by A P Bateman
“Neil, King. I’m on Dave Lomu’s phone.”
“I can see that.”
“I’ve got no signal. Alert the asset. Give them this number.”
“Text only, that was the deal. Go carefully. Intel is showing that Romanovitch is in St. Petersburg, but he’ll have some heavies there for sure.”
King thanked him and hung up. He kept the copper wire pressed against the screw, keeping the circuit connected. He thought about Ramsay and the heavies, sometimes he thought the man would have been better suited to another decade. The nineteen-twenties or thirties, perhaps. Back when MI5 was in its infancy and men in tweed suits and homburg hats spoke in hushed tones and code words under dim streetlamps in the London fog.
The text came through. “I have it…”
King typed, “I need you to get me in,” then sent the text.
“East side. Get to the pool house. Security switched off for fifteen minutes, no longer…”
“Confirmed. East side.”
King let go of the copper wire and clipped the back onto Lomu’s phone. He deleted the messages and the call history and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He ran down the slope, slowing and approaching Lomu’s position cautiously. Big Dave was ex-SAS and it wouldn’t be a wise move to rush up on him. He kept the muzzle of the AK-47 down and crouched low as he neared the treeline.
“On you…”
“On me…” Lomu replied, stepping out from behind a tree twenty metres from where King had left him. “Any joy?”
He tossed the phone back to Big Dave and nodded. “I’ve only got around ten minutes,” he said.
“And the security?”
“Down. But not for long.”
“Don’t like it.”
“Not loving it, myself.”
“The word trap springs to mind,” he said. “What were they like? To talk to, I mean.”
“Text only,” replied King. “That was the deal.”
“Right…”
King headed for the east side, Big Dave picking up the pack and rifle and following him. They kept back from the treeline, stepping over fallen branches and small granite boulders. King stopped when he could see the pool and the pool house. It was an impressive sight, shaped like a palm tree with alcoves to relax in in the shapes of the fronds and a decent area to swim lengths in the shape of the trunk. The pool had been designed to get the best out of the rising sun and faced south to have the sun for most of the day. With the house set back, King suspected the pool would be cast in the suns setting rays as well. There were no guards in the grounds, and King could see why the pool house would make a good meet – there were few windows on the east side of the house, and the pool house obscured the view of the fence from the property.
“Keep me covered.”
“Don’t go further than the pool house, I won’t have a decent shot.” Big Dave paused. “I don’t even know if this thing will shoot true. The sights are set for what, two-hundred metres?”
“In that calibre those open sights will be good from point of aim at one-fifty to three-fifty allowing for a foot of drop.”
“Check.”
King stepped out of the treeline and crossed the ground to the fence. Romanovitch was secluded this far out in the mountains, so King had assumed the fence would be a deterrent for bears and wolves more than turning the property into a fortress. Romanovitch only travelled with his bodyguards and as the place was being used primarily as a hunting lodge, it would be fair to assume there were more than a few guns inside. He figured the tremblers would alert someone if a brown bear was giving himself a backrub, or perhaps trying to get to one of the bevvy of beauties Romanovitch often kept out here in his personal harem and take them to lunch in the forest.
King crouched at the perimeter fence. It was eight feet high with a strand of razor wire on top. Perhaps the Russian did fear more than bears all the way out here. King took out the canvas roll and took out a pair of wire cutters. He then plucked a blade of grass, licked the tip, and held the stem between his thumb and forefinger, touching the wet end to the fence. He did not feel any tingle. Either it had not been electrified, or the asset had switched off the security devices as promised. He could not test the trembler devices, so had to hope for the best and set about cutting a straight line down the wire from just under a metre high. The fence was taut, and he had to cut a horizontal flap. He replaced the tool and pushed the assault rifle through before tentatively crawling after it. King picked up the rifle and walked confidently to the pool house. No fast movements, no tactical drills. Simply covering the ground with as little drama as possible. He couldn’t see anybody in the grounds, but as he drew nearer the pool house, he saw a curtain twitch within and his grip tightened on the pistol-grip of the AK-47 and his finger edged closer to the trigger in readiness. Still not touching the trigger, but tantalisingly close.
The glass door opened a crack, the person inside distorted by a Venetian blind. King kept the weapon casually aimed at the ground, but loose enough to bring to bear.
“We haven’t much time…” the woman said, pulling the sliding door open. She was slim, distinctly Eurasian with attractive, chiselled features. Her hair was black and shaped in a page boy bob, and she wore little makeup. “I am Alaina. I have been in contact with Neil Ramsay, and Interpol before that.” She paused. “We have an agreement. An arrangement.”
King nodded. He did not introduce himself. He did not know the details of her agreement with MI5, either. “Do you have it?”
She nodded. “I do.” But she did not move. “But there’s been a change of plan.”
King raised the rifle a touch. Just enough to cut her clean in half at the waist if he kept his finger on the trigger. He wasn’t in the habit of letting a double cross change his chances of survival. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he replied.
“I have what you need. But I want to go with you.” She paused, her bottom lip trembling slightly. “Ramsay said he would get me out. But I do not want to wait.”
“Then that isn’t the deal,” he said. “The borders are open. If you want to leave the country, you can.”
“But I have been promised a visa. In the UK. To live and to work, but only if I do what I was asked to do, and if I do not, then I will be blacklisted.”
“If Ramsay gave you his word, he meant it. He will not let you down.”
She shook her head. “I am Romanovitch’s maid. But I have seen the way he looks at me, the way he has warned his men off me. He is attracted to me. I fear he will not resist the rule he has for good house staff. He will soon come on to me, and I will not be able to turn him down.” She waved a hand towards the forest. “There are people buried out there. People who have displeased him. The cook talks of a personal assistant, a former Miss Ukraine, and Miss World runner up who turned down his advances. She says the woman is buried out there somewhere.” She shrugged. “Nobody knows for sure, but…”
King frowned. “For my mission to work, I need Romanovitch to believe he is untouchable. If you leave now, he may become suspicious.”
“I can’t take the chance.”
“Hold on,” he said. “Hang on in there. It will be alright.” He could understand the woman’s concerns, but he had enough of his own to contend with. Although he realised the insincerity of his remark. “Now, where is the USB?”
Alaina reached for her pocket, but hesitated. “Please…”
“I need it,” he said sternly. “The deal still stands. You will have to speak to Ramsay, but he won’t renege on your deal. He is trustworthy, believe me.”
“He promised me money. Along with tickets and a visa.”
“But I would never deliver those.” King paused. “I’m simply here to collect what you promised you could supply.”
She looked at him tearfully, then reached out slowly and touched the back of his hand. “Please…” She looked like she was about to sob but caught herself in time. “He will come back, and he will take it further this time. He
touched me before he left, had a strange look in his eyes when I did not respond and busied myself. I know he will try something, and if I am to survive, I will have to let him do what he wants. I am not like the other girls he brings here. I am not that way. If they refuse, the cook says they are sent to his brothels. God forbid he sends me to one of those hell holes.”
King thought about Caroline’s work with Interpol. How she had worked as part of a trafficking taskforce in Georgia in response to her being held hostage a year before. The threat of ending up in a place like that had been real. It was a horror she still lived with and it would never go away. Alaina looked terrified, and he believed in her desperation.
“Do you have the soap?”
She nodded. “Please, Sir, just take me with you.”
“Show me.”
Alaina took out a new bar of soap which had been soaked in warm water before a key had been pressed halfway into it, on both sides. On the other side, she had inserted the key a few centimetres to gage the key head. The soap had then been dried. It was crude, but the process had made a good template of the key he would need.
“And you’re sure this is the right key?”
“Absolutely,” she nodded. “He wears it around his neck, and I took it from his dresser when he was busy with one of his women.” She shuddered, then said, “I’m sorry, the memory even scares me. It was a tense moment, where I prayed the whole time that I would not be caught.”
“And the USB?” King asked, unperturbed.
She took the device out of her pocket, wavering as she held it out in front of her. “Please, don’t be heartless. I can come with you, now. I won’t get in your way.”
“It will look suspicious.”
“I copied the key, and I copied his hard drive!” She shook her head. “He will never know!”
King looked at her, trying to read her eyes. She was upset, that much was obvious. But could he trust her? He kept thinking about Caroline and her incarceration in Georgia. What if things had gone differently?
“Who is here?” he relented.
“The cook, her husband who cuts the golf course, tends the gardens and does maintenance jobs. Anoushka, one of Romanovitch’s harlots. And Draco, a bodyguard. The rest of his bodyguards are with him in St. Petersburg while he meets with the brotherhood.”
“The brotherhood?”
“The Albanians.”
“You know about them?”
She nodded. “I know all about them,” she replied.
King sensed a hail Mary. She probably knew nothing more than what she had overheard about meeting them. Or perhaps she knew a hell of a lot more. Maybe a snippet that would help him. “This bodyguard, Draco, worries me. Where is he?”
“On site,” she said quietly. “I have no idea where, but he made advances on me earlier today,” she added. “I rebuffed him, and he wasn’t happy. I told him I would tell Romanovitch. Draco knows that his boss wants me, he will assume I ran away from him, and I imagine he’ll play it down. The last thing he’d want was for Romanovitch to know he made moves on me. He will know that I’m not coming back and will probably come up with a story.”
“It’s a big reach.”
“Please, don’t leave me here. Take me back to London with you.”
“But I’m not going back. Not yet.”
“Then I can help you.” She paused. “Whatever you are planning to do to Romanovitch, I can assist you. I know all the members of his organisation. I know the people who can help you, those who will have the information that you may need to bring success to your mission.”
King glanced at his watch. “It’s not as simple as that.” He knew Alaina had been recruited by Interpol, then handed over to MI5 at Ramsay’s request. The woman would not have signed up for that, but there had to be a reason why she had agreed to pass information onto Interpol. A catalyst. And as he watched the woman in front of him, he wasn’t so sure it would have been for pocket change, a ticket, and a visa. There had to be more. But time was ticking by and he had to make a decision. As his mentor Peter Stewart would have said, time to shit or get off the pot. “Okay,” he said, almost regretting it at once as she flung herself at him, wrapping her legs and arms around him tightly.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she nestled her face into his shoulder and King struggled awkwardly to free himself of her tangle of limbs. “You won’t regret it, I will help you.”
King managed to break free. He was flustered. The smell of her body – clean and mildly scented of jasmine - the tingle of her warm breath against his neck, the feel of her firm breasts rubbing on his chest, and the hardness of her pubic bone against him had stirred something inside, and he felt not only embarrassed, but ashamed that he had felt a rush of blood and a shallowness of breath. His thoughts turned to Caroline, their home, the life they had carved out for themselves. He had risked everything in being here. Risked it all for a friend who had known the risks of the ridiculous games they played and duties they performed from the outset. But it was more than that. King knew deep down that he was a wolf, not a sheep. He had missed the exhilaration of an assignment, the anticipation of action. He had missed his old life. Now it seemed a fool’s errand. What mattered was a tiny cottage on the cliffs in Cornwall and the woman within.
“Do you have access to a vehicle?”
“No. I get a lift into town with the cook, but Draco always comes now. I go to a café and buy a book from a book shop while she shops for food, then she picks me up. Draco drinks in the bars, never wants to leave.”
“So, how will your absence be explained? There’s nothing but wilderness out there.”
“Maybe that is good? Maybe Draco will think I fled because of him and got lost or walked into a bear. There are a great many bears out here. Packs of wolves, too.” She paused. “If he thinks I left because of him, he will not dare tell Romanovitch.”
King thought back to the man giving him the rifle and bullets when he had hired the quadbike. It seemed a plausible explanation, and at least it would have a ring of truth and that, in turn, may stop Romanovitch from searching for her once she got to London. From there, she could go anywhere and with the identity Ramsay would have arranged for her. In the system, a new name, and a new start. Untraceable.
Alaina looked at her watch. “The security system is performing an update,” she said. “We only have three more minutes until it goes online again and then the fence will detect movement and the cameras will start recording again. It’s now or never…”
“Okay,” he said decisively. “Follow me and keep close.”
King waited for Alaina to pick up her bag, then led them out of the pool house. He glanced back at her. She was still checking her watch. As they rounded the edge of the terrace, she screamed.
“Draco!” she exclaimed.
King turned to his right and saw a large man in a leather bomber jacket. He was surprised to see King and fumbled for the Uzi 9mm submachine gun he had slung on a strap over his shoulder. King started forwards, he judged he could reach him before he got the Uzi ready, but Alaina got in his way. The man looked up at them both, raising the weapon. He was shocked, and King could see the hesitation and bewilderment in the man’s face. King was quicker but could not bring the weapon to bear. He shoved Alaina aside and fired from the hip. It was enough to shock the Russian, who flinched and fired wide with a volley of fully automatic gunfire. King dropped to one knee, brought the weapon to his shoulder and a four round burst sent the man sprawling backwards.
“Is he dead?” Alaina asked. She was close enough for King to smell over the hot residue of spent cases. “He will tell Romanovitch that I went with the intruder!”
King saw the man moving. His outstretched hand was close enough to the Uzi to make a difference and King fired a single round and the man went still. He dragged Alaina by her sleeve and snapped, “Get moving!”
They reached the fence and King shoved the Kalashnikov through and followed, picking it up and taking a de
fensive position as Alaina struggled to push her bag through the gap in the wire. King snatched the bag from her and kept his eyes on the house. He had planned to reattach the fence with copper wire, crudely covering up his entry and exit to the grounds, while maintaining the electrical contact which would power the trembler devices, but it seemed pointless now. One of Romanovitch’s men was dead, and there was no covering that up. Alaina was in too deep, now. Romanovitch would be out to find her and punish her. King knew enough about the man to know he would stop at nothing. The nice and tidy lost in the wilderness and eaten by a bear scenario was no longer a reality now that his bodyguard was full of holes.
“For fuck’s sake!” Big Dave lifted his head, breaking cover. He got to his feet and cradled the rifle as they approached. “This wasn’t the plan!”
“The plan has changed.”
“Clearly.”
“This is Alaina.”
“Hi,” Alaina said quietly.
Big Dave ignored her. “Did you get the USB?”
King nodded. “And the mould of the key.”
“So, why the baggage?”
“I’m not baggage!” Alaina exclaimed. “I will help. I know things.”
Big Dave shook his head and snatched the AK-47 off King, thrusting the old rifle back at him. Then he turned around and powered up the slope, his telegraph pole legs pumping like pistons as he weaved through the trees.
King winked at Alaina, then regretted it when he saw her smile. His aim had been to defuse the tension, not signal intent. There was something in the way she looked at him that made him think she was grateful to him. More than he would have preferred her to be. He slung the Mosin Nagant rifle over his shoulder and picked up his day sack. He did not look back at the woman until he reached the top. She was struggling with the bag and he swiped it off her and slung it over his other shoulder, then set out after Big Dave, who was striding down the slope towards the waterfall.
