Hetman by Alex Shaw Page A

and he pointed angrily at Webb. “Because of you my daughter will not talk to me! I am her father! You have stolen her from me, from her grandparents and now you want to take her away for ever!”
    “Think of her future, man.”
    “You have no future! Her future is here with me!” Kopylenko took a step forward. “Don’t you understand? Now I can offer her the best. The Best! I have power, I have respect. I am no longer a simple officer from Donetsk.”
    “No you are a puppet.”
    Kopylenko struggled to control his anger and switched back to Russian. “Take them outside to the van. We shall move them to the woods and finish this.”
    Snow started to move but stopped when the Glock was aimed at his forehead. At point blank range he had no chance of avoiding a round. There was a tense silence which was broken by the Nokia ringtone.
    Kopylenko pulled his phone from his pocket. “Da? Suka!” He swore. “Ruslan Fedorovich’s is early. Move them quickly.”
    Budt nodded. “Ok.”
    Kopylenko left the room. Budt smiled, the Glock still trained at Snow’s head. He now spoke in English, the accent all but incomprehensible. “Move now, up step. You one, you two. Now.”
    “Do what he says Brian.”
     
    Blazhevich had watched the owner return home in his dark green Bentley Continental GT. A long legged brunette had been in the passenger seat. The woman was not Imyets’ wife. Blazhevich was getting more and more concerned for both Snow and his SBU investigation. He retrieved his mobile and started to dial Dudka’s number when he saw a three car convoy approach the house. The lead and the last vehicle were matte black Mercedes G Wagons, most definitely AMG versions and most probably armour plated. The middle car was a piano-black Maybach 57S. There was something familiar about the convoy and Blazhevich frowned as he tried to remember who favoured that particular set up. The large gates opened once more and all three cars entered the courtyard. A bodyguard from each of the G-Wagons alighted, only then did a third suited man step out of the front of the Maybach and open the passenger door. A tall white haired figure dressed immaculately in a slate grey suit stepped out.
    “Valeriy Ivanovich Varchenko” Blazhevich said to himself quietly as if not quite believing his own eyes. What was he doing here? Varchenko was a former KGB General and had been awarded the title ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’. As Director Dudka’s boss back in the days of the USSR he had remained one of the man’s oldest friends. He was a member of the elite group nicknamed ‘Nedotorkany’ - ‘the untouchables’, oligarchs who played both sides of the law and as such were above it. They were friendly with Presidents and bandits alike. Blazhevich had met Varchenko, he didn’t like him much. Whilst Blazhevich tried to make sense of what he saw the men moved into the house.
    In the study Imyets had poured himself a large Cognac and was swirling it around in the bulbous glass as he listened to Kopylenko explain his presence. “Do you take me for a complete fool Pavel? Do you not think that I am aware of the petty racketeering that you and your men engage in under my protection?”
    “No Ruslan Fedorovich.”
    “I make allowances for your little indiscretions, I even allowed you to go after this Englishman because I am a father, I have a heart and because in the past you have served me well. But now you bring him here, to my house? You bring your dirty laundry here to be cleaned?”
    “I intended no offence, Ruslan Fedorovich. I am sorry.”
    Imyets downed the cognac then clicked his fingers. The brunette woman re-filled his glass. “Do you not see what you have done? You have signed their death warrant.”
    “But they have seen nothing…”
    Imyets screamed. “Shut up! I cannot take that risk. I cannot let them leave this place. Do you not understand what I have here?”
    Kopylenko had no idea what Imyets was talking about, to him it was just