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  Dudka regained his composure. “You are of course correct. That is why I have called a press conference.” He looked at his wristwatch, “It will start in one hour. You should attend.”

  “What?” Zlotnik’s face reddened.

  “As the head of the SBU, it would of course be beneficial for international relations between us, Belarus and Ukraine, if you said something positive.”

  Zlotnik opened and closed his mouth several times like a goldfish before the words came out. “But you have not told me what has happened!!”

  “Then sit down and listen.” Dudka pointed at a seat.

  Admonished, Zlotnik sat. Dudka returned to his own chair. There was a phrase for this he had read in a business journal, ‘managing up’.

  *

  The television cameras of several Ukrainian stations including: Inter Channel, 1+1 and ICTV jostled for position with those from Russia and the West. Flashes of light bounced off the faces of the men in suits as they entered. Dudka was the first on followed by Zlotnik and the head of the Kyiv Militia, Kutsenko. They sat. Name plates had been put on the table as had microphones. Dudka held up a hand and a silence fell among the assembled members of the press. He wasted no time with a welcome note or introduction.

  “Yesterday at approximately twelve fifty as I left the Arizona Bar & Grill Restaurant, I was fired upon by a person or persons unknown. I was not hit but… my companion and long-time friend, Director Sukhoi of the Belarusian KGB was fatally wounded.”

  Dudka took a sip from the glass of water on the table in front of him and shook his head theatrically. Flashbulbs exploded around him but before he could continue Zlotnik spoke.

  “We are following up several leads and are working with the Belarusian security service to find those responsible. I have every faith that these killers will be brought to justice.”

  In Moscow the faintest of smiles crossed Gurov’s lips. He had not predicted that the SBU would get so involved but nevertheless the result pleased him. The troublesome KGB deputy director was dead, this had yet to be confirmed by the Belarusian Ambassador in Kyiv, but he did not need further proof. Ukraine would now be forced to work closer with Belarus on security matters who would of course be outraged that such a key figure had been murdered on the streets of their ‘sister state’.

  None of this mattered to Gurov. It would be a smoke screen to obscure the master plan. Sukhoi was a security leak that had been plugged and the tapes content could no longer be verified. Now that the Director had been taken care of, Gurov could continue with his work. It was time again to speak to Sverov in Minsk. Further instructions now needed to be carried out. The man was a nuisance, but a necessary one if his plan was to work.

  Gurov continued to watch the Ukrainian news channel with a ‘professional interest’. The recent political situation in Ukraine had not been foreseen. Russia had backed the winner but their man’s election victory was being jeopardized by Ukraine’s former Prime Minister, ‘The Witch’, as she was known in Russian political circles. She was again the fly in the ointment. If she won a future election, Russia would not accept her as the President of Ukraine. Russia needed Ukraine on its side, for if not she could pose a serious threat to Russia’s monopoly on energy supplies. Ukraine was a huge potential source of hydrocarbons, electricity and bio-diesel that the EU was extremely keen to exploit. With ‘Moscow’s man’ as President, Ukraine would not compete with their master.

  Gurov had some ideas how to achieve this. Perhaps that would be his next task to finally banish ‘The Witch’? The main event, however was to take place shortly in the Middle East and it was his to direct.

  Presidential Administration, Kyiv, Ukraine

  Olexandr Chashkovsky, the President of Ukraine’s chief of staff shook the hand of Dmitro Nykyshyn the Belarusian Ambassador to Ukraine and gestured for him to sit. They had met before and both were career politicians.

  Chashkovsky spoke first. “I am sorry Ambassador that the President could not meet you personally.”

  Nykyshyn smiled ruefully, the President was in deep debate with his bankers from Donetsk. “I am to understand that he is very busy man, presently.”

  Chashkovsky nodded and he flattened his tie as he sat. “What is it that I can do for you Ambassador?”

  Both men knew what the meeting was about but formalities had to be adhered to. “Olexandr Ruslanovich, it has now been two days since your security services announced the death of our Deputy KGB Director Sukhoi, but we have yet to see his body. We have yet to make a formal identification.” Nykyshyn folded his arms.

  Chashkovsky paused and prepared his answer. “Your Excellency, I do apologise for the delay. Our best forensic pathology team have been studying the body for any ‘extra’ clues that may help the murder enquiry.”

  “You are to be commended on this, but I cannot see why this has delayed me from seeing the body?”

  “We have been awaiting the results of a specific test and if the body were to be at all contaminated, the result would not stand.” That was what he had been told to say by Deputy Director Dudka and he hoped it made sense.

  Nykyshyn frowned but, as he was not medical minded, seemed to accept this. “Olexandr, if I may?”

  Chashkovsky nodded at the use of his first name.

  “I am just a man, like you, doing his job. I have been asked by my President, to facilitate the identification and repatriation of Deputy Director Sukhoi’s body as soon as possible. This is so we can give him a decent burial, as befits a man of such standing, and put this business behind us. Therefore anything you can do, to speed up the process, would be much appreciated.” Nykyshyn gave a professional smile.

  Chashkovsky returned with one of his own. “Leave it with me, Your Excellency.”

  Mortuary no.2, Holosivski Region, Kyiv, Ukraine

  The mortuary was cold and eerie. Nykyshyn shivered, despite his outward professional demeanour, he had never been in this situation before. He was a banker by education and not by any stretch of the imagination a law enforcement or intelligence officer. This was why he was accompanied by Investigator Kostyan, who was. Although as Ambassador, the senior representative of Belarus in Ukraine, Nykyshyn knew that he was expected to defer to the KGB investigator.

  They followed the chief medical examiner down the corridor passing several large glass windows. In one Ambassador Nykyshyn caught a glimpse of a corpse opened from neck to waist. He swallowed hard and felt nauseous.

  “Just along here, comrades.” The examiner who had no sense of occasion was jovial; his blood red tie shone out brightly from beneath his doctor’s whites. He abruptly stopped and turned on his heels. Nykyshyn who had been looking at the floor almost walked into him, Kostyan caught his arm. “Now I must warn you Comrades that this is not a sight for the faint hearted.”

  Kostyan answered. “We understand, doctor.”

  “Good.”

  The examiner opened the door and they followed him into the room. In the middle was an autopsy table covered with a white sheet.

  “When you are ready?”

  Kostyan nodded. The examiner removed the sheet. Nykyshyn’s eyes went wide with horror and his hand rapidly rose to his mouth complete with handkerchief.

  “Is it him?” The ambassador could feel the bile start to rise.

  Kostyan pulled an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and removed a photograph. He held it up so he could compare the face, or what was left of it.

  “I think so.”

  “Good…”

  Nykyshyn suddenly clamped his hand over his mouth and started to bend at the waist.

  “There is a bucket in the corner.” The examiner pointed.

  “Have you X-Rayed the teeth? I have a copy of the dental records here.” Kostyan continued to study the corpse.

  “Yes. Let me get them for you.” He left the room.

  “Can we please go?” Nykyshyn wiped his mouth.

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “Because
it is not him.”

  “What?”

  Kostyan pointed, “That is not the body of Sukhoi.”

  “But you just said?” Nykyshyn was confused.

  “I have been informed that he was not shot in the head.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Kostyan looked at the diplomat. “I am a KGB Investigator, I am never unsure.”

  The examiner returned with an X-Ray sheet. “Here you are.”

  “Spasiba.” Kostyan took the sheet and pinned it to the light box on the wall he compared this to his own sheet. What was left of the jaw did indeed contain teeth which looked remarkably the same. “I am satisfied.” He handed the X-Ray back to the examiner. He ignored Nykyshyn’s questioning gaze. “When can we take possession of the body?”

  Belarusian Embassy, Kyiv, Ukraine

  “Someone has spent much time trying to make us believe that the body in the mortuary is Director Sukhoi.” Voloshin, at the Belarusian embassy, was on a secure line to the man’s who real name only he knew.

  Gurov’s eyes squinted as he looked at the Moscow River, the midday sun reflected harshly off of the surface. “What are you saying to me?”

  “I am saying that the body in the mortuary is not Director Sukhoi.”

  “You have failed.” It was not a question but a statement of fact; however the anger that Gurov felt was not shown. He was a professional.

  Voloshin retorted. “I emptied an entire clip into the old man, I saw him fall.”

  “Kevlar.” Another statement.

  “That would be an explanation.”

  A barge passed beneath the balcony, grey, ugly, powerful. “You are to find Sukhoi and terminate him on sight.”

  “Understood. What of the tapes?”

  Gurov followed the ship as it disappeared round the bend in the river. “Without him there is no proof that what is on the tapes is authentic. Any child can digitally record.”

  “Understood.”

  “Do not contact me directly again, Konstantin Andreyevich. Go through Sverov. I will find you, if I need to.”

  “Understood.” But the connection had already been broken.

  Voloshin looked at the photograph he had taken of Dudka at the press conference. The meeting had been with this SBU officer, it was this man who had shot at him and this man whom he was certain had tried to deceive him.

  Presidential Administration, Kyiv, Ukraine

  Ambassador Nykyshyn had been outraged when Kostyan, the Belarusian KGB Investigator, had told him of the Ukrainian deception. In his view, the Ukrainian authorities had obstructed justice, and now he was going to hold nothing back in making his views clear to their President. However the problem was that their President was not ‘available’ for an audience, this time he was en route to the city of Donetsk. Nykshyn felt his anger rise. How dare he be palmed off to an underling? As the representative of the President of Belarus he took this as a personal insult.

  The meeting had been arranged hastily. The office of the Belarusian embassy had called the office of the President of Ukraine requesting a meeting regarding the assassination of Director Sukhoi. The President’s chief of staff, Olexandr Chashkovsky, again was to meet the Ambassador on the President’s behalf. This time he had thought it wise to have Director Zlotnik of the SBU at his side to allay any fears that the Belarusian party may have. Nykyshyn had brought Kostyan.

  The four men stood uneasily in the ornate conference room. Chashkovsky was perturbed by the expression on the Ambassador’s face.

  “I am sorry again gentlemen that the President could not meet you personally.”

  Nykyshyn said nothing, his face grave. Chashkovsky continued “Let me introduce you to Director Zlotnik of the SBU. He will be able to answer any questions you may have.”

  Zlotnik shook hands with the Ambassador. “Ambassador Nykyshyn.”

  Nykyshyn nodded. “This is Investigator Kostyan of the KGB.”

  Kostyan extended his hand. “Director.”

  “Investigator.” Zlotnik noticed the grip was military firm.

  “Gentlemen shall we?” Chashkovsky indicated that they should sit. “What is it that we can do for you Ambassador?”

  “Do, Olexandr Ruslanovich? You can explain why the body of Director Sukhoi has been substituted for another.” He pushed a file across the table which contained the hideous photographs, which if he saw again would induce vomiting.

  “Substituted?” Zlotnik’s back went rigid. “I don’t understand what you mean?”

  Chashkovsky opened the file, a look of revulsion appeared on his face. Zlotnik grabbed the file and took in the contents.

  “The cadaver you have shown us in the mortuary is not the body of Director Sukhoi, late of the KGB.” Nykyshyn stared in turn at each man.

  Zlotnik furrowed his brow. “Did the mortuary show you the wrong body, did they make a mistake? If that is the case let me apologise.”

  “No, Director. The body they showed us was made to resemble that of Director Sukhoi. But it was not him.” Kostyan fixed the SBU man in the eyes.

  Zlotnik looked down, compared the faces then the notes which had been added. “The dental records are the same….”

  Kostyan cut him off. “The dental records have been made to look the same. Whilst very convincing to a generalist, I can assure you that an expert would show you where changes have been made very recently to the enamel.”

  “But DNA tests would prove the identity.” Zlotnik looked up.

  Nykyshyn’s finger pointed at Chashkovsky. “Which I insist, on behalf of the President of Belarus, are immediately carried out.”

  “Of course, Ambassador. But I still can’t quite believe what you are saying.”

  “Director.” Kostyan’s tone changed. “I believe that parties unknown have tried to hinder my investigation.”

  “But Investigator, you have just arrived to file a report on the assassination, which I believe is protocol for the Belarusian KGB?” Zlotnik was puzzled.

  Kostyan shook his head slowly. “That was not what brought me to Ukraine Director. My orders come directly from the President. What I am about to share with you is highly classified.” Kostyan retrieved a file from his case and gave a stapled set of papers to both Ukrainians. “We have been investigating Director Sukhoi for some time as we believe he is attempting to sell government information to the highest bidder. The information would directly jeopardise the national security of Belarus and as such set off a domino effect into Ukraine and Russia. I use the present tense as I believe he is still alive.”

  Zlotnik, although reading the papers, was listening intently. “Please go on.”

  “A month ago we arrested four former military officers on suspicion of treason. We had reason to believe that they were spying for Poland. We know that Polish intelligence is eager to obtain information on the Russian anti-missile defence systems in Belarus, especially the long-range S-300 air defence missiles. When questioned, the suspects gave us vital information about other serving personnel. This included a high ranking Russian military officer, who was detained in Russia and has now confessed to the Federal Security Service. It is evidence from this officer, that I am sad to say, led us directly to Director Sukhoi of the Belarusian KGB.”

  Zlotnik was now looking into the dark eyes of the Investigator. “That, if proved, would be a very serious situation. What evidence is there?”

  “Director, I am sure you understand that I am not at liberty to discuss certain details of the investigation. However the evidence is damning. The KGB officer who was dispatched to bring Sukhoi in for questioning was found dead. He had been shot in the back of the head. Sukhoi’s own daughter, who had been informed of the situation went missing and was later found strangled. We believe that Sukhoi, or his associates, were responsible for these shocking acts. Director Zlotnik, Sukhoi was last seen alive with Director Dudka of the SBU. I believe that Dudka has been complicit in this substitution.”

  Chashkovsky sat slack jawed, eyes unfocussed.


  Zlotnik’s nostrils flared. “Director Dudka is the most experienced senior officer in the entire Ukrainian Security Service. Yet you say to me that you believe him to be involved?”

  “He and Sukhoi are life-long friends. I believe that Dudka is involved. Yes.”

  “He must be questioned.” Chashkovsky had found his voice. “Where is he now?”

  “I believe he is recovering from the head injury he received during the assassination…attempted assassination.” Zlotnik’s own head was spinning.

  “I know that I have no jurisdiction here, but if I may make a suggestion? I would not contact Director Dudka. Why? If he is, and at this present time we have no reason to believe otherwise, a loyal friend helping another, then we must not do anything that could tip Sukhoi or his associates off, thus endangering him. If he is guilty and on the inside then we must not tip him off. We must locate him and take him into custody in a covert manner.”

  Chashkovsky had gone very pale; this was not the meeting even in his nightmares he had ever imagined. He had met Dudka on many occasions when he had scheduled his ‘quiet’ meetings with the President. He liked Dudka, the thought that he was a traitor or helping one was too much for him to countenance. Zlotnik also wrestled with the idea that Dudka could somehow be implicated, be a traitor. He did not agree with Dudka’s views or politics but although he would never verbalise it, had a grudging professional respect for the veteran. Yet in the past there had been the fiasco with Dudka’s direct report – Budanov. What if Dudka if he had known about his actions all along? What if Dudka had been part of it? Selling secrets? Dudka was anti-Moscow and information about Russia’s answer to the European missile defences would not be that hard for him to obtain. Now that Zlotnik thought about it, Kostyan’s claims gained more credibility.

  “We will have to pass this information to the President for his consideration before any action can take place.” Chashkovsky tried to keep his voice calm.

  “No.” Zlotnik overruled, “Investigator Kostyan, you will have my full support. You and I must now go to my headquarters and formulate a plan.”