“I don’t know, I swear.”
Russell rammed Draganov’s arm up his back until he heard a crack. “Aaagh. You’re fucking crazy! You broke my arm.”
“We aren’t messing around Dimitar. You might want to search your little brain for some answers, because I have no problem with letting DC Russell here break your legs too.” Draganov cried out again as Russell twisted his arm to maximize the pain from the break.
“Look, okay, okay, just let go of my arm.” Russell eased off and Draganov doubled over in pain.
“Where are they?” said Cohen.
“The word is they are back in Russia. There was an exchange near Talinn.”
“An exchange? An exchange between who?”
“Between the Russians and your MI6.” Draganov smirked. “I thought you fucking pigs were supposed to know what happens to your own prisoners. You two must be real fucking plants. Kept in the dark and fed shit.” He started to laugh and Russell gave him a dig to the guts.
“Why did the Russians want them back?”
“That’s the wrong question DS Cohen.”
“What’s the right question?”
“You should ask why your spooks wanted to get them out of the country.”
“What are you talking about?”
Draganov wiped some blood from his lip. “You think a guy like the Princejust comes to London and sets up his organization without talking to your government first? He works for fucking MI6.”
“Ashansky?”
“Yeah, Ashansky. He runs a few guns for them and provides assassins when they don’t want to get their hands dirty. In return, they let him enjoy the bright lights of London without anyone bothering him. It’s beautiful man.”
“Is that what happened with Cavendish?”
“What, that fucking scientist guy and his friends? Word is your spooks got Ashansky to send Gershov over there to find out some information about some genius Russian kid that disappeared.”
“So why the fuck did Gershov kill them?”
Dragonov let out a squeaky giggle. “Have you met Yuri?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“He’s known for going a little too far sometimes. You know, the type of far where people get fucked up.”
A hundred different thoughts flashed through Cohen’s head. “So MI6 sent their own people to Russia to get captured on purpose? To facilitate the exchange.”
“Exactly,” replied Dragonov. “And they come back with some nice information on what the Russians know and don’t know too. Now can you get out of my fucking restaurant please before I call the police.” This time Draganov burst into a fit of laughter at his own joke. “Oh, and you should probably buy a new suit.”
“What would I need a new suit for?” said Cohen, standing up and walking towards the door.
“For the funeral.”
“What funeral? What are you talking about?”
“For the piece of shit undercover cop that put Ashansky in Belmarsh in the first place. Wherever he is, he’s finished.”
- Chapter 24 -
The Godfather
The gypsy cab pulled into the side of the road. Harper jumped into the passenger seat and stuffed all the money he had left into the driver’s hand. He tried Garrett’s number again, but this time there was no answer. As they approached the hotel, he opened the door and darted across the road down towards the entrance. He walked through the double doors into the reception and stopped, fixed to the spot. The normally bustling lobby was reduced to a few men scattered around the outside and the staff had disappeared from the reception desk. He took a few steps forward and stopped again.
“You’ve been a busy boy.” Harper turned towards the voice to see Varndon stood behind him with Walker to his side. He tried to get the measure of them and work out what kind of expat category they fitted into.
“Who are you?” said Harper, taking a few steps backwards and looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon.
“No one you know,” said Varndon.
“I figured that one out for myself,” replied Harper.
“But there is someone here that you do know,” said Varndon. “Someone that wants very much to talk to you.”
Harper searched his memory for the location of the lobby’s exits. If he could make the stairs, he could escape through the bar and out onto a road at the back. Walker seemed to follow his thought pattern and moved round to his right flank, blocking the route.
“Are we going to have a problem here?” said Harper.
“Oh you should’ve expected that Matt. It was inevitable. For my colleague here on the other hand, his problem is not so expected.”
Time seemed to slow as Harper looked from one man to the other.
Varndon pulled a pistol from his coat with the ease of a professional and pointed it at Walker. A stream of red hit the lobby’s marble floor as the bullet hit his skull and he slumped backwards into a crumpled heap. Harper lurched to his right and dived over the reception counter. He pushed his back against the wall and looked around for a door. The staff exit to his right was ajar, but there was a large gap in the counter where Varndon could get a clear shot at him.
“I’ll be leaving now,” said Varndon. “Enjoy your reunion.”
“What the fuck is he talking about…” Harper hissed to himself, rapidly pulling open some nearby drawers, searching again for something to defend himself. He looked towards the door again. It was the only option. His adrenaline spiked at the sudden sound of more people entering the lobby behind him and knew he had to move. He pulled himself onto his haunches and readied himself to sprint to the door. The aggressive Russian voices behind him got closer. And then one voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Get that little snake!”
It was impossible. There was no way… Ashansky.
- Chapter 25 -
The Yard
Morton picked his way through the scrum of reporters outside New Scotland Yard. They were gathered round a flunky from the press office, eliciting a steady stream of ‘no comment’ replies. He made his way to the top floor and into the meeting room where he had last seen Harper. Bailey was sat down making herself a coffee. “Morton, have a seat. This won’t take long.”
“Thank you Ma’am.”
“The Commissioner has asked me to pass on his admiration for how quickly you and your team have cleared up the Cavendish killings.”
“Cleared them up? But we haven’t even made any arrests.”
“Yes, I know. But I understand your main suspect is a Russian national by the name of Yuri Gershov?”
“That’s right. He was awaiting trial on assault charges and has skipped the country. We believe he’s back in Moscow.”
Bailey took a sip of her coffee. “And you are aware that Russia does not extradite its nationals to the UK?”
“Well, yes Ma’am, but…”
“Morton, you’ve done an outstanding job here, but the Russians are not going to hand Gershov over to us. The Commissioner will make sure the extradition request is filed, but in his eyes, the investigation is over.”
“What about Harper?”
“The UC operation is finished too. Bring him back as soon as possible.”
“Ma’am can I speak frankly?” said Morton.
“Please, go ahead,” said Bailey, leaning back in her chair.
“Did you read the report I sent you?”
“Yes. And the Commissioner has read it too.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Just because a low-level pimp says Gershov was working for MI6 doesn’t make it true I’m afraid.”
“Ma’am, I’ve given you good intelligence to say our security services used foreign gangsters to torture and kill British citizens.”