Illegal Action Read Free

guys.”
    Vladimir shrugged. “Of course you did. But situations change, don’t they?”
    Not for me, thought Jerry. When he had left the army he’d been delighted to find the security job at the Dorchester. Sure the money wasn’t terrific, but it was a famous hotel, superbly run, and he’d been well treated. The only injury he’d suffered in his time there had been a bruised knee when he’d slipped on a freshly mopped bathroom floor. It certainly beat four-man night patrols in southern Afghanistan.
    His problem had been Carly, wife number three. Now divorced. Three in chronological order, that is, but number one for greed. So it had been a blessing when Andrei had turned up. The job had been a doddle. Just tittle-tattle, names and addresses, comings and goings at the hotel, what the occasional sheikh got up to (gambling, usually, and girls; sometimes gambling and boys). It had been money for jam, even if Carly got most of it.
    He’d had a pretty good idea who Andrei was. Organised crime he’d thought at first, but he’d recognised a certain military touch—official, he’d decided. Jerry had never had the slightest fear he was doing anything that might harm Britain. Though by the time he had left the employ of the hotel, lured by a security firm with the promise of better pay and better hours, he was relieved to put his days moonlighting for Andrei behind him.
    “I’m not at the Dorchester any more,” Jerry said, trying to sound conclusive, though he was not so naïve as to think Vladimir didn’t know this already.
    “I know. Congratulations. You’re working for a very wealthy man.”
    Jerry shrugged. He’d never heard of his present employer until he’d become his “driver”—which meant his bodyguard behind the wheel. “Maybe he is,” he said. “I just take him where he wants to go and look after him. That’s all I know.”
    “You know more than you think,” said Vladimir.
    “What do you mean?” said Jerry. His heart was starting to sink. Vladimir didn’t seem edgy any longer.
    “Your new employer is a countryman of mine. I’m very interested in him.”
    They sat in silence for a moment. The wind had picked up again, and Jerry stirred uneasily on the bench, feeling cold. Why did I have to get a job with a Russian? he wondered sourly as he waited in vain for Vladimir to break the silence.
    At last Jerry sighed. “What are you looking for?” he asked quietly, trying to make it clear he hadn’t agreed to do anything.
    “Same as the Dorchester,” said the man on the bench. “And this time there’s only one ‘guest’ to keep an eye on.”
    “But this guy doesn’t get up to anything,” Jerry protested. “He doesn’t do nightclubs, doesn’t even go out much to restaurants. A new girlfriend’s around, and he spends most of his spare time with her. Their idea of a big night is ordering a takeaway and watching a DVD.”
    Vladimir shook his head knowingly. “But people come to see him on business; sometimes he goes to see people. In his large chauffeur-driven Bentley automobile,” he added pointedly.
    Jerry sensed he had already given away too much ground. He looked out at the slope below them, where a man in a green anorak was walking a large frisky Doberman through a patch of yellowed grass. “Most of the people he sees are Russians. I can’t tell one name from another. And I can’t understand a word they say.”
    Vladimir snorted. “We’re not asking you for transcripts,” he said caustically.
    “What do you want to know?” Jerry demanded. “I’m not a traitor, you know.”
    Vladimir did not answer him directly, but said, “It’s a purely Russian affair. Nothing to do with the queen.” Vladimir waved his hand expansively.
    Jerry shook his head. “But what if I won’t play ball?”
    An expression Vladimir must have been familiar with, for he said, “That is your choice.” He paused, and his eyes were cold slits as he stared at Jerry. “As it would be ours to