“Thought I’d lost you there for a second,” said Garrett, as Harper emerged from the bar, Bon Jovi blaring behind him.
“Just settling up the tab.”
They got into the black Lada and Garrett pulled off, fixing his phone to the dashboard so he could see the GPS. “It’s not far, probably a couple of miles.” They drove up the hill until they reached a main road and headed for a complex of mirrored tower blocks.
“This is it,” said Garrett. “The second tower from the end.”
“Nice,” said Harper. “Katusev must’ve been paying him a good wage. Slow down a little, but keep driving.”
“What? You don’t want to go in?”
“Not today.”
“But, isn’t that what we came for?”
“Just drive past Garrett, don’t argue.”
They slowed to half speed and rolled past the building. The GPS beeped to indicate they had arrived at the destination and Garrett reached out to turn it off. He drove on a bit further and parked up in a supermarket car park next to a selection of expensive SUVs.
“So what was the point of that?” said Garrett.
“We’re not the only ones looking for Vitsin, remember that.”
“What, you think there might be people spying on the flat?”
“There were two groups surveilling that building. One was in a white maintenance van and the second had a black Range Rover.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m trained to spot these things. The important thing is not how I know, but what we are going to do about it. I think Vitsin is hiding out with one of his old professors. I need to get inside that flat to find out who the guy is.”
Garrett looked over at the tower. “So how are we going to get those surveillance teams to leave?”
“We need them to think the parents are leading a reporter to Vitsin.”
“And which reporter might that be?”
“Take a guess.”
“So you brought me out here as bait?”
“You’re getting a story aren’t you?”
“It’s not going to be much of a story if I’m not here to write it.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’ll be fine.”
Garrett started the engine back up. “So who else is looking for him?”
“I’m guessing one lot are the Russians. Probably FSB or maybe SVR.”
“SVR is their equivalent of MI6 right?”
“That’s right. But I’m guessing they’re more likely FSB. The same lot I bumped into the other day at Katusev’s house.”
“And who are the others?”
“That’ll probably be our boys. Or the Americans.”
“Holy shit. Are you comfortable with this?”
“Why not? We’re reporters looking for a story.”
“You’re a reporter now are you?”
“Tomorrow I’m a reporter. Today, I need a drink. Now let’s get back to the hotel.”
- Chapter 20 -
Belmarsh
Cohen sat tapping his pen on the desk as he waited for the prison guard to bring Ashansky to the interview room. Belmarsh was only for the A-list. They didn’t put you in this place unless you had earned it. There was a certain level of criminality you had to display before you got room and board in this part of south London. Running guns to breakaway Loyalists was certainly a crime that fell into that category. The door opened and the guard came back in alone. “I’m sorry Sergeant, but Leonid Ashansky has been transferred.”
“Transferred? Where to?”
“Nobody knows I’m afraid. I’ve asked around, but seems it’s been kept very firmly under wraps.”
“Is that normal procedure?”
“We’d usually have a sniff of what’s going on. But there was nothing. It’s all a bit strange to be honest.”
“Well, who took him away? Surely, your blokes must have helped with that?”
“All I know is that it was all done at short notice. I can’t help you further than that. The orders came down from a senior level.”
“A senior level?”
The guard started to look slightly edgy as Cohen waited for an answer. “Look, I just don’t know. I think you’ll need to go higher than me if you want more.”
“Course,” said Cohen. “Fair enough.” The guard escorted him back through several security doors and back to the prison reception. Cohen’s phone rang as he stepped back out of the imposing brick entrance and walked towards the road.
“DS Cohen.”
“Sarge, it’s Russell.”
“Did you find Gershov?”
“He’s skipped bail.”
Cohen stopped walking. “What? When?”
“They don’t know exactly. But he’s vanished.”
“We won’t find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”
“How much do you know about this guy Sarge?”
“He was the hatchet man for Ashansky’s gun running operation. He should have gone to jail with his boss, but the evidence was too flimsy, so they were lining him up for an assault charge instead. Weak, but it’s all they had.”
“Is he Russian?”
“Russian Israeli. Booted out of Mossad for selling rockets to the Palestinians.”
“How did you get on with Ashansky?”
“He’s vanished too and everyone here has selective memory loss.”
“Sarge, this case is starting to scramble my brain. First, the Russians kick us out early. Then Katusev gets slotted. And when we finally find a suspect, he disappears into thin air. It’s like we’re always two steps behind.”
“Let’s speak to Morton. We might be playing catch-up, but we’re not the only game in town.”
- Chapter 21 -
The Professor
Harper pushed the hatch open and climbed out onto the roof opposite the apartment complex. He signaled to Garrett to crouch down as he followed him up into the open air. They knelt on the black felt and Harper pulled out a pair of binoculars.
“They’re still there,” he said, looking in the direction of the car park. “I’m going to stay here until both vehicles have gone after you.”
“What if they don’t buy it?”
“Then we have to think of something else. So what are you going to tell the parents?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Just make it good. They need to go with you.”
“Well, just make sure you come out with something worthwhile.”
“I will, don’t worry. Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good luck.”
Garrett shuffled back across the roof, making sure to stay crouched, and disappeared down the hatch. Harper waited patiently, regulating his breathing and pushing the nerves and excitement as far away as he could. He trained his binoculars onto the street below. Garrett appeared out of the front door and walked across the road. Harper watched the two surveillance vehicles as Garrett passed them and approached the front door. His heart started to pound a little faster as the reporter disappeared inside.
Harper looked at his watch and noted the time.
He kept the binoculars on the door, not daring to lower them in case he missed something. A few residents came in and out and a handful of children came up from the street and played on the nearby swings. There was no reaction from the surveillance vehicles. Harper’s arms started to ache from holding the binoculars. The aching was becoming uncomfortable when the door finally swung open and Garrett emerged, an elderly Kazakh couple trailing along behind him.
Harper punched the air in front of him and accidentally clipped his knuckle on a brick. He watched Garrett lead them across the car park, just yards from the watchers and down onto the road where they had parked the black Lada earlier that morning. They got inside and Garrett pulled off slowly and obviously. The maintenance van pulled straight out after them, but the black Range Rover stayed put. Harper clamped his teeth together as he waited for it to make a move. “Come on, follow them you bastards.”