The Samsara Project - David Burgess (early reader books .txt) 📗

four years ago. Originally she was brought in to run and expand the Russian Mafia’s prostitution racket. Apparently she was very successful turning what had been a ‘street girl only’ operation into a string of very lucrative lap dancing clubs and high end escorts. By all accounts the escorts were very popular with Middle East clients, some of whom had, shall we say, very diverse tastes.
Our girl became so successful that she was promoted within the organisation to look after all aspects of the mobs finances.”
“Hence the job in the bank” said Andrew.
“Exactly”
“How did Ron Billington fit into all of this then?”
Geoffrey replied, “From what I’ve been able to find out he was around purely as cover for Ms Kolinsky. He gave her credibility, made her a more believable person. At some point in the future Ron would either have found out what or who she really was. Not good for Ron or he would have killed just because he was no longer needed. Ron’s death was inevitable; it was just a matter of when and how.”
“Poor Ron, all he did was fall in love with her. By all accounts though, surprisingly, she loved him just as much.”
“I’ve managed to find out some background to Ms Kolinsky before she came over. It appears that she was a full Colonel in the KGB, the Russian secret police. As Russian became more and more liberal in its political views, the KGB became less important, or at least they were not needed in the large numbers of the old Cold War Communist days. This resulted in a large number of highly trained espionage agents being out of work. This by the way Andrew is one reason the Russian Mafia is so feared. Nearly all the top people are either ex KGB or GRU and you do not mess with them. Ms Kolinsky had a very specific role within the KGB. Her job was to innocently meet highly placed foreign officials and people who had special skills and knowledge, for example defence workers; scientists or military personnel working on black projects; ambassadors or even known intelligence agents. She was highly trained in the art of seduction. Like the Canadian Mounties, she always got her man. Then after the compromising pictures and videos had been shown to her mark, the blackmail would start. Nothing too much at first, just enough to get the victim on the hook, enough so that he or in some cases she, could never go back. After a while the demands for information would include sensitive or secret material. The mark could not refuse or else their past exploits would be revealed to their family and bosses. Some could not take the strain and killed themselves. Others went along with it and when they were no longer any use they would have an unfortunate accident, a car crash or drowning perhaps. This was one dirty business that nobody ever walked away from. Our Ms Kolinsky was the best of the best. You could say she was the pro’s pro.”
“So,” said Andrew, “she may have had an official rank within the KGB but in truth she was nothing more than a common prostitute with the state as her pimp.”
“Exactly, couldn’t have put it better myself. There is one thing you need to know. I have my contacts within the Russian mob, and they are very reliable. We have an understanding. Ms Kolinsky was not killed on the orders of the Russian mob. She was in many ways the ‘jewel in their crown’. This was an outside killing. It was not sanctioned by the Russians and nor did they have any prior knowledge of it. This has taken them by surprise as much as anyone else. Believe me, they want to get their hands on whoever it was even more than you or the police do and I don’t think they are going to be subtle about it.”
“Any ideas who might have killed her then?” asked Andrew.
“There are a number of possibilities, Firstly the London mob may be flexing their muscle. They’ve had their noses pushed out of joint by the Russians recently and they may have decided to fight back. If that’s the case then we’ll have a gang war the likes of which we have never seen before. It will make the nineteen twenties in Chicago seem like a childish playground spat. On the other hand it could have been a random killing; Ms Kolinsky could just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens.”
“Any other possibilities”
“Personal. If that’s the case then that could involve Ron. I have to be honest though, I don’t think that’s the case.”
”What is your gut feeling?” asked Andrew.
“From the people I’ve got information from today I would go for a random killing. I don’t think she was a selected target, at least not for her Russian connections at any rate.”
“Any possibility there may be a long held grudge from someone in the security services. Maybe payback for a previous operation years ago when she was whatever she was in the KGB”
“Anything is possible Andrew and that’s a feasible theory, difficult to look into though. I’ll dig around a bit; call a few old school pals who owe me a couple of favours. I have to say I like the way you think. If journalism doesn’t work out for you, give me a call. I can always use a sharp mind.”
“Thanks,” said Andrew, not really too sure what to say. “I’ll bear it in mind.”
Predictably, as soon as the meeting was over Sylvia entered the office. “Mr. Cleaver, if you would follow me I’ll show you out.”
Andrew got the distinct feeling that was not a request, more a nicely phrased order. Everyone said their goodbyes; arrangements were made to keep each other up to date on new developments and Andrew was ushered from the premises with pre planned military precision. Once outside he called John and brought him up to speed. Then he then flagged down a taxi and went home.
 
Chapter 8

The next morning John joined the M1 motorway and headed North West towards the M6 and Liverpool; he set the Jaguar’s cruise control for seventy five miles per hour, the automatic climate control to a comfortable seventy four degrees, sat back in the leather upholstered seat and looked forward to the journey ahead. Using the remote controls on the Jaguars steering wheel he turned up the volume of the CD player. Phil Collins Greatest Hits played thought the cars twelve speakers, filling the car with music. John sang along to the tracks, this was the only time that he allowed himself to sing and then only when he was the only one in the car. While John enjoyed singing he knew he was tone deaf and his pursuit of perfection in all that he did would never allow him the opportunity of singing to an audience. Even his late wife, Pamela had never heard him sing.
The X-Type ate up the miles with ease, no fuss, no drama, no stress, no strain and at the end of the journey no aches or pains. Just the way long distance driving should be. John soon found himself passing Watford Gap service station, just a few miles away from the M6 junction. He was making good time.
The weather was perfect for driving; it was one of those crisp but sunny spring days. The sky was a clear blue with hardly a cloud to be seen. Every now and again John would look up to see the vapour trails of aircraft criss-crossing their way to who knows where. He wondered where the planes were headed for and why the passengers were on board. No doubt some would be heading off for an important business meeting others would be going away on holidays, parents with excited children counting down the time till landing. Others could be people who worked away from home flying home to spend time with their loved ones.
“Time,” though John, “is one of the most precious things we have and probably the one that we appreciate the least. With money you know how much you have, if you haven’t got enough or want more then you can borrow and pay it back. You can’t do that with time, you can’t have any more. You can’t go to friends or relatives and ask to borrow some time. Life was not like that. Time carries on even when you don’t so never waste a second of it.”
John was thinking of Pamela, more accurately he was thinking of the time they had together, how, in the overall scheme of things, it had been so little. Yet, given the choice of the little time they had spent together or not to have spent any time together at all, he would have always taken the time he had.
John looked across to the passenger seat. He had made this journey on countless occasions, taking Pamela up to Liverpool to visit her brother. In his mind’s eye he could picture Pamela sitting there. She’d be wearing her favourite white blouse, the one he had bought her for her last birthday. Her favourite cream coloured skirt, a shortish one with the subtle multi coloured pattern. Pamela did not like to wear miniskirts but a few inches above the knee was fine for her. Sitting down though did make the skirt ride up a little showing off her long, slim and lightly tanned legs that John loved so much, and on her delicate size four and a half feet she wore a pair of simple open toed sandals with a three quarter inch heel. She was wearing her hair back today, brushed back behind her ears into a ponytail finished off with a scrunchy that matched her skirt.
Pamela would, of course, be laughing, teasing him about his driving. How he was driving too slow. She’d be telling him that he made Miss Daisy look like a formula one world champion. She’d be asking if he had booked an overnight hotel stop in Birmingham, just in case the journey was too much for him. John would take all the banter in good fun. He knew she was only teasing. He also knew that Pamela was one of the few people who could take a ribbing as well as giving it out. John breathed a deep sigh, right now, at this exact moment he felt guilty about asking to take Tracy out for dinner. He felt as though he was being unfaithful to Pamela. This was something he would have to deal with. But it could wait.
John was just about to join the M6 toll road, worth paying the toll to avoid the M6 Birmingham traffic jams and the never ending road works, when his mobile rang. The mobile was connected to the Jaguars sound system via Bluetooth. The phone display showed up in the communications window in the centre console. A number John did not recognise came up. As soon as the phone rang the cars audio automatically shut down and the phones ringing replaced the music through the speakers. John pressed a button on the dashboard.
“Hello, John Reynolds,”
”Hi John, long time no hear. How are things?”
John couldn’t believe it. “Tracy,” he said with genuine astonishment in his voice. “This is really weird, I’ve just been thinking about you, just this minute.”
”You’re not having second thoughts about our date are you?”
“No, no, well maybe. Tracy, I can’t remember the last time I went out on a date. I’m out of practice. I don’t know if I’d know what to say, how to act.”
“If it’s any comfort John, I feel the same. You might think it’s a long