Snow stopped and placed his right foot on a bench to stretch his ham strings. “Brian take a breath and tell me what’s happening?”
“Aidan I’ve got to keep moving they’ve found me…” Webb stopped talking abruptly and Snow could hear raised voices at the other end and banging.
“Brian. Brian are you still there?”
“Aidan can you come to Kyiv? Can you get here quickly? I need you to help…”
“Brian… Brian!”
As Snow looked out to sea he could hear Brian speaking to someone then he heard a yell and what sounded like a crashing sound. Suddenly a deep voice came on the phone and asked in Russian. “Who is this?”
Snow replied in English. “Is Brian there?”
The voice switched to heavily accented English. “Yes.” The line went dead.
Snow redialled and the call went to voicemail, Brian’s voicemail. “Brian call me when you can.” Snow looked up Brian’s home number, hoped it hadn’t changed and dialled. He let it ring for a minute before disconnecting. Snow frowned, he could count his number of true friends on one hand and Brian was one of them. Brian now owned a chain of English language book shops in Kyiv, but it had been before this that Snow had met him. They had both been teaching at the same international school and Snow was the ‘new boy’. Brian had taken Snow under his wing. The Yorkshire man was twenty years Snow’s senior but the age gap had not made a jot of difference especially to Brian’s pretty wife Katya who was younger than Snow. He had never heard the happy Yorkshire man speak like that before. Still carrying the guilt of failing to save one friend years before Snow had vowed never to let it happen again. Snow dialled his boss’ number.
“Patchem.” A voice said after four rings.
“It’s Aidan, sorry for calling you this early on a Saturday.”
Jack Patchem, Snow’s controller at the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) too sounded out of breath. “Not at all. Ok, I’m listening.”
“Jack I need to take a few days off, some of that holiday time I’m owed.”
“You are asking for a Holiday?”
“No something’s come up, a personal matter.”
On the golf course Patchem raised his eyebrows. “Anything that I should know about?”
“No. I just need to help a friend out.”
“So from the timing of this call I expect you need it immediately? Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Go, but make sure you can get back if I need you.”
“Thanks.” Snow ended the call and then tried both of Brian’s numbers again; neither were answered by a human. Snow put his Blackberry back into his zip and pocket and ran the remaining mile home along the promenade. Back indoors he quickly purchased a ticket online for the next flight to Kyiv, which on this occasion happened to be with Ukraine International Airlines before taking a quick shower. Dressed in khaki combats, dark blue polo shirt and a pair of UK Gear PT1000s; he collected his ‘grab-bag’ before leaving the house and rapidly driving to Gatwick.
Gatwick Airport, United Kingdom
Ukraine International Airlines flight 502 would not get Snow to Kyiv until late afternoon but was the earliest available. Snow had been forced to pay a premium for a business class seat but money was not on his mind. What was bothering him was Brian Webb and what may or may not have happened to him. He again had tried both of Brian’s phone numbers but to no avail. He’d spent the three hours he’d had to wait until his flight boarded snoozing in the business lounge and reading the latest Stephen Leather ‘Spider Shepherd’ Thriller. Now as they took off he found himself sitting next to a businessman in a tight fitting suit. After the pre-flight drinks were served Snow’s neighbour, who’d ordered a double Scotch, introduced himself.
“Cheers! Donald Bass, Don to my friends.”
Snow tried not to let his amusement at the man’s name show. “Aidan Snow.”
“Nice to meet you. I know it’s a cliché but business or pleasure?”
“Personal.”
“Not internet dating? I’ve heard the women there are quite tasty!”
“They are but I’m just going to help a friend. I used to live there.”
“I’ve never been. I’m meeting my Ukrainian business partner he owns a few bars but now wants to open a ‘fish and chip’ shop.” Bass handed Snow a business card. “Yep that’s me ‘Bass’ Plaice’. I’m now selling the franchise internationally.”
“I think it will do well.”
“Do you mind if I pick your brain?”
“No.” Snow was glad of the distraction.
“Is it Kiev or Kyiv? Look this newspaper is ‘The Kyiv Post’ but my guidebook says ‘Kiev’.”
Snow remembered when ‘The Kyiv Post’ was ‘The Kiev Post’ but did not want to confuse issues. “Kiev is a translation from Russian but ‘Kyiv’ is from the Ukrainian.”
“Oh. So what should I try to speak?”
“You can use either in Kyiv but Ukrainian is the official language.”
Bass pointed at the paper. “But this report says that they have passed a law granting Russian second language status.”
“In the East the majority of the population is of Russian descent so they prefer to speak Russian. And beacuse the President is from the East he wants Russian to be used more. It’s his first language.”
“So it’s a bit like Wales then? In Cardiff they speak English but go north and it’s all Yaki-da?”
“Yes.”
“I get you. It mentions here ‘Bandits from Donetsk’. Are there a lot of mafia types in Kyiv? Should I be worried?”
“I lived there for a few years and never saw any trouble.” Snow lied but then his experience of Ukraine had not been unusual. “In the early nineties they had problems of course but that all got worked out. Kyiv is very safe, the new President has brought his cronies in from the East but as a foreign businessman they’ll welcome you. At the end of the day people are people, regardless of where they are from or what language they speak.”
“I see. So what are the women like?”
“Most of them have two legs.”
Bass started to laugh noisily as the cabin crew started their safety demonstration and then readied themselves for take-off. As soon as the plane levelled out Bass ordered another double scotch and then fell asleep. Snow tried to doze again but his mind was too troubled.
Levo Berezina, Kyiv, Ukraine
Snow paid the taxi driver and climbed into the entrance to Brian Webb’s apartment block. As usual the Soviet era building was grimy and smelt vaguely of rubbish. Snow pressed the lift button and hoped that it worked. Brian had once joked that he lived in a penthouse. His flat may well have been on the eighteenth floor but it was certainly no penthouse. With a jolt the lift doors opened and Snow was jerkily taken to the top floor. As the doors closed Snow turned left and found the correct flat. He pressed the bell, which sounded like a strange kind of Chinese bird and waited. The door remained closed. He listened, heard nothing, and then rang again. There were noises from inside and then it was suddenly pulled open. Snow could not help but smile at the vision of Katya dripping wet clad in nothing but a bath towel. He still had no clue how Brian had pulled her.
“Aidan!” Her frown turned to a smile and she stepped forward and hugged him.
“Katya.” He dropped his holdall. He could feel her curves through the thin towel and had to remind himself that although she was gorgeous she was his friend’s wife.
She moved away and looked up at him. “You look good. Come in.”
“Thanks, so do you.”
She smiled mischievously and as she turned he caught a flash of her bum as the towel rose up. Snow closed the door and followed her into the lounge. She sat and lit a cigarette.