Aktobe Province, Kazakhstan
Logan’s head was spinning with what Jabayev had just told him. He just couldn’t figure out the chain of events that had led to Lena being killed – although he could understand why the Russians would pin the death on him. They must have known he was nowhere near Moscow the previous night. Publicly naming Logan as the suspect was designed purely to put extra pressure on him, make his life that much harder than it already was. And they were banking on other foreign police forces and security services, the NSC included, being sympathetic to their position and therefore likely to help hunt down and turn over Logan.
He got all that.
But if Lena had survived after being shot by Logan, then who on earth had killed her and why? Surely the Russians wouldn’t have? She was a major asset for them. If not the Russians, then who?
‘The Russians are on lockdown,’ Jabayev said. ‘Another of their top agents, Nikolai Medvedev, was killed yesterday morning. Again, you’ve been named their one and only suspect.’
Logan’s brain was now working overtime, trying to put the pieces together.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ he said, convinced now that he could do no harm by talking. He’d been interrogated before, he’d been tortured before, but this situation was different. He wasn’t going to give anything away. But he had to know what information Jabayev had.
Jabayev looked pleased that Logan had found his voice.
‘For one thing, because I know you can’t have killed Belenov. You were already in Kazakhstan. The same for Medvedev.’
‘The Russians must surely know that too,’ Logan said. ‘You must have told them that?’
‘I’m not telling you a thing about what I told them. But I’m sure the Russians know it wasn’t you. Which only makes this all the more interesting for us. I’m in two minds here.’
‘How so?’
‘On the one hand, we always like to please our neighbours. But, clearly, you’re being set up here. And on the other hand, we know you’re a British agent. So we’re wondering how not turning you over to Russia could benefit us.’
Jabayev had an almost devilish smile on his face as he spoke. Logan had been right, it seemed. The NSC had been buying time. They were trying to figure out exactly how they could maximise their return for having captured Logan and Grainger.
But given Jabayev’s words, Logan was now doubting that the NSC had been in touch with the FSB at all. That was a relief to Logan, even though it didn’t really help him that much.
‘So those are our options,’ Jabayev said. ‘But most of all, we’re still trying to figure out why you came to our country and what damage your being here might cause us.’
‘Where’s Grainger?’ Logan asked.
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Is she here? Is she okay?’
‘You really care for her, don’t you?’
‘You’d better care for her too,’ Logan said. ‘Anybody who harms her has me to answer to.’
Jabayev stared at Logan, his look entirely placid.
‘We’re not animals here,’ Jabayev said.
There was a knock on the door and Jabayev looked perturbed at having been interrupted. He got up off his chair and headed to the exit.
As he reached the door, there was a buzz and it opened just a few inches. Logan couldn’t see who was on the other side. Jabayev began talking, again in Kazakh. Although he was speaking quietly, it was clear to Logan that he was irate. His head was bobbing and shaking, his hands gesticulating, his words coming out in a hiss.
After a few moments, he turned back to Logan.
‘Okay, we can finish this later. We’re going to move you to a cell. Someone will bring you some food and water before you go.’
And with that, Jabayev walked abruptly out of the room and the door shut behind him.
Logan’s mind was still racing with the information he’d been told. Lena Belenov being killed was one thing, but what about Medvedev? Logan had never heard of him, but the Russians were claiming Logan had killed him. He could only guess that the FSB, the CIA, the JIA and maybe others were all at war with each other now. Which didn’t bode well for any side. It especially didn’t bode well for him, given that each of those agencies had something to gain from his capture.
A few minutes after Jabayev left the room, another man came in with the promised food and water. He didn’t engage in conversation with Logan at all, just put what he had down on the table and left.
Logan ate the food – some stodgy bread and what Logan took to be a type of cheese – and drank the water, and after that he sat and waited until, eventually, he nodded off from boredom as much as tiredness. He awoke when the now-familiar buzz of the door’s locking mechanism sounded out again. Logan wasn’t sure how long he’d slept for, but he felt groggy and confused, like you only do when you’ve been roused from a deep sleep.
Jabayev walked back into the room and right up to Logan, who was confusedly opening and shutting his eyes, trying his best to fight off his sleepiness.
‘Come on,’ Jabayev said. ‘It’s time to go.’
Jabayev grabbed Logan’s arm and pulled. Logan wearily stood up from the chair and Jabayev clasped a set of handcuffs over Logan’s wrists. Logan didn’t resist at all. It was hardly a surprise that they wanted to restrict his movement while they transferred him to a different location – Logan could only guess they were now heading to a cell for the night, as Jabayev had indicated earlier.
Jabayev tugged him forward as he walked toward the door. After exiting the interview room, the NSC agent ushered Logan down a short corridor. On either side of the corridor were plain wooden doors – no clues as to what lay behind them, but the building looked like some sort of office. Probably a simple outpost for the NSC that had a solitary interview room and one or two cells.
The corridor opened out into a small foyer. There was a desk in the corner and two sets of glass doors that led outside. It was dark out and Logan saw by the clock above the desk that it was ten p.m.
Jabayev walked Logan up to the desk and spoke to the man sitting behind it. Then, after a few moments, Jabayev began moving again and tugged on Logan’s arm once more. They walked toward the double doors.
‘Where are we going?’ Logan asked, still confused but more alert and beginning to feel the first stirring of unease.
It was clear they weren’t going to a cell. Jabayev was taking him out of the building. But to whom?
Jabayev didn’t answer and Logan immediately began to plan a move. He wasn’t going to be held prisoner by the NSC. And he equally wouldn’t let them hand him over to another agency.
When they reached the first set of doors, Jabayev and Logan stopped. The doors wheezed open and they walked through. The doors then closed behind them.
‘Jabayev, where are we going?’
Jabayev said nothing.
After a short pause, the outer doors slid open and Jabayev yanked on Logan’s arm, pulling him out into the bitter night. Jabayev hadn’t bothered returning Logan’s overcoat to him and without it, the temperature was hellishly cold.
Logan spotted a four-by-four parked directly in front of the building, its engine idling.
It was clear to Logan why it was there.
He knew he had to act. He’d already figured out how he would take down Jabayev. The only question was how the occupants of the car would react and how many of them there were. But he couldn’t really plan for that – he would just have to be ready.
He was about to commence his attack when Jabayev spoke.
‘You’re a lucky man, Carl Logan,’ he said.
He let go of Logan’s arm and reached into his pocket. Logan tensed, expecting Jabayev to be reaching for a weapon, but then relaxed again when he saw Jabayev’s hand emerge holding a small, silvery object. Jabayev reached down and stuck the key into the lock on the cuff on Logan’s left wrist and the clasp sprang open. He then did the same with the other.
Logan’s mind was now a confused mess. Why was Jabayev un-cuffing him?
‘It would seem you’ve got some friends in high places,’ Jabayev said, sticking the handcuffs into his pocket.
The front passenger door of the four-by-four swung open and Logan stood wide-eyed when he saw who was inside.
‘Come on, get in,’ Fleming said. ‘I’m letting all the heat out here.’
Fleming reached around and opened the rear passenger door. Logan saw Grainger sitting inside the car, on the opposite side. She was looking at him, her face deadpan.
‘I hope I never have to see you again,’ Jabayev said. ‘I think that would be best for all concerned.’ He turned around and headed back to the building.
You’re a lucky man.
They were Jabayev’s words to Logan, but Logan felt they were equally apt directed at the NSC agent. Another second and Logan would have taken him down for good. He had been sure the NSC were about to turn him in.
Logan didn’t wait for a second invitation. He stepped forward and got into Fleming’s car.