They had to die, p.4
They Had To Die, page 4
The Major then turned to the Colonel. “You will be pleased to know that due to the incredible efforts of my two assistants we can now answer most of your questions. Officer Sokolov, would you please continue?” The officer cleared his throat and then started to speak. “Your wife Alina was born in Tbilisi, Georgia. Her mother was Georgian but her father was from Chechnya. When the first Chechen war broke out with Russia, Alina’s father went back to his homeland to fight for his country, her mother insisted in going with her husband. Rather than put Alina in any danger, they left her in Georgia in the care of a relative who had no children. Alina’s parents then went to Grozny, but a couple of months later died together during one of the heavy Russian bombing raids. Alina’s relative a close aunty had no option but to bring up the child as her own daughter. She did a marvellous job and Alina ended up going to the Moscow State University to study law and of course she then met you.”
The Colonel took a long drink of his coffee. In fact they all did. “Please continue officer.”
“We have also discovered by perseverance and good luck what has happened to your former wife. When she walked out on you with your son Sergei she flew to Tbilisi, Georgia. She left your son with the same aunt who had brought her up. Alina then made her way alone to Grozny in Chechnya. It was her intentions to try and help the hundreds of children orphaned by the war, which she most certainly did. Shortly after sending you the divorce papers she was killed in one of the last bombing raids on Grozny. Though the city was now a wasteland of bombed buildings, the memorial garden in the city centre was completely untouched, it was as though the good Lord had preserved it for posterity. A memorial plaque in her honour has since been erected.” The officer then opened the file he was holding and passed a photograph to the Colonel, which had been emailed to them by one of their operatives in the city. Tears formed in the Colonel’s eyes as he read what was on the memorial plaque. “Alina Aslanov. In honour of a very remarkable woman from Georgia who came to Grozny to care for a generation of orphaned children and died fulfilling her dream.”
The officer then continued. “Again like her own mother, her elderly aunt had no choice but to bring up your son Sergei as her own child. Once again she did a wonderful job and young Sergei eventually attended the Military Academy in Moscow, where you are the principle. Your paths probably passed, but you would not be aware who this young man really was, as he had been brought up to use his mother’s maiden name. When Sergei was originally accepted at the Academy at the age of eighteen, he was one of twenty elite orphaned students who immediately bonded with each other. They had arrived from Georgia and Chechnya to be trained as pilots or aircraft engineers. At the age of twenty three Sergei qualified as both a helicopter and aircraft pilot. We understand he was an exceptional student. Colonel with you being his natural father, it is easy to see where he got his talent from.” The Colonel smiled. “Once your son was qualified he did not return home to Georgia as expected but instead enrolled at the Moscow State University to study to become a gemmologist. He eventually qualified at the age of twenty five. For the next twelve months he worked at the Popigal Creator diamond mine on the Taymyr Peninsula, Siberia as a gemmologist and helicopter pilot. After leaving there he went to Grozny in Chechnya for a few weeks and then travelled to Georgia to see his ageing aunt. Three months later, he flew to Johannesburg South Africa to take up a twelve month contract with the famous diamond mining company De Beers. When Sergei returned to Georgia and this is where our investigation starts to come up against a brick wall, the only discovery we have made is that for six months, he was contracted by our Government to fly cargo planes into war torn Syria for President Bashar al Assad, who desperately needed medical supplies and vital military hardware. Once his contract was up he just disappeared off the radar, it was as though he had never existed until now.”
Major Pavlov then got involved in the conversation. “Do you see your daughter often?”
“Yes, every month without fail. She means the world to me, we have always been extremely close and I love being with her and my grandchildren and of course her husband. I normally take an early morning flight from Moscow to Tbilisi, Georgia and stay for a long weekend or a couple of weeks in the summer. Why do you ask?”
“Has your daughter ever mentioned her brother to you in conversation?”
“Yes, occasionally when we are alone, we will both talk about Sergei and wonder where he is now and what he is doing. My daughter is fully aware about my wife leaving with our son but you must remember, it was many years ago and Sasha was only four.”
“I understand Colonel but I had to ask you. When will you be seeing her again?”
“Later this week, I am taking an early morning flight out to Georgia on Thursday, and will return on Sunday evening. I am due back at the Academy on Monday.”
“Perhaps you will ask her again? May I suggest you ask her husband as well? He may know him socially as Sergei Aslanov, but may not be aware who he is.”
“When I arrive in Georgia, I will speak to both my daughter and her husband and if there is anything urgent to report I will call you.”
The Major then passed the Colonel a black and white business card, which had his office and mobile telephone numbers on. The Colonel took the card and slipped it into his left inside jacket pocket.
“We urgently need to contact your son Colonel, he may have been hired just as a pilot and knew nothing about the hijack, and he could be completely innocent.”
“You think my son is alive?”
“There is no reason for us to think otherwise; apart from the pilot and co-pilot of the cargo plane we have found no other bodies.”
“Major, where do think the Mi-26 helicopter is now it is a huge bird to hide?”
“Possibly in an old military aircraft hangar somewhere in Chechnya,”
“Maybe, but they would have had to refuel, Dikson to Grozny is over 2,300 miles. Could be that the hijackers want you to think that. They could have abandoned the helicopter at some old air strip and camouflaged it, so it is not visible from the air. There are dozens of these air strips all over Russia, especially in the region bordering the Ural Mountains. These guys are obviously well organised, they could have even had a small cargo plane waiting for them at one of these remote air strips. Perhaps this is where my son comes into the scenario, though it is only hypothetical; his job could have been to fly the hijackers to some pre-arranged destination. What about the Chechen Mafia otherwise known as the Obschina? I believe they are now the most dominant crime group in Moscow. It would have taken big money to set up this operation, they certainly have the rubbles and the contacts to move the diamonds out of the country and on to the international market, but there is something wrong.” The three men in the room looked at the Colonel waiting for an explanation. “If the Chechen mafia are behind the hijack, why involve these young men from my academy? None of the students are violent or gangsters. The mafia have enough foot soldiers in Moscow to build a small army. Why involve my boys?” The Colonel stroked his beard with his right hand. “There is something else going on. When I speak to my son in-law in Georgia over the weekend I may gain more information. His father the President may have said something to him.” The Colonel then turned to the Major. “On the other hand if my students and the mafia are not involved who the hell are the hijackers? There can only be one other possibility, the military it has to be, there can be nobody else.”
Major Pavlov did not answer but glanced at his watch, he then got up from behind his desk. “Colonel, thank you for coming to see us we won’t detain you any longer. When we have any further information we will contact you.” The Major then picked up the white telephone on his desk. “Natasha, would you please drive Colonel Stepanov back to his apartment?”
“Major, I am not happy. You continue to point accusations in the direction of my son and his fellow orphaned students from Chechnya. What proof do you have?” There was then a knock on the door and Natasha walked in.
The Major hesitated. “Natasha, something has just cropped up so would you give us another hour.”
The girl smiled. “May I remind you Major, that you have a meeting with the Defence Minister at 2pm?”
“Please remind me again in forty-five minutes.”
Natasha replied. “Certainly Sir,” and smiled as she left the room.
“You want proof Colonel; perhaps this may open your eyes?”
Walking back behind his desk Major Pavlov took a large red file from the bottom left hand side drawer and passed it to the Colonel, who had sat down again.
“Normally this information would never be available to you, but because of whom you are and your high rank I am making an exception. Please go ahead and look through the file.”
The Colonel opened the file which contained twenty plastic sleeves; inside each was a photograph of a young man. Some had red stars attached them.
“Colonel, the first photograph is of your son Sergei. He is a fine looking boy and he certainly has a clear resemblance to you. All the other photographs are of his orphan friends from Chechnya, the photos with red stars attached to them are considered to be suspects.
Colonel Stepanov had great difficulty taking his eyes off his son’s photo. “Major, I now recall my son and several of his colleagues. They were a very talented group of young men, quick learners and spoke the Russian language perfectly. If you are able to, please tell me more.”
“This group of young men, including your son spent most of their free time frequenting the bars and night clubs in the city which are owned by the Chechen Mafia. They have become very close friends of the Suleimanov brothers, whose gangster father Nikolay took control of the city in the 1980’s. The violence the Chechens used to become the dominant crime group in Moscow is unparalleled. They often strung up and tortured their enemies to death with a blow torch. The Major then took a purple file out of the same drawer and passed it to the Colonel. “Take a look at these photographs; they prove without any doubt that these young men from Chechnya including your own son know the Suleimanov brothers well.”
“May I ask how you have come across all this information?”
“I will just say Colonel that we have a most reliable insider. We at the FSB believe there are two major operations going on. Firstly the mafia are out to make big bucks out of the diamond and gem hijack. If they dispose of them even at a fraction of their true value they will still make a huge profit. We believe that they will need the services of your son, who is an expert gemmologist to negotiate the sale of the gems to overseas buyers. Secondly, the Chechen orphans have never forgiven the Russian Government for the death of their parents. Our contact tells us, that there is talk about the mafia supplying the Chechens with arms and explosives to launch a new insurgent movement against Russia. Since this revelation, we have been in touch with the Chechnya Government. They are convinced that it is just talk from the deep hatred they still feel towards the Russian Government. We also believe that several of the so called Military Police, who boarded the cargo plane at the Alykel Airport Norilsk, were former students at your Aviation Academy along with several Chechen Mafia gangsters. The bullets removed from the back of Captain Vladimir Cauchemer’s head, match a gun used in several killings in Moscow three months ago. The executioner was more than likely the same guy. Can you now see why we urgently need to speak to your son?”
Colonel Stepanov looked at the three men and shook his head in disbelief. “Are you absolutely certain about all these facts and that my son is involved.”
“I am sorry Colonel but the facts speak for themselves. Your son Sergei has to be one of our chief suspects, as in the past he worked at the Popigal Creator diamond mine on the Taymyr Peninsula as a gemmologist and helicopter pilot. We must also not forget that your son attended the same Aviation Academy as the Chechen orphans.” The Major then stopped speaking for a few seconds whilst he took a final drink of his coffee. “Because of who you are, we are prepared to hold an olive branch out to your son. If he comes forward, that is if he can be contacted, and gives us all the information he knows, we will overlook everything that has happened providing he co-operates. It is far better than being blown away by the mafia, as he most certainly will be when he is of no further use to them.”
“I wish I could help you, but I do not know where Sergei is at the moment. Do you know?”
“Our contact in the mafia, informs us that he currently lives in Moscow but where we have no idea. There is a possibility that he could be living in a dacha on the outskirts of the city. Many wealthy and influential Russians, often have second homes away from the hustle and bustle of the city. We suspect a number of these guys have mafia links. The problem is the FSB are unable to mount a raid, unless we have absolute proof that Sergei is hiding in one of them. If we target the wrong dacha and the owner happens to be a friend of the President, we are in the shit big time. We have to be patient and very careful but sooner or later we will find him.”
“Major, before I leave, could you let me have a photo copy of the photograph of my son? My daughter Sasha would love to see him as would my son in-law, it may prompt his memory.”
“Of course I will.”
One of the Major’s assistants then removed Sergei’s photo from the red file and went into the adjoining room. A few minutes later he returned with two copies both in a plastic sleeves.
“For you and your daughter Colonel,”
“Thank you.”
The Major then picked up the white phone on his desk and called Natasha back into the office.
Colonel Stepanov was deep in thought as he relaxed in the rear seat of the Mercedes limousine as Natasha drove him back to his riverside apartment. He was glad to have left the Kremlin; it had felt more like an interrogation. He was extremely worried about Sergei and knew that when his son was eventually apprehended, the full force of the law would come down on him. No way did he believe Major Pavlov, when he said his son would face no charges provided he co-operated with the authorities. From experience he knew it just did not work like that in Russia. When he arrived back at his apartment he would have a large glass of Jack Daniel’s Whisky, he had never been one for vodka and had no intentions of starting now. Next week when he returned to the Military Academy after the mid-term break, he intended to search through data computer records of all the students from Chechnya and Georgia, who had attended the Academy over the last five years. With a bit of luck, he would then have an insight into who were the fellow conspirators with his son Sergei.
4
London - England
Life was slowly returning to some form of normality for Jack Sinclair, since the tragic helicopter death of his parents in Australia. Though if he was perfectly honest it will never be normal again, it was now more of a routine. He missed his mother and father immensely and had spoken to them most days, even when he was living thousands of miles away from home. His father Edward had done him a great favour, by recommending him to Franks in London, who urgently needed an experienced gemmologist. He enjoyed working for the diamond and precious gem merchants. After a few months the chairman Jim Richardson, who was a close friend of his late father, put him in charge of the purchase of rough diamonds. A new life opened up to him. Gone was his 8.30am to 5pm job, instead he was frequently jetting off abroad to Antwerp, Belgium, the diamond centre of the world, where he would often purchase on behalf of Franks, several million pounds worth of rough diamonds. Trips to New York, Beijing and Dubai and other Middle Eastern countries followed; these countries had an insatiable demand for a girl’s best friend and Jack was a most persuasive salesman. Jack Sinclair was now a celebrity in the diamond market where he had formed contacts worldwide, even so he was still not a happy guy. There was no one in his life. Sophisticated night clubs had never been his scene; he would much sooner spend the night sat by the bar in one of the trendy wine bars along the Thames embankment where he lived. The only problem was that single pretty girls very rarely visited these bars alone. Most nights unless he was watching television he would end up in his favourite haunt Sam’s Café Bar, having a meal and a couple of pints of Peroni. This evening was no exception, he had just arrived back from a tiring trip to New York and Beijing and he didn’t feel like cooking his own meal. It was a gloriously warm late July summer’s evening when Jack walked into his favourite café bar. The pavement outside the bar opposite the River Thames was overflowing with locals and tourists of all nationalities. Most of them were enjoying a meal and a drink under the large multi-coloured umbrellas. Inside the bar was just as busy, fortunately the air conditioning was switched on. Looking to the right of the long modern curved bar, he saw that his usual black and red leather bar stool was vacant in the corner. Eventually he sat down and managed to order a bottle of Peroni.
