A. Zander - Moscow City

“You know Matt. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“No? Well, I can’t say I agree with you on that one.”

“You should come with me to the airport tomorrow morning. Forget about those people and start a new life somewhere.”

“And what about Seva?”

“Seva is not your responsibility.”

“I know. That’s why I have to make sure he’s okay.”

The deepest depths of the Wan Chai district seemed the safest placed to be with the police combing the city looking out for their faces. You could hide in an area like this for months, even years, and sometimes a whole lifetime and plenty of men did. The girls gave up on Russell after he smiled politely and refused a second advance. They clustered around the bar, looking expectantly towards the door for more customers, but it was still too early in the day. An Asian man and a few American office workers were scattered around the bar watching the stripper slither around the pole in a fluorescent mini-skirt. Cohen stopped to buy a round of drinks for the girls as he walked back in from the street.

“Friendly?” said Russell.

“Very friendly,” replied Cohen.

“How much do you reckon?”

“I didn’t ask,” said Cohen, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You know it doesn’t seem as seedy out here. It’s all sort of, out in the open, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Did you speak to Morton?”

“Yeah, I managed to get him at home, but he was pretty jumpy. Gave me the number of a phone box and told me to call him back.”

A new girl came through the side door and made a beeline for their table. She hopped onto Russell’s lap and giggled, rubbing herself against him. He laughed nervously and managed to untangle her arms from around his neck, lightly ushering her off in the direction of another customer.

“Anyway,” continued Cohen. “Harper’s been in touch with him. He wants us to meet him, tonight, on the last ferry to Macau.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No. That was it.”

The stripper came to the end of her act and stood naked for a few seconds on the stage, her arms outstretched and her palms facing upwards, accepting the sparse applause. She gathered her clothes and walked off through a curtain, immediately replaced by one of the girls from the bar.

“What did he say about the suspension,” asked Russell.

“It’s true. We’ve been relieved of duty.”

“Morton too?”

“Yeah.”

Russell rubbed the underside of his chin. “So they want us to come back?”

“Yeah, Morton is in hot water, but as far as they’re concerned, we were just following orders, so if we go back, we’re off the hook.”

“What do you want to do?”

The barman came over with another coffee and a bottle of Singha beer. Cohen ripped open a packet of sugar and poured it into the cup. “Well, it takes time to arrange a flight. I’d say it’s unreasonable to expect us to fly back before, well, at the earliest, tomorrow morning.”

“Just in time for a small trip to Macau then?”

“I don’t see why not.”

The black Mercedes parked up opposite the terminal. The smell of saltwater crept through the vents. Varndon and Ashansky sat in the back, watching the passengers file in and out. The red ferry sat docked in the harbour, its engines running slowly, spewing out a steady stream of white water. Four of Ashansky’s men, dressed in business suits, walked past them and headed towards the entrance.

“Where are they going to be?” said Varndon.

“They’ll be close,” replied Ashansky.

“And if Harper spots them?”

“He won’t. They’re professionals.”

“So is he. Have you heard from Gershov?”

“He’s sweeping the terminal. If Harper’s planning on bringing any back-up, he’ll sniff them out.”

The flow of passengers started to increase. Varndon leaned forward. “We’re going to have to leave or we’ll miss it.”

Ashansky looked at his phone. “Okay, let’s move.”

They crossed the road into the terminal and fell in behind a crowd of revellers. The ferry had two decks. Varndon looked around for any sign of Harper and Vitsin. Ashansky nodded to the far corner of the lower deck. Gershov sat with a coat on his lap. Opposite him were Cohen and Russell. The barrels of two pistols jutted out slightly from under the coat.

“Looks like he’s on his own now,” said Ashansky. Gershov nodded his head towards the upper deck, pointing them in the direction of Harper and Vitsin. The automatic door clicked and closed behind them as the engines kicked into gear, propelling the boat forward. Ashansky followed Varndon to the front of the ferry and up to the second level. The deck had space for around 150, but was only half full. A noisy group of high school kids shouted at each other across the middle aisle and some English partygoers laughed, downing cheap bottles of Japanese beer.

“There they are,” said Ashansky, pointing at the other end of the boat. His men were sat nearby, reading newspapers, blending in with the crowd. They walked down the aisle, taking in the passengers, mindful of any trap. Vitsin watched them approach, while Harper looked out of the window.

“May we join you,” said Varndon, sitting down. Ashansky’s eyes bored into Harper’s and Varndon kept a covetous watch on Vitsin.

“Your friends from London won’t be joining us,” said Ashansky. Varndon wiped some steam from the window and looked outside. “I have to say I expected more from you. It’s a shame.”

“Look at him,” said Ashansky. “Little Mishka is out of ideas.”

Varndon raised his hand to let Harper speak.

“Can we talk alone?” Harper said, looking at Varndon.

“Of course. Let’s go out on the deck.”

Ashansky looked on suspiciously as Varndon followed Harper through a side door and out into the open air. The boat skipped along the water past a rusty barge. They walked to the back of the deck and leant on the plastic railings.

“You can have Vitsin,” said Harper. “He’s not my concern.”

“I know we can,” replied Varndon. “It’s definitely not your concern.”

“I want an assurance that neither you nor Ashansky will come after me once we step off this boat.”

Varndon laughed. “And why would I give you that?”

“To buy my silence.”

“Your silence? Your silence on what exactly?”

“On what I saw in Almaty. On everything.”

“I think you’ve lost it completely.” Varndon leaned in closer to Harper. “I know all about your therapist visits. I know about the booze problems, the drugs, the nightmares.”

“Is that right?”

Varndon produced a piece of paper from his trouser pocket and started to read aloud: “ Patient has experienced severe panic attacks and anxiety. Post-traumatic stress a distinct possibility. Patient’s tendency to downplay symptoms must be discouraged. Fitness for continued employment questionable .”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“We know everything about you Harper. You think I’d turn up here without knowing what makes you tick?”

“I suppose not.”

“Whatever you had planned with those dull-witted friends of yours downstairs is over. And you’re over. Vitsin belongs to me now…and you belong to them.”

Ashansky and one of his men walked out onto the deck. Varndon walked away and ducked back inside the door. “You were very convincing you know,” said Ashansky. “I never once suspected you were a pig, despite Gershov’s warnings.”

Harper said nothing.

“And Ksenia really loved you. But she is broken now. You left my beautiful daughter broken.”