Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

A fourth man entered the room. Sean recognised him as Daniel Cramer.

‘Ah, I’m glad you’re getting acquainted,’ Cramer remarked, smiling.

He looked innocuous in a grey suit and shiny black shoes, but Sean knew that beneath the good manners and cultured voice was a steely personality. The Section’s chief interrogator shook hands with Khostov, and nodded towards Sean and Lomax.

‘It’s nice to see you enjoying breakfast — do you prefer our croissants to the ones in Paris?’ he asked, half-jokingly. Cramer poured himself a coffee and settled into a chair. He brought out a small recording machine and set it on the table. ‘Please don’t be offended — I record every briefing. You wouldn’t believe how tedious my voice sounds to me when you’ve listened to as many recordings as I have.’

He retrieved a pad and pencil from his briefcase. ‘I want to understand why you wanted to come here. I will need to go back to where you were born, your education and career, and particularly your recent employment. Now I won’t understand everything to do with your work — I’m not a nuclear physicist — so I may ask you to explain various points in more detail. Are you OK with all of this?’

Khostov nodded, and they continued. Three hours later Cramer had brought them up to date on his background. They discovered that Khostov was divorced and had a 15 year old son called Levushka. Cramer also learnt about his work at the Joint Institute for Nuclear Research in Dubna and his recent friendship with Nic Tyler. Cramer suggested they broke for lunch.

An hour later they were back, and Cramer began the second session.

‘Why did you come to the UK?’

‘I feared for my life.’

‘Tell us why.’

‘I told you about Nic. We were great friends. He worked for US Shale on a joint project to build the next class of Floating Nuclear Power Platforms. I was co-opted to help with the design work on the reactors.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nic came to me one day with specifications he had for some parts they had ordered for the reactor. He wanted me to check that they were the right specification.’

‘And?’

‘And they looked fine to me. But Nic was still concerned. He told me in confidence that the manifest he’d received from the shipping company didn’t tally with the spec he had ordered.’

‘Where were the parts from?’

‘China, mostly. He told his boss, and he must have spoken to someone at GazArtic.’

‘What happened then?’

‘The cargo was already on the way. They decided to halt the ship at the nearest port, and sent Nic to inspect the manifest. He was to check if the parts were the right spec, and to telephone us with the result.’

‘Which port?’

‘Tiksi. It’s the main port of the Laptev Sea.’

‘Did you hear from him?’

‘He never telephoned.’ Khostov looked at Cramer intently. ‘And he never came back.’

‘What did you conclude?’

‘He was murdered, obviously.’

‘By whom?’

Khostov shrugged. ‘I can’t say.’

‘But you must have an idea?’

‘Yes, perhaps. It’s not unusual to discover on big projects like this that someone is fiddling the books, raking off millions, and sometimes thousands of millions of roubles.’

‘Is that why you came to the UK?’

‘Yes. I realised at once that whoever killed Nic would start looking for me.’

‘Leaving your son behind?’

Khostov paused, absentmindedly supporting his chin with his arm.

‘Alexei,’ said Cramer. ‘You fled Russia in fear of your life. Didn’t it occur to you he would be next on their list?’

‘No.’ The word came out in a strangled voice. Khostov gazed up at Cramer. ‘I am ashamed to say that I..’

‘You forgot about your son?’

Khostov bowed his head. ‘In the heat of the moment, yes.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I can’t explain it. The fear of what they might do when they caught me was overwhelming. I couldn’t think of anything else, except escape.’

‘You wanted asylum?’

‘Not at first. I thought I would be safe with friends.’

‘But you brought some collateral with you?’

‘Collateral?’

‘You know, insurance that might protect you.’

‘Ah, yes. Yes, I did.’

Cramer flipped over a page of his notes. ‘You brought a copy to a firm of solicitors. Winfield Mantel LLP?’

Khostov looked surprised. ‘Yes, how did you know that?’

‘We discovered the fact after Winfield Mantel was burnt down to the ground.’

Khostov examined the floor. ‘I am sorry.’ He looked up. ‘I asked them to keep another copy.’

‘Yes, I expect you did. Their archive store across the river was gutted.’

Khostov let out a deep sigh.

‘I must say, you don’t look too concerned.’

Khostov shook his head. ‘Not really.’

‘You have another copy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

Khostov considered the little group. ‘You have all been good to me. He looked at Sean. ‘You saved my life in Paris.’ He turned towards Lomax. ‘And you kept your word. I am beginning to understand why many of my countrymen come to London to live.’

Cramer glanced at Sean and Lomax, then back to Khostov. ‘You know we are here to help you. What is it you want?’

‘A new identity for me. And my son, Levushka.’

There was absolute silence in the room. Cramer scrutinised Khostov’s face. ‘You want us to bring your son out of Russia?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do you think we should go to the trouble, just for some specification documents?’

‘The papers didn’t contain just the specifications for the FNPP. They contained other information as well.’

‘About what?’

‘Something I have been working on for a long time. You could call it a personal crusade. I have seen so many of these projects fail simply because a politician in the party machine siphons off most of the money before it gets to the right place.’

Cramer pursed his lips. ‘Someone was taking bribes on this project?’

Khostov nodded in agreement.

‘Who?’

Khostov was silent for several moments. ‘I am not prepared to say right now. Get my son, and I will tell you. You will have proof of this when I reveal where I have hidden the last remaining copy.’

‘But what is in this for us?’

Khostov placed his coffee mug deliberately and turned to Cramer. ‘With this information you could bring down the Russian government.’

‘It’s for Captain Burak. What shall I say?’

Feliks was expecting the phone call. ‘The Captain is indisposed. Give it to me.’ He grabbed the handset from the duty officer. ‘Chief Engineer Feliks Chayka speaking. Who is this please?’

He knew damn well who they were. The polar whites worn by the intruders did little to mask their country of origin. He had observed them the previous evening from the bridge. First there were a few planes, making tentative approach landings on the ice no more than five kilometres from their position. Within an hour they had erected landing lights so that more aircraft could land.

Some of the ice-breaker’s crew joined him on the bridge when the word got out. They passed the binoculars around so they might all get a glimpse of the Americans. Soon afterwards they heard the diesel engines of tractors and snow ploughs, levelling the ground and extending the short runway. Larger cargo aircraft began to arrive and they watched as lights were positioned, lighting up more and more of the airstrip. It reminded Feliks of the anticipation he felt as a boy when floodlights were first erected at his local football stadium FC Chelyabinsk.

‘Colonel Grey. I understand your Captain is unable to speak, is that correct?’