A. Zander - Moscow City

“No. I am a good customer for their weapons. That’s their only concern.”

“Do they know where their weapons are going?”

“They don’t care if they are being used to kill IRA or fucking Eskimos. They just want the money.”

“Sounds about right.”

Gershov whistled as a couple of backpackers wound their way down onto the beach. They retraced their steps, passing the chattering teenagers on the way and walked back past the jetty into an empty market square.

“He has to surface sometime,” said Varndon. “When he does, he’ll lead us to Vitsin. And then we need to take him out. No mistakes this time.”

Ashansky slapped Varndon on the arm. “You know, you are starting to remind me more and more of Yuri.” Gershov sniffed and spat the contents of his nose onto the pavement. “He’s also a ruthless bastard.”

“It’s just a shame your snappy little pet doesn’t always do his job.” Gershov moved forward and Ashansky put his hand up to hold him back.

Ashansky laughed. “Be careful Mr Banker, he bites.”

Varndon turned his head as he walked off down the road. “If you lose Harper again, you’ll find out how ruthless I can really be.”

Harper threw the newspaper into the bin and sat down on a wooden bench. He closed his eyes, but the image of Garrett and his young family was seared into his mind. Reporter Danny Garrett, 28, murdered. Harper punched down on the bench, cutting his knuckle. As he watched the blood trickle over his fingers, his phone rang in his pocket.

“Harper, it’s Morton. Thank Christ you’re alive. Where are you?”

“I’m in Hong Kong.”

“Listen, Harper, things have changed. We need you to come home.”

“You’re not joking things have changed.”

“The operation’s been compromised. Just come back.”

“I’ve just been shot at by people I spent a year trying to put behind bars. Is that what you mean by compromised?”

“Ashansky and Gershov work for MI6 Harper. They killed Cavendish and now they’re after you. You have to listen to me and get the hell out of there.”

“Does the Commissioner know all this? Bailey?”

“They shut us down. They haven’t got the stomach to fight Vauxhall Bridge.”

“Have you?”

“What are you talking about?” said Morton.

“I’m not coming back. I’m not finished here.”

“Harper, it’s over. Forget about Vitsin.”

“It might be over for you Guv, but not me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw one of our gentleman spies shoot his partner in the head a few days ago. Do you really think they’re going to let me walk the streets in peace?”

“We can protect you.”

“Can you protect me against Ashansky too? And what about the Russians? They’ve already killed a friend of mine, do you think they’ll stop there?

“You’ve got more chance here than you have there. Just come home.”

“I haven’t got a choice guv.”

“Harper, please, don’t do this. If you come back, the force can protect you. If you start pursuing some crazy revenge mission, they’ll deny they ever knew you.”

“And those are the people you want me to trust with my life?”

“Come back. Please.”

“I’m sorry guv. I have to finish this.”

Harper chucked the phone in the bin and set off across the courtyard. He attached himself to a group of students and walked the faculty corridors until he arrived at the lecture hall. He pulled down a squeaky seat at the back and waited. Students filed in, some speaking Cantonese, some Mandarin and some English. The blood on his hand had dried. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. But thoughts of Garrett fought their way into his mind, mixed in with an even worse darkness.

Kill him Misha.

A loud crackle of feedback from the speakers snapped him out of it and he sat up as a heavily-built man with slicked back grey hair marched onto the stage and clicked on his Powerpoint presentation. Harper watched as he scolded a girl in the front row for talking on her mobile phone. He stood scanning the rest of the crowd for any more offenders before stepping back up onto the stage.

“Ruminenko,” said Harper, under his breath. “I found you.”

Cohen opened his front door as Morton pulled into the drive. He looked up and down the road for any other cars, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Morton clicked his key fob at his car and walked past him into the front room. He shook hands with Russell, who was sitting nursing a cup of tea.

“You okay Guv?” said Cohen.

“Not really. I’ve just spoken to Harper.”

Cohen sat down in an armchair. “When is he coming back?”

“He’s not.”

“He’s not? I don’t understand.”

Morton pulled back the curtain to look out of the window. Cohen’s neighbor was knelt down pulling some weeds out of a flowerbed, but the rest of the street was quiet. “Have you had your place swept?”

“I did it myself. It’s clean.”

“Russell?”

“I got someone in from another force. Someone good. My place is clean too.”

Morton nodded and folded his arms. “He doesn’t think he’s going to be safe if he comes back. There are a lot of people that want him dead.”

“We can’t just leave him hanging out there,” said Cohen.

“I know,” replied Morton. “I want you two to go out there and find him. Try to talk some sense into him. I have some friends in the Hong Kong police that owe me a favour. They’ll help you out.”

“Are you coming with us?” said Russell.

“No. I’m going to try to track down whoever is responsible for all this at Vauxhall Bridge.”

“Is that wise now the top brass have washed their hands of it?” said Cohen.

“What else do you suggest? They’re out their trying to kill our boy and I’m supposed to sit back and do nothing. A criminal is a criminal whether they’re on Her Majesty’s Secret Service or not.”

“You’re right Guv. Just be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just get out there as soon as you can and bring him back. I’m not going to hang Harper out to dry just because some politician plod has lost his bollocks.”

Harper watched as the students buzzed around Ruminenko at the end of the lecture. The old man picked off their questions and sent them on their way before starting to gather up his materials. Harper stood up and walked down the steps towards him. He was tall and wore a shabby suit. He glanced at Harper as he got closer. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.”

Ruminenko stopped what he was doing and turned to face him. “You don’t look like one of my students.”

“I’m not.”

“Then, who, may I ask, are you?”

“My name’s Matt Harper. I’m a police officer.”

“And British? What does a British police officer want with me?”

“I need to find Seva Vitsin.”

Ruminenko tried his best to look surprised, but Harper could see this was a situation he had been expecting. “Seva? I haven’t seen him for years. I’m afraid if you want to find him, your best bet is probably Moscow.”

“Professor, please. He is in danger. And so are you.”

“I would love to be able to help you officer, but I really have no idea where he is. Now if you would excuse me, I am a busy man.”

“Professor, wait, please.”

Ruminenko placed the remainder of his files into his briefcase and rushed off towards the exit. A couple of students were still hanging around outside the lecture hall and followed him up the corridor. Harper made his way outside and stood next to Ruminenko’s Renault. The professor looked hassled when he pushed open the double doors and made his way across the car park. He only noticed Harper when he got close to his car and a flash of anger crossed his face.