Chapter 68: Russian Roulette

Steve's idea sounded attractive. I could see that I could free up some time in a couple of weeks or so but I wasn't sure whether I could justify the trip. I thought I'd talk to Freddie about it first.

If I had thought that Tricia getting her chance as a lead collector would improve her humour I was mistaken. She'd been as pleased as anything when she told me that Harry had said she could finally run lead on a collection. She'd been nagging him (and me) for what seemed like months. But now she seemed less than happy with the challenge.

"Look, just let me get on with it, will you?" Tricia wasn't in the best of moods. I'd made the mistake of offering some unsolicited advice and I was getting my ears bent for my trouble. I knew she wanted to make a good showing but I'd thought it might help if we discussed it. Wrong, evidently.

"OK, OK," I said. "I didn't mean to interfere, I just..."

"Well, just don't she growled and headed off to the other end of the office.

She was still simmering when I stopped by her desk later that afternoon. "Larry," she said, "I'm doing this myself. I don't need your help and I don't want to talk about it. You stick to your account management and marketing and I'll stick to what I'm good at. I don't tell you how to run the clients so don't tell me how to plan a pick up."

"Sure," I said, "Look I don't want to argue about this. Why don't we grab a drink later?"

She shook her head. "Nuh-uh," she grunted turning back to her pile of research reports, "I'm going to be busy. I just don't want to be distracted right now."

Cindy came teetering over on heels high so sharp you wanted to keep your feet out of the way of hers and put another pile of reports down on Tricia's desk. "See what I have to go through," Tricia growled, to no one in particular, "and he wants to go for a drink."

I left her to it feeling more than a bit aggrieved. As I went out I passed Sarah. Harry had decided that she needed a few weeks on menial tasks just to remind her of her real status. They'd put her in an ill fitting overall, shackles on her ankles and wrists, plug gag in her mouth. Dressed like that she was available for any dismal task hat was needed around the office. As I left she was on her knees with a scrubbing brush, cleaning up some spilled coffee under one of the desks. She sat back on her heels as I went by but suddenly realised she was supposed not to look up and cast her eyes down again. She set back to her scrubbing. Harry's approach was obviously having an impact.

I didn't see Tricia for a couple of days but I did bump into Eva in the canteen. "How did Tricia's pick up going?" I asked her.

"OK, I guess for a first time. The target's coming into reception just about now, do you want to see?"

Well, Tricia hadn't asked me but I was interested so I thought I'd go look.

Tricia turned up driving a regular Clegg Meat Products truck. She had one of the other girls up front with her. The two of them were grinning as they climbed down from the truck's cab. "Job done," Tricia called out, more for Eva's benefit than for mine, I felt. "One very talented mathematician to help out Sebastian's team, cleanly lifted and stowed in the back. Brought her lap top along too, so no doubt there's lots of useful research stuff on there she'll be able to carry on working with."

Eva opened up the back of the truck. Tricia's target was in the back still unconscious. A pale skinned girl with dark hair, she was maybe twenty two or twenty three years old, I guessed. Black jeans and a pale muddy green top. She didn't look anything special, but then I thought neither had Jackie, the girl I'd helped pick up on my very first mission with Harry. You couldn't always tell much from looks, these days it was as likely she'd been snatched because of the college course she'd completed. "Come on Miss Oblumov," Tricia smirked, "let's get you settled in a nice comfy cell."

One of the guards was carrying Tricia's target off the truck, Tricia had grabbed her laptop case and was carrying it aloft like a trophy. Eva, bent down to pick up the captive's handbag that had been tossed in beside her. "Didn't you say this girl was Ukrainian?" she asked.

"Sure," said Tricia, "straight out of Kiev University, over here studying at Imperial College."

"Oh," said Eva, "I just wondered why she had a Russian Federation flag on her bag that's all." Sure enough, hanging from one of the straps, was a small replica of the Russian flag with its white, blue and red stripes.

"How should I know?" said Tricia aggressively, determined to let nothing detract from her triumph. "The Prep team can work that one out. I've done my job." She grabbed the bag from Eva and stalked off after her captive.

Eva had felt there was something odd about things at that point. I was with Sebastian when he discovered what it was.

"Look," he said. "Pointing to the screen of the captive's lap top. Here's her email account, krysta.oblumov@lse.ac.uk, plenty of correspondence on her research, plenty of emails back and forth to friends in the Ukraine — see all the.co.ua addressees? But here," he opened up another window, "is another on-line identity alana.kustenky@gorkinet.ru. Lots of family correspondence, personal stuff, emails to a boyfriend in Volgograd, no work stuff at all. Our little collection isn't all she seems."

"Tell me I didn't hear the name Kustenky just then." It was Freddie's voice. He was standing in the doorway.

Seb looked up. "Err, 'fraid so, boss," he said.

"Oh great." I didn't think he was being enthusiastic. "I want a summary of everything you've got on this pick up on my desk in thirty minutes and I want to see whoever responsible for this collection in my office at the same time." He stormed off. Tricia looked puzzled.

She was looking abashed when I saw her an hour later.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

"Nothing I can't fix," she said scowling and stalked off.

She might have thought she could fix it but obviously Freddie didn't. He called me in an hour later. "You're the man for PR," he said. "How do we sort this out?"

"I don't know," I said, "I don't really understand the problem except this girl isn't who we thought she was when we picked her up."

"The problem isn't who she isn't, the problem is who she is. Or rather who her daddy is."

"And daddy is?"

"Kustenky," he said. I looked blank. "Anatoly Kustenky."

"Ah," I said, recognising the name finally. "Of football, oil and gas fame."

"Football, oil, gas and one or two businesses not so different from our own in the general area of the old Russian Empire."

"So we have inadvertently picked up his daughter."

"Uh, huh"

"He's not going to be pleased."

"Almost certainly. And of course he wasn't terribly happy with us before — Kushtia being really part of their old sphere of influence in his mind."

"Ah."

"Yes," said Freddie. "Ah, it most certainly is."

"Well my PR advice would be to seize the initiative, contact him directly and explain what happened. I'd get Alana out of her cell and into more comfortable accommodation and suggest that you and he get together so he can be reunited with her as soon as possible."

"Well, it's a start. I'm not sure he'll respond to just an 'I'm terribly sorry, old man, ' but I guess we can try. Mind you apologising isn't really my style."

"No," I said. "That's why he just might believe you." Clegg just grunted and looked thoughtful.

I saw Tricia shortly afterwards. "You just had to stick your nose in didn't you? You couldn't just leave it to me to sort out?"

"Hang on," I said. "Clegg called me in. What am I supposed to so? Tell him to get lost because you're being precious about your first mission?"

"Precious! I am not being precious. This wasn't my fault."

"Nobody said it was, Trish. But if Freddie asks me to help then I have to help, don't I?"

"Why can't he trust me to sort it out?"

"Because it looks like you cocked it up."

"Oh, great! So now you're blaming me, too."

"Trish, that's not what I said."

"Oh! Oh, just fuck off. Go and shag your little island girl. Or take a turn with the writer. Just stay away from me." She grabbed her things and ran off. I didn't feel inclined to follow her.

She didn't look any the more pleased to see me when we turned up in Clegg's office two days later to meet with Mr. Kustenky. His daughter was sitting in one of Clegg's comfortable armchairs. They'd found her some clean clothes and she'd had a comfortable room in the area we usually used for entertaining customers. Clegg was sitting behind his desk, looking pensive as he asked the two of us to sit down. Elly was there too, looking as inscrutable as ever. Alana dealt Tricia a poisonous glance. Tricia at least had the grace to look embarrassed. She was wearing a dark blue trouser suit over a white top. I'd suggested to Clegg that something sober and professional would be best. She wasn't talking to me. Moments later Kustenky was shown in.