The Case of the General's Thumb Read Online Free PDF Page B

involved, to the extent of switching Viktor’scadets onto the search for the corpse, though to what effect, with them taking their ease in some café, it was hard to imagine.
    Viktor was dozing at his desk when Georgiy rang.
    â€œSix bodies so far, in case you haven’t heard.”
    â€œOne of them Bronitsky’s?”
    â€œCould be. I’m waiting to hear – they’re all in different morgues – but I doubt it. No sense in pinching a body, then dumping it where even the militia can find it. These will just be the homeless or suicides. And by the way, it’s not just militia on the job.”
    â€œSecurity?”
    â€œNot them, though they do, it’s true, ‘render emergency assistance’ … No, military counterintelligence. Sit back, quiet as mice, then pop out like like ants in the spring.”
    â€œHe was, after all, General Staff.”
    â€œThen Defence Adviser to the President. And don’t you think it a bit odd, retiring, then going on being involved?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, sleep on it,” said Georgiy amiably, ringing off.
    Viktor informed Ratko of the six bodies, but two hours later the search was resumed. Georgiy had been right.
    It was nearly 10.00 before Viktor arrived home, exhausted and convinced there would be no new developments till morning.
    Ira and Yana were in bed.
    Throwing himself onto the living-room sofa, he fell instantly asleep.
    Three hours later his mobile rang and continued to ring until retrieved from his jacket hung over a chair.
    â€œStill awake?” asked the familiar voice.
    â€œActually no.”
    â€œYou should be. Time to get moving.”
    â€œNow? Where?”
    â€œJust heard from an obliging smuggler: would we kindly relieve him and his aircraft of a neatly packaged corpse.”
    â€œWhat aircraft?”
    â€œYou really are awake?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen listen. Thirty minutes from now you set off for Zhulyany Airport. Just beyond the Sevastopol Square roundabout, you stop, flash your warning lights for a minute, then drive on. You’ll be overtaken by two vehicles, a Volga and a minivan. The snatch squad. They’ve got their orders. To the right of the terminal building there’s a gate onto the airfield. It’ll be open. Drive out to the AN-26, where you’ll see the snatch squad parked. The plane takes off at 0300 hrs. You disembark the body, but touch nothing on board. Silence essential – don’t use your horn. We don’t want customs and the like in on the scene.”
    The terminal concourse beneath its blue neon KIEV ZHULYANY was as brightly illuminated as the city streets were not.
    Cutting his lights, Viktor drove a little way onto an apron of sleeping aircraft, lowered his window and breathed in the keen night air. His watch showed 02.15. The only sounds were the rustle of grass and the faint drumming of some insect.
    Way out on the airfield, headlights flashed on and off, and Viktor drove in their direction, now over concrete, now over grass, avoiding the landing lights and stubby striped marker posts.
    Two masked Special Forces men armed with short Kalashnikovs were standing guard by the loading doors of an AN-26 of Belarusian Airlines. One motioned him to climb aboard. Two others were stationed at the tail where the Volga and the minivan were parked.
    At the top of the ramp he was greeted by an officer, also masked, who led him towards the rear between strapped-down loads and carefully stowed cartons, crates and canvas trunks.
    â€œHere we are,” he said, indicating a zipped up canvas bag at the end of the aisle.
    A Special Forces man drew down the zip a little, and his powerful torch showed a man’s face under milky polythene. The air was heavy with a sour, pungent odour. He zipped the bag up again.
    â€œIs it him?” Viktor asked the officer.
    â€œWe’ll know in an hour. But let’s get out of here. Hazardous