12.
IGOR AND SVETLANA
It was not only the press and broadcasting reporters who were trying to locate Marina Peters in Portsmouth. On the Thursday evening, the Russian couple despatched from the Embassy arrived in Portsmouth by train, with minimal luggage, and used the GPS map on their iPhone to find their way to Marina’s address in Southsea. It was a long walk, nearly 30 minutes, but it helped them to find their bearings in the city. Nearby, they spotted a large seafront house offering B&B Vacancies – not surprising since it was now October – and the proprietor welcomed them with open arms. Igor and Svetlana said they wanted to stay through the weekend, and she took them up to her best room at £100 per night – including breakfast between 8 and 9 am.
They quickly checked the wi-fi signal and then agreed to take the room, with twin beds and en suite bathroom – just what they wanted as their base for the next few days. They signed in as Mr. and Mrs. Ericsen from Sweden.
After settling in, they went out into the cool evening sea-breeze and began their reconnaissance of the area on their way to find a meal. They soon discovered a pizza restaurant and during their meal, they prepared a plan. This began by returning to a busy pub they had passed an hour earlier, where they soon merged with the crowd as they ordered a pint of best bitter and a cider.
“Where are you from?” asked the barman. They replied, in their heavily accented English, “From Sweden, and this is our first visit in this country outside of London. What goes on here?”
The group around them at the bar were intrigued by some new faces out of season and more interestingly, from overseas. They soon made them welcome, and between them, they provided a good briefing on places to see – including HMS Victory and the Mary Rose. This led to conversation about the Dockyard, and one of the locals interrupted and said, “Hey, have you seen the news this evening? It’s all been on the telly about a Russian spy in the Dockyard…”
The two visitors tried not to look too interested, but they encouraged the man to tell them more.
“Yeh. It’s all happening here,” he continued. “There’s a Russian ship arrived here, and a guy came ashore and was arrested by some spooks from MI5. And there’s a local girl involved, too – it was all on the TV news.”
Another man in the group chimed in. “They say the girl lives around here. She works for the Navy in the Dockyard and was arrested at the same time. So, she’s probably caught up in the spy thing as well.”
And a third added to the discussion. “I think I know her. A pal of mine told me about her earlier this evening. He lives in the same block of flats, and he says he thinks I met her there once. A good-looker too – reckon she’s one of those Bond girls, then?”
“Get your pal to bring her in for a drink, then,” said the first man.
The beer was doing the talking, and the group went on exchanging spy stories. Soon, the two visiting Russians had absorbed enough local gossip and they slipped away and walked back to their B to consider their next moves.
Next morning, after a full English breakfast, their first objective was to pay a visit to Marina’s flat. On the way, they passed a newsagent and found the Daily Star with its front-page story and picture, which surprised them with so much information. But it seemed to confirm the information they had heard in the pub. They were concerned that the man from the pub might recognise them if they went together to the block of flats, so Svetlana put a long dark wig over her short hairstyle, found a pair of spectacles and walked alone to the entrance which they had identified the previous evening. She tried to ignore the small group of reporters waiting by the front entrance and pressed the bell with the name of Miss Peters.
“I don’t think she’s there,” said one of the reporters. “We are waiting in case she comes back this morning. Who are you with?”
“Nothing to do with you,” replied Svetlana fiercely. “I am here on a business matter.”
This got the reporters’ attention, and they tried to get into conversation. “What business?” “Do you know Marina?” “Any idea where she might be?” But Svetlana ignored them, and when she got no response from repeated calls on the bell-push, she walked away and was joined by Igor who had been watching from a distance.
“What now?” they asked each other. The answer came when they saw a police car pull up at the flats and a uniformed officer went to the door carrying a brown cardboard box. He ignored questions from the press group but also got no reply from the entry system and went back to his parked car. Igor gave him a wave and walked up to the car; the officer wound down the car window. “Are you looking for Marina Peters?” Igor asked.
“Who wants to know?” said the young policeman.
“I’m a relative from London,” said Igor. “And I was very concerned that she might be involved in this Russian business on the news. I want to see if she is all right. Any idea where I can find her?”
“No – sorry,” came the reply. “The only other contact I have is her solicitor here in Portsmouth. He’s with Henderson Partners in mid-town, a Mr. Scott, I think.” He closed the car window and drove off, taking the box with him.
The two Russians quickly located the address for Henderson Partners on their iPhone, hailed a taxi, and followed the trail. At a modern city-centre office block, they saw that the law firm had offices on the first two floors, and the reception desk was manned. They were there in time to see the same police car driving away, and they went in together and asked for Mr. Scott. The receptionist asked the reason for their inquiry, and they volunteered that it was in connection with his client, Miss Marina Peters.
“He is not here at the moment” she replied. “But I was about to ring him anyway because I have just had this box delivered for Miss Peters by the police. Can I say who wants him?”
“We are her relatives from London, and we want to find out if she is all right,” Igor replied.
The receptionist dialled a number and then spoke. “Jeremy? Yes, it’s Sue at the office. It’s a bit busy here. The police have just delivered a big box for you which they said contains Miss Peters’ computer and mobile phone. I signed for it on your behalf. We’ve had the press here looking for you. And now a couple of her relatives have arrived from London, inquiring about her. What shall I tell them?
And turning to Igor and Svetlana, she said, “He says are you her parents?”
“Tell him no, but we are relations and would just like to see her, if possible,” said Igor.
The receptionist had a further conversation, then rang off and said, “Mr. Scott says he will be back in the office later and could you come here again at about 2 pm? He will talk to you then.”
They went away to a nearby coffee shop and ordered two Americanos. They were about to discuss their options when Igor’s mobile phone rang; it was their boss at the Embassy with some important new information. Some phone calls had been monitored that indicated that the woman was no longer in Portsmouth. They said they were working on discovering her new location and the two agents should stand by for new instructions.
13.
THE FARMHOUSE
While she was waiting for Jeremy Scott to arrive at the farmhouse on Friday morning, Marina called her father again. Victor Peters was relieved to hear from his daughter and to know that she was comfortably housed by friends for the weekend. He had now seen the news from Portsmouth on TV and in the morning paper and wanted to visit her as soon as possible; he said he was still perplexed by his call from the Russian Embassy in which they had asked to meet him to talk about his daughter’s involvement with the Lieutenant from the Admiral Essen. He was not sure what to do next but said he would return the Embassy’s call and then get in touch with Marina again. She said she had not yet seen the morning paper because she was “out in the countryside” and would probably get it later, but she was horrified when he said her picture was on the front page.