Black Pearl (8 page)

‘I'll have to go myself,' the Russian announced to Patience Aganga. ‘I'm sorry. I'm afraid your tour of the vessel may have to wait, minister.'

‘I believe I will survive the disappointment,' she answered with every evidence of relief. ‘But if Captain Zhukov will supply paper I will write a letter of authority for you to take with you, and I will call the airport formally myself when I get back to my office.'

Richard, who had never seen Felix wrong-footed, let alone flustered, found his interest piqued. ‘Mind if I ride along, Felix? Robin's taken my car anyway, and I'd love to know more about this chap.'

Probably because he was still a little off balance, Felix agreed and did not even seem to regret his decision until their saloon was snaking out on one of President Chaka's new highways towards the airport. ‘So,' said Richard in the cheery tone he knew irritated Felix most. A tone he usually reserved for when he thought Felix had stepped over one of the lines that defined their relationship. ‘Another Yagula? Father? Uncle? Cousin? Brother?'

‘Son,' answered Felix grudgingly, the way he tapped the minister's envelope against his immaculately tailored knee betraying his irritation.

‘Really? I never knew. Though I do realize the federal prosecutor has a reputation with the ladies that almost rivals Max's …'

‘Son and heir. Acknowledged and legitimate. Mother dead,' said Felix.

‘I never even knew Yagula had been married,' said Richard more soberly.

‘One marriage, one christening, one funeral. Old story.'

‘OK,' temporized Richard as he watched the inbound A380 from Paris begin to settle on to its short finals, swooping lazily towards their own destination. ‘So why is he here?'

‘We asked him to come,' said Felix. ‘We and Lavrenty Mikhailovich.'

That gave Richard pause. His mind raced. Whole new vistas of Muscovite mendacity opened before his inner eye. ‘Lavrenty Mikhailovich,' he said. ‘Don't tell me. The federal prosecutor has a finger in the Bashnev/Sevmash pie!'

‘You were bound to find out eventually. Or work it out, now that Ivan has arrived. I'm surprised you didn't know – you or your spies at London Centre. But what's to tell? He was born, what, twenty-seven years ago. Brought up at home until his mother died. Sent to school by his busy father. Came back to Max's in the vacations, friends with Max's two …'

‘Anastasia and Ivan Asov, yes.'

‘Indeed. Anastasia and the two Ivans. Until Ivan Asov died.'

‘Drugs overdose at his eighteenth birthday party. Yes. London Centre was on top of that one.'
And more than that, too
, thought Richard – who was little short of Anastasia's godfather.

‘In the meantime Ivan Yagula had transferred to the Moscow Military Commanders Training School. Then into special forces. He resigned three years ago and now runs Risk Incorporated, one of Moscow's most successful security firms. It is a subsection of our business, of course.'

‘Risk Incorporated,' said Richard. ‘Catchy.'

Felix just gave a curt nod and continued. ‘Anastasia and Ivan Asov had gone to private school in Moscow too – The Hope School, before you ask – so the three of them continued to meet. But the parental trajectories were different. Ivan Yagula was being trained to take on a military career and parallel what his father had done in the law-enforcement world. Ivan Asov was always going to take over Bashnev/Sevmash – especially as I have no children. It was a dynastic – Russian – thing. Passing the keys of the kingdom from father to son. When he wasn't at school, Ivan Asov was being shown how to run our business and Anastasia just went along for the ride because the two of them were inseparable, as you well know. The three of them, in fact, when young Yagula came home from Commanders Training School.'

‘Then Ivan Asov died.'

‘And Max blamed Anastasia – she arranged the party, employed the entertainment, a band called Simian Artillery which was briefly notorious back in the early noughties. And they apparently supplied the drugs that killed Ivan. So Max became increasingly isolated from her. Disowned her in the end. Hasn't spoken to her in years, as far as I know. You probably know as much as I do. And he has been trying to replace his son and heir ever since.'

Richard thought of the number of nubile – fertile – women Max had slept with during the years of their acquaintance. ‘Drug overdose. Tragic,' he said. ‘So young Ivan Yagula has, what, replaced the deceased heir-apparent in the scheme of things? Until Max manages to make another baby boy?'

‘To a certain extent. His father has always been … Something of a …'

‘Sleeping partner?' suggested Richard innocently. ‘The only kind that Max isn't trying to get pregnant?'

Felix gave a grunt of laughter. ‘You could put it like that. What do the French call it?
Eminence grise?
The man behind the scenes who pulls the strings. Yes, Yagula would approve of that. He is our
grey eminence
. And his son, in this expedition, given the size and importance of the objective, will be the grey eminence's eyes.'

I
'
d have known you anywhere, Ivan Yagula
, thought Richard. And, unless your late mother stood six foot six in her stocking feet, was bald as an egg and built like a Ukranian combined harvester, then you are most definitely your father's son. After his conversation with Felix, he had half expected camouflage cargo pants, green sleeveless vest, dogtags and a range of military tattoos. But the young man huge in statue standing serenely surrounded by well-armed soldiers and outraged security staff was suited in single-breasted, elegantly tailored, mid-grey gabardine, shirted in white cotton, and boasted a gold silk tie with a Windsor knot between the pearly dots of his button-down collar. The huge black brogues shone like mirrors, and Richard knew from bitter experience that footwear that large just had to be handmade. The gold tie had no regimental crests, but there was the familiar
Batman
logo of the Spetsnaz special forces honourable discharge pin on the lapel above Ivan's heart.

The eyes that glanced up from beneath slightly shaggy, dark sand-coloured eyebrows were mid-blue and twinkling with unexpected good humour. The full, rather sensual lips quivered towards a smile as Ivan saw Felix and the surprisingly fine nostrils flared. ‘Sorry to do this to you, Felix,' said an unexpectedly light baritone voice with a clear Muscovite accent that did not strain Richard's basic Russian vocabulary too much. ‘It's the price of following orders, I'm afraid.'

‘Whose orders?' demanded Felix as he and Richard hurried across the room.

‘The federal prosecutor's,' answered Ivan easily.

Not
my father's
, thought Richard.
The federal prosecutor's
. Interesting.

‘Lavrenty Mikhailovich probably doesn't realize his word isn't law down here. Yet,' Felix answered easily.

‘Oh, but it is,' interposed Richard, hoping his Russian accent was as polished as everyone else's. ‘Show them the letter, Felix.'

The sandy eyebrows rose. The delicate mouth widened into a ready grin as Felix, who appeared to have forgotten the minister's letter, went to show it to the officers.

‘Captain Mariner, I presume?' said Ivan in impeccable English stepping forward, as light on his massive feet as a professional boxer, seeming to lead with his large shoulders.

Richard extended his hand. ‘Your English is perfect,' he said. ‘Oxford?'

‘Sandhurst.' The handshake was short, carefully gentle but full of latent power. Their eyes were almost on a level, Richard for once in his life looking slightly upwards. ‘A brief secondment many years ago.'

‘Of course. I should have guessed.' Richard stepped back a little, still holding eye contact. ‘How is your father?'

‘The federal prosecutor?' Ivan shrugged. ‘Much as usual. Prosecuting.'

‘We have to wait,' said Felix unhappily. ‘They're expecting someone else with Ivan's luggage.'

‘Of course,' soothed Richard, turning away from Ivan just enough to meet Felix's frustrated gaze. ‘Colonel Kebila is on his way, no doubt.'

‘A full colonel?' said Ivan, reclaiming Richard's full attention. ‘Either I've gone up in the world or they really do have Mickey Mouse armies down here.'

‘You've gone up in the world, believe me,' Richard informed him shortly. ‘Mickey Mouse is the last thing these people are.'

Colonel Kebila arrived a minute later, followed by two porters trundling a sizeable luggage trolley loaded with massive suitcases. Clearly no twenty-kilo limit for young Ivan, thought Richard ironically. Two hundred kilos looked nearer the mark.

Everyone in the room straightened respectfully as the dapper soldier entered, even Felix and Richard. Ivan came very close to full attention; A fact which Kebila noted, along with everything else. ‘Senior Lieutenant Yagula,' he began, also in clipped Sandhurst English. ‘I have inspected the contents of your luggage. And find that I am informed by at least one government minister and indeed the president himself, that they contain nothing that presents any risk to my country. Or that contravenes any of our stringent import laws.'

‘That is very understanding of all concerned, sir. Please forward my thanks and best wishes as you feel appropriate,' replied Ivan in the equally clipped tones of the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, Camberley, England.

Ye Gods, thought Richard. They'll be exchanging visiting cards next. Inviting each other round for tea and cucumber sandwiches. Or calling for seconds and duelling sabres …

‘
However
,' continued Kebila smoothly with the curtest of nods at the pleasantry, ‘you should be aware,
Stárshiy Leytenánt,
that it is my job to guard the people who have just given me my orders, whether I agree with them or not. And if I find I'm having to guard them against you or any of the weaponry I have recorded as being in these suitcases, you can rest assured I will come looking for you. Personally.'

Ivan's smile broadened microscopically, just enough to reveal a flash of pearl-white teeth. ‘And I am sure you will know where to find me, Colonel. That, I am certain, would be true even were we not, as I understand it, ordered to undertake the same mission, side by side. But it is, in fact, my very real hope that the equipment I have imported – and which you have so carefully catalogued – will help protect you and your men, when the going gets tough. Somewhere upriver. Sometime soon.'

No doubt there was further family news to swap and more social catching-up to do, but Richard reckoned that if whatever was in Ivan's luggage had upset Kebila so much, it would probably give the manager of the Granville Lodge Hotel a heart attack. ‘What did you bring in those cases?' he asked as the limo fought its way through the eternal rush hour south of Granville Harbour International twenty minutes later.

Ivan reached into the inside pocket of his beautifully cut jacket and passed over a carefully folded piece of paper.

‘No wonder Kebila's jealous,' said Richard as he finished scanning it. ‘He's just upgraded his men to Ruger MP nines. As I expect you noticed.'

‘It was the first thing that struck me,' admitted Ivan. ‘But that's a fine semi-automatic. We've kept with HK MP fives, though, as you'll see from the list.' Ivan leaned over to slide a perfectly manicured finger down the column of writing. ‘I like Graches, though, I must admit. I carry the four-four-six Viking myself nowadays when I'm at work, but it doesn't take the hot rounds. It's civilian spec, of course. I like the fact there's only seventeen parts. And that the hot nine mil loads will go through body armour like butter. Is body armour a problem? I thought it might be, though I've only had real experience in Chechnya. I've been in Africa, but only in a support role. No combat. But I reckoned
better safe than sorry
, you know?'

‘Body armour has been a problem in some areas,' said Richard carefully. ‘Certainly the leadership of the hostiles we're likely to face tend to wear it. The foot soldiers, though, are either hopped up on coke or brainwashed into believing Poro magic. Or both.'

‘I guessed as much,' said Ivan. ‘If a guy's coming at you wearing a wedding dress and a fright wig, you don't need armour piercing, right?'

‘That's about the size of it.' Richard nodded, speaking feelingly from personal experience. ‘But both cocaine and magic can make them hard as hell to stop, hot rounds or not.'

‘Talking of hot rounds,' interrupted Felix, ‘you haven't brought ammunition for all these weapons as well, have you?'

‘Only the special stuff,' answered Ivan. ‘I'm relying on the fact that everything I've brought will take standard military loads. If you guys haven't got enough then we'll have to take it from the hostiles. They'll have plenty if the intelligence is accurate. That's the
head shed
to you, Captain Mariner, I believe. As we seem to be using special ops jargon.'

Richard laughed. But as he did so, he thought back to other conversations he had had like this. And remembered who he had shared them with: Max's daughter Anastasia, in fact. ‘You take all this kit upriver with you,' he said easily, ‘and you'll certainly have a lot to talk to Anastasia about.'

Ivan flinched as though Richard had struck him. But he recovered like a boxer as well as moving like one. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘Though, given our history, Anastasia and I never seem to be short of topics for conversation. I would be grateful, however, just for the time being, you understand, if you did not mention me or my presence in any communication you might have with her.'

OK, thought Richard. More along those lines later, perhaps. If it becomes relevant. Or any of my damn business. He shrugged in answer. Nodded a curt affirmative.