A. Zander - Moscow City

“Operation?” said Varndon. “I thought you were just support. We already have an operation?”

“Yeah, support, sure. That’s what I meant. But we didn’t think it would hurt to get started. After all, we’re all on the same team.”

This time Varndon laughed. “Yeah, we’re on the same team, when it suits you people. When it doesn’t, the shutters come up.”

“Look, I’m not looking for a fight,” said Billy. “We got our orders and we’re sticking to them. No one’s out to take anyone’s glory here. So you wanna know what’s going down?”

“Course we do,” said Walker. “But aren’t we a little exposed up here? I know it’s out of season, but there were a few people knocking about back there.”

Billy nodded his head through the trees. “My guys are on watch. They’ll let us know if anyone’s coming.”

“Okay,” said Walker. “So, what’ve you got?”

“Vitsin is here.”

“How do you know that,” said Varndon.

“He came in by train on a false passport. We’ve got some people on the payroll down at the train station. They gave us the security tapes and we spotted him. He had some weak disguise on, but it was definitely him.”

“So where is he now?”

“We don’t know.”

Varndon moved and leant on the railings. “You don’t know? You mean you lost him?”

“We never had him. I’m just telling you that he’s here.”

“So how do you propose to find him? What tricks do you Americans have up your sleeves these days apart from chucking money at a problem? Check his facebook account maybe?”

“That’s cute,” said Billy. “Maybe I’ll put on a tuxedo and crash a tank through a wall. Or sit in a casino somewhere getting a tight asshole about how my drink is made. That’s what you motherfuckers do all day right?”

Walker stepped into the middle of Varndon and Billy. “Transatlantic tension. Interesting. I thought we were supposed to be fucking the Russians this week, not each other. Shall we start again?”

Billy shrugged. “We’ve got surveillance on his family and known close friends. Luckily, there aren’t many of those. He’s not much of a talker by all accounts. If he turns up anywhere there, we’ll know about it.”

“What about the Russians?” said Varndon. “I presume they’re watching too?”

“It’s safe to say they will be, but we can’t do much about that.” Billy turned and looked through the viewing platform’s telescope. “He’s out there somewhere. We’ve spun our own web now. We just need to wait for him to fly into it.”

Harper raised his empty glass and shook it at the barman. The young Kazakh ambled over, took it from him and poured him another beer. He took a banknote from Harper and threw his change down onto a plastic plate.

“Service with a smile,” said Harper, spinning around on his stool.

The Hotel Alma’Ata house band plucked at their guitars as they prepared to kick off the night’s entertainment. A tall Arab with tight denim jeans and a long ponytail took a swig of his drink and grabbed the microphone.

“Good evening Almaty!” he shouted, raising a round of whoops and cheers from the ragtag bunch of prostitutes, office workers and oil riggers lounging on stools around the bar. “Welcome to the Detroit Tiger !”

The classic rock exploded out of the speakers and the punters swarmed onto dance floor, grinding their hips and raising their glasses into the air. A burst of feedback scythed through Harper’s body and he arched his back as his nerves bristled.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” said a girl to Harper’s left. “Are you grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy,” said Harper. “It’s just not my kind of music.”

“What, you like dance music, all serious and no fun?”

“Something like that.”

“Sometimes, huh? What about a party? You wanna party with me? It can be cheap for you. You are young and good-looking, so only half-price. Sixty dollars.”

“You don’t waste time,” said Harper, feeling her hand on the inside of his thigh. He waved at Garrett, who had just appeared through some double doors at the back of the bar. The girl looked slightly despondent at having her pitch spoiled by the prospect of company.

“Any luck?” said Harper, as Garrett pushed his way through the writhing bodies.

“I’ve got an address for the parents.”

“Good man.”

“And I’ve got a car. Real piece of shit, but it was all I could get at short notice.”

“Perfect. A real piece of shit is better for our needs. Let’s go.” Harper slugged back the rest of his beer and placed the glass on the bar. He waited for Garrett to head off back towards the exit before he turned and gave his room key to the prostitute. She unfolded her arms and retracted her protruding bottom lip, before picking up her coat and walking towards the hotel reception.

“Thought I’d lost you there for a second,” said Garrett, as Harper emerged from the bar, Bon Jovi blaring behind him.

“Just settling up the tab.”

They got into the black Lada and Garrett pulled off, fixing his phone to the dashboard so he could see the GPS. “It’s not far, probably a couple of miles.” They drove up the hill until they reached a main road and headed for a complex of mirrored tower blocks.

“This is it,” said Garrett. “The second tower from the end.”

“Nice,” said Harper. “Katusev must’ve been paying him a good wage. Slow down a little, but keep driving.”

“What? You don’t want to go in?”

“Not today.”

“But, isn’t that what we came for?”

“Just drive past Garrett, don’t argue.”

They slowed to half speed and rolled past the building. The GPS beeped to indicate they had arrived at the destination and Garrett reached out to turn it off. He drove on a bit further and parked up in a supermarket car park next to a selection of expensive SUVs.

“So what was the point of that?” said Garrett.

“We’re not the only ones looking for Vitsin, remember that.”

“What, you think there might be people spying on the flat?”

“There were two groups surveilling that building. One was in a white maintenance van and the second had a black Range Rover.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m trained to spot these things. The important thing is not how I know, but what we are going to do about it. I think Vitsin is hiding out with one of his old professors. I need to get inside that flat to find out who the guy is.”

Garrett looked over at the tower. “So how are we going to get those surveillance teams to leave?”

“We need them to think the parents are leading a reporter to Vitsin.”

“And which reporter might that be?”

“Take a guess.”

“So you brought me out here as bait?”

“You’re getting a story aren’t you?”

“It’s not going to be much of a story if I’m not here to write it.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’ll be fine.”

Garrett started the engine back up. “So who else is looking for him?”

“I’m guessing one lot are the Russians. Probably FSB or maybe SVR.”

“SVR is their equivalent of MI6 right?”

“That’s right. But I’m guessing they’re more likely FSB. The same lot I bumped into the other day at Katusev’s house.”

“And who are the others?”

“That’ll probably be our boys. Or the Americans.”

“Holy shit. Are you comfortable with this?”

“Why not? We’re reporters looking for a story.”

“You’re a reporter now are you?”

“Tomorrow I’m a reporter. Today, I need a drink. Now let’s get back to the hotel.”