Hetman Read Free Page B

be back as soon as I can. Call me if you get worried or if anyone unexpected turns up. OK?”
    “OK.”
    Snow kissed her on the forehead and left.
     
    Volodymyrska Street, Kyiv
    Alistair Vickers enjoyed relaxing in the bath. He had a CD of Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in G minor playing as he luxuriated with a very expensive glass of Ukrainian Cognac. It was early Saturday evening and for once he had decided to cocoon himself from the world and its worries, his phone was off and he had no intention of answering the door. He found nowadays that he generally preferred his own company in his down time.   Running with the ‘Kyiv Hash House Harriers’ or going to the ex-pat hang outs was fun but more and more it left him feeling empty. If he had been asked years ago where he would have seen himself at the age of forty five he would have said living in suburbia or some such foreign equivalent with a wife and two point four children yet here he was, single and inebriated sitting in a bath. Vickers smiled he mustn’t get depressed, that had been a side effect of the painkillers he had previously become addicted to. No he must just relax and stop trying to explain his unbelievable lightness of being. He half smiled. Life was good, his life was good. Alistair Vickers was the SIS intelligence officer responsible for Ukraine. He closed his eyes but reminded himself that he mustn’t fall asleep lest he become a second Whitney Houston.
    He snapped his eyes open, the bath water was cold, the CD had ended and there was a ringing at his front door. He dragged his tired body out of the bath, pulled on a dark satin robe and made for the door. He peered through the spy-hole and couldn’t believe who he was looking at.
    Snow removed his finger from the bell as the door opened. He shook his head, for the second time that day he had been greeted by someone in a state of undress. “Alistair, you needn’t have bothered getting dolled-up for me.”
    “Very droll. Come in.”
    Without being bid to do so Snow made for the kitchen and started to make himself a coffee. “I thought you would know I was here already?”
    “On a work day maybe but my phone is off and so is my computer. So to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
    “Brian Webb is being held by the police.”
    Vickers sat at the kitchen table. “What for?”
    Snow shrugged. “I don’t know, the Militia wouldn’t say.”
    “And how do you know this?”
    “Coffee?”
    “No I’m fine.”
    Snow added boiling water to his cup and stirred. “I was at his flat when the Militia came to question Katya.”   Snow sat and explained the events of the day thus far.
    Vickers nodded. “If they haven’t charged him they have to let him go, habeas corpus and all that. Unless the Militia has reason to believe it’s related to terrorism.”
    “The only thing Brian terrorises are the local bars.”
    Vickers nodded as Snow’s truism. Brian Webb was the largest ex-pat boozer possibly in the whole of Ukraine. His marriage to Katya had initially seemed to steady him somewhat. “You want me to go to the Militia station and petition for his release or at least get a clarification of his charges?”
    “Alistair you are not just a pretty face.”
    Vickers shook his head. “Fine. Let me get a suit on and then you can tell me which regional station he’s in.”
    “Thanks I owe you one.”
    “It’s my job, just get me a bottle of the good stuff and we’ll be even.”
    As Vickers left the room to dress, Snow went onto the balcony and looked at the street below. He missed Kyiv, he missed his old life but most of all he missed the friendships. For a tuppence ha’penny he’d quit the SIS and teach again. He’d happily swap his licence to kill for a contract to teach.
    “Let’s go.” Vickers looked imposing in a dark blue Savile row suit, bespoke brogues and an ‘old boy’ public school tie.
    Snow nodded his approval. “You scrub-up well for a dustman.”
    “Aidan as always I