I didn’t have much time to spare. I needed to get on the ground and busy, ready to locate and check Travis’s surroundings and follow his progress. With all the military activity in the area, that wasn’t going to be easy. I’d have to run the risk of roadblocks and random stops by militia, but I figured I could talk my way through.
The first priority was to pick up some wheels. I’d automatically ruled out any of the usual rental agencies. If they weren’t already closed through lack of customers and the risk of not getting their cars back, they soon would be. But that wasn’t my only reason for avoiding them. I didn’t want to risk leaving an electronic trail; hiring a car requires a credit card and a passport or driver’s licence, neither of which I wanted to show unless absolutely forced to. The passport I’d used was good, but I didn’t want to risk placing it under intensive scrutiny. Any experienced immigration officer giving it a thorough scan would eventually find holes in it. The fact was, I was now off the grid and that was the way I wanted to stay.
I’d picked up the name of a supplier in Donetsk through a contact in Berlin. Max Hengendorff was a go-between for resources; if you needed a weapon, a car or a couple of enforcers, he was your go-to guy. He had connections with certain people among the criminal elite across Europe and knew everybody worth knowing. ‘Ivkanoy in Donetsk,’ he’d said, when I told him where I was headed. ‘He will get you what you need. He’s rough around the edges but I hear good things about him. I’ll give him a call and let you know when and where.’
‘Fine,’ I’d replied. ‘Usual rules apply.’
He’d laughed. ‘Of course. Don’t they always.’ Usual rules meant no names, no questions and no dud deals.
I’d heard back within the hour, which was why I was now preparing for a meeting in a bar not far from the main railway station.
I checked my appearance in the room mirror, used some product to muss my hair, then placed a few things in a folding overnight bag and slipped out the rear of the hotel.
It was getting dark now, and the glow of lights over the city was throwing shadows across the station buildings and surrounding streets. The traffic was light and I was able to move without attracting attention, keeping to the inside of the sidewalk, just another worker on the way home.
The Dynamo Bar was a medium-sized place with a mix of manual workers and men in shirts and ties, most of them talking about the football, which was being played out on a large screen behind the bar. If the customers had any opinions about the unrest threatening to tear their country apart, they were staying off the subject and focussing on the game.
I ordered a beer and looked around for the man named Ivkanoy. Max had described him for me in unflattering terms, and I soon spotted him. He was sitting alone at a corner table, a fat man in a rumpled, greasy suit and tie, with a battered briefcase at his feet and a cell phone clamped to one ear. In what was a pretty crowded room he had managed to retain a wide space around him, which told me something about his reputation locally. He looked me over when I signalled that I’d like to sit down, and finished his phone conversation before nodding at a seat. I noticed a few looks coming my way from other men in the bar, and figured this man was well-known but not exactly popular.
‘Ivkanoy?’
He didn’t say anything. I figured he was playing mean and moody because it suited his self-image and he wanted to keep up a front for the others in the bar. So I mentioned Max in Berlin and reminded him that I’d come for a car.
He gave me another cautious look, eyes flicking over the cheap clothes, my bag and day-old stubble. I’d been speaking in German-accented Russian and was hoping he didn’t have anything against the old enemy.
‘Max? I don’t know a Max. And I’ve never been to Berlin.’ He looked back down at his phone, his whole bearing uninterested. ‘And if you want a car, try the airport. They have lots of them.’
‘I prefer to go private,’ I told him. I was puzzled by his attitude and wondered if there was some kind of needle thing going on between him and Max. Or maybe he was suspicious of a set-up and thought I was an undercover cop trying a sting operation. ‘Look, do you want to do business or not? If not, tell me and I’ll go to somebody who does.’
The straight talking got to him. He adjusted his tie, which looked as if he’d used it to strangle somebody, and waved his cell phone. ‘Hey, calm down. It’s no problem. I need to make a call,’ he said and glanced at his watch. ‘You asked for an “extra”. You know how much, right?’
The ‘extra’ was a weapon, a semi-automatic. I was going into some dangerous territory with all kinds of militias and unofficial armed groups roaming the streets, and I didn’t feel much like putting myself at a disadvantage from the get-go. A gun was a last resort, but it might just be necessary to get me and Travis back home again in one piece. ‘Max told me how much.’
I saw the glint of speculation in his eyes. Now I was here the agreed figure wasn’t going to be enough. He knew what he wanted and was going to hold out for it, figuring I would pay up since I didn’t have time to play games. I added thirty per cent to the figure and he nodded, pleased with his bargaining skills. ‘You wait here and I’ll be back.’ He grabbed his briefcase and ambled away towards the front door, a path clearing for him as if by magic. By the time he hit the street, he was on his cell phone.
EIGHT
Twenty minutes later, as I was beginning to think I’d been duped, Ivkanoy appeared in the doorway. He was still carrying his briefcase. He didn’t come all the way in, but clicked his fingers in the air and signalled at me to follow. The way you do things when you want everyone in the place to know you’re the boss.
What a pro.
He was moving with a lot more energy now, hustling ahead of me like his feet were on wings. We passed a row of shops, mostly closed for the night or maybe out of business, their owners unable or unwilling to operate in the current climate, and rounded a couple of corners, all without seeing anybody. If the authorities wanted to impose a curfew here, they weren’t exactly going to have their work cut out. Most of the locals were off the streets already.
We ended up in a narrow, ill-lit street with a dead-end formed by the embankment of a railway line. There was a single vehicle in sight, a Toyota Land Cruiser parked beneath a tree. It looked oddly out of place, and I checked all around me, seeing nothing but darkened windows and deserted doorways. It reminded me of some of the fake city lots I’d been on for close quarters combat training in the military, although if anybody was going to jump out at me, they wouldn’t be cardboard silhouettes. And if any cops were watching, they were staying well back.
Something didn’t feel right, but maybe it was mission nerves.
Ivkanoy saw me looking and smirked. ‘No need to worry about police,’ he said, and rubbed his fingers together. Whether it was a nervous reaction or meant he’d paid them off, I wasn’t sure, but I took it to be a good sign — with reservations.
I walked round the Toyota, checking out the shadows as I went. The vehicle was well-used and looked a dirty red under the poor light. Its life story was easy to read in the tracer-work of dents and scrapes on the body panels and fenders, and a multitude of scratches on the windshield. But it looked ready to go with good tyres and wipers. So far so good.
‘What about the extra?’
‘In the glove box with a spare clip. Add another fifty per cent, cash,’ Ivkanoy suggested heavily, ‘and I won’t ask you to bring them back.’ He chuckled as he said this and jiggled a key on a plastic fob.
It was an odd thing to say. A deal was a deal. I looked at him, wondering if he was a joker or just plain greedy. ‘Is the car clean?’ The last thing I needed, travelling with a gun, was for the car to be on a stolen vehicle checklist.