Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours (22 page)

There were more than two dozen private jets parked at the general aviation terminal at Larnaca International Airport, many of them with Russian registrations. They came to a halt next to a Learjet and the pilot switched off the engines. The steps were folded down and a few minutes later two uniformed officials entered the cabin. One went to talk to the captain in the cockpit. Popov approached the second official and handed him the passports of everyone on board.

The official sat down and took a metal stamp from his pocket, and an inkpad. He opened the inkpad, removed a pen from his pocket and put on a pair of wire-framed reading glasses. One of the stewardesses handed Grechko a glass of champagne as the immigration officer methodically worked his way through the passports, checking the details against a printed list and carefully stamping them and then scribbling a signature over the stamp.

The first official came out of the cockpit and walked around the cabin, opening several cupboards before disappearing into the toilet for several minutes. Shepherd figured he was a customs officer but his search appeared cursory at best.

It took the immigration officer fifteen minutes to deal with the passports, after which he handed them to Popov, nodded unsmilingly at Grechko, and left the plane with the customs officer in tow.

Grechko stood up, stretched, and waited for Popov and Shepherd to go ahead of him. Popov went down the steps first, scanning the immediate area for possible threats before checking out the buildings overlooking the plane. Shepherd did the same as the two men walked down the steps to a line of waiting cars. There were two Mercedes SUVs either side of a pale blue Rolls-Royce, which from the way it was so low on its suspension was clearly heavily armoured. It was a clear night, the sky overhead full of stars, the moon a pale sliver off to their right.

Malykhin’s bodyguards were all out of their vehicles and standing around the convoy. Only two, the ones by the Rolls-Royce, were looking at the plane, the rest were checking out the surroundings. Shepherd noted their professionalism and began to relax a little.

Popov walked across the tarmac and hugged one of the bodyguards, a tall sandy-haired bruiser of a man with mirrored sunglasses. He introduced him to Shepherd as Vassi Kozlov, Malykhin’s head of security. Shepherd and Kozlov shook hands as Popov turned back to the plane. ‘You speak Russian?’ asked Kozlov in heavily accented English.

‘Sadly not.’

Kozlov said something in Russian to Popov and both men laughed.

‘I hope that wasn’t about my mother,’ said Shepherd.

‘He said you’ve got the eyes of a killer,’ said Popov. ‘And he’s not wrong.’

Podolski came out behind Grechko and they moved down the steps together, sticking close until Grechko had slid into the back seat of the Rolls-Royce. The two stewardesses came down the steps carrying Grechko’s Louis Vuitton luggage, which they loaded into the boot of the Rolls-Royce.

One of the bodyguards was already in the front passenger seat and Shepherd could see that three of them weren’t going to sit in the back of the Rolls-Royce so he looked at Popov expectantly. ‘Why don’t you ride up front with Vassi?’ said Popov. Shepherd saw Dudko and Volkov head up the stairs and back into the plane.

Shepherd walked with Kozlov to the Mercedes at the front of the convoy. One of the bodyguards was already sitting next to the driver. Kozlov opened the door and motioned for Shepherd to get in. As he slid inside another bodyguard opened the rear door on the other side and climbed in, leaving Shepherd in the middle. Kozlov got in and slammed the door. He and the other bodyguard were both big shouldered, and despite the size of the SUV Shepherd had very little room to move.

As the doors slammed shut, Shepherd looked back at the plane. Dudko and Volkov were coming down the steps, each carrying two heavy aluminium suitcases. They took them to the Mercedes at the rear of the convoy and loaded them into the boot before getting into the back. Shepherd frowned. He hadn’t seen them on the plane, nor had he seen them being taken on board at Northolt.

They drove out of the airport and on to the main road. The drivers were clearly professional, staying close enough so that no cars could infiltrate the convoy but leaving enough room to manoeuvre if there was a problem. There was little traffic around so everyone was relaxed.

‘So, Dmitry says you are a policeman, Tony,’ said Kozlov in almost impenetrable accented English.

Shepherd nodded. ‘Executive protection,’ he said. ‘My unit looks after diplomats and visiting dignitaries as well as local politicians.’

‘And you have a gun?’

Shepherd thought that his Glock had remained hidden in its shoulder holster but Kozlov had obviously spotted it. ‘Cleared through Europol,’ he said.

‘But before you were a policeman you were a soldier, correct? Special forces?’

Shepherd frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’

Kozlov patted him on the knee. ‘Do not worry, Tony. Your secret is safe with me.’

‘I’m a policeman,’ said Shepherd, sticking with his legend. ‘Always have been. I’ve done some training with the SAS, but that’s it.’

The Russian winked and patted him on the knee again. ‘There are many former SAS on the island, did you know that, Tony?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Men like Mr Grechko and Malykhin, they prefer to have Russian security. For some, there is nothing better than a SAS man. Many of them work on the island. I know many Russian special forces men and they are giants. Big men with big muscles.’ He grinned and tapped his finger against his temple. ‘Not so smart, but big and strong. But the SAS, they’re not giants. They are not big men, nor do they have big muscles. How tall are you, Tony? Five ten?’

‘Five eleven,’ said Shepherd.

Kozlov nodded. ‘Five eleven,’ he repeated. ‘Now the Spetsnaz, that’s what they call their special forces, are all well over six feet. Six six. Six seven. If you tried to join the Spetsnaz, they would laugh at you.’ He put his lips close to Shepherd’s ear. ‘But the SAS men I know, they are all five ten, five eleven. And they look ordinary. Nothing special. But they are fit, as fit as thieves.’

Shepherd tried not to smile but he failed. ‘It’s as thick as thieves,’ he said.

The Russian frowned. ‘That doesn’t make any sense at all,’ he said. ‘Why would thieves be thick? A thief needs to be fit.’

‘I guess they do, but it means that thieves stick close together.’

Kozlov shook his head. ‘That still doesn’t make sense. But you know what I mean, Tony? You look like the SAS men that I see in Cyprus. Hard bodies but not big, cold eyes but not crazy, and there’s a calmness about you.’

‘A calmness?’

‘I don’t explain myself well,’ said Kozlov. ‘My English is not so good. But the men of the Spetsnaz they are not calm. They always look as if they are about to start killing, they just need an excuse.’ He patted him on the leg again. ‘So come on, we are friends. You can tell me. You are SAS?’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘Just a policeman.’

‘But a British policeman with a gun?’

‘A lot of British policemen have guns,’ said Shepherd.

‘Yes, I hear that London is a very dangerous city these days,’ said Kozlov. ‘Especially if you are Russian.’ He laughed and slapped Shepherd’s leg. ‘But don’t worry, here in Cyprus you will be safe.’

Malykhin’s villa was a forty-five-minute drive from the airport. It was perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Mediterranean and the last mile was a narrow two-lane road that for much of the time had a sheer drop to the sea below. Off in the distance navigation lights bobbed up and down and high overhead another jet was heading to the airport. There was a ten-foot-high stone wall running around the estate, dotted with CCTV cameras, and two metal gates that swung open as the convoy approached. There was a watchtower to the right of the gates where a man was talking into a walkie-talkie. The entire wall was illuminated with spotlights and Shepherd could see that it was topped with decorative ironwork that also functioned as effectively as razor wire.

The villa was almost as large as Grechko’s mansion but was far less symmetrical, as if it had been added to over the years with little thought given to its overall style. The central part had the look of a Greek temple with columns and architraves, but a wing had been added on to the left which had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking an infinity pool, and there was another wing to the right that appeared to be Spanish, with verandas and a terrace overlooking the sea. There were lanterns hung around the verandas and cast-iron street lamps around the edge of the terrace. The entire villa was illuminated with spotlights buried in the gardens.

In front of the main entrance was a massive fountain depicting three dolphins frolicking in the surf, with plumes of water spouting from their blowholes. Two bodyguards in dark suits and sunglasses were waiting when the convoy pulled up next to the fountain. Shepherd had to smile at the bodyguards wearing their ubiquitous shades. They might look good but in the dark the eyes needed as much light as they could get for night vision to function efficiently.

Popov got out of the Rolls-Royce and hurried around to open the passenger door for Grechko. Kozlov and Shepherd joined him as Grechko climbed out.

The front door of the villa opened and Georgy Malykhin hurried out, wearing a gleaming white suit and white patent leather shoes. He was a short, squat man, a bald Danny de Vito, who barely reached Grechko’s shoulder. He hugged the bigger man, said something in Russian, and then hugged him again before standing on tiptoe and kissing him on both cheeks. The two men walked into the villa. Shepherd looked at Popov. ‘Now what?’ Two liveried maids hurried over to the Rolls-Royce to retrieve Grechko’s luggage.

‘They’re in for the night,’ said Popov. ‘Mr Malykhin has a Michelin-starred chef and one of the best wine cellars in the world.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And the entertainment will be arriving in an hour or so.’

‘The entertainment?’

Popov grinned. ‘Mr Malykhin has an eye for the ladies. And Mr Grechko isn’t one to turn down the hospitality of a friend.’ The two maids disappeared inside with Grechko’s bags and the door slammed shut.

‘You’re talking hookers?’ said Shepherd. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I think high-class ladies of the night would be more the way they would see it, but yes, money will most certainly be changing hands.’

‘Dmitry, have you gone crazy? You’re bringing a group of strangers into a secure location at a time when the principal’s life is under threat.’

‘They are girls, Tony. Young and pretty girls.’ He slapped Shepherd on the back, hard enough to rattle his teeth. ‘If it makes you happier, you can frisk them.’

Malykhin’s security centre was a series of rooms in an annexe at the back of the villa. There was a control room similar to the one in The Bishops Avenue mansion with CCTV screens and a rack of charging transceivers, a room with sofas, easy chairs and a big-screen TV, and a small kitchen and bathroom. There were two men sitting with their feet on a coffee table playing a shoot-’em-up video game. They stopped playing when Popov walked in and there were several minutes of backslapping and Russian banter before Popov introduced Shepherd.

One of the bodyguards made coffee and for the next hour the four men sat talking about weapons, women and sport. Most of the conversation was in Russian but Popov was good at translating most of what was said. Eventually a transceiver crackled and Popov grinned over at Shepherd. ‘The girls are here,’ he said.

The four men went outside as a minibus pulled up, driven by an old man in a flat cap. A side door opened and half a dozen girls tottered out in impossibly high heels and short skirts. Shepherd doubted that any of them were out of their teens but none of them appeared to be under-age. They all had long hair, three were blondes, two were brunettes and one was a natural redhead, and they had the look of catwalk models. One of the blondes lit a joint, took a drag, and passed it to the redhead.

Kozlov opened the front door and waved for the girls to enter. The driver of the minibus slammed the door shut and drove off down the hill. ‘Sure you don’t want to pat them down?’ Popov asked Shepherd.

Shepherd nodded at the skimpy tops and tight skirts the girls were wearing. ‘I guess we know they’re not carrying concealed weapons,’ he said.

Popov laughed and put his arm around Shepherd’s shoulders. ‘My friend, most of them are regulars here. And the first time they come, Vassi has them checked out.’

‘Medically?’

Shepherd was joking but Popov took the question seriously. ‘Full blood work, a criminal record check and details of their ID card or passport.’

The girls disappeared inside and the door closed.

‘Before you ask, the CCTV cameras are shut down in main rooms while the guests are there,’ said Popov.

‘I understand now why he doesn’t stay with his ex-wife,’ said Shepherd. He looked at his watch. ‘Look, I’m going to stay outside for the next couple of hours. What about you?’

‘I’ll get some sleep then I’ll take over from you. I’ll talk to the guys to make sure the rear is covered.’ He patted him on the shoulder. ‘You can relax, Tony, we’re regular visitors here.’

Popov walked away, leaving Shepherd listening to the clicking and whirring of insects around him. He looked up at the hillside above the villa, wishing that he was as confident as the Russian. The problem with the isolated villa was that there were dozens of vantage points where a sniper could get a clear view. For all he knew there could be a scope centred on his chest at that very moment. At that instant his phone vibrated and he jumped, then shook his head at his skittishness. He took out his phone to see that he’d received a text message from Amar Singh. ‘Call me,’ it said. Shepherd figured it could only be good news.

He looked around to check that there was no one in earshot and then called Singh. ‘I’ve got your man,’ said Singh.

‘Are you serious?’

‘I wouldn’t be joking, not after all the time and trouble I’ve been to,’ said Singh. ‘Do you want the name or not?’

‘Amar, I’m gobsmacked,’ said Shepherd.

‘Like I said, it wasn’t easy,’ said Singh. ‘The facial recognition took for ever but once I had a usable picture I was able to get a match through the Passport Agency.’