Garry Abson - Motherland - A Gripping Crime Thriller Set in the Dark Heart of Putin's Russia

Anatoly Lagunov shuffled in his seat. ‘Do you really think she has been kidnapped?’

‘As I said, it’s a definite possibility considering Mister Dahl’s wealth.’

Mikhail stretched in his chair, pushing his back into its contours. ‘That said, it is unusual now.’

‘He’s right,’ she said, ‘there are fewer kidnappings now than when you might remember from eighteen years ago. In the meantime we will do everything to find her.’

‘Before we go,’ Mikhail stood up to leave, ‘OK if I take picture of airplane? I like to collect them.’

She frowned. Mikhail had no pastimes that weren’t sports-related.

Dahl seemed to brighten at the frivolousness of the request, and suddenly he was the rich man in poor man’s clothing embarrassed by his wealth and eager to share it, if only vicariously. ‘Yes, please do.’

They stood and moved to the aisle. Mikhail stepped deeper into the aircraft’s fuselage before turning so his back was behind the open cabin door. The pilot and co-pilot were busying themselves then stopped and put their arms on each other’s shoulders; Mikhail joined them, holding his phone at arm’s length. She remained with Dahl and Lagunov, quietly furious as she watched the grotesque spectacle, but even Lagunov was amused, showing a row of his small, even teeth.

Mikhail returned, looking pleased with himself. ‘We will be back,’ he said.

As they climbed down the steps, she turned and caught the Swede brushing tears from his eyes.

Lagunov accompanied them to the terminal building where they were allowed inside after showing their identification cards to two FSB guards manning the security desk. Mikhail scanned the concourse furtively, looking for somewhere to smoke. He pulled out a packet of Sobranie Classics and offered one to the lawyer as they passed through a set of sliding doors.

She addressed Lagunov, ‘While you’re here. I’d like to ask you a few more questions.’

‘Anything to help.’ He cupped his hands around Mikhail’s to receive a light.

She pulled out her notepad. ‘Can you tell me when you first met Thorsten Dahl?’

Lagunov exhaled then frowned slightly. ‘It was in the spring of 1999. March or April.’

‘How?’

He frowned again, this time the wrinkles showed his age. ‘I was hired by Thorsten’s father, Gustav. Thorsten was given five million dollars in seed money and sent to Russia. It was the end of the fire sale but there were still bargains to be had.’

‘Were you hired because Mister Dahl doesn’t speak Russian?’

‘Yes.’

She paused to study Lagunov’s solid frame. ‘And to keep him out of trouble?’

‘That too. I had a firearms licence and could take care of myself. It’s easy to forget now that Chechen terrorists were setting off bombs and the mafia held gunfights in the street like actors in an action movie.’

‘So you were a bodyguard, a fixer, and a lawyer?’

‘Why not? Vladislav Surkov was an oligarch’s bodyguard before he became the president’s advisor.’

‘And this orphanage that Thorsten Dahl regularly visited, where was it?’

Lagunov watched a car in the liveries of a New York cab pull up; two skinny girls in sequined tops climbed out, tottering on heels. ‘As I told you, it was at Krasnoye Selo.’

She held her pen over her pad. ‘Describe it to me.’

‘You may be better speaking to Thorsten. I can’t remember the details.’

‘In the car earlier, you told me Zena called Mister Dahl’ – she checked her notepad – ‘“her lion” when they first met. Presumably you were there that day?’

He exhaled smoke into the pale night air. ‘Not at all. Thorsten is fond of telling it; he’s repeated it so often I feel as if I must have been there.’

He smiled to himself displaying his neat teeth.

‘So when you said you were there earlier today it was a mistake?’

‘I misunderstood the question. I went to the orphanage on other occasions.’

‘Zena isn’t a Russian name; what was she called before the adoption?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’

Was he lying? She couldn’t tell. Lawyers and policemen had too much practice but it was hard to believe his memory could be that poor or that he was innocently contradicting his earlier answers. ‘So you don’t remember what must have been the most significant event during his time here. On top of that, you were his fixer – you must have helped him with the paperwork and any bribes.’

He pushed his lips together. ‘It would be foolish of me to admit to anything like that in front of a police officer.’

‘Of course.’ She tapped her pen on her notepad. ‘So when did Mister Dahl leave?’

‘Towards the end of 1999.’

‘Was he back for Christmas?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Did you have Christmas with him here or had he gone by then?’

Lagunov looked at Mikhail quizzically, hoping he would interrupt. ‘Look, Natalya—’

‘Captain,’ Mikhail reminded him.

‘Alright, Captain. I don’t know what you want me to say. All this happened a long time ago and these questions are of no relevance that I can see.’

‘Might your powers of recall improve if you came to police headquarters for a formal interview on Monday?’

‘I thought you wanted me to answer Thorsten’s phone in case the kidnapper calls?’

‘Well, that was contingent on your cooperation. May I continue?’

He raised a palm towards her in a sarcastic gesture. ‘Please do.’

‘So, you spent the Christmas of 1999 together?’

‘Thorsten stayed with me and my wife; we divorced a few years later.’

She noted his answer.

‘And what did you do with Zena?’

‘Zena wasn’t there.’

Natalya looked up. ‘So this story of the open day and Zena clinging to his leg. That was in the summer?’

‘Perhaps…’

‘Yet you set the scene fairly well earlier. I imagined children running around on the grass; maybe a little wine to loosen up the prospective parents. That doesn’t sound like winter to me. So where did Zena spend Christmas? The Swedes are big on Christmas and I don’t believe for a second he left his new daughter behind.’

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps she left the orphanage between then and the New Year. Our government is twitchy about foreigners adopting Russian children so you can understand if Thorsten is reticent about giving away too many details.’

‘We should go.’ Mikhail stubbed his cigarette out.

Lagunov did the same and she let the lawyer separate from them as he hurried for his BMW.

‘Misha,’ she scowled as they walked towards the car park, ‘what were you doing on the plane?’

‘What do you mean?’ he grinned.

‘Dahl’s daughter might be dead and you took a selfie with the pilots.’

‘Oh, that,’ he said smoothly, taking out his mobile, ‘Do you really think I’m that shallow?’

‘I’m beginning to wonder.’

‘Here, I’ll send it to you. Have a look for yourself.’ He tapped some buttons on his phone and she heard hers buzz.

‘It’s late, Misha. I’m too tired to play games.’

‘Remember when you spoke to our good colonel. You told him someone called at Zena’s on the Friday morning. The babushka said he wore a suit and had grey hair.’

‘Yeah, she called him a bureaucrat.’

‘Sounds to me like Dahl’s lawyer.’

She shrugged. ‘Or a salesman.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘there’s one way you can find out.’

She unlocked her phone then opened the message to see a photograph. It was of Anatoly Lagunov smiling condescendingly at the stupid policeman who wanted to impress his friends. Mikhail hadn’t taken a selfie – the camera had been pointing the other way.