The Carnival Master

8.

‘What we are talking about is committing murder.’ Buslenko leaned on the table and held Maria in a searchlight gaze. She hated his eyes. Bright and hard like diamond-cut emeralds. So like Vitrenko’s eyes. ‘Let’s be clear on that. We’re here to break the very law that it is your duty to uphold. You are a Murder Commission detective, Maria… you should know more than anyone that there is nothing that legally justifies the homicide of Vasyl Vitrenko.’

‘It’s morally justifiable…’ she said.

‘That’s not the issue. If we’re caught, you’ll go to prison. I just want to make that clear. If you want to walk away from this, then you can do so now. But go back to Hamburg… I don’t want you getting in our way here.’

‘I know the stakes,’ said Maria. ‘I’ll do anything to nail that bastard. He finished me as a police officer so I don’t see why I should act like one when it comes to bringing him down.’

‘Okay…’ Buslenko rolled out a street map of Cologne. It was no ordinary driver’s city guide and Maria guessed it was the kind of map that every intelligence agency in the world would have of cities in every other country. There were a number of small red squares glued to the map. ‘These are the centres – or at least the ones we know about – from which the Vitrenko outfit operates. We have good intelligence on these, but we know these aren’t the key locations. We know nothing about those. And we can be pretty sure that Vitrenko has changed his appearance significantly. He could be right under our noses and we wouldn’t know it. But we do have intelligence on this piece of shit…’ Buslenko laid a photograph on the table. ‘This is Valeri Molokov, the Russian. In fact, in many ways Molokov is a Russian version of Vitrenko. The main difference is that Molokov is not quite as smart, not quite as deadly. And where Vitrenko sees himself as something other, something better, than a common criminal and still thinks he’s running a military operation, Molokov, despite having a police Spetsnaz background, is quite comfortable with his role as a common or garden mafia boss.’

‘Molokov was a police officer?’ asked Maria.

‘Again, not in the way you think of it. Molokov served with OMON, the Russian Special Purpose Police Squad, but was kicked out, ostensibly for corruption. With so many special-forces police on the take in Moscow, that takes some doing. Molokov did three years in Matrosskaya Tishina prison in Moscow for offences linked to people smuggling. Another difference from Vitrenko, who’s never been arrested, far less faced trial and imprisonment. The truth is that Molokov built his reputation as a contract killer. He’s now officially wanted for a whole range of crimes. Molokov hates Vitrenko but can’t do anything about the situation. He and Vitrenko were on a collision course and Molokov knew he’d come out worst. So Vitrenko was able to force Molokov into partnership with him, with Molokov very much the junior partner.’

‘Why hasn’t Molokov been extradited from Germany?’ asked Maria.

‘Molokov and Vitrenko are both living here under assumed names. The difference between them is that Vitrenko is better at it – living in someone else’s skin, as it were. But the German police still don’t know what identity Molokov’s using or where to find him. And that’s where we’re ahead of the game.’

‘Oh?’

‘We have a location for him. More by accident than by design. Our main interest in Molokov is that he’s the highest-ranking member of the Vitrenko organisation who we can observe. Unlike you chasing around after small fry like Kushnier, Molokov could really give us a fix on Vitrenko.’

‘It sounds like there’s no love lost between them.’

‘There isn’t, particularly on Molokov’s side. Vitrenko has the power to keep him in check, but Molokov is a deadly son of a bitch. But there is a specific stress-point in the Vitrenko-Molokov marriage. Your Federal Crime Bureau here in Germany has a source of information within the organisation. Our intelligence suggests that Vitrenko believes the leak is from Molokov’s side. I took part in a failed operation to nail Vitrenko back on Ukrainian soil. One of Molokov’s top men, a thug called Kotkin, ended up dead, as did a member of our team who was supposedly on the Vitrenko payroll.’

Olga Sarapenko cut in. ‘What we need to know is if you are with us in this. Will you help us nail Vitrenko?’

Maria sipped her water. She noticed her hand trembling as she did so. Her wrists still ached from the rope they’d been bound with.

‘What if we were to do this legally? Locate him and get the BKA to arrest him?’

‘You know that’s not an option, Maria,’ said Buslenko. ‘That would give him a chance to slip through our fingers. You for one should know how easy that is. Anyway, that is not our objective. We are here to put an end to Vitrenko. Literally.’

Maria looked at the Ukrainian. He held her gaze, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. This man claimed to be a policeman, knew that she was a police officer, yet was asking her to cooperate in a murder. There again, that had been the conclusion she had envisaged for herself. But how did she know that he was genuine? He could be anybody. He could be one of Vitrenko’s killers. But if that were the case, wouldn’t she be dead by now?.

‘Like I told you,’ she said. ‘I want to be there when Vitrenko is brought down. I’m in.’