The Hunter

CHAPTER 40

Zhukovka, Russia

Saturday

21:04 MSK

Colonel Aniskovach climbed out of the SVR limousine and nodded to the driver, who closed the door behind him. Gravel crunched beneath Aniskovach’s feet as he approached the front of the three-storey dacha. It was built before the revolution and was a huge, resplendent building protected from prying eyes by tall pine trees flecked with snow. For a building with twelve bedrooms, to Aniskovach dacha, which meant ‘cottage,’ seemed a laughably inept description.

The town of Zhukovka was home to many such houses, owned by Russia’s powerful and wealthy figures. Some people called it the Beverly Hills of Moscow. Aniskovach had never been to Beverly Hills, but he knew enough about it to know that Zhukovka was the more tasteful of the two. A manservant had the front door open for him, and Aniskovach stepped inside from the cold and into the warmth. He unbuttoned his long coat and handed it to the servant.

Inside, the dacha was even more impressive than outside, and Aniskovach took a moment to take in the marbled floor, panelled walls, and original oil paintings that hung from picture rails. He could hear faint voices, laughter, and soft music drifting into the room from somewhere else in the residence. It sounded like a cocktail or dinner party where the usually very boring guests had been softened up by alcohol enough to finally start having a good time. He was motioned towards a doorway and stepped into a study. The room was empty of people, and he stood in the centre, hands held behind his back, waiting. He tried to look unruffled by the setting and occasion, but he knew that he had been brought here to make an impression, and he would do well to act, at least in some way, as expected.

A decanter of brandy was visible on a sideboard, two glasses next to it, all on a silver tray, placed for his host and him to drink while they talked. On a whim he poured himself a glass while he waited. To pour oneself a drink without invitation could be considered particularly rude, but Aniskovach believed his host would see it as a sign of strength and be impressed with his confidence.

Most people would have been nervous if they were put in a similar position, but Aniskovach was as calm as he had ever been in his life. He checked his reflection in an oval mirror hanging above the room’s fireplace. He’d nicked himself shaving, just a tiny cut on his chin that regrettably marked his looks but, he noted, gave a certain rugged manliness to his striking features. He had a jaw set like an anvil, and with his dark, absorbing eyes he knew he was easily the best-looking man in his department — and, if he wasn’t being modest, the whole organization. He liked to imagine that most of the female employees at headquarters lusted after him.

Aniskovach heard the footsteps in the hallway outside, but he pretended to be taken by surprise when a voice behind him said, ‘Forgive my tardiness, Gennady.’

Aniskovach turned around and bowed his head briefly. ‘It is an honour to meet you, comrade Prudnikov.’

The man in the doorway was tall and heavy-set and wore a well-fitting dinner jacket that shaved off at least ten pounds. He was in his late fifties but looked younger by some years. He wore a friendly smile and was by all reports very personable, but Aniskovach knew him to be quite ruthless. This was the first time he had met the head of the Sluzhba Vneshney Razyedki.

Aniskovach placed his brandy down and approached his superior. They shook hands, Aniskovach letting Prudnikov be the one to grip harder, though only marginally.

‘It is to my regret that we have not had a chance to meet before, Colonel Aniskovach.’ Prudnikov’s eyes glanced at the glass of brandy and then to the decanter, and for a second Aniskovach feared he had offended him, but Prudnikov smiled. ‘You’re a drinker, then, I see — good.’ He released Aniskovach’s hand and moved to pour himself a large measure. ‘I don’t trust a man who doesn’t drink.’

Aniskovach smiled internally at having judged the situation so aptly. ‘I’m inclined to agree with you.’

Prudnikov tilted his head slightly in Aniskovach’s direction. ‘Are you saying that because you actually believe it, or just because I’m your superior?’

Aniskovach shrugged, showing nothing in his expression as he was studied. ‘A bit of both.’

The head of the SVR turned fully and smiled. ‘I’ve been familiarizing myself with your file. Very impressive.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘There is no need to thank me for realizing what is as obvious as my waistline.’

Aniskovach knew Prudnikov was hoping for a smile and he didn’t disappoint.

‘You’ve had a distinguished career,’ Prudnikov continued. ‘A pride to our organization and your country.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I can tell you are an ambitious man.’

‘Yes.’

‘You want my job one day.’

Aniskovach nodded. ‘Naturally.’

Prudnikov smiled. ‘Ambition can be a positive trait; it makes us strive to succeed, to conquer.’ He paused. ‘But it can also be a hindrance or a danger, even, if used unwisely.’

‘It will be ten years before I’m in a position to have a chance at running the SVR,’ Aniskovach said. ‘I’m no threat to you now.’

‘But how do you know I will have retired then?’

Reliable sources told Aniskovach that Prudnikov had a hole in his heart. He wouldn’t be alive in ten years, let alone running the SVR at the time. ‘I don’t, sir,’ Aniskovach lied. ‘Only that if you do indeed see me as a potential threat you would not have brought me here and made me aware of your concerns.’

‘And why wouldn’t I?’

‘It would have been more effective to sabotage my career and halt any chance of advancement without my knowing you were behind it. You are too shrewd not to do so.’

Aniskovach knew he’d slipped the compliment in without it being obvious, and Prudnikov nodded slowly. ‘Very good. So why have I brought you here?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘If you were to guess?’

‘I don’t guess as a general rule.’ He looked around briefly. ‘But judging from the fact that we are talking at your home and not at headquarters you either need my help with something you cannot trust to those close to you or you enjoy my company. So unless my invite to your party was lost in the post I think it’s safe to say it isn’t the second option.’

‘My wife’s party,’ Prudnikov laughed. ‘I was right about you, I can see that already. You’re quite correct, I do want you to do something for me that I need to be completed with the utmost secrecy. A delicate matter I can entrust to you alone.’

Aniskovach took a sip of brandy and waited for Prudnikov to continue.

‘Something has come to my attention, something that you are particularly suited to dealing with.’ Prudnikov paused theatrically. ‘You remember the circumstances of General Banarov’s demise?’

Aniskovach felt his pulse quicken. ‘Yes.’

‘And they were?’

‘He supposedly shot himself in the head after drinking heavily.’

‘And you did not believe this.’

‘I believed he was murdered.’

‘Believed?’

‘Believe,’ Aniskovach corrected.

‘But you never apprehended the killer.’

Aniskovach took a breath. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘At first it appeared to be a suicide, and no one questioned that explanation. It was only later I discovered a professional assassin was spotted in the area the week Banarov died. There was no direct evidence of his involvement, but Banarov had a habit of making enemies and was not known to be suicidal. I made some inquiries, but as it was a domestic matter, I had no authority to pursue it in depth. The FSB were not interested in my theory.’

‘You pursued it anyway, did you not?’

‘As much as I was able. I believe in being thorough.’

‘And ruffled many feathers while doing so.’

‘It just meant I was getting close to a truth someone did not care to have revealed. I’d always suspected that parties within our own intelligence services had sent the killer, either us, the FSB, or the GRU. The unknown resistance I met during my investigation confirmed this.’

‘Indeed,’ Prudnikov said thoughtfully. ‘The assassination of one of our former generals by one of our own has potentially huge repercussions. None of us want a return to the bad old days where we feared our own colleagues might be plotting our demise over something we have done or might one day do.’

‘Quite.’

‘You spoke to a former acquaintance of this assassin as part of your own investigation.’

‘The only known acquaintance. Aleksandr Norimov, a former KGB, then FSB, agent. He’s now a criminal operating out of St Petersburg. He claimed to believe the assassin was dead until I proved to him otherwise. I would have liked to take him away for more intensive questioning, but I had no power to do so.’

Prudnikov nodded. ‘Norimov’s name has surfaced again.’

Aniskovach was surprised and intrigued, but he did his best to maintain a detached composure. ‘In what context?’

‘On the desk is a transcript of a telephone conversation. Read it.’

Aniskovach walked to the large mahogany desk and picked up the piece of paper. He read it carefully, despite his growing excitement. When he was finished he looked at Prudnikov. His mouth felt dry. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to finish what you started. I want this Banarov matter closed neatly and with the utmost discretion.’

‘Why do you want me to do it?’

‘Banarov may have had his fair share of enemies, but he was not entirely without friends. Some of those friends have become powerful in the time since his death and have influence in our government. His younger brother has risen highly within the GRU as well.’

‘I heard.’

Prudnikov continued. ‘Recently, and with increasing frequency, I find that this Banarov matter is brought up in my company. I consider answering the questions of imbeciles who only through accident of fortune have become my superiors tiresome to say the least. Since it was your original probing that gave them reason to ask such questions, these parties will take much interest in whatever you say on the subject. You were the one who first believed Banarov was murdered; you pushed the case when no one wanted to know. Your integrity in this matter is without question.’ Prudnikov took a sip from his drink. ‘If you say this incident has been resolved, it will, finally, be left alone.’

Aniskovach considered for a moment. The head of the SVR was asking him for a favour. If he completed this task with merit, he would find Prudnikov a most beneficial mentor for as long as his patronage had value. And when that value was spent, maybe these friends of Banarov or his brother would make better allies.

‘I’ll need resources,’ Aniskovach stated, careful to sound enthusiastic but not to sound too enthusiastic. ‘A team, agents with military backgrounds.’

‘You can have your pick of men and equipment.’

Aniskovach’s back straightened. ‘And authority.’

‘You shall receive any and all powers you might need. But there is a condition.’

‘Yes?’

‘You must be satisfied with apprehending Banarov’s killer. Question him, yes; kill him, of course. But your investigation ends there.’

‘But we can learn who sent him, who had Banarov murdered. Surely, that’s the point.’

Prudnikov shook his head. ‘I want this wound closed, not opened further. This is my condition. Accept, and you shall find your stock within the organization rapidly gains value. Decline, and wait for another opportunity of this magnitude to present itself.’

Aniskovach had only pursued the Banarov matter as a means to create a name for himself. So the condition was an easy one to accept. Nevertheless, he stood silently for a minute in a pretence of deliberation.

‘Then I accept the condition,’ Aniskovach said.

Prudnikov nodded. ‘Good.’

‘Tell me, though, why do you want this done so quietly?’

‘Because,’ the head of the SVR said a moment after it became obvious, ‘it was me who had Banarov killed.’