Code Shield (16 page)

Fortunately, the sales representative was a young university student who spoke passable English. He listened intently to Michael and made some suggestions. The young man assured him that though it would cost him slightly more the extra roubles would be worthwhile.

Agreeing to the young man's suggestions, and after about an hour of form filling, Michael paid in cash and took possession of a small white Fiat.

It was a left hand drive and with two hours of light remaining, Michael decided to find his way to and from Andrei's apartment. The young student had sketched a line map from Michael's motel to Andrei's apartment. The street directory was in Russian but the young man produced an older version in English – making sure that Michael promised to return the well-thumbed book when he turned in the hire car.

Filling up the tank, Michael slipped into traffic and drove cautiously on the rightmost lanes. The roads were wet and slippery and most drivers exhibited their exasperation with the road hog. Some looked in his direction and tapped their temples with a finger as they zoomed past. A few times, though he wanted to make a turn, he dithered and forced to proceed straight ahead by impatient drivers who tailgated and tooted their horns. Whenever he panicked, he would pull up by the side of the road, to let the vehicles behind pass. Then, regaining his composure, he would enter traffic again.

Within an hour, he had stopped perspiring badly and felt more confident. He turned into Polovsky Street and drove slowly past Andrei's apartment. Traffic in this neighbourhood was almost non-existent but it also meant every vehicle attracted attention.

He still had one hour of light, so he drove back to his motel and parked in the tight car park in the back. He made a second trip to Andrei's apartment and this time succeeded in ignoring the cars and trucks that hurtled past him. He reached the place much quicker than before and was back in his motel within thirty minutes.

With renewed confidence and a bounce in his steps, he had an early dinner and retired to his room. He called Singapore, spoke briefly to Yvonne and spent the rest of the night poring over the street directory, dozing off, as his eyes grew heavy.

Chapter 25

It was dark and the street lamps dim, but Michael managed to find his way to Andrei's apartment without making any wrong turns. He was about an hour early and parked a few blocks away. He had with him his flask of hot coffee but was careful to take only small sips, as the last thing he wanted was a full bladder. If he really had to pee, he had come armed with an empty plastic bottle and a roll of toilet tissue.

He pulled his overcoat tight around him, reclined the seat and leaned back, keeping Andrei's terrace house, which was in complete darkness, in view.

Fifteen minutes before two, he slipped out of the car, shut the door gently and walked in the direction opposite to Andrei's house. He doubled back along the back of the block, keeping in the shadows. Standing before what he thought was the backdoor of Andrei's terrace house, his breath froze as he laboured to breathe.

Michael contemplated the kind of reception he might receive. Making up his mind, he knocked on the heavy wooden door and looked back, right and left. He knocked again – nothing. He gritted his teeth and was about to knock a third time, when the door in the neighbouring house opened with a metallic snick. He heard a soft voice,

“Mickele?”

Michael stepped back and turned towards the voice – he had knocked on the wrong door. Andrei's house was the next one down the street.

Embarrassed and fearful, he approached the spot from where his name had emanated. He lurched forward with a jerk as a hand reached out of the darkness and pulled him inside. He saw a dark shadow and smelt cheese and stale unwashed hair – Maria.

The house was in solid darkness but he knew he was in their kitchen.

Maria's grip on his arm was tight and she whispered, “This way Mickele.”

Michael followed close behind, almost brushing up to her, fearing he might stumble and create a ruckus. He entered a room and Maria shut the door behind them. Though he could not see in the dark, he sensed there was someone else in the room.

A feeble bedside lamp came on.

Andrei had leaned over to switch it on and straightened back painfully. He was in stripped pyjamas, his face unshaven, and the sparse strands of hair on his head looked windblown. He had aged considerably since they last met a few days ago. Andrei breathed heavily.

Watching him grimace, Michael realised it was not from physical exertion, but from pain. Michael sat at the edge of a chair placed next to the bed, with his knees closed. He unbuttoned his coat but Maria did not offer to take it. It would be a short visit.

Michael's eyes dropped to Andrei's right knee. It was swathed in thick bandage, lay straight and stiff, restricting the large man's forward movements.

“Shot in the knee,” whispered Maria, ignoring the look of shock on Michael's face as she busied herself to make her husband more comfortable.

Cloth pegs held the edges of the two thick curtains together, effectively keeping in the light.

“I'm truly sorry, Andrei” said Michael. “What happened?”

“It's nothing,” Andrei waved away Michael's apology. “I've been lucky so far and it was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”

“Who did this?” the blood drained from Michael's face. “Was it Krapow –”

“No, no, it wasn't Krapow, I mean Karpov. Neither was it Kashin but someone whom I had not seen before.”

Another wave of pain engulfed him and Andrei took deep breaths and ground his teeth, as beads of sweat emerged from the pores on his face. Then the pain apparently subsided and Andrei exhaled as he spoke, “The morphine has long worn out and the pain killers, mild, quite useless.”

Michael waited, awkward and patient, for the PI to continue.

“When I walked into the bar, it was busy and noisy. Everyone looked up and looked away, except one man. He never did look up but kept his head down. I noticed him but did not recognise the significance of his actions then…must be getting old, slowing down.”

Maria had returned with a pot of steaming coffee and poured Michael and Andrei a cup each. Michael thanked her and turned his undivided attention back to Andrei.

“When I sat down with my beer, this man walked up and put a bullet in me – just like that, not a word, nothing.” Andrei's eyes moistened. “The police thought I was lucky to be alive, that the shooter panicked and missed.” Andrei's voice turned low and deliberate, “I saw his eyes, Mikhail, don't think he is one to panic and neither did he miss.”

Seeing Michael's puzzled look, Andrei continued, “The man was aiming for my knee, it was a message like what the IRA used to send. They called it knee capping. Shot off the knee caps of people who cooperated with the British.”

Maria leaned forward and whispered, “We're unsure whether it was an irate husband whom Andrei had caught or perhaps…”

“Perhaps related to my case, Annette's abduction?” completed Michael.

“We don't know for sure Mikhail, better to, what the Americans say, to lie low for now,” replied Andrei. He spoke in Russian and Maria heaved herself up, helped her husband with his pyjamas. “Sorry Mikhail, but I need to take a pee. You can stay if you want.” Andrei shrugged his shoulders. “It's no problem for me.”

“No, it's okay,” Michael shot up. “I'll wait in the kitchen.”

Ten minutes later, Maria walked out with a bedpan and disappeared into the lavatory in the kitchen. Michael re-joined Andrei.

“It's terrible Mikhail, even a simple pee can be frustrating. Just imagine when I have to do more,” he shook his head and his voice choked. “My Maria…she's an angel.”

“I'm sorry Andrei –”

The round man sniffed and looked up, “So am I Mikhail. I too am sorry, can't help you anymore. Look at me. The doctors say it will be weeks before I can move about on crutches. Then there is the kneecap replacement, German titanium plate. The operation will bankrupt me, about forty thousand American dollars.”

A chill went down Michael's spine as he recalled Andrei's note of earlier that day.

“You said something about people watching your house.”

“Oh, Maria saw a strange grey car parked outside, a Volvo. Can you imagine an imported limousine in this neighbourhood? It could be nothing but why take chances in having someone see you?” Then, holding Michael's eyes in his,

“I'm afraid this'll be our last meeting my friend but don't worry. I've two pieces of information for you.”

Michael perked up, “Anything on Annette?”

Immediately he felt embarrassed. His PI could have got himself killed, and was certainly crippled perhaps because of his case and all Michael could think of was, his Annette.

“No Mikhail,” Andrei leaned painfully to a side table, pulled out the drawer, foraged inside and retrieved a business card. “These guys are also private investigators, younger and more expensive, but can be trusted to a certain extent. Use them only if you have to.”

Michael took the card and studied it, but the light was too faint and the Russian names did not register. He looked up as Andrei produced a small folded paper.

“My friend in Traffic is still working to trace Kashin's address. As I told you, he drives a Porsche 911.” Andrei grimaced as he leaned forward and handed Michael a file picture of the car. “That's what it looks like, but it's red as I told you before, not blue as in that picture.”

“I already have a picture of the car…remember you gave me the photos taken outside the Coral Reef?'

“Yes, yes I did. Sorry, Mikhail but these last few days…too much pain, too much distraction. Some of my other clients not as understanding as you –” Andrei's face twisted into a grimace as another wave of pain took hold. Though the room was cold, sweat rings formed in the folds of his neck. Tears squeezed out the corners of his eyes and streamed wide down his cheeks.

Michael waited until the PI's face relaxed a little, then, “Thanks Andrei for all your help.”

“You're welcome, though I don't know for sure if I've helped or made it worse.” Michael saw pity in Andrei's eyes and felt a razor sharp fear slit into his heart. Andrei's tone turned even more serious, as Michael had never known him to be.

“Mikhail, much money is involved. Drugs and women. These men kill easily…”

Chapter 26

Michael spent the following day getting better acquainted with Moscow's traffic conditions. When the going frazzled him or he simply grew tired, he would park along a street and review the Russian phrasebook.

He also visited a flea market, mostly to practise his Russian. He struck up conversations with the vendors who, all without fail, were impressed by his command of the language. Many even helped him with his pronunciations. He felt comfortable mingling with people like himself. He sensed that beyond the language and appearances, the people faced challenges not unlike his – eking out a living; sacrificing for their loved ones; and hoping for the promise of a better life for their children.

The weather was harsh and business poor. The vendors, who seemed to know each other well, were happy to meet a newcomer, especially a foreigner. Michael impressed himself with how quickly he managed to pronounce certain Russian words. He also picked up colloquial phrases quite unlike the stiff language in the phrasebook.

His cell phone rang, surprising Michael. “Hello Andrei, nice of you to call.” Michael spoke with a smile. “How're you?”

“I'm feeling a little better,” Andrei was abrupt and hurried. “I have good news. My friends in Traffic traced Kashin's car. I have the address, may be too complicated for you, so I send text message now. Good bye.”

Michael stared at his cell phone until the backlight went off. He thought of Andrei and Maria and ached for their company. The swell of loneliness slammed into him and he felt weak in his knees. He breathed in deep and long.

Within minutes, his cell phone buzzed and Michael read the address
– Danilova Pereulok
, 15. He thumbed through the English street directory and after a few frustrating minutes, located the
pereulok
or lane and set off.

Benjamin knocked on Lowe's door and entered before he was invited. Dropping himself heavily in a chair, he crossed his legs and demanded,

“You wanted to see me?”

“Where's your boss?” asked the assistant director, without looking up, his gaze still on the file before him. Lowe continued to read, his voice measured and tinged with sarcasm. “Ms Banks… isn't she your boss?”

“She's not my boss.”

“Oh really? You could have fooled me, the way you jump up at her every beck and call.” Lowe looked up with a smirk and read from the file before him.

“Six years in the military, two years in the Vigilante Corps and almost twelve years in security detail with Foreign Affairs. What's that…security detail – a euphemism for the dog unit?”

Benjamin made to get up to leave.

Lowe raised his hand, “Hear me out first. I know that you're a good man Ben. But what you need is someone who can not only recognise your abilities but also reward it.”

“You reckon I've not heard this speech before? One more thing, I'm Mr Logan to you.”

The assistant director ignored the retort but also noticed that Benjamin remained seated. “I'm sure you've heard that speech before but the big difference is I can deliver.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to continue to do the good job you're doing. Cooperate and help Ms Banks but don't delude yourself. She can't and won't help you in your career… But I can.”

“Why would you?” Benjamin sat with his back straight.

“Ben…may I call you Ben?” smiled Lowe. Getting no response, he continued, “You see Ben, I'm going places. I need good people, people I can rely on. It would be an understatement if I said that I can do it all myself. Governance is the ultimate team effort. I'm putting together a team of sharp, dedicated and proven people.”