Alex Shaw - Hetman - Donetsk Calling

“Time to go.” Snow checked his watch it was almost midday.

Blazhevich nodded. “No heroics just see what you can see.”

Snow smiled. “I’m not a hero.” He shuffled away from the window to the back of the church and opened a bottle of beer. He took a swig and poured the rest into his hand and rubbed it over his face, letting some run onto his day-old polo-shirt. He then picked up two bottles of whiskey and left the church by the rear exit. He walked into the woods behind turned right and found a path; it brought him back to the street but further up the road and around a bend, out of direct line of sight of the target address. He started to walk and as he did so he made sure to adjust to gait to that of someone who clearly had been drinking. As he rounded a bend he saw the house and immediately crossed the road, heading directly towards it. The house faced the road and had a two meter high brick wall surrounding it. There were no signs of exterior security except for the large ornate metal gate that acted as an entrance. The house it’self was three stories tall and was built of red brick. In comparison to the other overtly ornate or ugly houses surrounding it, the target seemed quite tasteful. Snow rang the doorbell then stared into the small camera he now saw mounted slightly above.

There was a pause and then a voice asked in Russian. “What do you want?”

Snow started to prepare his Oscar acceptance speech. “Eric you wanker! I’m back in town and I’ve brought two friends!” Snow held up the bottles to the camera. “Come on you German Gay-Lord open the door and let’s get drinking!”

There was a hiss of static before a voice answered in faltering English. “Eric no here. You go.”

Snow needed to get into the house, he’d see nothing otherwise. “Eric open the door and stop being a poof! Come on, my two friends here are getting impatient!”

There was a slight buzzing sound and a click. The gate opened and Snow stepped inside. It was closed behind him by a large figured in a black t-shirt and urban combat trousers. He looked at Snow then pointed to the front door. Snow surreptitiously looked around. He was standing in a large paved courtyard. The house was directly ahead; to the left was a slope which led down to the underground garage. Past this he could see a lush green lawn. Directly to his right was a fountain and small ‘dacha style’ out-house. The front door opened and two uniformed Militia officers greeted him.

Snow smiled. “Is Eric having a party?”

“Who you are?” The first asked in English. Snow realised it was the same voice he had heard on the telephone the day before.

“I’m a friend of Eric. Who are you?” Snow replied and placed his bottles on the step.

“My name is Officer Kopylenko and you are very drunk.”

Snow raised his arms smiling. “Guilty as charged!”

Kopylenko pointed at him. “Tell me please, what is your name?”

Snow gave his own name; he had no reason to lie. “Aidan Snow. Nice to meet you.”

“Can I see your passport Mr Snow?”

“I’m sorry; I don’t have it with me.”

“Hm, I see. In that case I am very sorry but I shall have to issue you with a fine.”

Snow pointed at the bottles. “Is there not something else I could give you?”

“We will take those too, but you must pay a fine.”

“Fine, that’s fine!” Snow started to laugh and retrieved a wad of notes from his pocket. As he did so he made sure that it slipped through his fingers and fell on the ground. He noticed Kopylenko eye-up the bundle of bills greedily. Snow shakily retrieved the money and smiled. “Now officer, how much do I need to give you? Will $100 be enough?” As Snow held out the notes he looked around. “Where is Eric?”

“I told you Eric is not here. This is the wrong house. Give me all your money and you can go.”

Snow made a decision, double or nothing. “Where is Eric? Are you robbing him?” He tried to push past the two men but the second officer grabbed his arm. Snow half-heartedly punched him in the face before shouting, “Eric I’m on my way!” The officer loosened his grip and Snow burst into the house only to be pushed to the floor a moment later. Several heavy kicks connected with Snow’s torso and as he was dragged to his feet a fist hit him in the side of the head causing him to see stars.

Kopylenko spoke again. “You have assaulted a Militia officer. We now must arrest you and keep you here until you are processed.”

“Let me go. I’m a British citizen!” Snow protested.

Kopylenko spoke the second officer in Russian. “Take him away and put him with the other English idiot.”

Snow let his feet drag and his head loll forward as the officer moved him down a flight of stairs and then pushed him into another room. The heavy door was locked behind him. Snow rubbed his head and looked around. It was a wine cellar but empty apart from the racks. There was a narrow barred window to one side at head height which let in the only source of light through which he could see a flower bed.

“Bloody Hell! Aidan you found me!

Snow noticed a large dishevelled figure sitting on a patio chair. “Hello Brian.”

Webb smiled. “How the heck did you get here?”

“Connections.”

“Aidan thanks a million for coming.”

Snow held his forefinger to his mouth, then moved back to the door and listened. He could hear nothing through it. He nodded at Webb. “Tell me what happened?”

“I was out with Mitch and Michael having a few – you know how it is, and then got a taxi home. The driver stopped the car, I thought he needed a piss but then he just ‘legged it’. Then when I got out to see where the heck he was going some blokes came at me. I thought it was a bloody team of hit-men! Aidan, I was that tanked-up that I just got back in the taxi and drove off. I tried to lose them but crashed into a sodding bus shelter, shook me up I can tell you.” Webb lifted his grey fringe to show his blooded forehead. “I kept moving until I couldn’t go any further. Then I called you.”

“And they grabbed you.”

“Yep. I was that blotto and shagged out that I couldn’t do anything to stop them. They slapped me around a bit for good measure.”

One against four was bad enough odds for anyone but an overweight drunk pushing sixty had no chance. “The Militia came to see Katya.”

“How is she? Is she ok?” Webb’s face showed real concern.

“She’s fine. She told the Militia to go screw themselves. They said that unless she paid them $75000 they were going to charge you with sexual assault.”

Webb burst out laughing. “On whom, me self?”

“They say you grabbed a woman and tried to shag her up against a wall.”

“If only.” Webb stood, hobbled towards Snow and hugged him. “Thanks again for coming, I knew you would.”

“What are friends for? Brian don’t worry, I’ve spoken to the SBU. They are building a case against the bloke these goons report to.”

“So who you are working for now, MI6?”

“It’s called the Secret Intelligence Service nowadays, but yes.”

“Does your watch become a power boat?”

Snow found another chair and sat. “You really can be a silly sod, do you know that?”

Webb nodded. “So the SBU are investigating Katya’s ex-husband?”

“Her ‘ex’ is a Politician?”

“No, he’s the Militia thug running this, Pavel Kopylenko.”

Snow frowned. “He’s Ana’s father?”

“Yes. He’s the reason I’m here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Aidan. Katya’s been offered a great job in London. But as Ana is underage we need her father’s written consent for her to leave the country.”

“Which I assume he had refused?”