‘No need to sell it, Matt. If I can help I will.’
‘Are you sure? Nicole isn’t gonna like it. The last time you helped us almost killed you.’
Jack gave a little chuckle. ‘That’s putting it mildly. But fuck it, I’m in bro. What’s the plan?’
‘MI5 is focussed on the UK, but I believe the answer is international.’
‘Of course, it is. Whoever set this up is no muppet and they won’t be anywhere near the UK now.’
‘The money’s the key, Jack. Follow the money and we’ll find the people behind this.’
‘Okay. So I guess I’m off to the Balkans?’
Mathew smiled. ‘You’re booked on the midnight flight to Podgorica, Montenegro.’
Chapter Seventeen
Mathew had invited Jack to lunch at Vauxhall Cross’s restaurant. Jack had dined there in the past and despite it being a typical ‘executive dining facility’ it was indeed one of the best restaurants in London. Normally he would have enjoyed the opportunity of a great meal with his brother, but with a midnight flight looming, he needed to get home to Nicole.
The tube and train journey from the city to East Monkton had been swifter than the earlier one and, with no commuters, the East Monkton train was relatively quiet, giving Jack time to think about the mission he’d been asked to undertake. Mathew said the only real intelligence was the initial destination of the ransom payment and the information from the hostages, stating the ‘leader’ was American, or at least spoke with an American accent.
The burning of the Welsh farmhouse and the destruction of the helicopter to destroy all evidence, spoke to the ruthlessness of the person, or persons, behind the heist. He smiled to himself at the use of the American colloquialism. His thoughts continued. He was puzzled why the ‘leader’ had let the hostages go. Why free them to pass on information? He was obviously ruthless enough to murder his colleagues, but compassionate enough to let the civilians go. That was it… they were civilians. Whoever the leader was, he had a code, not your average hi-jacking terrorist. So maybe he was ex-military, maybe ex-security services? Who knows? And was he really an American?
Mathew had agents in America working that angle, but Jack had his own contacts in the States, and would call on them if need be. His focus, for the moment, was the Balkans and he’d definitely need some ‘specialist’ help there. He took out his smartphone, swiped the screen and found the number. It took several rings until a deep voice said, ‘Da?’
The service pulled into the little station at East Monkton, just after 2 o’clock. Only Jack and a couple of ladies, who’d obviously been shopping in the city, exited the train. The station was now un-manned, and the tiny booking office closed-up, replaced by a ticket machine. Jack found himself missing the cheery smile of the old guy who used to welcome everyone through the gate.
The lights on the Jaguar flashed as he pressed the key-fob. He climbed in and, for a few seconds, relished the new car smell. The big engine gurgled into life and he backed out of the carpark. A little under ten minutes later, he pulled up in front of the big house.
Nicole Elizabeth Orlova, was born of an English mother and Russian father. She and Jack had been together for over twenty years, the last four of which as husband and wife.
At thirty-nine years old, she had inherited her dead mother’s beauty and her father’s shrewd brain. In her younger years she’d been a very successful fashion model in Moscow, but now was a respected business woman with a chain of spas, and a very lucrative property portfolio in England and Europe. Her father was the billionaire Russian oligarch, Dimitri Mikhailovich Orlov.
She was in the garden snipping away at some roses bushes, her smartphone wedged between her cheek and shoulder, talking ten-to-the-dozen in Russian as Jack approached. She finished the call and slipped the phone into her shorts pocket, pulled off her gloves and dropped them and the secateurs onto the lawn.
Jack smiled at her outfit. Bare feet, cut-off denim shorts, a baggy white T-shirt and, with her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, looking ten years younger than her age.
As he kissed her he got the faint smell of Christian Dior. ‘Hi baby.’
She smiled and linked her arm through his as they walked back to the house. ‘You left early, Jack?’
‘Yeah, I had to see Mathew. He sends his love to you and the twins.’
She turned to him, a slight frown on her beautiful face. ‘Oh, well that’s lovely, but what did he really want?’
Jack looked sheepish. ‘Err, it’s just a little job in the Balkans. Nothing dangerous.’
She stopped and punched him on the arm. ‘The Balkans? You said you wouldn’t do any more work for Mathew. Especially after the last time, Jack.’
‘I know baby, but like I said, it’s nothing dangerous, just a few enquiries.’
She folded her arms and looked stern. ‘Enquiries? Right. Like I’m gonna believe that?’
Chapter Eighteen
The rest of the day was spent with Nicole and the twins. After supper Svetlana, the nanny, took the girls off to bed, leaving Jack and Nicole out on the big patio overlooking the lake. It was a warm evening and, even at this distance, the dragon-flies could be seen skimming across the still silvery water.
‘What time are you leaving, darling?’
‘Mathew’s sending a car. Should be here about nine o’clock.’
She looked at her watch, it was a few minutes past seven. ‘You’d better go on up and get ready then?’
‘There’s plenty of time yet, babe.’
She stood up, came over and sat on his lap, then wrapped her arms around his neck. Her voice had a husky timbre. ‘I really do think you should go up, Jack.’
He looked into her beautiful eyes and smiled. ‘I think you’re right.’
The car pulled up to the front of the big house a few minutes before nine. Nicole had wanted to come out to Heathrow with him, but Jack had said, ‘It’s fine baby. No need for you to schlep all the way out there.’
The young driver took Jack’s small wheelie and put it in the boot, then opened the rear door.
‘I’ll sit up front, son.’
‘Okay, sir.’
Jack turned to Nicole and held her face in his hands. ‘I’ll call you before I fly, and once I land.’
‘Be careful, darling. I love you.’
‘I love you too, baby. See you soon.’
She watched as the car drove to the gates and then returned his wave.
‘Take care, my love,’ she said quietly.
The Polish Airlines flight to Montenegro was delayed. The aircraft had developed a ‘technical problem’ but this was expected to be resolved within the next hour. He’d flown many of the world’s airlines and was used to such issues. Where once it never worried him now, with a family, he was more concerned about putting his life in the hands of faceless entities.
The Business Class Lounge was busy, and it was clear the flight would be full, that said he was tired and hoped to get some sleep once onboard. It was almost midnight when the announcement to board eventually came.
The flight took a little under three hours, and after what turned out to be a decent meal, served by the two very attentive and attractive stewardess, Jack did manage to sleep for an hour or so.
Golubovci Airport is one of two international airports in Montenegro and is situated about seven miles south of the city of Podgorica. The new Terminal 2 which opened in 2006 was to say the least impressive. Jack’s transition through immigration and customs was not swift, but, as no visa is required for British subjects, hassle free. He quickly made his way to the exit and was pleased to see dozens of taxis readily available for the short ride into the city.