- Chapter 13 -
Garrett
Harper adjusted his sitting position as a dull pain throbbed in his hip. He was alone in the park apart from the dancers. Couples in their seventies and eighties glided around an open-air dance floor as the tinny sound of Soviet music flowed out of rusted speakers. One middle-aged woman danced around solo with a phantom partner, smiling at her beau as convincingly as anyone else. A sudden burst of feedback from the sound system triggered a pulse of anxiety in Harper and he felt his senses heighten. He rolled his shoulders back and scratched at his neck as the noise subsided. The man from the attic emerged at the far side of the dance floor, weaving his way through the couples and briefly swinging the partnerless lady round before heading in Harper’s direction.
“They’re here every week you know,” he said, plonking himself down next to Harper. “It’s amazing. It’s like going back in time. Do you fancy a dance?”
“Not right at this minute,” said Harper. “I hurt my hip when I fell over.”
“Oh, sorry about that. Probably my fault.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. There’s enough cheap vodka in this part of the world to numb the pain,” said Harper, taking a slug of his hip flask and passing it on.
“That’s the good stuff,” said the man.
“Yeah, why not. The good stuff is nearly as cheap as the bad stuff.”
“You’re right there mate. You’re right there.”
Harper sniffed a little and the cold froze the hairs on the inside of his nose. “So I presume you’re a journalist?”
“I prefer reporter,” said the man. “It’s only the Yanks that tend to call themselves journalists. Sounds a bit too high-minded to my ear.”
“So you weren’t searching for truth and justice in Katusev’s attic then?” said Harper, turning his head towards the man.
“I was stealing documents actually. Same as you I presume?”
Harper said nothing and watched the dancers. Some small children joined their grandparents on the dance floor. A boy of around five dressed in a waistcoat and bow tie approached a small girl and bowed deeply before extending his hand towards her. Once she had curtsied and accepted, they walked to the centre of the floor and began to waltz.
“You wanna walk round the military museum,” said Harper. “It should be nice and quiet this time of day.”
“Sure,” said the man, standing up. “Why not.”
They walked out of the park and towards the pillars of the Central Armed Forces Museum. Harper gave a couple of banknotes to the old lady on the front desk and they entered the grand reception hall. A mound of captured Nazi banners were stacked in a big pile straight ahead and a MiG 29 hung menacingly from the ceiling. The two men walked through the building out into the paved outdoor section. They passed a line of missile launchers and fighter jets and found a secluded spot behind a huge transport helicopter.
“You never told me your name,” said Harper, sitting on the chopper’s steps.
“Danny Garrett.”
“Danny Garrett. So, what do you want from me Danny Garrett?”
“I’m not sure yet. Seems neither of us wanted to bump into anyone in that attic. But then again, it was probably lucky we bumped into each other rather than someone else. If you know what I mean.”
“I’ll agree with you on that one.”
“So what do you do?” said Garrett. “Journo? Corporate investigations? MI6? Nothing would surprise me out here to be honest.”
“Garrett, I’m only here because I’d prefer if you didn’t tell anyone you caught me snooping around in Katusev’s study.”
“You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone. But it seems to me we’re after the same information. I could be a useful friend for you.”
Harper took another slug from the flask. “And what if I just walk away now? What happens then?”
“Nothing happens. I’m not here to blackmail you. But I think you’d be stupid to do that. I’m working the Cavendish killings for my paper. If you’re interested in the case, we could help each other out. But I’d prefer it if I knew who you were.”
Harper stood up and looked across the yard for any sign of company, but there was no one else around. “I don’t normally trust people I don’t have to,” he said, “but I’d prefer we have a relationship than risk you asking around about me elsewhere.”
“Okay,” said Garrett. “So who are you?”
“I’m a private investigator putting together a profile on Katusev.”
“You’re a PI? That’s a new one.”
“Well, not many of us would take this sort of kamikaze job on, but I needed the money.”
The tinny Soviet music crept over the fence from the park. Garrett turned and paced towards the fence and back, trying to organise his thoughts. “Look, I understand you’re putting a lot of trust in me by telling me that. I want you to know I won’t betray that trust.”
“Well, I hope you won’t. My gut tells me I can trust you and I normally go with my gut. But remember, you were sneaking around in that study too. I reckon we have a mutual interest in keeping that quiet, you know what I’m saying?”
“Of course.”
“So, now everything is out on the table, how about you tell me what you know about Cavendish? I hope I haven’t just blown my cover for nothing.”
This time Garrett checked the yard. They were still alone. “Okay, well, let’s take it from the beginning. Cavendish and Katusev were working together on some secretive project. Word is it was some sophisticated algorithm to make money on the stock markets. Big, big money. Anyway, from what I heard the Kremlin muscled in on the project a few months back, threatened to destroy Katusev if he didn’t oblige.”
“That chimes with what we’ve heard,” said Harper. “Anything else?”
“You heard about the missing researcher?”
“Seva Vitsin.”
“That’s him. He was the main brain. Bit of an eccentric apparently. Didn’t like to keep notes or anything like that. That’s why when he disappeared they were so screwed. They have very little left without him.”
“Do you know where Vitsin might be?”
“That’s why I was in the study,” said Garrett. “I was hoping to find out.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I don’t know where he is, but I do know where he’s from. He was born in Kazakhstan. He’s ethnic Russian, but he grew up in Almaty.”
“Almaty huh? You speak Kazakh?”
Garrett laughed. “I barely speak Russian. So you think Vitsin disappeared back to Kazakhstan?”
“I know Katusev thinks he’s there.”
“How’s do you know that?”
Harper pulled the USB stick from his pocket. “I found this in the study before you arrived. Katusev hired some ex-KGB sleuth to go out there and look for him. This report is what he came back with.”
“And what’s on there?”
“Nothing. He talked to Vitsin’s family and friends. They all drew a blank. They might be lying, but it sounds like they don’t know where he is.”
“Might be worth looking for ourselves? You fancy a little holiday?”
“That’s a bit forward, we only just met.”
“I’m a reporter, it’s my job to be forward.”
“Is that right.”
Garrett checked his watch. “Listen, I’ve got to meet a mate to watch the football. Here’s my number. Have a think about Almaty.”
“I will,” said Harper. “Who’s your team?”
“Arsenal.”
“Jesus, hard luck on that one.”
“And you?”
Harper pulled up his sleeve and showed Garrett his Tottenham tattoo.