Hetman by Alex Shaw Read Free Book Online

a strange expression. “You don’t just think out of the box, you dispense with it.”
    “Is that a complement?”
    “An observation.”
    “Hm, boxing clever.”
     
    Petropavlivska Borschagivka village, Kyiv Oblast
    The observation post was in a partly built church almost opposite the target building. Snow had passed the church many times over the years as his American pal Mitch Turney lived a few streets along. A two man SBU team had kept a vigil on the target overnight and were happy to be relieved by Blazhevich and Snow. Blazhevich had found out that the house was nine years old and the last person to live in it had been a German by the name of Eric. Snow laughed at this but Blazhevich did not see the humour. After again discussing it with Dudka, who now was also at his own dacha away from the Ukrainian capital city, Snow’s plan had been officially agreed upon. Snow would approach the house, feigning inebriation and see what he could find out. In Snow’s mind he either caught a glimpse of Brian or he didn’t either way he saw no risk, at least this is what he had told his friends in the SBU. Snow however had other ideas as to what may happen. Whilst they waited until a reasonable hour for Snow to make his approach, Blazhevich and Snow reviewed the surveillance tapes of the day before. When they reached 10:a.m. a lumbering overweight figure could be seen being taken into the house but unfortunately his face had been pointing away from the camera. Snow was sure it was Brian but Blazhevich shrugged, he didn’t know him.
    “Time to go.” Snow checked his watch it was almost midday.
    Blazhevich nodded. “No heroics just see what you can see.”
    Snow smiled. “I’m not a hero.” He shuffled away from the window to the back of the church and opened a bottle of beer. He took a swig and poured the rest into his hand and rubbed it over his face, letting some run onto his day-old polo-shirt. He then picked up two bottles of whiskey and left the church by the rear exit. He walked into the woods behind turned right and found a path; it brought him back to the street but further up the road and around a bend, out of direct line of sight of the target address. He started to walk and as he did so he made sure to adjust to gait to that of someone who clearly had been drinking. As he rounded a bend he saw the house and immediately crossed the road, heading directly towards it. The house faced the road and had a two meter high brick wall surrounding it. There were no signs of exterior security except for the large ornate metal gate that acted as an entrance. The house it’self was three stories tall and was built of red brick. In comparison to the other overtly ornate or ugly houses surrounding it, the target seemed quite tasteful. Snow rang the doorbell then stared into the small camera he now saw mounted slightly above.
    There was a pause and then a voice asked in Russian. “What do you want?”
    Snow started to prepare his Oscar acceptance speech. “Eric you wanker! I’m back in town and I’ve brought two friends!” Snow held up the bottles to the camera. “Come on you German Gay-Lord open the door and let’s get drinking!”
    There was a hiss of static before a voice answered in faltering English. “Eric no here. You go.”
    Snow needed to get into the house, he’d see nothing otherwise. “Eric open the door and stop being a poof! Come on, my two friends here are getting impatient!”
    There was a slight buzzing sound and a click. The gate opened and Snow stepped inside. It was closed behind him by a large figured in a black t-shirt and urban combat trousers. He looked at Snow then pointed to the front door. Snow surreptitiously looked around. He was standing in a large paved courtyard. The house was directly ahead; to the left was a slope which led down to the underground garage. Past this he could see a lush green lawn. Directly to his right was a fountain and small ‘dacha style’ out-house. The front