“Good, just as long as you remember.”
Snow rolled his eyes. “Who do you take me for – Mitch Turney?”
“No.” Vickers laughed. Their mutual friend had a well-deserved reputation as a womaniser. “Are you going to give him a call?”
“I should, and Michael Jones. They may have been with him yesterday.”
The two SIS operatives arrived back at Vickers’ apartment building. Unlike Webb’s 1980’s monstrosity on the city’s left bank, this building had architectural worth and character. All its occupants were expatriates. Snow turned off the engine and handed Vickers the keys. “So I’ll call you first thing on Monday?”
“Agreed.”
“Thanks.”
They got out of the car.
“Aidan, if he is implicated in sexual assault then you know we both have to distance ourselves from him don’t you?”
“I know, but he’s not.”
“I just ‘know of’ him but you ‘know him’ so I’ll bow to your better judgement.” Vickers waved and entered his building.
Khreshatik Street, Kyiv
Snow headed for Kyiv’s main shopping street Khreshatik and his meeting with Michael Jones. Jones had been only too happy to get away from his wife Inna and catch up with his old drinking partner. As Snow walked he suddenly realised that he had not eaten since ‘lunch’ on the aeroplane some hours before, or indeed had much to drink. Although it evening the temperature was still in the high twenties, a whole fifteen degrees higher than it had been on Worthing’s seafront that same morning. Snow used the underpass to cross from one side of the wide street to the other and then entered the large McDonalds that stood on top of the Metro station. It had been Jones’ choice of meeting place. Even after years in Ukraine the Welshman remained fussy about what he ate unless he’d cooked it himself. The eatery was fairly busy with a few families but mostly twenty and thirty something’s chatting and flirting or taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi. A figure waved from a large semi-circular seat. Snow couldn’t help but smile at seeing his old friend. Michael Jones had not changed a bit. With his craggy features and dark blonde hair he looked like ‘the drinking mans’ Gordon Ramsey.
“Aidan, Hokay?” The Welshman’s accent caused a couple of diners to stare.
Snow adopted a fake Welsh accent. “Hello Mister Jones, how are you?”
“Eh, not bad.” Jones beamed. “Just look at the crumpet in here!”
They sat and Snow laughed out loud. Jones had never been subtle. “It’s good to see you Michael.”
“You too. It’s been far too long. You teaching again?”
Jones knew of Snow’s Military past, that he had been a member of the SAS and of course the events that had led to their mutual friend, Arnaud’s death. Jones did not however know that since then Snow had been recruited into the Secret Intelligence Service. Snow decided to stick with his legend. “I’m teaching at a private school near Knightsbridge.”
“Full of Arabs I bet.”
“Not politically correct, but correct.”
Jones raised his eyebrows and the tone of his voice to express mock outrage. “Politically incorrect? Politically incorrect! As a native Welsh speaker, I’m an ethnic minority myself!”
It was good to see his friend again but he had to move things on.
Michael sensed Snow had become serious. “So what’s all this about Brian?”
“He called me this morning asking for help, I got here to find he’s being held by the police for sexual assault.”
“Brian? Sexual assault? GBH – grievous beer harm I could envisage but sexual assault?” Jones’ Welsh intonation rose at the end.
“Only that’s not all.” Snow explained the visit to the Militia station.
“So where is he?”
Snow shrugged. “They won’t say just that he is the custody of an officer named Budt.”
“It’s the bandits from Donetsk, mark my words.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Yesterday. We started off in the Dockers Pub – you know the new name for ‘The Cowboy Bar’ and then onto Arena.”
“And nothing happened?”
Jones shook his head. “Mitch was with us but he went home with a tart from his office. Inna ordered me to come home and the last I saw of Brian he was getting into a taxi.”
“What time was this?”
Jones frowned. “Dunno, maybe three-ish? You know how it is.”
Snow nodded. In his day the drinking sessions usually ended in the small hours. “Is Mitch around.”
“No, he flew back to the US this morning to see his kids and ex-wife.”
Snow felt his stomach rumble and stole a fry from Jones’ tray. “None of this makes sense.”
“Correction, none of it would make sense in the UK. Here it makes perfect sense, someone is after a ‘Vziatka’.”
“A bribe?” Something clicked in Snow’s mind and things became a little clearer.
“For sure. Look at the time I got stopped without my passport back in the days when you needed a visa. Even though I had a photocopy on me they wanted $100. The next day they came to the flat and saw Inna. She told them to piss off because she knew their boss.”
“I hope you’re right Michael. But we still have to find out where he is.” Snow felt his Blackberry vibrate. He retrieved it from his pocket and looked at the number displayed. It was Brian’s flat. “Katya?”
“Aidan, the Militia came back – I pretended not to be in. They were banging the door.”
“I’m on my way.”
Her voice almost broke as she asked. “Is Brian with you?”
“No. I’m sorry, I’ll explain when I see you.” He ended the call and looked at Jones. “Gotta go.”
Snow stood at the side of the road and stretched his arm out. A beat-up Volkswagen saloon immediately swung in from the early evening traffic and came to an abrupt stop in front of him. As was the custom and common practice, it wasn’t a taxi just a Kyivite taking the chance to make bit extra. Snow gave the driver the address and in return the driver stated an inflated price. Snow was in no mood to haggle, agreed the price instantly and jumped in. Twenty minutes later he was once more outside Webb’s building; he called Katya again and let her know that he was on his way up. Two minutes after that she opened the door and ushered him in.
“Are you Ok?” He asked.
She nodded and looked over his shoulder expectantly. “Where’s Brian?”
“I don’t know. The Militia have moved him. Let’s get inside.”
She shut the door and bolted it. “Where is my husband?”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t say but my friend at the Embassy has threatened to make an official complaint if Brian is not released or charged by Monday.”
Katya folded her arms, and prepared herself for the worst. “What are they going to charge him with?”
“Let’s sit down first.”
“Bollocks, Aidan just tell me. Please.”
“Sexual assault.”
Katya backed away into the kitchen and raised her hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. Snow couldn’t tell if it was nerves or if she actually found it funny. “He can barely assault me.”
“Tell me what happened here, with the Militia?”
“The same two officers came back. They rang the bell and when I didn’t answer said they knew I was in. They then banged on the door for a few minutes and said that I couldn’t help Brian if I didn’t let them in. Aidan I thought they were going to break the door down.”
“I doubt that they would have done that. You did the right thing.”
“Are you hungry?”
Snow was but didn’t want to make her cook. “If you’re going to eat then I will.”
“Stop being so bloody English.” Katya pointed at a chair. “Sit. Eat. And take your shoes off.”