“Find it,” said Nikolaev, drawing his pistol and pointing it at his face.
Tears started to stream down Pavel’s cheeks as he tore open the bags and fished around. He felt his hand plunge into something moist and pulled it up to find a baby’s nappy wrapped round his wrist. He kept sobbing as he searched and tried not to throw up. Fifteen minutes passed before he found the four squares of plastic sitting in a pizza box. He picked them up and handed them over.
“This must be it,” he said.
“Put this back together,” said Nikolaev, handing the shards to his agent. “And deport this fucking faggot out of my country.”
- Chapter 18 -
Almaty
Walker snapped a couple of photos as the minibus wound its way up the mountain road. Varndon smiled politely as a father scolded his young daughter for pointing and giggling at the two Europeans. They continued on in silence until they reached the Koktebya, Almaty’s highest point and home to its looming television tower. They came to a stop next to a small fairground. The rides were static and tourists looked thin on the ground. The little girl dragged her father out of the minibus and ran excitedly towards a small carousel. The owners of makeshift market stalls looked hopefully at Walker and Varndon, waving their hands over the collection of horse statues and clothing colored with the blue and yellow flag of Kazakhstan. They both browsed a little before excusing themselves and taking the paved walkway into the small park.
“They’re not very pushy these Kazakhs,” said Walker. “If this was Egypt, he’d still be walking alongside me, waving some piece of tat in my face.”
“Well, it’s not Egypt, I can tell you that for certain.”
The stalls and the rides disappeared as they made their way further into the park. Near to the end, the trees closed in and the path jutted off to the right. They ducked through and emerged out onto a viewing platform. A man in a leather coat stood facing out towards the panoramic view. A nearby office block mimicked the jagged peaks of the snow-capped mountains. The rest of the city stretched off into the distance, a footnote in the Soviet project, polished and modernized by the gushing tap of petrodollars. The man turned around. His Asian features gave him the look of some of the locals. Walker and Varndon hesitated for a second in case he was just that.
“Guys relax,” he said in a New York twang. “The agency thought sending a Korean American out here would have its advantages. Fucking racist huh? I should sue their asses.”
Walker laughed. Varndon said nothing.
“I’m Billy. Lonaghan told me to take you through the operation.”
“Operation?” said Varndon. “I thought you were just support. We already have an operation?”
“Yeah, support, sure. That’s what I meant. But we didn’t think it would hurt to get started. After all, we’re all on the same team.”
This time Varndon laughed. “Yeah, we’re on the same team, when it suits you people. When it doesn’t, the shutters come up.”
“Look, I’m not looking for a fight,” said Billy. “We got our orders and we’re sticking to them. No one’s out to take anyone’s glory here. So you wanna know what’s going down?”
“Course we do,” said Walker. “But aren’t we a little exposed up here? I know it’s out of season, but there were a few people knocking about back there.”
Billy nodded his head through the trees. “My guys are on watch. They’ll let us know if anyone’s coming.”
“Okay,” said Walker. “So, what’ve you got?”
“Vitsin is here.”
“How do you know that,” said Varndon.
“He came in by train on a false passport. We’ve got some people on the payroll down at the train station. They gave us the security tapes and we spotted him. He had some weak disguise on, but it was definitely him.”
“So where is he now?”
“We don’t know.”
Varndon moved and leant on the railings. “You don’t know? You mean you lost him?”
“We never had him. I’m just telling you that he’s here.”
“So how do you propose to find him? What tricks do you Americans have up your sleeves these days apart from chucking money at a problem? Check his facebook account maybe?”
“That’s cute,” said Billy. “Maybe I’ll put on a tuxedo and crash a tank through a wall. Or sit in a casino somewhere getting a tight asshole about how my drink is made. That’s what you motherfuckers do all day right?”
Walker stepped into the middle of Varndon and Billy. “Transatlantic tension. Interesting. I thought we were supposed to be fucking the Russians this week, not each other. Shall we start again?”
Billy shrugged. “We’ve got surveillance on his family and known close friends. Luckily, there aren’t many of those. He’s not much of a talker by all accounts. If he turns up anywhere there, we’ll know about it.”
“What about the Russians?” said Varndon. “I presume they’re watching too?”
“It’s safe to say they will be, but we can’t do much about that.” Billy turned and looked through the viewing platform’s telescope. “He’s out there somewhere. We’ve spun our own web now. We just need to wait for him to fly into it.”
- Chapter 19 -
Bait
Harper raised his empty glass and shook it at the barman. The young Kazakh ambled over, took it from him and poured him another beer. He took a banknote from Harper and threw his change down onto a plastic plate.
“Service with a smile,” said Harper, spinning around on his stool.
The Hotel Alma’Ata house band plucked at their guitars as they prepared to kick off the night’s entertainment. A tall Arab with tight denim jeans and a long ponytail took a swig of his drink and grabbed the microphone.
“Good evening Almaty!” he shouted, raising a round of whoops and cheers from the ragtag bunch of prostitutes, office workers and oil riggers lounging on stools around the bar. “Welcome to the Detroit Tiger!”
The classic rock exploded out of the speakers and the punters swarmed onto dance floor, grinding their hips and raising their glasses into the air. A burst of feedback scythed through Harper’s body and he arched his back as his nerves bristled.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” said a girl to Harper’s left. “Are you grumpy?”
“I’m not grumpy,” said Harper. “It’s just not my kind of music.”
“What, you like dance music, all serious and no fun?”
“Something like that.”
“Sometimes, huh? What about a party? You wanna party with me? It can be cheap for you. You are young and good-looking, so only half-price. Sixty dollars.”
“You don’t waste time,” said Harper, feeling her hand on the inside of his thigh. He waved at Garrett, who had just appeared through some double doors at the back of the bar. The girl looked slightly despondent at having her pitch spoiled by the prospect of company.
“Any luck?” said Harper, as Garrett pushed his way through the writhing bodies.
“I’ve got an address for the parents.”
“Good man.”
“And I’ve got a car. Real piece of shit, but it was all I could get at short notice.”
“Perfect. A real piece of shit is better for our needs. Let’s go.” Harper slugged back the rest of his beer and placed the glass on the bar. He waited for Garrett to head off back towards the exit before he turned and gave his room key to the prostitute. She unfolded her arms and retracted her protruding bottom lip, before picking up her coat and walking towards the hotel reception.