re alright, Charlie Boon, did you know that?”

  “So are you, Zoe. Look, it’s probably best we don’t mention this at Six.”

  “Would you get in trouble for trying to screw your new intern?” She had a smirk on her face that didn’t warrant a response.

  “I’m taking a shower, you can make yourself a drink, if you like,” he said as he went into the bathroom. She looked at the selection of drinks before placing a tea bag into a cup.

  Charlie was out of the shower ten minutes later. The room was looking neat again, Zoe obviously having cleaned up a little while he’d been in the bathroom. The two wine bottles were in the bin. She sat on the sofa, her cup of tea in her hand still, just looking out of the window. Charlie dressed quickly and came over to join her.

  “So what next?” she said, serious once again.

  “We go back to London, assess the damage,” he said.

  “Move onto something else, you mean?”

  “No, far from it. Of course, we need to see what happens at home. From the sound of it, the nation is on its last legs. There might be something they need us to do. But this isn’t where things finish. I’m not going to let them get away with this.”

  “Elena Lubova you mean, and Anthony Fernandes?”

  “Yes, precisely.”

  “Are you going to go after them?”

  “I think we need to take stock, but yes, I want to go after them for sure. They tried to kill me, and they succeeded with Anya, who might have been an innocent victim in it all, but Bill’s death was intentional. They didn’t give him a chance. And whoever was involved in that, regardless of how high it goes, I’m going to get to the bottom of it. It took a lot of people in power in Russia to pull this all off. For me, they are all guilty of murder. So yes, I’ll start by tracking down Elena and Anthony and see where it leads.”

  “What will you do with them when you find them?” She already sensed she knew the answer.

  “The same thing they tried to do to me. I’ll kill them. And anyone they are working with.”

  “Can I come with you?” she said, no hint that she’d accept anything but a yes from the look on her face.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Want A Sequel?

  There isn't one, at the moment, but I know there are many who suggest there should be. You want to know what happens to Charlie, and you need to know what happens next. So this is what I'll propose. Below, in the next section, there is my usual paragraph about the importance of a review. If enough of you review this book with a great rating, each asking me for a sequel, that is what I'll do! One hundred five-star reviews and you'll be reading about Charlie again for certain! So it's up to you. Sasha (with a few cameo appearances from Charlie and Zoe) does appear in The Hunt series, however.

  Reviews should be automatic. Think of it as a tip left for the waiting staff after a meal out. Except, the book you’ve just devoured wasn’t prepared in just the last twenty minutes––the author has possibly spent months agonising over it.

  Sadly, very few people leave a review.

  Reviews greatly help an author. They do not need to be wordy (but they can be), you do not need to talk about all aspects of the book (but you can if you wish), they just need to be there. Visual. They help other readers to choose a book, thereby increasing the author’s readership. They also affirm, encourage and help the author to keep going. There are days when you just want to quit.

  So now you know. I make it a matter of principle always to review a book I’ve read––how about you?

  Cherry Picking

  the debut novel

  This book is for all those who struggle to write or speak, who find it hard to read, maybe starting later than others. That was me as a boy––but with help, I caught up and now years later have finished this first novel.

  This book is for all those who work hard with the gifts God has given them, who don’t settle for empty things but press on to win the prize.

  This book is for those who don’t take no for an answer, who don’t allow one setback or disappointment to kill their dreams.

  This book is for You.

  Prologue

  Monday 2nd September 1985 was to be no ordinary day. Had the nations of the world been aware they would have collectively held their breath, but it was only one man who would know the actual consequences as he waited for the day to arrive. His life by then had been changed entirely, everything he once knew gone, layered with much bitterness and further hurt, most of it the actions of one greedy man, bordering on evil, who grew more desperate the older he got.

  Nigel, the man in question, was only young back then, just turned twenty-one and as he stepped through the door into the central workshop area to what once had been a bustling business, the stagnant air clung to his throat like treacle. Not unlike most small businesses around that town, they had gone under, and now just the rotting empty shell remained.

  Having left all that was his home behind, Nigel had been eager to explore the new world that lay before him. There was no going back now, not with the way he had left things, the bodies still visible when he closed his eyes. What fuelled him now, even in those very early days, was a desperate desire to make up for it all somehow. To do more good than he had done evil, doing away with the pain that had aged him it seemed, adding years to his life already, years that he would never get back again.

  Forcing open what would have been the main doors on the side of the workshop, Nigel walked into the light of the bright evening sun, his watch showing that it was 6:25 pm. On the cin
ema opposite it advertised that it was now featuring “ET,” the fact that it had taken the best part of three years to obtain the film only reinforced the sad state of things. The bright yellow building next door glared back at him making it hard to see anything, the sun reflecting with all its early evening glory from the old walls. The street was quiet as he looked around, his eyes now adjusting to the light and he closed the doors of the workshop behind him, banging a piece of wood back into place that had been keeping them shut. It was a quiet town but right now that suited him down to the ground. For a little while, this city would be his new home. He walked down the road whistling softly to himself, now not a care in the world. Thirty metres on he passed a betting shop, one of the few businesses that still thrived there; such was the desperate hope for a better life for so many. He paused at the window, scanning down the list of things that you could bet on and taking a quick glance into a bag he was carrying, he turned back towards the door of the shop and walked inside. It was the first time he had ever been into a bookmaker, though it wouldn’t be the last.

  1

  Twenty Years Later

  A door opened into the darkened room, Nigel glancing around cautiously out of routine. He lived alone. But still, he always checked. The lounge was in darkness, with only a hint of light at the bottom of the thick, draped curtains. Stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him, he quickly locked it in two places, slid a bookshelf in front of the door, which covered the wall from floor to ceiling, and secured this into position as well. Then he pushed another large bookshelf next to the first, freeing the doorway to his kitchen, and locked this into place, a hidden seven-digit combination lock then scrambled on the second shelf. Nigel carefully replaced the books, adding one that he had in his hand; he then checked a small sheet of paper that was in his jeans pocket. Pushing it back in, he opened the curtains all around his lounge using a remote control that sat on a side table against the wall. Nigel peered out through his large Tudor bay windows, always watchful for the unexpected, but he would have known if anyone was on any part of his one hundred and five-acre home, and besides, that’s what he paid his twelve security guards to do. Walking into his considerable study, he poured himself a whisky. He was dressed only in a black polo shirt and jeans; he was an attractive figure. A small amount of stubble and dark complexion gave him an Italian look, though this was because he had not shaved for a couple of days. At forty-one years old, he had an air of sophistication about himself that went with his apparent wealth. Pulling his polo shirt off, he picked up a white shirt from the solid oak desk and started to put it on, carefully doing up the buttons.