Read Online Cold Blood by Alex Shaw - Free Book Online

application for the position of teacher of French and English has been successful.”
    Arnaud smiled and sat on the radiator in the hall, ignoring the cold metal on his bare buttocks. “That’s great news. Thank you very much.”
    “So you accept then?” Greenhill asked expectantly.
    “Yes I do.” Arnaud caught himself grinning in the hall mirror.
    In Kyiv Greenhill smiled and beckoned Snow into her office. “I am happy to hear that. Now since you applied for the job our teaching requirements have changed slightly.”
    “Oh?” Arnaud held his breath, was there a catch?
    “Well we originally wanted you for French and English as a Second Language, but now we would also need you to teach some P.E. Would that be a problem at all for you?”
    “No not at all, I’d be very happy to do that.” P.E.? Oh well, at least it was better than maths.
    Greenhill beamed at Snow and raised her thumb. “Great. I didn’t think it would be a problem for someone as fit as you must be, running every morning. I know that it is quite short notice but can you start on Monday the 2nd of October, two weeks’ time?”
    “Yes I can; that is no problem at all. The sooner the better.”
    “Wonderful. I’m going to put your offer letter in the diplomatic pouch leaving today so once it’s posted in the UK you should get it by Wednesday.”
    “Thank you Mrs Greenhill.” Arnaud could say goodbye to Supply once and for all.
    “Call me Joan. Bye bye.” She put down the phone and looked at Snow. “There we are, someone to help you out with your running club.”
    “Good.”
    Greenhill continued, “As long as you promise to collect him for me and to look after him.”
    Snow smiled, it would be nice to get another British teacher into the school; he and Joan were outnumbered three to one by the Canadians.

 
    FIVE
     
    Odessa , Kyiv Highway , Odessa Oblast , Ukraine
     
    The silver 7 Series BMW pulled to an abrupt halt in front of the Maybach 57S, causing Varchenko to spill his cognac. “What is this?” he shouted at his driver as his mobile phone rang.
    “Don’t be alarmed Valeriy Ivanovich, I mean you no harm.”
    “Who the hell is this!?” Varchenko threw the remainder of his cognac down his throat.
    “I am in the car in front of you and would like to talk.”
    Two men stepped out of the BMW and approached. They had their hands raised to show they held no weapons. In the Maybach’s front seat Varchenko’s guard un-holstered his Glock 9mm as the driver put the luxury saloon into reverse gear, ready to perform a J-turn.
    A third man emerged from the BMW; this one had a phone to his right ear. “I am getting out of the car and will now walk towards you. Your driver will open the door and let me in. He and your guard will then get out.”
    “Like hell they will,” Varchenko roared into the Vertu handset.
    “Come now, Valeriy Ivanovich; I am sure you would like to know who killed Mr Malik?”
    Varchenko went cold. Were the killers of his business partner about to make contact or were they about to kill him? Impossible, his mind retorted, did they not know who he was and what he stood for? Varchenko’s curiosity got the better of him and he ordered the passenger door to be opened. By now his guard had called ahead and a backup car was on its way. Whilst the two other occupants of the BMW looked on and exchanged professional glares with his own men, Varchenko was joined by his caller. The man pocketed his phone, calmly climbed into the car and shut the door.
    Tauras ‘The Bull’ Pashinski extended his hand, but it was ignored. He shrugged and introduced himself, “I am Olexandr Knysh, and I killed the British businessman.”
    Varchenko shook in his seat with rage, his face turning crimson. “You hold me up on the Odessa highway in the middle of the day and have the audacity to tell me this!”
    “I am sorry. Should we have met in the restaurant you have just left and caused a scene?”
    “Who are you and what do you want?”