by Henry Porter
Hisami turned to him slowly. ‘Yes, I will be sure to do that. Thanks. She’ll appreciate your thoughts.’
Gehrig and Reid left without saying goodbye, sweeping past Tulliver, who was waiting at the open lift door.
‘That leaves you and me,’ said Hisami pleasantly. ‘Would you like a drink? I have some great scotch.’
‘Yeah. Look, I have to make a few calls in the car then I’ll come back. Give me an hour or so. Does that work for you?’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Hisami.
CHAPTER 20
Samson entered the Restaurant Asolo and found himself noticing a few things he’d change – the bright overhead lighting, the tables crowded in the middle of the space and the way the maître d’ had seated people randomly, creating the impression that the place was almost empty and failing. But the waitress was pleasant and welcoming. He ordered the special of veal with a salad and sautéed potatoes and a glass of La Salute, a red from the Veneto.
He had chosen a table in the corner of the restaurant with a window that looked down Hisami’s street and briefly wondered if Denis and Anastasia came here on the odd night in New York. As the waitress set down the wine, his phone murmured in his pocket. It was Tulliver to tell him that he should leave it for an hour or so. They would have plenty of time later, when Denis would be able to give him his undivided attention.
Samson toyed with some antipasti offered by the waitress and ordered another glass of wine. Then his phone sprang into life again. He answered expecting an update from Tulliver.
‘Is this Paul Samson?’ asked the voice.
‘Yes,’ he replied, straightening at the sound of the Russian accent.
‘I am with your friend Anastasia.’
Samson froze. He muttered something then composed himself. ‘I want to speak to her now.’
‘We will do FaceTime. I call back in one second.’ The man seemed excited.
The line went dead. He held the phone in his right hand and his left dived inside his jacket pocket and struggled to get hold of a second phone. He wrenched it out, ripping the lining of his pocket, and was entering the passcode with his thumb when the first phone lit up with an incoming call – again with no caller ID. He laid the second phone down on the table and answered.
The live profile of Anastasia’s face filled the screen. She was shaking. She was told to stand still, look at the camera and speak the agreed words by the man that had called him moments before, going by the voice. ‘Hello, Paul. You can see I am alive. Tell Denis that I’m okay and I’m being treated well … tell him he needs to do exactly what they say and …’ Her voice trailed off and she hung her head. ‘Tell him to do everything he can.’ Then she looked straight in the camera. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair was straggly and unkempt. He realised she was slurring some words as though drunk.
‘We’ll do everything they say. We will bring you home, I promise.’
She threw him a look of terrified vulnerability that he’d never seen before, even in that godforsaken barn in Macedonia. She was on the edge – at her very limit. He wanted to say how he loved her, how he would do anything to prevent her being harmed, but knew this would be too painful for her, so he just said, ‘I am with you. I am with you, dear Anastasia.’ And her face twitched with a shy smile, like a child who had been let off a punishment.
And then the person holding the camera began to move back and he could see that she was standing outside. Men were holding powerful torches so she and her surroundings were illuminated. The camera was unsteady but he counted four men – all armed – and saw that Anastasia had a rug over her shoulders and was swaying at the edge of a ditch and on the other side of the ditch was a mound of earth. She kept shaking her head and looking towards the camera, her eyes pleading with them not to show the horror, which, of course, was the grave they had dug for her. He recoiled from the screen and found himself staring at the waitress, who had brought a second glass of wine to his table. He waved her away angrily and looked back at the screen. The camera steadied and panned from her face down to the grave and back to Anastasia, where it lingered. They had made their point. The call ended and the screen went blank.
Samson breathed deeply, gulped some wine and reached for the second phone to call Zillah. The moment she answered he gave her the address of the restaurant and the number of the phone on which he had received the call. ‘Is there any way of getting a location for the caller?’ he said. ‘It’s the people holding Anastasia. I just did FaceTime with the bastards.’
He gave her the time of the call and its exact length just as the first phone began to vibrate again. ‘I think it’s them again,’ he said. ‘Track this call as well.’
He answered. ‘You saw your lady,’ came the voice.
‘What are your demands?’ snapped Samson.
‘Her husband knows what we want. You walk down street to beautiful apartment and remind him.’
They were watching. Samson’s head snapped up to look down the street. It was empty. ‘He hasn’t told me what you want, so you must tell me and I’ll make sure that it happens.’
‘Hisami has not told you? This is not good sign. Maybe he does not love wife as you love her, Mr Samson.’
His eyes were still searching the street. ‘He loves her very much,’ Samson replied automatically, ‘and he will do anything you ask, but you have to give us time. He just got out of jail. And you have to trust me! I need to know what you want. The dossier. Is that it?’ The word ‘dossier’ had come into his head without him thinking about it. They must want what Hisami knew – a dossier.
There was silence at the other end.
‘How can I help you if you won’t tell me what you want?’
‘You are spy, Samson. I know you are trying to trace this call, so I go now. He must do what we want or we fill hole in ground with your girlfriend.’ The phone went dead.
Samson called Zillah Dee again. ‘Did you get anything?’
‘Working on it. What did they say?’
‘He says Denis knows what they want. They won’t tell me.’ He paused and looked around the restaurant. ‘And they’re watching us. He knew I was in the restaurant.’
‘You need to talk to Denis. He has people there now, but you really need to pin him down on this.’
He consumed the wine and wolfed the veal without noticing the taste of either and went over the two calls in his mind. They had plied her with drink – that was obvious. She had that faraway look in her eyes and blinked frequently when she was speaking, which had made him laugh when he first noticed it in Venice.
He rose to signal for the bill, but the phone that had been called by the Russian started vibrating again. He answered. There were some clicks and noises off. ‘Hello, this is Naji. I am speaking to Paul Samson, yes?’
‘Yes, it’s me. Hello, Naji! It’s so good to hear you. How are you?’ He sat down at the table again.
‘I am doing well, and so is my family, though it is already cold in Riga. They love the sea and we are all happy here. The university is very good. The food is very good. Better than in Germany, where we also had some problems. And my professors are all my friends.’
This stream of news was typical of Naji, who tended to list things at the start of a conversation, partly out of shyness. ‘I am sure they are your friends, Naji.’ Despite everything, Samson found himself smiling. What he admired about Naji, apart from his playful good nature, was the combination of an incredibly simple outlook and what his professors agreed was one of the best minds of his generation. Naji had sped through a physics degree and was now studying astronomy, a dream born when he lay beside his father in the back yard of the family home in Syria and gazed up at the Milky Way. Some part of him, he told Samson when they had last met, was commemorating that moment. He believed his father would be pleased that he had devoted himself to science and wasn’t selling shoes or reconditioned phones on a street corner somewhere. Naji dreamed of being rich because he and his family had kno
wn poverty, but what fired his imagination was the first time he used the Ventspils Radio Telescope on Latvia’s Baltic Coast – he, Naji Touma, reaching into the depths of the universe, the ghost of his benign, broken dad by his side.
‘Naji, It must be very late there.’
‘Does not matter. I am pleased to talk with you.’
‘I have some bad news – some very bad news – which I can’t explain right now. Anastasia is in trouble and I need your help on that email account. It’s really, really important.’
Naji was silent. ‘I am very sorry. I owe everything to you and Anastasia. You will tell me as soon as you can.’ He paused. ‘Just now I looked at this problem, which is why I call you. The server is well protected. I need to send Mr Hisami an email with some code in it. He must open the email for it to work, so I want you to tell me how this is to be done.’
Samson thought quickly. ‘I will send you the words to put in the subject line in the next few minutes. Then you will let me know what you find?’
‘If this works, I will.’
‘I expect to need more help from you. I am coming to Estonia as soon as I leave New York.’
‘Then, I will see you, I hope.’
‘Let’s hope so, And Naji, it’s vital you keep this secret. Anastasia is in great danger. Any word that leaks out could end her life.’
‘I am sorry for this. I will inform no one. Not even my sister Munira.’
‘I’ll send you those words. We’ll speak tomorrow.’
The waitress came over and offered him another glass of wine on the house, saying that she could see he was having a bad evening. He accepted and thanked her. It was going to be a long night and he needed to settle himself after seeing Anastasia on his phone. He typed out the words, ‘Subject line should read WHAT CRANE WANTS,’ and sent the email to Naji, who instantly returned a dog emoji, captioned ‘Moon’. Samson nodded. The dog Moon was still alive and living a blissful life in the mountains of Macedonia with Ifkar, who was now the adopted son of the old couple who ran the farm where the showdown had happened. Somehow, this ridiculous emoji gave him hope.
Before leaving the restaurant he messaged Tina at Hendricks Harp to book him on the first flight to London next morning.
Tulliver came down in the lift to meet him. ‘He’s got someone with him,’ he said.
Samson looked him up and down as though he were crazy. ‘Jim, I know you know what just happened because Zillah told you. They filmed Anastasia standing at the edge of an open grave in a Russian forest.’
‘I know, but …’
‘And he’s having a damned business meeting! They’re going to kill her, Jim. Are you hearing this?’
‘Let me speak! I know Denis well. There’s a reason he wants this meeting to overlap with yours. Keep quiet and watch – okay! Then you can talk.’
‘Who’s he with?’
‘Gil Leppo. He’s on the board of TangKi. There were two other board members here, but they’ve left.’
‘Is Denis going to address the situation in Russia?’
‘Of course.’
Samson went up and found Hisami in deep conversation with a man wearing tight black trousers, ankle boots, a leather waistcoat, several bangles and an ear stud. Gil Leppo uncoiled from the sofa and held up a soft hand to Samson. Denis got up and shook his hand, giving him a strange, loaded look at the same time.
Samson offered to wait at the other end of the enormous space.
‘No, it’s fine,’ said Hisami, turning back to Leppo. ‘Gil, I was going to get you a scotch before you go – that’s what you like.’
Leppo nodded. He got up and moved to a solid, high-backed chair.
‘Better for my back,’ he explained to Samson, who nodded. He guessed Leppo was in his fifties, even though he dressed like a teenager.
Hisami paused by the drinks table to consider the different brands of whisky. ‘Ah, this is the one I was looking for,’ he said, seizing a bottle of Aberlour.
He walked back to Leppo with a tumbler. ‘I think you’ll enjoy this.’ He glanced at Samson and said, ‘We’ve had some great times together. We’re both outsiders. I’m from rural Kurdistan and Gil comes from Romania, via Israel. Actually, that’s all we know about Gil. There are wild rumours, as there are about me. They say Gil made his first money from arms – big stuff like ground-to-air missiles, anti-tank weapons. We play tennis, and I don’t think I’ve ever won a set against Gil, let alone a match. But at backgammon I am the undisputed champion. Right, Gil?’
Leppo grinned and raised his glass to Hisami. ‘By the way, you know, that’s mostly BS about the gun-running,’ he said to Samson. ‘He’s right about the tennis, though.’
‘Ah, happy times!’ continued Hisami. ‘You know. You’re one of the few people I count as a friend in this country – a true friend. It really matters at times like this. My sister felt the same way about you.’ He directed a strange look at Samson, almost regretful. ‘We’ve spent so much time together. We have the same taste in books, the same values and political outlook. Is that going too far, Gil?’
‘Democrats and liberals to the core! Your sister was a special person. You know we all miss her.’
‘That’s kind of you, Gil. Look, I’m afraid Paul and I have some urgent business.’
Leppo got up and gave Hisami a hug that was barely reciprocated, though he didn’t seem to notice. ‘You know I’ve got your back. Call me any time you need to. And give my best to your gal in Italy, will you?’
‘I certainly will,’ said Hisami, and watched him make his way to the lift with a fixed smile. When the doors were shut, he said to Samson, ‘I just have a couple of emails to send. We will talk in a few minutes.’
‘Did I just miss something, Denis?’ said Samson. ‘Were you just having a cosy chat about happy times when not an hour has passed since Anastasia was being filmed by a grave in Russia? And now you’re going to catch up on your emails?’
‘As I said, we will talk – give me a moment.’
He went to the dark end of the enormous space, sat down at a table and opened a laptop, where he began to work, his face illuminated by the light of the screen. Eventually, Samson’s patience gave out and he went over to him. ‘Either you stop what you’re doing, or I leave.’
Hisami looked up then closed the laptop. ‘Certainly,’ he said after a moment. ‘Where are we now? Where do you believe she’s being held?’
Samson did a double-take.
‘Where is she?’ Denis repeated.
‘Denis, you already know. Zillah must have told you. Our best guess is that she’s in the St Petersburg or Pskov provinces of western Russia. The reason we think Pskov is important is that we have found out the firm has a big depot there. She could be close to Pskov and that would put her on the other side of the border with Estonia or Latvia. If Crane is in Estonia, that’s significant, because he is obviously controlling the operation.’ He stopped. ‘We don’t have much to work on and we’ve no idea what they want.’ He looked Hisami in the eye. ‘But you do, Denis. What do they want?’
‘A dossier – a database that has a lot of information.’
‘Why don’t you give it to them?’
‘They already have it.’
Samson thought for a moment. ‘They know what you’ve got so they’re holding Anastasia to stop you using it.’
‘Correct.’
‘How the hell did you get yourself into this situation, Denis?’
Hisami looked down and was silent for a long time. His eyes were very dark and his mouth hung open slightly. He rose and walked slowly to the chairs they had occupied before, as though in a trance. Samson prompted him several times but got no response. Eventually, he took him by the shoulders. ‘How did they know what was in your dossier, Denis?’
‘Let go of me, Paul.’
Samson stood back.
‘When Crane disappeared, I pulled Daniel Misak out of the company and hid him, or rather he hid himself – badly, as it turned out. Cra
ne somehow got to him and persuaded him to go to London. When I heard of Crane’s death I somehow knew it would be Daniel’s body, not Crane’s, on that balcony. He was obviously tortured and told them what we had assembled. They had a very good idea what we had but they didn’t know the extent of the detail.’
‘And what was that exactly?’
Hisami sat with his fingertips pressed together under his nose. ‘It is the entire funding programme for insurgent right-wing groups across Europe, most of them dedicated to the overthrow of democratic government by violent means. They are nationalist in nature and specifically anti-Semitic and anti-Muslim.’ He stopped. ‘Such operations are not uncommon in Europe, but this represents an enormous injection of funds that could turn things. That’s the point. It’s the scale of the ambition.’
‘Where does the money come from?’
‘Part was stolen from TangKi and the rest was washed through the accounts and probably originated in Russia.’
‘An American company is being used to launder Russian money to disrupt and overthrow European democracies – Jesus!’
‘These allegations cannot come from me – they’d have no credibility. That’s why I’ve been encouraging the board to carry out an investigation.’
‘How did you become involved, Denis?’
‘I invested in TangKi because it was, primarily, a good business, though it wasn’t doing as well as it should. I came to suspect Crane and made enquiries. Absolutely nothing of what we were told about his background stood up to scrutiny.’ He stopped, got up and made for the drinks table. ‘Bob Baker was able to establish that Crane came from Eastern Europe and was likely to be working with the Russians.’ He held up an empty glass to Samson, who shook his head, then poured himself a brandy. ‘The first time we met in that hotel in Skopje I had brandy.’
‘Talk, Denis, we don’t have time for this.’
‘I owed you, and you owed me, Paul. You found my sister’s killer then I saved your life in the barn. We were quits and we owed each other nothing, which is why I felt able to seek a life with Anastasia. I felt no obligation to you, but I now find that I must rely on you to find the woman I took from you. It’s a strange situation, no?’
