Arkady Belanov, as Enver had correctly predicted, was not in a forgiving mood. He was not a forgiving kind of man at the best of times. Revenge was very much on his mind, now that the immediate aftermath of Hanlon’s visit had been dealt with. He was particularly infuriated that Hanlon was a woman.
Women had no place in Arkady’s world except for sexual pleasure, as the butt of jokes or for public beatings and humilia- tion. His relationships with women were those of slave and master from plantation times.
Now Hanlon had turned his world on its head. He had been the butt of a joke, he had been physically attacked, he had been humiliated. Nothing short of Hanlon’s death would satisfy him.
He wanted a razborki, a settlement of accounts.
Dimitri had been sent to a private treatment clinic in Wembley that Arkady used occasionally when people who worked for him needed patching up. The facilities and doctors were good, but more to the point, there were no awkward questions asked. They X-rayed him, suggested he might like to go somewhere for a proper CAT scan, gave him industrial- strength pain killers and sent him back. The fortunate thing for Dimitri was that the injury (all the pain seemed to cluster at the site of the broken bone around his eye) was easy to isolate. This was not the case for Arkady.
Arkady had been treated at the clinic, too, for the second- degree burns on his groin. The major problem for him was that whatever he did put pressure on the area. Sitting, lying, even standing, the burned flesh was chafed and pressured. The fact that it was this kind of pain he had enjoyed inflicting on his girls was an irony he failed to notice.
Dimitri was making light of his injuries. He had survived much worse in the past, as had Arkady, but the humiliation really hurt. To be beaten up by a woman, that was an unwel- come first. He ran the scene over and over in his head like a video on a loop. Hanlon headbutting him, fine, who could have anticipated that? But then his stupidity, when he had a hold of her, in not finishing the job properly! A two-handed grip and she’d have been his. Instead, that elbow strike to his gut, then the wooden end of the shotgun driving into his jaw. Well, the next time they met – and there would be a next time, they would see to that – it would be very different.
Arkady concerned himself with more practical problems. Who was she? He very quickly decided that she had to be some kind of professional. Well, that much was obvious. His first thought was probably ex-army. Not many men, let alone women, would have either the ability or, maybe more to the point, the guts to tackle Dimitri. If it had happened in Russia he would have guessed maybe the FSB, the Federal Security Service, the KGB’s replacement. Where Putin had come from. But they weren’t in Russia and he couldn’t blame Vladimir Vladimirovitch for this.
What was she? Mixed martial artist? Cage fighter? Surely not.
The only time he had seen commitment like that, bravery like that, and that fanatical look in the eye of someone perfectly prepared to die for their cause, was when he’d served with the army in Chechnya.
Svoboda ili Smert!
Freedom or death. That was a Chechen war cry he had heard many times. He could easily imagine it on her lips too. While promoting brand Belanov, Arkady had always heavily emphasized the terrible things that would happen to those who crossed him. He had learned long ago that fear paralyses people as effectively as a choke-hold. He liked people to be afraid of him and you would have to be crazy not to be. Whoever the woman was, she hadn’t been deterred by his reputation.
Then there was the question of who had sent her. His first thought, when Dimitri went down, was, I’m a dead man. She had to be an assassin, a hit-woman. He had never heard of such a thing, but why not? To see was to believe and from his position he felt sure he was looking death in the face. What else could this be? When you live a gangster’s life, you will probably die a gangster’s death, either behind bars or violently. There was no doubt in his mind as to his fate.
He knew what violent death looked like. He had meted it out often enough.
His most coherent thought had been a desire to die well, to show her that a Russian wasn’t scared of death. Dimitri had a tattoo of the Virgin and Child on his chest ready for this eventuality. It meant that his conscience was clean before his friends. Arkady’s only hope had been that it would be quick. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing or seeing, when she stuck that picture of the nonentity Fuller under his nose. This peculiar request for information on probably the least important of his clients, was what he found hard to grasp. That anyone should risk their lives to find out what that ineffectual pervert was up to was bewildering.
Arkady’s brain was an incredible storage system. In prison he’d occasionally do memory shows for his fellow inmates, memorizing packs of cards, that kind of thing. He had been able to provide all the details she had wanted in a nano-second, time, date, length of stay, choice of girl, but who cared about some two-bit teacher?
That made him rethink the soldier part of his theory. Police? It was such a cop kind of question, establishing an alibi, but such an unorthodox way of going about things. Still, it was something worth checking out. Indeed, realistically, it was one of the few things he could check out.
To think was to act. Arkady picked up his new mobile phone and called his contact at Oxford CID.
DS Joad looked around the bar with approval. It was only the second time that he’d been here, although he had been on Arkady’s books for two years. He had been given dis- appointingly little to do. Since he was paid a retainer, plus extra for services rendered, he’d earned a lot less than he was hoping for. Plus, he’d expected to be given the run of the house, where the girls were concerned. Joad had been extorting sex from prostitutes all his life and now he had hit the mother lode, he wasn’t allowed so much as a blow-job. Perhaps today his luck would change. He looked at the menu of girls. Nadezhda from the Caucasus looked very promising.
He ordered a Beluga Goldline vodka on the rocks. It was eye-wateringly expensive and he liked the stylish bottle it came in. He also liked the way that he didn’t have to pay for it. He knocked it back quickly and banged the glass down on the bar so he could get another one in while the going was good.
‘Make it a large one, Ivan,’ he said to the barman.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and straightened his tie. He was looking good. He was glad he’d worn his best suit. He fitted in perfectly. He’d had a bit of banter with the barman about it. He was popular with barmen; he had the common touch. He sipped his drink and looked around the bar. He smiled benignly at the other customers with their girls of choice. The barman slipped away and crossed the corridor to Arkady’s office. He knocked on the door and Dimitri opened it. ‘Get that fuck-wit out of my bar, please, Dimitri Nikolyavitch,’ begged Sergei. ‘He’s beginning to freak the other customers out.’ Dimitri looked across the office at Arkady, who nodded.
Dimitri then accompanied the distraught barman and returned thirty seconds later with Joad, still clutching his drink.
Arkady began to reconsider his hiring policy. Surely anyone was better than this. He ran his eyes coldly over Joad, who was grinning at him, anxious to please. The policeman was wearing a terrible three-piece suit, made of some dark, artificial fabric. Even in Arkady’s hometown of Tulskaya in south Moscow, notorious for being an industrial slum, a real dump, it would look like shit.
‘Sit down,’ he said abruptly. Joad did as he was told.
Enver had guessed that Hanlon would have been photographed on some form of internal security system. So she had.
Arkady slid a high-resolution photo of Hanlon across the top of his desk. Joad’s eyes widened as he saw who it was. He immediately decided to lie for the moment. It’s what he usually did.
Arkady had noticed Joad’s reaction.
‘Do you know who this is?’ he demanded.
Joad shook his head. ‘No, I was just admiring the view. Nice tits, bit small for me, not like Nadezhda,’ he added hopefully. Arkady stared at him coldly. ‘I’m sure I can find out for you, though,’ said Joad.
‘I hope you can,’ said Arkady menacingly.
‘If she’s on our system, it might take some time,’ said Joad, pulling a face.
‘Then make time,’ said Arkady.
Joad put his serious face on. ‘I’ll run her through databases for you. Do you have fingerprints? That would be a huge help.’
‘No,’ said Arkady.
‘She sounds like a professional,’ said Joad. He frowned to indicate the difficulties he would face.
‘Meaning?’ said Arkady.
‘I mean, she might not even be on our system,’ warned Joad. He was warming to his task. ‘But I swear to God I’ll pull all the stops out.’
‘You do that,’ said Arkady. ‘And I will want some form of address, some knowledge of how to get hold of her.’
Joad thought carefully. ‘I’m sure that can be done, if I can track her down. And I take it you’ll want any other relevant information.’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s she done, this woman?’ asked Joad, curious to know how Hanlon had come to Arkady’s attention.
‘Pissed me off,’ said Arkady.