Cold Black. Alex Shaw
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‘Shukran.’
Basil shook Paddy’s hand – again the strong grip. ‘You will be collected at 8 a.m. tomorrow. Have a nice first night!’
Basil left the villa. Fox looked around the very white room. It had an American-sized double bed, two walk-in wardrobes, an en-suite shower, and a balcony. He looked at his watch – still on London time, two hours behind Saudi. It was early afternoon in the UK but mid-afternoon here; if he had a nap now he wouldn’t be able to get a proper sleep later on. Fox shook his head. ‘Come on, you old git, only two bloody hours difference,’ he muttered to himself as he unpacked his case, took his washbag, and entered the shower.
Central Moscow, Russian Federation
The office was in an unassuming riverside residential apartment block within walking distance of the Kremlin. From the exterior, the balcony looked like any other, but the glass in this was an inch thick and bulletproof. The double doors that led from the communal hallway to the flat were also armoured, made from heavy, reinforced steel designed to withstand a direct hit from an RPG.
In his high-security Moscow residence, Maksim Gurov spoke over the secure phone to Ivan Sverov in Minsk. Both men had been monitoring the Ukrainian news channels. The report of a shooting was high on the schedule, just after the most recent exchanges from the ‘President vs opposition leader’ battle. However, the reports couldn’t confirm who the victim had been; the Militia had yet to release details. This was what Gurov had expected of the Ukrainians.
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