Fire Hawk (37 page)

‘Fair? Whoever said life was fair, child?'

The couple stumbled onto the pavement, still protesting.

As the tram moved on again the inspector nodded at Oksana's travel pass and muttered, ‘Something for nothing, that's what they want.'

Yes, thought Oksana, but it was hard for Ukrainians to feel responsibility towards the state when the state no longer showed any towards them.

At the Mykhailivs'ka Square she got off the tram in front of the elegant façade of a nineteenth-century school. Kiev was a fine city; she knew that in some ways she would be sad to leave it.
Leave
it? Leave Kiev? Leave Ukraine? She was crazy. Crazy as a bird trapped in a room that sees daylight through a window and hurls itself against the glass. And yet escaping the hell of life here was what she, like so many people she knew, dreamed of. And if there was a chance that her brother with his military secrets could be given sanctuary abroad, then wasn't it possible,
just
possible, the same could be done for her?

Her watch said ten to twelve. She was as nervous as a kitten today, walking up this road that she walked up every working day. She rehearsed in her head the script she'd discussed with Misha.

The British Embassy appeared in front of her. A former nobleman's town house, the doors were locked, but she gave her name on the speaker-phone and stood back so that the guard could see her face on the security camera. The electric latch clicked and she let herself in, closing the door firmly behind her.

The small entrance hall, decorated with old prints of English hunting scenes, contained a row of chairs for waiting visitors, opposite which was a full-length mirror concealing a video camera so the guests could be studied before being let in. At the far end of the narrow hall was a thick armoured-glass window behind which she herself sat on weekdays. This morning it framed the surly face of the British security guard, who observed her approach with surprise and suspicion.

‘What's up, Oksana?' he asked through the intercom. ‘Leave your handbag behind or somefink?'

‘No. I must speak with Mr Figgis,' she replied, trying to sound as if it were an audience she was used to. ‘Is he in yet?'

‘No. But soon, if he's on schedule. Expecting you, is he?'

‘In fact not.'

‘Hmm. Well, I suppose it's all right. But if I let you in to wait for him you'd better sit here where I can see you. Don't go wandering about, now.'

‘Of course not.'

She bristled at his patronising manner, but pulled her bright red lips into a smile as he let her in through the steel-lined security gate. She sat in her usual chair behind the desk while the guard pottered about and told her things she already knew – that his tour of duty in Kiev was almost over and he was dearly looking forward to returning to Essex. It was a part of England Oksana had never heard of but which she began to think of as somewhere close to heaven.

She tried to think ahead to her forthcoming conversation with Mr Figgis, rehearsing her words and anticipating his responses. The man didn't look like a spy; indeed, spying wasn't really what an intelligence officer did these days, it had been explained to her once. His presence in Kiev was official and open, and he apparently spent
much of his time in conversation with Ukrainian intelligence men at the SBU.

Occasionally Mr Figgis had visitors from England however, and some of
them
she'd had her suspicions about. A year ago there'd been a woman out from London whose presence in the embassy had never been explained. At the same time a man with a nice smile and a handsome face had called in three or four times and had chatted her up in a jokey sort of way while waiting for the woman upstairs to send down for him. She remembered him as being rather attractive, the sort of man who made life happen
for
him rather than
to
him. If circumstances had been different he was a type she might have shown interest in.

Another half an hour passed before Gerald Figgis walked in through the door from the street. Tall and thin with slicked-back hair, he wore jeans, trainers and a blue and red sweatshirt. When the guard let him in through the security door, he passed by the reception alcove without noticing the woman sitting there.

‘Mr Figgis.' She rose to her feet, quaking. Her voice was husky, like a singer with a sore throat.

He stopped and half-turned. ‘Oksana. Hello. Don't normally see you here on a Saturday.' Then he moved forward again, heading for the stairs.

‘Mr Figgis, I . . .'

Figgis paused with one foot on the bottom tread.

‘Yes? There's a message for me?'

‘Could I speak with you please?' she asked, trembling.

‘Of course.' He waited for her to start, then when she didn't the penny dropped. ‘Well you'd better come up to my office. It'll have to be quick. I'm due on a tennis court in fifteen minutes.'

Figgis's room was at the back of the embassy, overlooking a garden of well-trimmed lawns and a row of garages for official cars.

‘Won't you sit down?' Three modern armchairs in blue-grey leather surrounded a low round table. ‘Please.' He pointed to one of the chairs, and waited for her to sit before lowering himself into one opposite her.

Oksana had never seen him in casual clothes before. She found it disconcerting, as if the lack of a suit deprived him of his authority.

‘Now, what is it you want to tell me?' Figgis asked crisply.

Oksana suppressed her nerves and took in a deep breath.

‘I have brother,' she began abruptly. She spoke English quite well, but with a strong accent. ‘He is Major in army of Ukraine. But he has run away. You see, he discover something corrupt in army. When he report it to his General, they try to kill his child.'

Figgis's eyebrows shot up.

‘I
beg
your pardon?
Who
did?'

‘As warning,' she continued. ‘To make him not talk about what he know. Now he think they try to kill him also. So he has come here to Kiev with his wife and with Nadya his daughter. They are at my home now. They arrive this morning.'

‘Golly! This is pretty dramatic stuff,' Figgis exclaimed, unsure how seriously he should be taking this. ‘But hang on a minute. I'm not getting this.
Who
tried to kill his child? The army?'

‘Not exactly. He says it is Mafiya,' Oksana shrugged, as if it were obvious. ‘He is very afraid of Mafiya in Odessa.'

‘
Mafiya?
I see.' Figgis leaned forward, poker-faced. Everyone in Ukraine feared the Mafiya. Criminals controlled the country. But he could see already this wasn't a matter for him. The tennis court beckoned. ‘Well, look, I certainly sympathise with your brother, but I really don't think—'

‘Please! Listen to me.' There was desperation in her voice.

‘Well of course I'll listen,' he said, taken aback by her vehemence. ‘But I really think this is more a matter for your own SBU—'

‘No! Militsia, SBU,' she protested. ‘They cannot be trusted. Please let me tell you something more. Then you understand.'

‘Go on then.'

‘My brother he says it very important what he finds out, not for Ukraine but for countries like UK. He discover there are some corrupt officers in army in Odessa who sell military equipment to Mafiya. He knows about just one weapon, but very special weapon. Something like missile, he say.'

‘A
missile
?' Suddenly she had Figgis's total attention.

‘Like rocket, he say me. And he think Mafiya they send this outside of Ukraine. He think they sell to terrorists.'

What she was saying made alarming sense to Figgis. There'd been recent intelligence of IRA men sniffing around for surplus arms in the Trans-Dniestr area of Moldova, which wasn't far from Odessa.

‘Does he have any idea
which
terrorists in particular?' he asked carefully.

‘No.'

‘I see.'

Figgis leaned back in the chair. His tennis partners were going to have to play without him.

‘Now let me get this absolutely right, Oksana. Your brother believes that the army command in the Odessa Military District is directly involved in this illegal weapons sale, yes? And that because your brother's found out about it they're trying to silence him?'

‘Yes.'

Figgis bored into Oksana's frightened blue eyes, trying to decide if she really knew what she was saying. The
drift of it wasn't entirely surprising. Vast quantities of military hardware had been sold by corrupt military men in the chaos following the break-up of the old Red Army, but in recent years the problem had appeared to ease. Either the military's internal security people had got a grip on the corruption as they claimed, or, more likely in his view, all the stuff with a ready market had already been sold.

From memory he recalled what it said about Oksana in the personal file which he kept on all the locally employed embassy staff. A reasonable fluency in English. A good manner with visitors and on the switchboard. But something negative too, he remembered. A tendency towards emotional instability. There'd been a husband who'd died. A Chernobyl connection. She'd been known to spout tears when things got a bit hectic downstairs. But the key point was that there'd been no hint of any connection with a Ukrainian or Russian security agency.

Figgis was suspicious, however, because he was paid to be. Suspicious and cautious. There was the potential for trouble here. Relations between Britain and Ukraine were sweet just now, both at the diplomatic and the intelligence level, the result of years of effort. If he personally got involved in the handling of a defector from the Ukrainian army it could be highly damaging. There was also the possibility he was being set up. That somebody in the highly corrupt hierarchy of Ukraine had a reason for wanting to sour relations with Britain.

And yet from the little she'd told him already, he knew he needed to know more.

‘You know, this really isn't a matter the British authorities can get involved in, Oksana,' he told her cautiously. ‘But you've certainly aroused my curiosity. D'you by any chance know exactly where all this happened? And when? And this, er, this missile – d'you know the exact type your brother was talking about?'

‘No. I cannot tell you this. But my brother he can tell you, of course.'

‘Yes . . .' Figgis clasped his hands together. But there was no way
he
could risk compromising himself by talking to her brother. ‘And how do you propose he does that?'

‘I'm sorry?' She hadn't understood him.

‘You led me to believe he wants to tell
us
about it, rather than the SBU,' Figgis explained noncommittally.

‘Oh
yes.
In
England.
He will tell everything in England when you give him visa for him and his family.'

Her red mouth set in a tight line. The gold ear hoops trembled. Figgis understood how terrifying it would be for a quiet, unassuming person like her to be thrust forward by such circumstances. She was an attractive woman. And he could see now that there was fire there, something he'd not noticed before. He rocked back in his chair.

‘What you're asking is not—'

‘You see, it is not safe for him in Ukraine any more,' she insisted, ignoring him. ‘They will find him – army, Mafiya. And, I think maybe it is dangerous too for me and for my daughter,' she added opportunistically. ‘These criminals – they take away your life without second thought.'

‘I understand your concerns,' he assured her. ‘But it's not that easy.'

This brother of hers might have done something criminal for all he knew. It could be he was on the run from legitimate law enforcement agencies rather than from some criminal gang.

‘Tell me, Oksana, has he spoken about this with the SBU at all?'

‘Pschh! I tell you, they still all like KGB,' she hissed. ‘He does not trust. You know this. Nobody in Ukraine trust Militsia or SBU.'

‘I could give you a name, you know. A man at SBU headquarters on vulitsya Volodymyrs'ka – someone I've got to know quite well. A man I believe to be straight.'

‘No, Mr Figgis. My brother will not give information to SBU, because even if you know one honest man in SBU, he will tell it to other men who are not honest. Then they will kill my brother. No. He ask me to say to you he
will
tell everything that he knows, but only if you give visa for him and wife and daughter to stay in England. Because after he tell you everything, he can never return to Ukraine.'

‘You're saying he wants to betray his country in exchange for asylum in Britain, yes?' Figgis checked, deliberately stressing the political nature of what was involved. ‘That's a very serious step, you know.'

‘Betray
country
? What means that?' Oksana protested. ‘This is not betray country. Mafiya. Criminals. It is
they
who betray Ukraine. And our government that does nothing to stop them. No. My brother he want to give this information to countries outside Ukraine because he afraid some foreign terrorists do something very bad with what Mafiya sell them.'

Figgis tapped his fingers together again. Oksana's terms could never be acceptable as they stood. Before any visas could be offered they'd need to know in great detail what her brother had to tell them.

He studied her. There was desperation in those eyes. Like so many women in Ukraine, life had ground her to a low ebb. He would have liked to help, but it just wasn't going to work. Too many
ifs
in this. Her brother would have to talk to the SBU.

And yet. Before turning her down it would probably be wise to refer it to London.

‘Can you give me a few moments, Oksana?' he asked suddenly. ‘Perhaps you'd like to wait downstairs. There's someone I'd like to talk to about this.'

‘Someone at SBU?' she whispered, heart in mouth.