Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

Sean made his way out, and the embassy representative approached. ‘I’m afraid I have to hurry back for a meeting. Please convey my deep condolences to Mrs Tyler.’

‘I will. There seems to be a lot of confusion over his death,’ Sean observed.

‘Yes, it’s unfortunate’ he replied, offering no explanation.

‘What can you tell me about the circumstances?’

The man transferred his weight from one foot to another as he spoke. ‘Not much. He was found by a reindeer herder several miles from the town. I think it was the next day before they got an ambulance out to him. When they brought him to the mortuary it took a while to locate someone from his workplace.’

‘How did he get to be so far out of the town?’

He squinted at his watch. ‘I can only assume he walked.’

‘That would rather imply he wanted to commit suicide.’

‘Er, yes. I believe it does.’

‘But no suicide note was found.’

‘No, none I’m aware of.’

‘It would be simpler to take an overdose.’

He nodded. ‘It would, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than I’ve told you already.’

‘Just one last question. What was the cause of death?’

The man stared at the ground, as if tired of all the questions. ‘The post-mortem confirmed heart failure following extreme hypothermia. I’m sorry, I really do have to go.’ He shook Sean’s hand and headed for his car.

A few moments later the funeral director appeared with Kellie. ‘I’ve arranged for a cortege to the airport. Mrs Tyler and Mr Quinlan will follow the hearse in our car.’ He indicated a black Zil behind. ‘I’ve placed all your husband’s effects in a bag next to the coffin.’ He faced Kellie. ‘You will need to present both yours and your deceased husband’s passport at the airport.’ He grasped Kellie’s hand in both of his. ‘I’m really sorry for your loss Mrs Tyler. I hope you have a good flight home.’

A shadow fell in front of Sean and he turned. The person at the back of the church was standing nearby. Sean motioned to the director. ‘Please see Mrs Tyler to the car. I won’t be long.’ He watched as the director put a comforting arm around Kellie to guide her.

‘Sean.’ The man’s voice was a bass grumble.

‘Serge.’ Sean nodded, wondering what he knew about his mission in Vienna.

Zlotnik hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind at the last moment. ‘Have a safe journey.’

‘Why are you here Serge?’

‘Do you have him?’

‘Who?’

He looked to one side, as if Sean was already trying his patience. ‘We both know who.’

Sean shrugged.

‘Where is Khostov?’

‘If I knew, you would be the last person I would tell.’ Sean began to walk away.

‘Careful Quinlan.’

The warning tone in his voice stopped him in his tracks.

‘You’re on my patch now.’

Sean faced Zlotnik. ‘One day, Serge, you will lift that head of yours and look up. Who knows what you might see?’

‘I see you are still at the Department. Aren’t you getting too old for this kind of work?’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘I am. But I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.’

Sean paused, taking in the leonine cranium and the barrel chest hidden under the shabby suit.

‘Do you want to?’

The eyes lifted fractionally to gaze beyond Sean. ‘If I did, you would be the first person I would tell.’

‘Me?’ He was acquainted with Zlotnik for nearly ten years, but they couldn’t be described as close. ‘Why me?’

The big shoulders shrugged. ‘We have a lot in common. We’re both in the same business, we just happen to be on opposite sides of the fence.’ The large head moved slightly and his eyes rested on Sean. ‘We have shared moments in history.’

For a moment a peculiar feeling of kinship crossed Sean’s mind. The man was lonely, but Sean was at a loss as to what actually motivated him.

‘Goodbye Serge.’ Sean turned.

‘We will meet again,’ was Zlotnik’s parting shot.

Sean walked away.

Desny waited on the lawn in the early morning light. He glanced at his watch, breathing deeply with impatience. Already past seven o’clock, there was still no sign of Khostov. Going inside, he woke the others but left Urilenko asleep with Khristin’s wrist tied to his.

The three gathered downstairs. None had slept well because of the frequent screams from the woman. Yakov, still bound to the chair, slumped forward. His hands and arms were blue where the bonds had been tightened before they went to bed.

Desny nodded to Markow. ‘Time to question Petrovich again.’

As Markow approached they heard noises from the bedroom above. Markow grabbed a handful of Yakov’s hair and lifted his head. He peered into the face. The eyes were shut, the bags underneath puffed and discoloured. Markow felt his wrist. He was still alive — just.

Upstairs Khristin’s sobs and screams cut through the silence. They regarded each other helplessly. Markow gave Petrovich a hard slap with the palm of his hand. Spittle flew from Petrovich’s mouth and he opened his eyes.

‘Khostov isn’t here.’ Markow shouted to get through his confused state.

The cries from upstairs grew louder and more regular.

Petrovich’s eyes swivelled and focused on Markow. ‘Wh-what time is it?’ He appeared not to understand the significance of the screams.

‘Gone seven.’

‘He’s not back until nine!’

Markow delivered another firm jab with his other hand. ‘How is he arriving?’

‘T-train to the local station, then taxi.’

A blood curdling shriek erupted from upstairs.

Desny eyed Markow. ‘Go up and stop that noise. We need to be prepared for when he returns. I’ll scout round the gardens.’

Desny reached the door when he heard the sound of a shot.

All three ran to the bedroom, Desny the first to enter. Over the course of his career as a detective he had seen a lot of dead bodies, but the sight of Khristin’s naked body lying on top of blood-soaked sheets nearly made him vomit. Urilenko stood stripped by the bed, the gun still in his hand. The naked figure was splattered in blood and his face held the fixed smile of an imbecile.

Desny turned away, ran down the stairs and went outside.

Markow ordered Petrov to help him clean up Urilenko. The man acted like a child, allowing them to get him dressed. Downstairs, Markow turned his attention to Yakov. To check for consciousness, he delivered another blow. ‘Where is Khostov?’

Markow had to lean in close to his mouth to pick up Yakov’s muttered reply. ‘He went to the city.’

Markow slapped him. ‘When is he due back?’

The response was slow in coming. ‘Morning.’

Markow hit him again. ‘What did he take with him?’ There was a prolonged pause, and Markow leant in to catch the answer.

‘Briefcase.’

Petrovich’s frame shuddered. Clearly he had given them all he could.

Outside in the gardens, Desny stopped and bent forward, holding his hands just above his knees. He took several deep breaths. If he wasn’t careful, Urilenko would bring down the whole team. Desny resolved to send him back at the first opportunity.

He straightened and began to admire the extensive garden. In Russia grounds like these were for the privileged class only. Even so, Desny thought very few would compare with the beautiful setting that lay before him. He didn’t know the names of many of the plants, but he became enchanted with the palette of colours and the use of greenery to provide a lush backdrop to the borders.

He walked round the lawns in an anticlockwise direction and arrived at the back of the grounds. A gate, set in a stone wall, led to a field beyond. Nearby in the border a miniature mausoleum rose from thick bushes. Desny assumed the six feet tall structure housed the graves of the family’s pets. Perhaps it was one of those English follies he had read about. Desny was amazed the owner had so much wealth he could afford to build the thing. Desny fingered the new padlock. Perhaps Yakov’s pet dog had died recently? The rest of the family were due to follow soon afterwards, he imagined.