A. Zander - Moscow City

“Drop it,” said Harper.

Nikolaev said nothing, keeping his finger on the trigger.

“Drop it!” shouted Harper.

Nikolaev looked at Harper with disdain before swinging the gun round towards him. The bang echoed in the narrow confines of the tunnel as blood covered the front of the car and Nikolaev slumped downwards. Harper slid back down onto the road and knelt down next to Vitsin. The sound of police sirens blared in the distance.

“We have to move.”

“The girl.”

“What girl?”

Vitsin pointed at the boot of the car. Harper rushed over, pushed the corpse of the agent back into the car and opened the boot. The girl was face down. He untied the rope binding her wrists and ankles and turned her over. She took a deep lungful of air as he pulled off the tape covering her mouth. She cried as she saw his face.

“Anya.”

There were less people in the seedier part of Waterloo. Morton hurried past the pubs and charity shops and towards the station. The smell from a cheap bakery wafted down the street, tempting customers into the shop. A tramp sat on the pavement trying to inhale a bottle of strong cider, stopping only to vomit before clamping his mouth back onto the neck. The Special Branch man sat reading a paper in the small park just off the crossroads. A couple of enthusiastic volunteers were pulling weeds from the flowerbeds as Morton walked in.

“You wanna go somewhere else?” said Morton, sitting down on the bench.

“No, I’ve seen them here before. They’re just gardeners.” The Special Branch man folded his paper and put it down. “Your man’s name is John Tremaine. But they call him Alpha.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s head of the Financial Security Division at MI6.”

“We have one of those?”

“We do these days.”

Morton picked up the paper and waved away some midges from above his head. “What else do you know about him?”

“I know he’s not someone you want to mess with.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s on his way up. Talk is that he’ll take over the service soon. You really want to be pissing off a guy like that?”

Morton watched the gardeners. “I’ve already pissed him off. I think it’s too late to worry about that.”

“Just be careful Morton. The people I asked about Tremaine. There was this, well, fear in their eyes. There are stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“One of the boys heard that his interrogations are pretty brutal.”

“Brutal how?”

“Instead of going to work on the subject, he prefers to bring in someone important to them instead. Apparently, he once brought in a guy’s elderly mother and sat her down in front of him. First he broke her arm with a baseball bat and then started to pull her teeth out with fucking pliers.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, Jesus. The nice old man act is exactly that. An act. These guys play a different game Morton. The rules can be…ambiguous.”

“Ambiguous? Where’s the ambiguity in killing your own agent and leaving a police officer to be murdered?”

The Special Branch man looked away. “It’s way out of order. I agree.”

“I appreciate this Jim,” said Morton. “And I won’t ask you for anything else.”

“It’s no bother. Anytime.” He picked up his paper and walked away towards the station. Morton got up and walked out of the gate over towards the theatres. He found an empty coffee shop and sat down, mindful of anyone that may be following him. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he sat down in the corner.

“Morton speaking.”

“Deputy Commissioner Bailey is on the line for you.” The phone clicked and buzzed as Morton waited to be connected.

“Morton?”

“Ma’am.”

“I’m only going to ask you this once. Why the hell have your detectives been sent to Hong Kong?”

“To help out a colleague Sir.”

“Matt Harper is not your colleague, do you understand that? He’s nobody. We’ve wiped his file. He never has existed and never will exist. I told you to back off from that case and you chose to ignore me. You’re suspended.”

“Suspended? You can’t do that.”

“I can and I have. And I’m warning you Morton. If you don’t get Cohen and Russell back here soon, you’ll be the one sitting in Belmarsh.”

Cohen and Russell ducked under the police tape and followed Detective Li further up the tunnel. The road was clear of traffic and the sound of the strip lights buzzed up above.

“They found another load of bodies up by the market in Kowloon,” said Li. “Some Russian professor from Hong Kong University and two unknowns.” He pulled out his camera phone and showed them some pictures of Ruminenko and the dead agents. “Either one of them this guy you’re looking for?”

“No,” said Cohen. “Neither one is Harper.”

Li waved his badge at one of the uniforms standing near the cars and turned back round to face them. “Just pretend like you should be here. Morton’s an old friend and I’m happy to help. But take a look at what you want quickly and let’s get out of here. I’d prefer if I didn’t have to explain you to my chief.”

Cohen walked over to the Land Rover and bent over to get a better look inside the back window. The gunman was still impaled on the shard of glass, his eyes staring blankly ahead. “It’s not him,” said Cohen.

Russell approached the front of the car, where Nikolaev’s body was still crumpled up inside. “There’s not much of this one’s face left, but it’s not him either.”

Li noticed the uniform speaking into his radio and walked over and started to talk at him in rapid Cantonese.

“Wait,” said Russell, beckoning Cohen over towards Nikolaev’s body. “I recognise this bloke. It’s the FSB hood from Moscow that shut down our meeting with Katusev.”

Cohen looked a bit closer at Nikolaev’s face and tried to imagine him with his cheekbone still intact. “You’re right.”

Li’s conversation with the uniform became more animated, both men pointing and shouting towards the end of tunnel.

“You think Harper did all this?” said Russell, keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know. That’s not a theory I’m planning on pushing with the Hong Kong police.”

“I think that’s wise.”

Li split off from his conversation and ushered them back towards the tape. “You need to get out of here now.”

“What’s the rush?” said Russell.

“There’s been a city-wide alert put out for two suspended British detectives matching your description.”

“We’re not suspended,” said Cohen.

“The alert says you are. The order is to arrest you on sight.”

“Jesus,” said Russell. “Who put out the alert?”

“The request came from London.”

A security guard was tapping on the window of one of the black Mercedes as Varndon walked out the front door of the British Consulate General. The sky had blackened and threatened to tip a deluge all over Hong Kong Island. Ashansky stepped out of the first car and peered up at the clouds. “Looks like a storm,” he said, leaning on the roof of the car and pointing upwards.

“Maybe,” said Varndon. “I thought I told you not to come here.”

“What? Are you embarrassed of us?”

“No. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come here.”

Ashansky grunted. “So, let’s walk.”

“Fine. Just move the cars will you. It looks like a bloody mafia funeral out here.”

Ashansky tapped on the roof of the car and they pulled off. The two men crossed the street and started down the hill towards Queen’s Road East. The Russian pulled out his sunglasses and put them on. “Nikolaev and his crew are dead.”