‘The Bull’ Pashinski extended his hand, but it was ignored. He shrugged and introduced himself. ‘I am Olexandr Knysh, and I killed the British businessman.’
Varchenko shook in his seat with rage, his face turning crimson. ‘You hold me up on the Odessa highway in the middle of the day and have the audacity to tell me this!’
‘I am sorry. Should we have met in the restaurant you just left and caused a scene?’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ Varchenko was still incredulous.
‘I am just a businessman like you, Valeriy Ivanovich. A simple businessman and I am looking to invest in Odessa. I understand that you now seek a new partner and I am offering to be that very person.’ Bull picked up a glass and poured himself a cognac.
‘How dare you insult me in such a manner? Don’t you know who the hell I am?’ Varchenko grabbed the cognac bottle.
‘Why, of course I do.’ Bull drank the dark liquor. ‘Very good. French? You are Valeriy Varchenko, former general of the KGB and Hero of the Soviet Union. You own several large companies, part-own a bank and four hotels in the Odessa Oblast, and you are also responsible for most of the organised crime.’
‘You are well informed, if somewhat too concise.’ His ego slightly massaged, he started to breathe more normally. ‘What, however, gives you the slightest idea that you can strong-arm me?’ The man had balls, he had to concede.
Bull placed the glass delicately back in the holder. ‘It would be a pity if foreign investors were to avoid Odessa. Given the tax-zone incentive, they should be pouring money into the area and into your pockets.’
‘So you are threatening me, Knysh?’ Varchenko now knew how to play this.
‘That is a very crude way to put my proposal, Valeriy Ivanovich. I believe that you have need of a partner who brings in not only capital but a wealth of experience in other business-related matters such as, for example, security and life insurance. Not to mention new export opportunities…’
Varchenko had now heard enough. He looked into the snake-like eyes of the man who called himself Knysh. ‘I have no need for another partner, however experienced he may be. You have made a monumental error of judgement in approaching me. I do not want to see or hear from you again. Now leave my car before I personally strangle you!’
Bull held the old man’s gaze impassively. ‘My offer is still open. I will give you time to reconsider.’ He exited the car.
The driver and guard got back in.
‘Drive,’ commanded Varchenko, ‘but not fast.’
The Maybach manoeuvred past the BMW and moved up the road. Its 612bhp V12 Mercedes engine could propel it to 100kmph in five seconds, but he wasn’t running away. This was his Oblast! Varchenko dialled a number and a phone rang in a fast-approaching Mercedes G Wagon. ‘Ruslan, when you see them, run them off of the road. They must not get away. Do you understand?’
He leant back and poured a large cognac. This one he savoured. If you are a dog, do not attack the bear.
Boryspil Airport, Kyiv Oblast, Ukraine
The arrivals doors at Kyiv’s Boryspil Airport opened and, through eager crowds pushing to catch a glimpse of their loved ones, Snow spotted a tall, fair-haired figure. The man looked somewhat bewildered. He had a large case in each hand and a rucksack on his back.
‘You must be Arnaud?’ Snow called out above the heads of an elderly couple.
Arnaud looked up and smiled. ‘Aidan?’
‘Correct. Welcome to Kyiv.’
Arnaud pushed his way forward as best he could and Snow took one of the cases with one hand and shook Arnaud’s with the other. ‘Travelling light?’
‘I didn’t know what to bring, so I brought two of everything.’
‘Well, as long as you’ve brought two pairs of socks you’ll be fine. Follow me.’
Snow led them through the crowds of hopeful locals masquerading as taxi drivers and out to a waiting Lada. The driver, Victor, leant against the bonnet smoking. On seeing the pair he stubbed out the cigarette and opened the boot.
‘Hello to Kyiv.’
‘I think he means welcome.’
Arnaud held out his hand, ‘Nice to meet you, old boy.’
Victor nodded and took the luggage. Once the boot was loaded, he gestured for them to be seated.
Arnaud sat in the back behind Snow. ‘Is this a Lada?’
‘Yep, the Subaru of the former Soviet Union. It’s about forty minutes to the city centre and our place; sit back and enjoy the view.’
Arnaud nodded and looked out of the window at the passing forests bordering the Boryspil-Kyiv highway. Victor pressed a button on the radio and Queen’s greatest hits filled the car. Arnaud let Freddie Mercury sing for a few bars then leant forward. ‘How long have you been here then?’
Snow swivelled in his seat. ‘This is the start of my third year at Podilsky.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah, I do. The staff are friendly and we tend to socialise outside of school too. Beats teaching in the UK.’
Arnaud clicked his teeth. ‘I hope so.’
‘That bad, eh?’
‘I just finished my NQT year at Horley Comprehensive, or to give it the new “super” name, Horley Community College. Ever been to Horley?’
Snow shook his head. ‘I’ve passed through.’
‘Best thing to do. It’s a toilet. The kids are half-crazed from breathing in the aviation fuel from Gatwick Airport. Where did you train then?’
‘Leeds, and I did my NQT year in Barnsley.’
‘Like it?’
‘Probably better than Horley.’
Victor said something in Russian to Snow, who smiled and replied in the same language.
‘What did he say?’
‘He said it was his dream at school to visit London, so now, when he hears English, it makes him happy.’
‘I’d better not speak French then; it may overexcite him.’
‘That’s right; you’re bilingual. Dad or Mum?’
‘Mum. And you speak Ukrainian?’
‘I speak some Russian. I learnt it at school.’
‘Private school?’
‘I was an embassy brat. My dad was at the British Embassy in Moscow in the Eighties, then Poland,
