A. Zander - Moscow City

“I told you. I don’t know where he is and please don’t follow me.”

“You have to listen to me, professor, there are some ruthless people looking for Seva. You have to tell me where he is. It’s the only way you’re going to protect him…and yourself.”

Ruminenko dropped some of his papers as he searched around in his pockets for his car keys. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you. I don’t know where he is. Now leave me alone.”

Harper stepped aside and allowed the professor to get in his car. The Renault backed out and drove past a taxi rank and onto the main road. Harper got into a cab and shoved some money into the driver’s hand.

“Just follow that car.”

The driver turned down the chattering Cantonese on the radio and navigated the traffic, pushing past other cars when the Renault got too far ahead. The professor put his foot down as they hit the tunnel leading to Kowloon and the Chinese mainland. An orange glow filled the taxi as it increased its speed and kept the Renault in sight.

“Go to the toll booth on the end,” said Harper, as they emerged.

A few rows over, the professor tapped on the steering wheel impatiently. “Just let him overtake you,” said Harper, as they pulled off from the booth slightly ahead of Ruminenko. The professor kept his eyes on the road, unaware of the cab that had been following him across the city. They cruised along the highway until the Renault lurched off onto a slip road and entered the urban sprawl. Ruminenko drove for a few blocks and turned down a side-street, parking up at the entrance to a scruffy local market. Harper ducked down as they passed the car and drove to the end of the street. He paid the driver and set off in pursuit of the professor, who had disappeared into the throng.

“Cheap for you, cheap for you.” Harper put his finger to his lips as a trader spotted him approaching and waved a small Buddha statue at him. The message was ignored or lost in translation and the man persisted, pulling on Harper’s shirt as he walked past his stall. His sales pitch switched to anger as Harper slapped his hand away and shot him a hostile look. The nearby traders were watching and backed off. Harper stood on his tiptoes and looked around for Ruminenko’s shock of grey hair, but all he could see were locals. He went further into the chaos until he came to a crossroads. The market stalls stretched off in three directions. He stood looking around, but felt himself getting more desperate as he contemplated losing the professor. He span round ready to slap another hand as he felt a light tug on his shirt, but stopped when he saw a slight teenage girl looking up at him.

“You look for guilo?” said the girl, unintimidated. “You look for guilo?”

“The man with the grey hair,” said Harper, touching his head.

She nodded and held out her hand. Harper took some notes from his pocket and gave her a few, but she kept her hand where it was. He placed a few more in her palm and she reluctantly put them into her pocket.

“Cafe near tobacco stall,” she said, pointing down the row to the left.

Harper looked down the row. He could see a smoky haze surrounding one of the stalls in the distance. He started towards it, keeping an eye out for Ruminenko. The smell of flavoured tobacco seeped into his nostrils as he got closer. As he got a few stalls from the café, he looked over his shoulder and saw the girl with her hand again outstretched, talking to a group of foreigners. He ducked into a small shop and hid behind a purple banner covered in Chinese symbols. The owner paid little attention to him as he pretended to browse at the back. A steady flow of people floated past outside. Harper waited, looking through a small gap in the material, slowing his breathing. A European in a black jumper shot quickly past the shop and Harper struggled to see his face. He was closely followed by two more. Russians. Harper could see it in their features. Then a fourth man walked past and stopped directly outside the shop. Harper could only see the back of his head. He pointed his finger towards the café opposite the tobacco stand, signaling to the other men. Harper held his breath as the owner of the shop beckoned the man to come in and buy something. The Russian looked almost directly at Harper as he turned his head. This man he did recognise.

The newspaper seller spotted Lonaghan as he emerged from the underground. The American’s polish marked him out from the crowd. His posture was straighter. His skin was smoother. And then there was the hat. He grabbed a Daily Telegraph from the pile and handed over a few coins. He flicked through the first few pages as he meandered over the road. He remembered now why he hated this shitty little island so much. Forget the condescending attitude. It was the inability to understand that they no longer mattered that made them more insufferable. It was like having to placate a child that wanted to join in an adult conversation. The voice was loud, but everything they said was ignored. Lonaghan made his way through security and walked out into Alpha’s new domain. An overweight woman got up from her desk and greeted him in that annoying way some British people greet you, like they are apologizing at the same time.

“Mr Lonaghan, hello, I’m Sandra, welcome to our new home.”

“Hey, it’s great to be here.” He beamed widely at her. “I think I’m a bit early. Is John around?”

“Let me take you over.” Lonaghan took in Alpha’s new hive as he walked through the desks. Share prices and currencies flashed across large television screens mounted to the walls alongside government hearings from around the world.

“Pleasant trip?” said Alpha, walking out of his office to greet them.

“Right up until the point that I arrived at Heathrow,” said Lonaghan, following him in and shutting the door.

“There’s no need to be like that.”

“This country’s a toilet, I resent you for making me come here.”

“Making you? I didn’t make you do anything.”

“My guy in Kazakhstan tells me Varndon has done a little disappearing act. Are you trying to fuck me John?”

Alpha sat down. “No one is trying to fuck anyone. If Varndon has disappeared, he has his reasons for doing so. As soon as he gets in contact, you’ll be the first person I call. Take a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” said Lonaghan, picking up a pin badge from Alpha’s desk with a Stars and Stripes crossed with a Union Jack. “We’ve always had a good relationship John, but I can see what’s going on here.”

“And what’s going on?”

Lonaghan looked over his shoulder out at the office. “This new department must have cost some real dough.”

“And?”

“Your superiors may be looking for a return on their investment.”

“That’s not the way things work around here.”

“What, you’re commies now? Seems to me a big kill like Vitsin would look good for you right now.”

“I think you’re getting a bit paranoid.”

“Paranoia is part of our trade. I like to nurture mine. Keep it in shape.”

“Well, this time, I think you’ve let it run away from you a little.”

“Maybe so,” said Lonaghan. “Maybe I’m too paranoid. But then again, maybe I’m not.” He spun the pin badge round in his fingers and put it back on the desk. “The Russians have disappeared too. I suppose you don’t know anything about that either?”

“Nikolaev and his crew are murderous gangsters. That’s not the type of company I keep.”

“If you say so.”

Alpha’s face darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“Enlighten me. Please.”