millions of roubles a square metre. We were on oligarch turf.
The one thing my hood didn’t shield me from was the smell. It was roses and bleach again. Either that scent really was everywhere or it was buried inside my head.
The drive back to the city had been as talkative as the one in. We took the same route. Genghis drove this time. The Nigerian rode shotgun. He was constantly on the phone. He talked in Russian.
This suited me. I hadn’t come to any decision on Frank yet. I didn’t know enough about him to make a judgement, and I didn’t know enough about the situation. All I knew was that it involved Tracy, so here I was.
In the exposed, space-age lift, the Nigerian pressed the button for the fourth floor. We raced upwards while the world below chatted over coffee in plush sofas. The mobile never left his ear. It had to be a woman he was talking to. His tone was far too smooth for it to be anybody else.
He didn’t bother knocking when we got to Room 419. The door was ajar. He signed off his lady friend with a silver-tongued comment or two and walked straight in. More five-star-plus luxury. The walls were cream. The thick-pile carpet was the colour of bleached sand. The furniture was solid walnut. Electric curtains. A wider than widescreen Bang & Olufsen TV. A mini-bar that was even bigger than Mr T’s cappuccino machine.
There were two sofas. Two men sat on each. A fifth, the youngest, was on the unmade king-sized bed. They all wore brand new shell-suits. Their faces were red and blotchy from exposure to the sun. And they all had cigarettes on the go. There was so much smoke you couldn’t even see the No Smoking signs.
They eyed me apprehensively, like I was a cop who suspected them all of murder and the grilling was about to begin. Maybe it was the environment. Not many crew normally got to stay in a twelve-hundred-dollar suite in the Ararat Park Hyatt.
The Nigerian didn’t even bother to greet them. He just redialled and helped himself to one of the armchairs that sat each side of a small coffee-table next to the triple-glazed window.
The oldest of the crew got to his feet. ‘I am Rudy.’ He stretched out his hand. He was in his early fifties, with tight grey hair and a beard. ‘I am the captain.’
He was about to start a round of introductions.
‘No time for that, mate. Let’s crack on.’
I threw my parka onto the armchair opposite Mr Lover Man, then drew back the curtain. I was looking out of the front of the hotel. The rooftops of Moscow were covered with snow. It was like a still from
Mr Lover Man wasn’t impressed. He was too busy looking inwards, locking eyes with the crew. He might have been whispering sweet nothings into his phone, but he wanted them to know he’d be hanging on their every word.
Below me, the Range Rover was parked at the front of a line of half a dozen vehicles immediately outside the hotel entrance. Genghis did his bit for the Moscow smog by keeping the engine running. An Audi estate about four wagons down was doing the same. A couple of half-moons had been carved out of the dirt on the windscreen. It was two up. I admired the view for longer than I needed to.
Mr Lover Man closed down his mobile. Was he staying or going?
The vibe I was picking up from the crew was that it would be better if he left. You could have cut the tension between them with a knife. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more at odds with the comfortable world of suede-upholstered headboards and Egyptian cotton sheets.
Mr Lover Man wasn’t moving one inch.
‘Does anybody else speak English?’
‘I do.’
I turned back into the room.
16
He was just a kid, really, low twenties at the most. His nose was already peeling. He looked even more nervous than Rudy, maybe because he was right at the bottom of the food chain and the only other crew member I’d be able to talk to. There was definitely something wrong with this lot.
He added, ‘A little.’ He had the kind of American accent that foreigners pick up from
‘You know I’m here to help, don’t you? I’m trying to get the three of them back, nothing more.’
I got a sort of nod from the boy. He sat back on the bed, but he was about as relaxed as a high-tensile wire.
Rudy looked as though he’d be a serious candidate for the job of Cap’n Birdseye in a few years’ time. Right now, though, the smile beneath his closely cropped beard was so rigid I thought his face might crack.
‘So what happened, Rudy?’
‘We were attacked by Somalis. It was so far from the African coast, I never thought—’ He was still on his feet. His eyes darted involuntarily in the direction of Mr Lover Man.
‘It’s OK, mate, you don’t have to stand for me. Go on.’
He sat down on the bed.
‘The
‘The yacht?’
‘Yes.’
‘What sort is it? A motor yacht? Sailing?’
‘Motor yacht. Forty metres. We were cruising, and then from nowhere two skiffs were coming towards us from the port side.’
The rest of the crew sucked at their cigarettes and kept their eyes down. Either the carpet was really interesting or they didn’t want me to read their expressions.
‘They were travelling very fast — twin seventy-fives on the back. I knew they were pirates even before they attacked. Skiffs so far from the coast. They had to be.
‘We started to make speed and tried to change direction, make it harder for them to board. I shouted for Jez and—’
‘The bodyguard?’
Rudy’s eyes shot across to Mr Lover Man once more. No one else moved, but I knew they were even more uncomfortable at the mention of the BG’s name.
‘Yes, yes. He came up on deck, and he looked, but then he went down below with Stefan and Madame.’
‘Where did he take them? Was there some kind of panic room? Was he armed — did the yacht have any weapons?’
He shook his head. ‘They went into the main cabin. He told me to make more speed. I was trying, but we could not outrun them. They fired a rocket across our bows. Then they aimed the rocket launcher straight at the bridge. I had no choice. I had to come off the power. The other skiff was closing behind. They had grappling hooks.’
I raised a hand. ‘But did you have weapons? Did the BG take them on?’
The boy jumped in: ‘If we had, I would have killed them all.’
Rudy glared at him to stand down. ‘They climbed on the back, maybe five, six, I don’t really know. All with rifles and big knives. I tried to make a mayday call but they must have jammed the radio.’
He sounded close to tears. ‘They got everyone on the bridge. We were on our knees. There was a lot of shouting. They were kicking us, pointing their rifles into the back of our heads. They were high, chewing that drug they like. I could hear Stefan crying behind me. Madame trying so hard to comfort him.’
The crew nodded when they heard the boy’s name. Their expressions seemed to soften.
‘He was scared … so scared.’
A lad with thick dark-brown hair mumbled to the skipper and pointed at me, cigarette in hand.
‘He wants to know that you will get Stefan back home safe.’
‘I’m going to try. But you need to tell me everything you know.
