Poseidon's Ransom

Chapter Twenty Seven

Jack’s father-in-law, Dimitri Mikhailovich Orlov, was a true Russian oligarch in every sense of the word. He’d made billions from oil, mining and steel, and held a large portfolio of extremely lucrative properties in all the major cities. As a hobby he owned a premier league football club in the north of England, but his pride and joy, after his own beloved ‘Orel Island’ off the coast of Abu Dhabi, was his prestigious golf club in Scotland.

All this of course paled into insignificance, when it came to his beautiful daughter Nicole and his two granddaughters.

Dimitri, or Mitri, as he was known to family and close friends, was at home, on Orel.

A well-known and respected figure within the international world of finance, he was a tough strong-willed negotiator. In his private life, generous to a fault.

A major factor in his success was his intelligence network. ‘Information is power’ was his favourite quote, and his network was legend. It was said, he had more contacts across the world than the CIA, especially in the Former Soviet Union.

Orlov was at the big desk that reputedly once belonged to Winston Churchill when Olga, his long-standing PA, entered. ‘Excuse me, Mitri.’ the informality was accepted and expected when they were alone. ‘There’s been a strange message.’

The old man looked up and smiled. ‘Really? Something interesting I hope?’

Olga placed a leather folder on the desk. Dimitri put on his spectacles and picked up a print-out of a photograph. ‘That’s Jack. Looks to be in a railway station.’

‘Yes, and I think the man with him, is a friend of his from Moscow.’

The old man squinted slightly. ‘Yes, Bogdan, Bogdan Markov.’

Olga tapped the other sheet in the folder. ‘This is a printout of the message that came with the photograph.’

Your son-in-law does not know what he is involved in. British Intelligence has put him at great risk. We are your friends Orlov. We wish to help you and him.

Mitri looked up. ‘Where was the picture taken?’

Olga took the paper and pointed to a sign a few yards behind Jack. Again, he squinted. ‘PODGORICA… That’s Montenegro.’

‘Da.’

‘How did we get this?’

‘Came into my company email.’

Orlov stood and went to the big windows and looked out over the shimmering waters of the Arabian Gulf. After several seconds he turned and said, ‘You think this is genuine, Olga?’

‘I can’t see any benefit to them if it isn’t. They don’t ask for anything. They say they wish to help. But with what?’

He looked at the message again. Before he could speak, she picked up his smartphone and handed it to him.

He smiled, ‘Thank you, darling.’