“That sounds like Dudka.”
Katya glanced at Snow then at Blazhevich. “So can’t you just take a photograph of Brian through a window?”
“Yes, if he is near or passes by a window.”
“Oh.” She frowned.
“So apart from ‘eyes on’ I’m at a loss.”
“Get me inside.”
“How?”
“You said it was Deputy Imyets new ‘dacha’?”
“Yes.”
“Well is it new or did someone live there before?”
“I’ll find out.”
“Good. If there was a previous owner then I become their ‘drunken’ ex-pat friend who’s come over for a drink.”
Blazhevich looked at Snow with a strange expression. “You don’t just think out of the box, you dispense with it.”
“Is that a complement?”
“An observation.”
“Hm, boxing clever.”
Petropavlivska Borschagivka village, Kyiv Oblast
The observation post was in a partly built church almost opposite the target building. Snow had passed the church many times over the years as his American pal Mitch Turney lived a few streets along. A two man SBU team had kept a vigil on the target overnight and were happy to be relieved by Blazhevich and Snow. Blazhevich had found out that the house was nine years old and the last person to live in it had been a German by the name of Eric. Snow laughed at this but Blazhevich did not see the humour. After again discussing it with Dudka, who now was also at his own dacha away from the Ukrainian capital city, Snow’s plan had been officially agreed upon. Snow would approach the house, feigning inebriation and see what he could find out. In Snow’s mind he either caught a glimpse of Brian or he didn’t either way he saw no risk, at least this is what he had told his friends in the SBU. Snow however had other ideas as to what may happen. Whilst they waited until a reasonable hour for Snow to make his approach, Blazhevich and Snow reviewed the surveillance tapes of the day before. When they reached 10:a.m. a lumbering overweight figure could be seen being taken into the house but unfortunately his face had been pointing away from the camera. Snow was sure it was Brian but Blazhevich shrugged, he didn’t know him.
“Time to go.” Snow checked his watch it was almost midday.
Blazhevich nodded. “No heroics just see what you can see.”
Snow smiled. “I’m not a hero.” He shuffled away from the window to the back of the church and opened a bottle of beer. He took a swig and poured the rest into his hand and rubbed it over his face, letting some run onto his day-old polo-shirt. He then picked up two bottles of whiskey and left the church by the rear exit. He walked into the woods behind turned right and found a path; it brought him back to the street but further up the road and around a bend, out of direct line of sight of the target address. He started to walk and as he did so he made sure to adjust to gait to that of someone who clearly had been drinking. As he rounded a bend he saw the house and immediately crossed the road, heading directly towards it. The house faced the road and had a two meter high brick wall surrounding it. There were no signs of exterior security except for the large ornate metal gate that acted as an entrance. The house it’self was three stories tall and was built of red brick. In comparison to the other overtly ornate or ugly houses surrounding it, the target seemed quite tasteful. Snow rang the doorbell then stared into the small camera he now saw mounted slightly above.
There was a pause and then a voice asked in Russian. “What do you want?”
Snow started to prepare his Oscar acceptance speech. “Eric you wanker! I’m back in town and I’ve brought two friends!” Snow held up the bottles to the camera. “Come on you German Gay-Lord open the door and let’s get drinking!”
There was a hiss of static before a voice answered in faltering English. “Eric no here. You go.”
Snow needed to get into the house, he’d see nothing otherwise. “Eric open the door and stop being a poof! Come on, my two friends here are getting impatient!”
There was a slight buzzing sound and a click. The gate opened and Snow stepped inside. It was closed behind him by a large figured in a black t-shirt and urban combat trousers. He looked at Snow then pointed to the front door. Snow surreptitiously looked around. He was standing in a large paved courtyard. The house was directly ahead; to the left was a slope which led down to the underground garage. Past this he could see a lush green lawn. Directly to his right was a fountain and small ‘dacha style’ out-house. The front door opened and two uniformed Militia officers greeted him.
Snow smiled. “Is Eric having a party?”
“Who you are?” The first asked in English. Snow realised it was the same voice he had heard on the telephone the day before.
“I’m a friend of Eric. Who are you?” Snow replied and placed his bottles on the step.
“My name is Officer Kopylenko and you are very drunk.”
Snow raised his arms smiling. “Guilty as charged!”
Kopylenko pointed at him. “Tell me please, what is your name?”
Snow gave his own name; he had no reason to lie. “Aidan Snow. Nice to meet you.”
“Can I see your passport Mr Snow?”
“I’m sorry; I don’t have it with me.”
“Hm, I see. In that case I am very sorry but I shall have to issue you with a fine.”
Snow pointed at the bottles. “Is there not something else I could give you?”
“We will take those too, but you must pay a fine.”
“Fine, that’s fine!” Snow started to laugh and retrieved a wad of notes from his pocket. As he did so he made sure that it slipped through his fingers and fell on the ground. He noticed Kopylenko eye-up the bundle of bills greedily. Snow shakily retrieved the money and smiled. “Now officer, how much do I need to give you? Will $100 be enough?” As Snow held out the notes he looked around. “Where is Eric?”
“I told you Eric is not here. This is the wrong house. Give me all your money and you can go.”
Snow made a decision, double or nothing. “Where is Eric? Are you robbing him?” He tried to push past the two men but the second officer grabbed his arm. Snow half-heartedly punched him in the face before shouting, “Eric I’m on my way!” The officer loosened his grip and Snow burst into the house only to be pushed to the floor a moment later. Several heavy kicks connected with Snow’s torso and as he was dragged to his feet a fist hit him in the side of the head causing him to see stars.
Kopylenko spoke again. “You have assaulted a Militia officer. We now must arrest you and keep you here until you are processed.”
“Let me go. I’m a British citizen!” Snow protested.
Kopylenko spoke the second officer in Russian. “Take him away and put him with the other English idiot.”
Snow let his feet drag and his head loll forward as the officer moved him down a flight of stairs and then pushed him into another room. The heavy door was locked behind him. Snow rubbed his head and looked around. It was a wine cellar but empty apart from the racks. There was a narrow barred window to one side at head height which let in the only source of light through which he could see a flower bed.
“Bloody Hell! Aidan you found me!
Snow noticed a large dishevelled figure sitting on a patio chair. “Hello Brian.”
Webb smiled. “How the heck did you get here?”
“Connections.”
“Aidan thanks a million for coming.”
Snow held his forefinger to his mouth, then moved back to the door and listened. He could hear nothing through it. He nodded at Webb. “Tell me what happened?”
“I was out with Mitch and Michael having a few – you know how it is, and then got a taxi home. The driver stopped the car, I thought he needed a piss but then he just ‘legged it’. Then when I got out to see where the heck he was going some blokes came at me. I thought it was a bloody team of hit-men! Aidan, I was that tanked-up that I just got back in the taxi and drove off. I tried to lose them but crashed into a sodding bus shelter, shook me up I can tell you.” Webb lifted his grey fringe to show his blooded forehead. “I kept moving until I couldn’t go any further. Then I called you.”