Hetman Read Online Free Page A

forefinger. He had the start of a headache. “There’s nothing more I can do until Monday morning. Where are you staying?”
    “At Brian’s flat with Katya.”
    Vickers removed his hand from his face and looked at Snow. “Isn’t she that sexy one with the…”
    “Yes and she is also my friend’s wife.”
    “Good, just as long as you remember.”
    Snow rolled his eyes. “Who do you take me for – Mitch Turney?”
    “No.” Vickers laughed. Their mutual friend had a well-deserved reputation as a womaniser. “Are you going to give him a call?”
    “I should, and Michael Jones. They may have been with him yesterday.”
    The two SIS operatives arrived back at Vickers’ apartment building. Unlike Webb’s 1980’s monstrosity on the city’s left bank, this building had architectural worth and character. All its occupants were expatriates. Snow turned off the engine and handed Vickers the keys. “So I’ll call you first thing on Monday?”
    “Agreed.”
    “Thanks.”
    They got out of the car.
    “Aidan, if he is implicated in sexual assault then you know we both have to distance ourselves from him don’t you?”
    “I know, but he’s not.”
    “I just ‘know of’ him but you ‘know him’ so I’ll bow to your better judgement.” Vickers waved and entered his building.
     
    Khreshatik Street, Kyiv
    Snow headed for Kyiv’s main shopping street Khreshatik and his meeting with Michael Jones. Jones had been only too happy to get away from his wife Inna and catch up with his old drinking partner. As Snow walked he suddenly realised that he had not eaten since ‘lunch’ on the aeroplane some hours before, or indeed had much to drink. Although it evening the temperature was still in the high twenties, a whole fifteen degrees higher than it had been on Worthing’s seafront that same morning. Snow used the underpass to cross from one side of the wide street to the other and then entered the large McDonalds that stood on top of the Metro station. It had been Jones’ choice of meeting place. Even after years in Ukraine the Welshman remained fussy about what he ate unless he’d cooked it himself. The eatery was fairly busy with a few families but mostly twenty and thirty something’s chatting and flirting or taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi. A figure waved from a large semi-circular seat. Snow couldn’t help but smile at seeing his old friend. Michael Jones had not changed a bit. With his craggy features and dark blonde hair he looked like ‘the drinking mans’ Gordon Ramsey.
    “Aidan, Hokay?” The Welshman’s accent caused a couple of diners to stare.
    Snow adopted a fake Welsh accent. “Hello Mister Jones, how are you?”
    “Eh, not bad.”   Jones beamed. “Just look at the crumpet in here!”
    They sat and Snow laughed out loud. Jones had never been subtle. “It’s good to see you Michael.”
    “You too. It’s been far too long. You teaching again?”
    Jones knew of Snow’s Military past, that he had been a member of the SAS and of course the events that had led to their mutual friend, Arnaud’s death. Jones did not however know that since then Snow had been recruited into the Secret Intelligence Service. Snow decided to stick with his legend. “I’m teaching at a private school near Knightsbridge.”
    “Full of Arabs I bet.”
    “Not politically correct, but correct.”
    Jones raised his eyebrows and the tone of his voice to express mock outrage. “Politically incorrect? Politically incorrect! As a native Welsh speaker, I’m an ethnic minority myself!”
    It was good to see his friend again but he had to move things on.
    Michael sensed Snow had become serious. “So what’s all this about Brian?”
    “He called me this morning asking for help, I got here to find he’s being held by the police for sexual assault.”
    “Brian? Sexual assault? GBH – grievous beer harm I could envisage but sexual assault?” Jones’ Welsh intonation rose at the end.
    “Only that’s not all.”