Hard Cover Page 17

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Arriving anywhere for a meet in unknown terrain with somebody you’ve never seen before carries its own dangers. People aren’t always who or what they’re supposed to be, or don’t always match the description given. They might also have their own suspicions and fears about the situation, so don’t behave the way you expect, either. Some are calm, some edgy, some look as if they might freak out and run the moment you say hi. Some don’t turn up.

  But some simply smell wrong from the start.

  I’ve been through the process too many times for it to be new to me, but there is inevitably a procedure to follow. If you can, you get there first and scout the area. You check routes in and routes out – especially the latter – and you put a mental tag on anybody who looks like they really don’t fit.

  The lake was called Avego and looked like any other patch of water where fishing was the primary activity. There was a kind of beach area, where trees had been cleared to give access to the water, and above that a tackle shop and a café/bar, with a big barbecue area out back. Rock music was blaring out from a speaker on the wall of the café, and if it upset the fishermen, who in my experience prefer peace and quiet, they didn’t seem too keen to complain. Not surprising when I saw the owner, a huge bearded wrestler-type with a heavy gut and arms like a bear.

  There was a hut with boats for hire, some with outboard motors. But that was it. It was hardly a mecca for tourists, and investors clearly hadn’t discovered it as the go-to place to build a marina and a watersports centre for up-and-coming rich kids from Saint Petersburg or Moscow. Even the weather seemed to agree that it really wasn’t worth the trouble, and low clouds over the lake and surrounding miles of trees were dark and heavy, as if to put off any idea of anyone being here for fun or leisure.

  I parked the UAZ and walked down to the water. I passed a few old men on the way, mostly wearing multi-looped jackets and carrying fishing poles, and figured this was as good as any place to meet; there was enough activity to look casual and if anybody here was working undercover, they were world-class actors and mostly way too old to be in the undercover business.

  A few boats were already out on the water, and a large buoy a hundred yards out from the shore looked like it might be used for floatplanes tying up. I decided to grab myself a coffee and some breakfast at the café, where I could watch Sedgwick come in and land.

  It didn’t take long. Two coffees and some scrambled egg and potatoes later, I heard the buzz of an engine and saw a couple of the old boys checking the sky. Minutes later a floatplane came in low over the water, then zoomed skywards and began to come around for a landing approach, before touching down with a hop and a skip.

  I watched a boat go out from the shore and tie up at the buoy alongside the plane. It brought back three men. The pilot was obvious; he wore a flying jacket, jeans and boots and the kind of face used for delivering bad news about weather, landing, taking off and pretty much anything else. The second man was balding, heavily built and looked like he might be going fishing if only he could find a rod. The third man couldn’t have been anything but British. He stepped out of the boat clutching a puffer coat and briefcase, and marched away like Montgomery at Alamein.

  I stayed where I was. And felt the hairs move on the back of my neck.

  I was busy watching the other two men. The pilot seemed to lose interest in his passengers immediately and turned to watch the boats out on the lake. Baldy was walking up the beach on a path diverging away from Sedgwick, but occasionally throwing a glance his way as if keeping him in sight. If he really was a fisherman, I figured the first place he would go to would be the tackle shop, to kit himself out for the day.

  But he didn’t. He slowed and loitered, pretending to be interested in an inflatable boat with an outboard motor. Lucky for me, being out in the open as he was, he stood out like a bull in a milking parlour.

  Sedgwick had picked up a tail.

  I took out my phone and dialled Sedgwick’s number. It was safe to talk because I was the only customer in the café and I could see the chef du jour cum owner was out back gutting fish. I didn’t want Sedgwick coming into the café, as that would target us both and I needed to get him away from his follower.

  When he answered, I said, ‘Keep walking, Robert. Don’t stop. Go towards the parking lot and turn right. Follow the path into the trees round the side of the lake and I’ll join you there. Don’t look back.’

  To be fair he tried. He’d slowed to take out his cell phone, then did a double-step when he heard my voice, trying to absorb the instructions and looking up towards the parking area. Then he continued on his way. It had been enough to tell anyone watching him where I was calling from, but I needed to make sure I hadn’t misread the situation. I was using him as a lead, but he wouldn’t know that. I figured his tail would want to keep him in sight to see what he was doing, and would soon react.

  And that’s what Baldy did: he lost interest in the boat and set off up the beach after him.

  I called Lindsay. ‘I have Sedgwick in sight, but he’s got company. Tell Vale. Sedgwick either talked about this to somebody or he’s being watched and somebody picked up on his movements.’

  ‘Is he in danger?’

  ‘Not from me. Vale might like to check his background, though, just in case. It could be nothing – an overreaction by the local FSB watchers to a consulate worker suddenly going out of town, something like that.’

  ‘Copy that. I’ll pass it on.’

  I cut the connection, dropped money on the counter and got a nod from the bearded man out back. I stood just inside the door studying a bulletin board while watching Baldy to see how far he would go.

  Correction. The pilot was in on it, too. He’d dumped any interest in the lake and had moved up to stand alongside Baldy. They waited to see where Sedgwick was going, then kicked off after him. No fuss, no overt signals, suddenly they were all focus. It told me all I needed to know; the way they had moved was too slick to be low-level embassy personnel watchers. These guys were serious.

  I went back to the car and picked up the Grach. I was hoping I didn’t have to use it. But carrying the silenced Val, although more useful, would be impractical if I was spotted by any of the fishermen in the area. Even they might raise more than an eyebrow at the idea of an assault rifle being used to catch freshwater fish.

  I ambled off after the two men following Sedgwick, and hoped their assignment was to follow and report, and not to do anything drastic before I got there.

  Sedgwick had picked up a couple of hundred yards start on me and was moving at a decent clip, which I put down to nerves. I’d noted the path as a meeting point on arrival; it followed the edge of the lake, which I figured was a good half-mile long and a quarter wide. If the path went all the way round it was a good distance to walk, and even better to lose the two heavies on his tail.

  I hit the trees and followed a parallel route, keeping the path in sight. I had no worries about the two men seeing me, as they were too focussed on Sedgwick to be checking their own backs. I also had them in profile against the water, so I could easily keep track of them and see them the moment they decided to make a move.

  Moving away from the beach and the café was like stepping off the planet. Apart from the occasional distant pop of a gun from up in the woods, everything else, the talk, the rock music and the hum of engines, were gone, deadened by the hiss of the wind in the trees. It was sombre, too, like being in a church. The conditions worked for me; if I managed to get Sedgwick away from Baldy and the pilot without any rough play, we could talk. On the other hand, if I had to deal with the two men, the quieter the surroundings the better.

  Once we got round the longest side of the lake I angled towards the water. It brought me to within fifty yards of the two men, who were walking along in file, like day trippers enjoying the scenery. Moments later my plan for a peaceful talk went down the toilet.

  The pilot snatched at his jacket and took out a cell phone,
and dropped back a few yards while waving at Baldy to keep going. He held the phone to his ear while giving what looked like a running commentary on their progress, shaking his head and gesturing towards Sedgwick and at the surrounding scenery. He even turned and checked his back trail, before shaking his head and stopping to listen to whoever was on the other end.

  Baldy, meanwhile, was now more than a hundred yards away. He looked like he’d been designated as the Number Two guy for the day and was simply keeping Sedgwick in sight while his colleague did the talking. He’d glance back occasionally to see where he was, but I got the feeling he was merely waiting for instructions to move. The most obvious point to me was, they weren’t trying to catch up with Sedgwick, but merely keeping him in sight.

  Waiting to see who he was meeting.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The path Sedgwick and Baldy were on had taken a turn away from the lake, where a vast pile of ice-age boulders had been thrown up, making access to the water impossible. From my elevated angle I could see the path narrowed here, too, twisting and turning through a jumble of rocks and clumps of vegetation. It was a great place for an ambush.

  Even as I thought it, the pilot took his phone away from his ear and reached into his flying jacket. When he took out his hand he was holding a gun. He began to walk faster, then shouted something I couldn’t pick up, before breaking into a run. Baldy, who was now even further ahead, heard him and also began to run, disappearing after Sedgwick down a slope in the path behind a clump of trees.

  The situation was easy to read: it had gone critical. They’d been given the order to move in and dispose of the problem.

  I covered the ground on the run, aiming for an interception point along the path. I was trying to avoid the tangle of brushwood and fallen branches as much as I could, thus alerting the pilot to my approach. But he was so intent on following orders he didn’t hear me coming.

  When he finally did cotton on, alerted by the loud crack of a branch I didn’t see, it was too late. He turned his head and slowed, his mouth forming a surprised ‘O’, and tried to bring up the gun and run at the same time. It didn’t work. I slammed into him broadside before he could aim, taking him off the path and over the edge into a gulley. He gave a yelp on the way down but it was muffled by his body spinning over and over.

  I skidded down after him, hitting roots and fallen branches on the way, and jumped down the last few feet to the bottom of the gulley. The pilot had lost the gun but came up fast, his face covered in dirt and looking murderous. He opened his mouth to shout a warning to Baldy, so I moved in and hit him hard in the side of the neck. He staggered back and tried to shout again, but all he could manage was a croak. It was obvious I’d hurt him. I dropped my arms and waited for him to come at me. He took the bait and rushed in, piling onto me with a flurry of punches and strikes that were a blur but ineffective, apart from one that made my ear sting.

  I waited for him to take a breath, then grabbed the front of his flying jacket and pulled hard. It wasn’t what he was expecting; fighters usually try to keep a distance and throw punches, as he’d been doing. Getting in close was counter-intuitive. As he came towards me I ducked my head and smashed his nose, then followed up with a piledriver to his midsection.

  He went down and lay gasping, his face covered in blood, then gave a shiver and lay still. When I checked closer I found a pool of blood spreading out from the back of his head. He’d hit it on a sharp rock and was dead.

  I went through his jacket and came up with a wallet. I stuffed it in my pocket. Right now wasn’t the time to check out his credentials; I had to see where Baldy had got to and stop whatever he was planning to do.

  When I came up out of the gulley, there was no sign of him or Sedgwick. The path here was like a rollercoaster, ducking and diving as it followed the contours of the land around the lakeside. I started to run, hoping Baldy hadn’t anticipated his orders and gone in hard after Sedgwick. It was tough going, mostly stubby grass with an underlay of hard rock and tangled tree roots, but beaten to a solid base over the years by the passage of many feet.

  As I rounded a corner I saw Sedgwick. He was kneeling in the middle of the path with Baldy standing over him, a gun pointed at his head. Sedgwick looked sick.

  There are times when the only reaction is action. No talking, no negotiating and no trying to go for the man. In any case I knew I’d never make it. All he had to do was pull the trigger. He couldn’t miss.

  Without breaking stride I brought up my gun and shot him.

  He was punched backwards off the path and rolled away into the long grass. I kept my momentum going, my gun aimed ready to make a follow-up shot if he came up fighting.

  But he was dead. My bullet had taken him in the throat.

  I did a couple of deep bends to catch my breath, then checked the body and came up with another wallet. I turned to see how Sedgwick was doing. He was sitting on the ground and shaking his head.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, then promptly threw up.

  I let him recover. Some events take you like that.

  When he was ready he stared at the man and said, ‘Who was he? What the hell is going on?’

  I checked Baldy’s wallet. It held cash, a credit card and a photo ID with a federal agency name and logo I’d never seen before. Jesus, had I just killed a cop?

  I tossed the wallet to Sedgwick and checked the one from the pilot. Same ID, same logo.

  ‘What is that logo?’ I said. ‘Is it official?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s a fake. I’ve seen it before. The logo says they’re the Federal Security Division for the Safety of the State. It’s meaningless. They’re actually a security contractor based in Saint Petersburg. They’ve done work in Iraq and Afghanistan, mostly using Russian veterans but pulling in others, too.’ He handed back the wallet. ‘They’ve been under investigation twice by the authorities but so far have been given a clean bill of health.’

  ‘Investigation for what?’

  He brushed some leaf mould off the front of his coat where he’d fallen over and picked up his briefcase. ‘The usual stuff: mafiya dealings, extortion and other criminal activity, some connected with certain government ministers and others.’ He wiped his face with a handkerchief and turned to spit into the grass. ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Oligarchs?’

  ‘That’s the old term now largely regarded as pejorative. The new ones especially are sensitive on the issue and like to think of themselves as serious businessmen.’ He pulled a face. ‘I believe the American mafia took the same approach.’

  At least it meant the two men weren’t FSB. But it begged the question how and why they came to be here in the first place. ‘Are you being watched for any reason?’

  ‘I’m always being watched. We all are. But I don’t fit the traditional mould of a British diplomat because I travel around a lot and meet a lot of ordinary people. I think it bothers them because they can’t explain it.’

  ‘Perhaps they think you’re a spy.’

  He shook his head. After a moment he said, ‘It’s not that. I have a local girlfriend.’ He shrugged. ‘To some that’s a lot worse than spying – it’s subversive.’

  ‘Well, good for you. But why these two and not the usual embassy watchers?’

  ‘Two? There’s another one?’ He looked around.

  ‘Your pilot was in on it.’ I jerked a thumb behind me. ‘He’s back there. He lost interest.’

  Sedgwick looked confused. ‘I’ve no idea what’s going on. Really.’ He scowled. ‘Although there was something odd this morning, at the airfield.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The usual taxi pilot, Andrei, didn’t turn up. The other man did and said Andrei was sick. Yet he was fine last night when I spoke to him, and he never misses the opportunity for a fare.’

  ‘And this one?’ I pointed at Baldy.

  ‘He acted like another passenger. It’s not unusual here to find yourself sharing rides. I didn’t think anything of it at the t
ime, although he didn’t seem exactly friendly. Most Russians are, believe it or not.’

  ‘I hear you.’

  I decided to get Lindsay onto it. It was a remote possibility, but if she could track down one of the names it might point to whoever had sent the men after Sedgwick.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘we’d better get out of here. You can show me the lake.’

  We covered up both men as best we could, using brushwood and handfuls of pine needles, then hiked back to the car. On the way, Sedgwick kept looking at me as if he wanted to say something. In the end I said, ‘It would be good if you said what’s on your mind, otherwise the tension will kill us both.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s just that I’m not used to this kind of … situation.’

  ‘Lucky for you. What is it?’

  ‘The men back there. Did you have to kill them both? I know the one with me was going to shoot – and I’m grateful, so please don’t misunderstand me. But was it strictly necessary with the other one?’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I didn’t set out to kill anybody. But there’s no point taking a bible to church if you don’t intend using it.’

  He gave a weak grin. ‘Is that an example of American home-spun wisdom?’

  ‘No. It is what it is. They weren’t going to take you back alive, and would have shot me without a second thought for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ I described seeing the pilot talking on the phone. ‘Just before I got to you he received orders from somebody which made him reach for his gun. He was also looking around a lot – and it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be followed; he was expecting you to meet someone. He didn’t know I even existed, so when nobody showed up he was told to dispose of you. There was no going back from that.’

  He stopped in his tracks. ‘But why me? I’m nobody. What the hell could they have against me?’