Twenty-five minutes later lights appeared above him, diffused and rippled by the water, and a few minutes after that they disappeared indicating that the jetty had cut them out and he was now very close. He slowed his pace and was about to reach in front of him for obstacles when suddenly his head slammed into something solid, the shock almost making him lose his mouthpiece. He dropped the compass board that sunk to the end of its line and felt the object. It was rough and barnacled, with a curve to it that dipped away below him. A boat. He followed it down, passing beneath it, and followed it up the other side.
Zhilev carefully broke the surface to find himself between a pleasure craft of some kind and the jetty. He pushed his facemask up on to his forehead and looked around. The rusty corrugated metal wall of the quay went straight up to a line of rails running along the top of it. A few yards away a ramp came down on to a floating platform that pleasure boats used to load and offload passengers. There were voices, the thud of disco music and then a burst of laughter that sounded like girls.
He made his way to the edge of the platform, keeping beneath the ramp and out of sight from the quay above. Once he reached it, he moved around until he was close against the wall of the quay and in the shadows, then held on to the side while he untied the device and attached it to a ring on the platform. He unbuckled the diving harness, pulled it off his shoulder and, with a firm yank, ripped the air hoses out of the bag. Oxygen gushed from it as it deflated and he released it to let it sink to the seabed. After dumping the two rocks from his pockets, he removed his fins and let them sink along with his facemask. He then took a firm hold of the top of the platform and hauled himself out.
Sitting on the edge of the wooden platform, he unzipped the suit and pulled it off as quickly as he could, placing his shoes to one side. Zhilev dug a penknife from a pocket, slashed the suit from toe to neck and lowered it into the water, pushing it under until enough bubbles escaped and it sank. He pulled on his boots, tied up the laces and stood up to sort out his creased clothes and smarten himself up as best he could. The bump on his head throbbed and he felt it to check for blood but the skin was not broken. His sleeves and collar were wet where water had seeped in but otherwise he was dry. He untied the device from the ring, hauled it out of the water and headed up the ramp and into the bright lights of the quay, acting as naturally as a worker coming off one of the boats.
As he stepped off the ramp, several young girls dressed sexily despite the cool air walked past talking energetically. The source of the thumping music was a building in front of him on the corner of the quay, the windows in the top floor washed in coloured lights flashing to the rhythm of a heavy beat. Zhilev hated disco music and did not understand the Western nightclub culture having never experienced anything like it in his life. Young people were everywhere, on balconies around the club, and walking up and down the broad exterior stairs that led to the entrance. None of them seemed to give him a second glance as he walked away.
In front of him, across a broad paved concourse, were several towering hotels vying for an ocean view with massive neon signs on top of each displaying such names as the Hilton and Sheraton. He headed for a dark area to the side of the nearest where a thick collection of manicured bushes grew.
As he walked towards the bushes he looked around to see if many people were about. Several couples were strolling casually, enjoying the night air, or moving to and from the disco in various directions, but none immediately close by. He slipped into the bushes and crouched by the windowless side wall of the hotel that towered above him. From his hidden position he could see the next hotel’s car park which was almost full. He checked his watch. It was ten to eleven. His timing was perfect. Any later and it might have proved much more difficult to carry out the next phase.
A pair of headlights turned a far corner and headed along the road that ran along the back of the hotels connecting their main entrances. Zhilev hoped this would be his quarry, but as it passed the entrance and continued along the road, it became quite recognisable as a police Land Rover. It drove out of sight and another car turned the same corner in the distance and followed the road. When it reached the car park entrance it slowed, turned into it and came to a stop in a space. A moment later the lights and engine died, the doors opened and an elderly couple climbed out. Zhilev shifted his weight in anticipation, watching them unblinkingly like a leopard weighing his prey. The couple removed some plastic shopping bags from the back seat and unenergetically made their way along the back of the hotel towards the main entrance, the opposite side to the waterfront. Zhilev left the device on the ground concealed by the bushes and stepped out and on to the concourse. He looked back to see if the log was visible, suddenly feeling naked without it. It was the first time in almost two weeks it had left his side. He looked back for the couple and lost sight of them as they passed the corner of the hotel. He walked quickly through the car park and on to the pavement where he located them at the main entrance. A security guard was talking to them, and, after he had made a cursory check of their baggage, they entered the building.
Zhilev moved smartly off after them and as he approached the entrance the security guard turned to look at him. The guard was a young man in civilian clothing and had a metal detector in his hand.
‘Hello,’ Zhilev said with a broad smile as he headed for the single glass door. He must have looked an unlikely guest with his dishevelled clothes and hair, and matted growth of beard.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ the young man said in a heavy accent, holding his arm out to bar Zhilev’s way. ‘Are you staying in the hotel?’
‘Not yet,’ Zhilev said, smiling. ‘I look for a friend here. If he is here, I stay.’
The guard looked Zhilev over from head to toe as if he was unsure about letting him in.
‘Sorry for clothes,’ Zhilev said in a friendly manner. ‘I on boat, fishing. My friend has clothes.’
The young man stared into Zhilev’s unwavering eyes, shrugged and held up the metal detector.‘I need to search you,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ Zhilev said acting surprised, and raised his arms. ‘I have nothing,’ he said as if it were a joke.
The guard did not return the smile and ran the detector across Zhilev’s body. It beeped loudly as it passed one of Zhilev’s side pockets.
‘Ah,’ Zhilev said as if remembering what it was. He reached into the pocket and held out the small knife, his smile just as broad.
The guard ignored it since his prime function was looking for guns and bombs, and scanned the rest of Zhilev’s towering frame. There were no other beeps.
‘Okay,’ the security guard said and stepped back to allow Zhilev entry. Zhilev nodded a thanks and headed through the door into the cavernous lobby with varying ceiling heights and floor depths defining a bar, restaurant and seating areas. Zhilev could sense the guard watching his back but ignored him as he scanned quickly about. The reception desk was the other end of the lobby and the elderly couple were in front of it talking to the receptionist.
As soon as he saw them, they moved off and headed down a corridor behind the reception counter. As they turned a corner and out of sight he set off briskly after them.
He walked past the receptionist who did not look up at him and followed the corridor to the corner where he paused to look around it. The elderly couple were standing quietly looking up at a line of floor numbers above a pair of elevators. The sound of a bell announced the lift’s arrival and the doors opened. As the old couple stepped inside, Zhilev followed.
The old man pushed the tenth-floor button and as Zhilev jumped through the closing doors, the couple could hardly take their eyes off him. Zhilev went to push a button then acted as if the tenth was also his floor, nodded, smiled at them and then went back to staring at the doors. Zhilev could feel their eyes looking up at him as the lift gently ascended. He glanced at them for a second and they looked away but only until he faced the doors again, then they continued to stare at him, unsmiling, habitually suspicious. In the confined space Zhilev was suddenly aware of a foul smell and realised it was coming from him. He had not washed for a week or more and in the warmth of the hotel, with the sea drying in his hair, he must have smelt much worse to the old couple since he had grown accustomed to it.