Authors: Alex Shaw
“Think of her future, man.”
“You have no future! Her future is here with me!” Kopylenko took a step forward. “Don’t you understand? Now I can offer her the best. The Best! I have power, I have respect. I am no longer a simple officer from Donetsk.”
“No you are a puppet.”
Kopylenko struggled to control his anger and switched back to Russian. “Take them outside to the van. We shall move them to the woods and finish this.”
Snow started to move but stopped when the Glock was aimed at his forehead. At point blank range he had no chance of avoiding a round. There was a tense silence which was broken by the Nokia ringtone.
Kopylenko pulled his phone from his pocket. “Da? Suka!” He swore. “Ruslan Fedorovich’s is early. Move them quickly.”
Budt nodded. “Ok.”
Kopylenko left the room. Budt smiled, the Glock still trained at Snow’s head. He now spoke in English, the accent all but incomprehensible. “Move now, up step. You one, you two. Now.”
“Do what he says Brian.”
Blazhevich had watched the owner return home in his dark green Bentley Continental GT. A long legged brunette had been in the passenger seat. The woman was not Imyets’ wife. Blazhevich was getting more and more concerned for both Snow and his SBU investigation. He retrieved his mobile and started to dial Dudka’s number when he saw a three car convoy approach the house. The lead and the last vehicle were matte black Mercedes G Wagons, most definitely AMG versions and most probably armour plated. The middle car was a piano-black Maybach 57S. There was something familiar about the convoy and Blazhevich frowned as he tried to remember who favoured that particular set up. The large gates opened once more and all three cars entered the courtyard. A bodyguard from each of the G-Wagons alighted, only then did a third suited man step out of the front of the Maybach and open the passenger door. A tall white haired figure dressed immaculately in a slate grey suit stepped out.
“Valeriy Ivanovich Varchenko” Blazhevich said to himself quietly as if not quite believing his own eyes. What was he doing here? Varchenko was a former KGB General and had been awarded the title ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’. As Director Dudka’s boss back in the days of the USSR he had remained one of the man’s oldest friends. He was a member of the elite group nicknamed ‘Nedotorkany’ - ‘the untouchables’, oligarchs who played both sides of the law and as such were above it. They were friendly with Presidents and bandits alike. Blazhevich had met Varchenko, he didn’t like him much. Whilst Blazhevich tried to make sense of what he saw the men moved into the house.
In the study Imyets had poured himself a large Cognac and was swirling it around in the bulbous glass as he listened to Kopylenko explain his presence. “Do you take me for a complete fool Pavel? Do you not think that I am aware of the petty racketeering that you and your men engage in under my protection?”
“No Ruslan Fedorovich.”
“I make allowances for your little indiscretions, I even allowed you to go after this Englishman because I am a father, I have a heart and because in the past you have served me well. But now you bring him here, to my house? You bring your dirty laundry here to be cleaned?”
“I intended no offence, Ruslan Fedorovich. I am sorry.”
Imyets downed the cognac then clicked his fingers. The brunette woman re-filled his glass. “Do you not see what you have done? You have signed their death warrant.”
“But they have seen nothing…”
Imyets screamed. “Shut up! I cannot take that risk. I cannot let them leave this place. Do you not understand what I have here?”
Kopylenko had no idea what Imyets was talking about, to him it was just a house but his pride was such that he would not let on. “I am sorry…”
“Is that all you have to say? Pavel I trusted you, I offered you a real chance. Did I not bring you and your men to Kyiv with me?”
It was a rhetorical question but Kopylenko answered. “Yes you did.”
Imyets drank some more then rolled his head from side to side. He had made a decision, he had no choice. “Pavel, you are sorry and I am truly sorry also. If only it had not ended like this.”
Kopylenko was confused but realised that his life was in danger. “Ruslan Fedorovich please…”
“Bring in the Englishmen.” Imyets ordered. The brunette nodded crossed to the door and several seconds later re-appeared with Budt, Webb and Snow. Imyets switched to English and pointed at Webb. “You are the husband of his wife?”
“Er yes.” Webb frowned.
“Who are you?” Imyets now pointed at Snow with his glass.
“His friend.”
Imyets nodded. Placed his glass on his desk then opened a drawer. From this he produced an Uzi sub machine gun. “Say hello to my little friend!”
Snow’s eye widened, Webb started to shake and the woman screamed. Imyets roared with laughter. “Do you really think that I would use this, in here, with all this hand crafted oak? No, even though it would make much less mess than an M203. So the question is what happens next?”
Snow held eye contact with the Politician. “Your men open the door and we go home.”
Imyets shook his head. “No. It can-not happen. Pavel has made a mistake and I am sorry that all of you will pay.”
Budt stepped forward and placed his Glock against Kopylenko’s temple. Imyets picked up his glass and drank again. Snow and Webb stood motionless.
“No Officer Budt, do not do it here. You may ruin the rug. Just hit him.”
Before Kopylenko could make any protest his former underling whacked him in the temple with the Glock and he instantly fell limp to the floor.
“Take him away. I shall call you with further instructions.”
“Yes sir.” Budt leant down and scooped Kopylenko up and over his shoulder.
“Now back to the Englishmen.” Imyets sipped.
The doors to the study burst open to reveal Valeriy Varchenko. “You keep me waiting Imyets?”
Imyets smiled and raised his arms. “Business calls General. I am sorry but I have just been attending to a small problem.”
Varchenko strode across the room then abruptly stopped when he saw Snow. “What is happening here?”
“These two men broke into my house. As you can see the Militia have made an arrest. I believe that they may have stolen some of my papers.”
Varchenko fixed Imyets with an icy stare. “You will let these men go. They are under my protection.”
“But General, they are under my roof.”
“Yes and they are under my Krisha!”
Imyets looked confused. Even he dared not contradict Varchenko, a man who the President respected highly. “Then that is what I shall do Valeriy Ivanovich.”
“Good.” Varchenko turned to Snow. “Go home Aidan.”
Snow nodded and grabbing Webb’s arm hustled him out of the room.
Varchenko returned his gaze to Imyets. “Now are you going to insult me further by making an old man stand and not providing him with a drink?”
“Of course not, please.” Imyets gestured to a large leather armchair.
“Thank you.” Varchenko sat and the brunette brought him a glass of cognac. “Now a toast before we move onto more serious matters. Za nas, za vas, e za Donbas!”
‘To us, to them and to Donbas’. Imyets approved of Varchenko’s words.
Snow guided Webb into the hall and out of the front door. As he did so several large men in dark suits looked on impassively. Imyets own men however did not look pleased.
“Are you OK to walk?” Snow asked his friend as he helped him down the steps to the courtyard.
“I may be fat, bloodied and nursing a hangover but I am not a pensioner.”
When they reached the gate it was opened for them. They stepped outside and it immediately shut. Snow breathed out a sign of relief. Webb slapped him on the back. “You did it Aidan, you got me out. But why did they let us go?”
“General Varchenko, I helped him once.”
“You’re a very helpful bloke aren’t you Aidan?”
Snow chuckled. “Come on we’ve got to move. This way, towards the woods.”
“You want to take me on a teddy bear’s picnic?”
“Silly Sod.”
Blazhevich waited around the corner by a path that led into the woods. Snow climbed into the front of the Passat and told Webb to get into the back.
As they moved off Blazhevich passed a can of beer to Webb. “You look like you need a drink.”
“You must be my guardian angel.” Webb pulled back the ring-pull and gulped down the Obolon.
After Snow had handled the introductions he said to Blazhevich, “I don’t understand why Varchenko was there.”
“Neither do I Aidan. I have no idea why, but you are lucky that he was.” Blazhevich was also struggling to understand what all of this meant for his on-going investigation.
Snow thought back to the last time he had met Varchenko. It had been four years before and Snow had prevented a paramilitary group from relieving Varchenko’s bank of ten million dollars. Snow had been injured in the assault and Varchenko had visited him in hospital to give his thanks.
“Here, call your wife.” Blazhevich handed Webb a mobile phone.
“Thanks, I’ll just finish me can first or she’ll smell the beer.”
Snow looked at Blazhevich. “Did you see where they took Kopylenko?”
“Who?”
Snow explained as Webb spoke to Katya.
“I saw a Militia van leave a few minutes before you appeared. It was going deeper into the village.”
Webb reached forward, handed the phone back to Blazhevich and then quickly grabbed Snow’s head. He kissed him on the cheek. “That’s from Katya.”
“I won’t ask if I get one.” Blazhevich kept his eyes on the road as they headed back towards the city centre.
Snow wiped his cheek with his hand in mock disgust. “We need to go after Kopylenko. Imyets means to get rid of him.”
Webb shrugged. “He is Ana’s father after all, even though he is knob-head.”
Blazhevich would have used a stronger term. “There is also the small issue of kidnapping but I agree, we need all the Intel we can get on Imyets. I’ll get the boys back at HQ to ask officers Brovchenko and Klyuyevs if they have any idea where Kopylenko may have been taken.”
“Please do more than ask.”
“Aidan, we are not going to water-board them.”
“Pull over.” Webb pointed. “There’s an Opteka there and I feel like me skulls splitting open.”
The Passat left the Zhytomyrska highway and glided into the bus station that served long distance travellers. All three men got out. The car was not parked in an official bay but its SBU number-plate would avoid any fine or complaint.
“Can the SBU lend me some cash?”
“Here.” Blazhevich handed Webb a two hundred Hryvnia note. He then shook his head and gave Snow one too. He retrieved his phone and stepped away to call HQ.
Webb gestured at a stall selling draft beer, snacks and water. “Get the drinks in lad, I’ll be back in a mo.”
Snow ordered two cans of ‘Burn’, a couple of ‘Nuts Bars’ and a half litre of Lvivski beer from the overly attractive girl and sat on the long green wooden bench seat that was affixed to the front of the concrete building. As he drank the energy drink and munched the chocolate he saw Blazhevich gesticulating into his phone and then to his right he heard raised voices.
He glanced over. A thin drunk was waving his arms at a chubby woman who also appeared the worse for wear. She told him ‘where to go’ and stormed off, her tight jeans barely concealing her large buttocks. The drunk caught Snow’s gaze and raised his plastic beer glass. Snow looked the other way but the man was not dissuaded and shuffled over.
“Where are you going?” The man asked in Ukrainian
Snow looked up. “Nowhere.”
The drunk laughed and tapped his chest. “Sergey.”
“Sasha.” Snow gave a false name; Aidan would mark him out as a foreigner.
Sergey swayed and then sat. “That woman you saw me with, she is a professional. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Sasha, did you like her? I could call her back. A real professional.” He laughed and spilt some of his beer on his dirty jeans.
“He is a professional too.” Snow pointed to Blazhevich who was walking towards them.
“Whatever you like you like.” Sergey seemed puzzled and moved away.
“I think we’ll have an address soon.” Blazhevich stated as he sat.
“How soon?”
“Ten minutes perhaps. Where is Webb?”
Snow was suddenly worried but then relaxed as he saw the Yorkshire man nearing them carrying a plastic shopping bag.
Webb pointed at the beer. “Is that for me?”
Blazhevich looked him up and down. “You really need to get some medical attention.”
Webb dropped down heavily next to them. “I’m gonna start now.” He retrieved a bottle from the bag. “Dr Vodka.”
“I’m serious Brian.”
“So am I.” Webb reached into his bag again and produced two packets of pills. He then proceeded to pop three ibuprofen and two paraceatamol tablets. These he washed down with the vodka straight from the bottle. “Ah that’s better.”