With no access to any of his father’s wealth, apart from the cash he had hidden away in Dubai, Ahmet had used the skills for flying to get rated on, IL-76, Airbus A300, and 747’s to enable him to feed his family by flying beaten-up cargo planes in and out Africa and Asia.
It wasn’t until 2011 when having gone into business with the pirate he had met in one of Bur Dubai hotel bars and was, by a happy coincidence, looking for a pilot to fly cargo in and out of Somalia that Ahmet had found his life picking up. So much so he was looking at buying an old 727 to add to the fleet.
Then earlier this year as he sat in his friend’s hotel in Borama having an espresso he couldn’t believe who appeared before his eyes.
The very person, who was known, though nobody had ever proved it, to have ordered the murder of his father, the famous Oligarch who had become a legend in Turkmenistan over the deal he had once done with his father when he had brought one of his whores, walked through the lobby.
“Allah, please allow me to avenge my father!” he had asked spitting on the floor in disgust at the time. Now it appeared such a chance was going to be granted.
When he first saw the cargo that was being loaded up, Ahmet had quickly worked out that his friend and his new Indian business partner were planning a possible coup d’état.
He didn’t care; he saw it as ‘Kismet.’ Deciding there and then he would kill the Englishman and in his eyes regain his family’s honor under the law of qan dushar, a term that means ‘blood reaches’ and a unwritten right still practiced by the tribes of Turkmenistan that allowed an individual with a common patrilineal ancestor who is not more than seven generations removed to seek revenge on the killer and their immediate kin.
The plans of Wasir represented a perfect opportunity for him to do so.
“We’re ready, Ahmet!” said his Bosnian-Croat Co-pilot.
“Right let’s get this show on the road,” answered the young Captain.
35
Moscow
On Thursday morning as Sergei Petrov and his driver pulled up to the gate of Litchfield residence in their black Mercedes Benz G Wagon, he chuckled as he caught sight of the standard FSB X6 BMW with its blue light on top sitting across the street.
It wasn’t lost on his driver either.
“I bet you one hundred Roubles he’s on the phone right now telling Dimitri Arkady that we are about to have a meeting with Blagorodnyy right now!” the tough looking Crimean said, referring to the Director of FSB and Thomas as the residences security team went about checking them over.
“Ruslan, Don’t be so horrible!” Sergei replied sarcastically with a smile before dismissing them from his thoughts due to being more interested in the professionalism of the men that were now inspecting the car.
Despite the both of them showing their state credential cards of the SVR, it was not lost on Sergei that they had taken their time and reconfirmed everything. Twice over!
“No lazy dreamers here!” he thought.
Over the last twenty-four hours, Sergei and his team had read a considerable amount of intelligence and analysis on Blagorodnyy’s organization. Made up with ex-military or policemen it was the sort of protection any high profile Oligarch would have. So it wasn’t this fact that had impressed him.
“This Englishman is certainly no ordinary Oligarch.” He continued.
“And, it isn’t because the British have awarded him a Military Cross either, despite the impressive account on how he had supposedly received it.” He concluded as he made notes.
No, what had really impressed Sergei was how he handled the attempt on his life by the ‘Moldovan Mafioso’ and again it wasn’t over how he handled the gun as the SAS were among the best in the world at training their men.
The way he had stood by the side of his wounded head of detail. Protecting him from the FSB and also, over the following years, taken care of the family of the young man who had died taking a bullet for him by taking an activate interest in his children’s lives by acting as their ‘Sendakim”. Proved to the Head of Zaslon that these weren’t the typical reactions of the spoiled, arrogant rich men that he had come across in life who overdosed themselves on the excesses of success.
“No!” he decided. “This is the reason why his team were completely loyal to him,”
For as far as Sergei was concerned it was this reason why they had never given away any valuable intelligence on his weaknesses and not just the theory promoted by the Analysts of the SVR “That he is extremely generous with his remuneration of them all!”
“Idiots! This man has fought with them! He is one of them!” he said out loud to himself in the early hours of the morning.
Having spent the last twenty years of his life fighting the Clans of Chechnya and Dagestan plus running his own teams the same way he certainly recognized Clan loyalty when it was presented to him.
It was that point he dismissed the synopsis before him and had gone to bed to get some sleep having decided he would call Alexei in the morning and ask him to arrange a meeting with the man so he could evaluate him face to face.
“Intelligence files only went so far, instinct was what saved you in the field.”
Security checks finished, the gate opened and in they went. Arriving at the house both men were met by the man they immediately recognized as his head of detail.
“Mikhail Olegovich,” Sergei said offering him his hand in respect one professional to another.
“Sergei Andreyevich,” said Mikhail responding in kind while taking his hand firmly before asking them to follow him into the house as his personal security team stayed outside with his men.
Mikhail handled the introductions as both men assessed one another.
“Sir Thomas, thank you for seeing us on short notice,” offered Sergei in fluent English that would have made a Newsreader on the BBC proud.
The fact that Sergei had chosen to use Thomas’s title an affectation something that a Russian and certainly not an officer of the SVR would never do with its links to the Imperial past had momentarily caught him off guard.
It was something, though not mentioned, that wasn’t lost on Sergei either.
“Happy to help Sergei Andreyevich,” Thomas answered, his composure restored.
When Alexei had rung and told him to expect him he was privately pleased. He had heard of the legendary Zaslon unit, but this was the first time he had actually met a member and certainly not the Director of them. This signaled that Alexei was taking his concerns seriously and not just giving him lip service.
“Sir Thomas, that is excellent! Although Alexei Nikolai has officially tasked me with the security of the Ambassador for his arrival next week,” Sergei started. “Because I am never one for the bullshit why don’t you tell me about what this Jawari has so we can assess what he needs and what we have got in the short time available!” he answered referring to the real nature of his mission.
Thomas quickly decided that he liked the man sitting across from him dressed like a British lawyer in his bespoke Saville Row suit with an understated tie.
“Please call me Thomas,” he offered towards Sergei just as Sgt. Tan walked into the study with black tea and coffee, earning a smile in return from the Director of the Zaslon as an acknowledgement as the old Ghurkha asked if he would like tea or coffee.
“I don’t suppose I could have some sweet English Breakfast Tea, please Sgt. Tan?” asked Sergei.
Again Thomas raised an eyebrow slightly by his use of Tan’s previous rank and at his request of a cup of tea the way all members of the British Army took it.