The Menace by Tim Heath

Author:Tim Heath [Heath, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Happy Content publishing
Published: 2018-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

In his suite on the fifth floor, Foma was preparing his information. Making a play for the money of hundreds of oligarchs was a bold move, and he had to get his story perfect.

At five, three members of an FSB field unit entered the foyer of the same hotel. Someone had told them to go in, look around, sit in the restaurant for five minutes and then leave. They gave no further instructions. Knowing Foma had used the hotel several times before, Filipov was confident that Foma had an agreement with at least one person behind the reception desk.

Seconds after the three FSB agents had left––their somewhat staged acting not going to win any awards, though they were meant to be as visible as possible––a call went up from reception to Foma’s room. The man alerted the oligarch to the clear presence of Russian agents, who had just left moments before his call. Foma thanked the man. It always paid well to keep the staff of such establishments onside, and once again, that tactic had proved invaluable.

Foma immediately collected his things together. What the FSB were onto he wasn’t sure, but their presence there was not a welcome one. If they suspected him being there in the first place, he would not wait around for another visit. It was now or never with the Swiss. If Foma could pull this off––drastically limiting Filipov’s ability to continue his rampage––then Foma would have to act. He knew he had one chance at this.

They summoned his car, the driver swinging by and stopping outside the front of the hotel only a minute later. In his suite, Foma dropped his belongings into his travel bag. He wouldn’t need to come back that night and would settle his account before leaving. He exited the room.

Downstairs, Foma had a quick word with the man who had called him, though there was little more to add. If the FSB were still in the area, Foma would not wait around for them. Foma paid the bill and said goodbye to the team behind the desk. He would see them again soon, he promised.

Outside, the driver was out and taking Foma’s bag from him, placing it into the boot before opening the side door for the Russian. Foma got in. The driver went around to the other side of the car, to his still open driver’s door, and got behind the wheel. Seconds later, he pulled away.

The road was clear, Foma instructing the driver to take him to the location in question, though he had just given the address of the Bank, not its relevance. No one else needed to know why the billionaire was heading there.

As the car picked up speed, it all happened so quickly. In the same split second, at what the driver assumed was a stone hitting the windscreen, a bullet cut a hole through the glass, pounding through the passenger seat headrest before taking off the face of Foma, the event in slow motion.

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