Dead Centre - Andy McNab [29]
Eyes riveted to mine, he pointed his finger. ‘You will be doing what you do best. And doing it for somebody you care about. What could be better for a man’s soul? Read some of the books that have been written in this village, Nick. Then you will understand what I am talking about.’
I took another mouthful of my brew. The coffee wasn’t hot any longer, but it still tasted good. ‘I’ll have to try and find a contact. Once I’ve done that, I’ll get back to you. It’s pointless talking about anything else until we know they’re alive.’
He nodded again, slowly.
‘Don’t raise your hopes.’
He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket. The only thing on it was a mobile number. ‘Call me whenever you want. Do not give this out to anyone else. Please remember the number and then destroy the card.’ His eyes burnt again. ‘I’m a very private man.’
The card went into the pocket of my jeans.
‘I need you to buy me a flat, somewhere on the outskirts of London. No more than a hundred and fifty K. In my full name. You know that, of course.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’
I was sure money wasn’t the reason he wanted to know. ‘You’ll find out why if they are still alive. But the only way to get them out safely will be to do exactly what I say.’
An engine rumbled alongside the dacha. The smashed-up Range Rover came into view and Webb climbed out.
Frank leant over the table, eyes boring into me. ‘I want my son and his mother back here. Whatever it costs.’
I took a last mouthful of the brew and swallowed. Finally, I nodded.
If he was pleased at my decision he didn’t show it. He sat back. ‘The crew is waiting for you.’
I gestured towards the sink. ‘Just give me a couple of minutes to clean my head.’
15
I KEPT MY hood up as we stepped into the luxurious lobby of the Ararat Park Hyatt. This was an extraordinarily lavish hotel. The management would have surveillance measures to match.
I didn’t look around much as we headed for the elevators. But the little I saw of the polished steel and marble atrium told me that Frank Timis looked after his people. The cheapest room would be about six hundred dollars a night, and not just because of the architecture. Neglinnaya Street was in the heart of the city, within spitting distance of Red Square, the Kremlin, St Basil’s Cathedral and the Bolshoi Theatre. Property here would cost millions of roubles a square metre. We were on oligarch turf.
The one thing my hood didn’t shield me from was the smell. It was roses and bleach again. Either that scent really was everywhere or it was buried inside my head.
The drive back to the city had been as talkative as the one in. We took the same route. Genghis drove this time. The Nigerian rode shotgun. He was constantly on the phone. He talked in Russian.
This suited me. I hadn’t come to any decision on Frank yet. I didn’t know enough about him to make a judgement, and I didn’t know enough about the situation. All I knew was that it involved Tracy, so here I was.
In the exposed, space-age lift, the Nigerian pressed the button for the fourth floor. We raced upwards while the world below chatted over coffee in plush sofas. The mobile never left his ear. It had to be a woman he was talking to. His tone was far too smooth for it to be anybody else.
He didn’t bother knocking when we got to Room 419. The door was ajar. He signed off his lady friend with a silver-tongued comment or two and walked straight in. More five-star-plus luxury. The walls were cream. The thick-pile carpet was the colour of bleached sand. The furniture was solid walnut. Electric curtains. A wider than widescreen Bang & Olufsen TV. A mini-bar that was even bigger than Mr T’s cappuccino machine.
There were two sofas. Two men sat on each. A fifth, the youngest, was on the unmade king-sized bed. They all wore brand new shell-suits. Their faces were red and blotchy from exposure to the sun. And they all had cigarettes on the go. There was so much smoke you couldn’t even see the No Smoking signs.
They eyed me apprehensively, like I was a cop who suspected them all of murder and the