Another barmaid arrived, cleared the plates and set down the second course.
‘A couple of days later I rang Nic’s boss again. He said they had been trying to contact Nic too.’ She pushed the food around the plate. ‘They were concerned, and I began to worry. Then I got a strange text message.’
‘I’ve not seen the original. Do you mind showing me?’
Kellie looked in her handbag. She handed over her mobile, and Sean squinted at the text.
sorry i cheated
always loved u
am dying
‘When I first saw it,’ she continued, ‘I thought the worst. I still hoped he would be alright, but I knew something bad had happened.’
‘According to the Russian authorities, it was sent some time after he died.’ Sean took a quick glance at Kellie’s face. ‘How could that be?’
Kellie touched the corner of her eye. ‘I don’t know. Maybe someone sent it as a sick joke after they found him.’
They ate in silence for a minute. ‘We might find out more tomorrow.’
Kellie shrugged.
‘What are the arrangements when we arrive?’
Kellie took a deep breath. ‘I’ve engaged a funeral director, one recommended by your department, in fact. They provided a list of people experienced in international repatriation.’
Coffees arrived, and they waited while the waitress cleared away.
Kellie stirred sugar into her cup. ‘There’s an office in Moscow and they’ve organised someone to meet us.’ She fished about in her bag and handed him a business card. ‘It’s all been arranged. They received a copy of the death certificate, signed by a doctor, and the death has been registered.’
‘I’m sorry for all the questions Kellie.’
‘That’s OK. I imagine you have to find out all you can.’
‘Was Nic ever depressed?’
Kellie shook her head.
‘Suicidal?’
‘No.’ Kellie’s response was definite.
‘How did he get on with his colleagues?’
‘We never discussed things like that. Occasionally he would talk if there was a big problem at the office, but normally he didn’t like chatting about work at home.
‘Was he ever concerned about anything to do with the company?’
‘Sometimes he would complain about the pressure and the travelling, but that’s all.’
‘How often would he come home, and how long would he stay?’
‘He had a week’s leave every three months.’
Sean raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s not much, even in my job.’
‘That’s how American companies operate, apparently.’
‘Do you know anyone at the Russian company?’
‘Nic would invite one or two people over to stay when they came over to London. He would take them to a show, and we’d put them up here.’
‘Did Nic ever bring a person called Alexei Khostov?’
Kellie frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’
He showed her Khostov’s photo.
Kellie took a long look. ‘No, I’d remember him if he stayed.’
Sean finished his coffee, and smiled. ‘That’s all, thanks.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘..for now.’
Kellie smiled. ‘Shall we go?’
He paid the bill and walked her home. They stopped at the door and she found her keys. ‘Would you like to come in for a nightcap?’
‘No thanks Kellie. We need an early start tomorrow.’
In the street-light Sean caught a fleeting glimpse of disappointment.
Twenty four hours after leaving Petrovich’s magnificent house in the country, Alexei Khostov stood in central London and gazed at an impressive Georgian red-brick building. It had six floors and an imposing panelled front door with Grecian columns either side. A nearby brass plaque indicated this was the firm of Winfield Mantel LLP. Just the sort of expensive house his friend’s lawyers might occupy, thought Khostov. He walked into the reception area. It looked more like a club than a modern business with a deep pile carpet, big leather settees and armchairs placed around light oak coffee tables.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the young receptionist.
‘Yes. I have an appointment with Susan Hillard.’
‘Your name, please?’
‘Vassily Maskhadov.’
She consulted her screen and picked up the phone. ‘She will be with you in two minutes. Do take a seat.’
In fact she arrived in less than a minute, hardly time to sit and read the first pages of the newspaper.
‘Mr. Maskhadov?’
He started and jumped to his feet, unused to hearing his cover name called out. In front of him was a pretty dark-haired woman. He shook her hand and accompanied her to a tiny lift, only just big enough for the two of them. Susan was excellent at small talk, and by the time they arrived at her office on the fourth floor he was beginning to warm to her.
She poured out tea for both. ‘Before we start, would you be happy to tell me how you got in touch with us?’
‘You were recommended by a friend of mine, Yakov Petrovich.’
‘Ah yes, he is a good client of ours. Now, how can I help?’
‘I have some important documents. I’d like you to look after them for me,’ he said, indicating his black leather briefcase.
‘That’s no problem at all. How long are we to keep them?’
He hesitated. ‘These are crucial files. Before I hand them over, could you tell me what security arrangements you have?’ Pausing, he observed the curious expression on Susan’s face. ‘When I say important, I mean life or death.’
‘Are they legally yours?’
He considered the question for a moment. ‘Yes. I compiled them for a client. Unfortunately I didn’t have a chance to finish them before coming to the UK. I am also the owner — at least until I get an opportunity to give the dossier to my client.’
‘I see,’ Susan replied in a voice which implied she didn’t see at all. ‘May I ask who your client is?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. You mentioned earlier about life or death?’
‘I did.’
She waited, but Vassily didn’t elaborate. ‘Well then Mr. Maskhadov, I can put your mind at rest regarding our security arrangements. Is there anything else you require?’
‘There is one more thing. It’s em, a delicate matter.’
‘Your friend Yakov is aware how discrete we are. We have been established for over a hundred years. We would not still be in business if we didn’t know how to carry out the wishes of our clients, no matter how sensitive.’
He nodded, accepting the reassurance. ‘If I should die before I come back to collect them, I want you to pass them to the police.’
‘Fine, we can certainly arrange that.’
‘Not to the local police station. I want them handed into Scotland Yard with this.’ He opened the briefcase and fished out a letter.
She took the envelope and checked the address. ‘That’s fine.’ She began typing on her computer, talking at the same time. ‘There are some formalities you need to complete and I will give you a client care letter confirming we now work for you. Afterwards I’ll phone for our office manager who can show you the strong room in the basement and take you to our archive store.’ She turned towards him. ‘I hope all that is satisfactory?’
‘Perfectly, thank you.’ Alexei Khostov smiled.
At the National Geospatial Intelligence Agency headquarters in Virginia, Peter Lint remembered he hadn’t heard from his trainee in a while.
‘What’s happening with your icebreaker Sarah? Did you find where it’s headed?’
Sarah glanced up at her boss as he squatted on the corner of her desk. ‘She’s named LK-80, and she hasn’t stopped yet, so I can’t even guess her destination.’
‘Any clues? Did she meet another vessel?’