Hetman by Alex Shaw Page B

He bumped past the slide and into the entrance hall of the next block. The building was very much like his. He called the lift, was surprised to see it worked and sent it to the top floor as he ducked around the side of the lift shaft and hid in the shadows by the entrance to the maintenance room. He hunched over, panting. All was quiet apart from the sound of his chest heaving. He vomited as waves of pain roared through his body. He couldn’t go home; he couldn’t go to the Militia. He had no other choice; there was only one person who could help, one man he knew would not let him down. He pulled out his old Nokia and called Aidan Snow.
     
    Worthing, United Kingdom.
    Aidan Snow slowed his pace as he felt his Blackberry vibrate in his zip pocket. He retrieved the device and saw that it was an incoming call from one of his closest friends, a friend however he had not seen for too long. Snow answered the call and started to walk.
    “Brian Webb, how are you?”
    “Aidan is that you?”
    “Er yes. Don’t tell me you’re pissed already? What time is it in Kyiv, eight a.m.?”
    Webb’ voice was rushed and his breathing laboured. “Aidan I need your help I don’t know what to do – they are threatening me and the family.”
    Snow stopped and placed his right foot on a bench to stretch his ham strings. “Brian take a breath and tell me what’s happening?”
    “Aidan I’ve got to keep moving they’ve found me…” Webb stopped talking abruptly and Snow could hear raised voices at the other end and banging.
    “Brian. Brian are you still there?”
    “Aidan can you come to Kyiv? Can you get here quickly? I need you to help…”
    “Brian…Brian!”
    As Snow looked out to sea he could hear Brian speaking to someone then he heard a yell and what sounded like a crashing sound. Suddenly a deep voice came on the phone and asked in Russian. “Who is this?”
    Snow replied in English. “Is Brian there?”
    The voice switched to heavily accented English. “Yes.” The line went dead.
    Snow redialled and the call went to voicemail, Brian’s voicemail. “Brian call me when you can.” Snow looked up Brian’s home number, hoped it hadn’t changed and dialled. He let it ring for a minute before disconnecting. Snow frowned, he could count his number of true friends on one hand and Brian was one of them. Brian now owned a chain of English language book shops in Kyiv, but it had been before this that Snow had met him. They had both been teaching at the same international school and Snow was the ‘new boy’.   Brian had taken Snow under his wing. The Yorkshire man was twenty years Snow’s senior but the age gap had not made a jot of difference especially to Brian’s pretty wife Katya who was younger than Snow. He had never heard the happy Yorkshire man speak like that before. Still carrying the guilt of failing to save one friend years before Snow had vowed never to let it happen again. Snow dialled his boss’ number.
    “Patchem.” A voice said after four rings.
    “It’s Aidan, sorry for calling you this early on a Saturday.”
    Jack Patchem, Snow’s controller at the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) too sounded out of breath. “Not at all. Ok, I’m listening.”
    “Jack I need to take a few days off, some of that holiday time I’m owed.”
    “You are asking for a Holiday?”
    “No something’s come up, a personal matter.”
    On the golf course Patchem raised his eyebrows. “Anything that I should know about?”
    “No.   I just need to help a friend out.”
    “So from the timing of this call I expect you need it immediately? Yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Go, but make sure you can get back if I need you.”
    “Thanks.” Snow ended the call and then tried both of Brian’s numbers again; neither were answered by a human. Snow put his Blackberry back into his zip and pocket and ran the remaining mile home along the promenade. Back indoors he quickly purchased a ticket online for the next flight to Kyiv, which