The Black Dolphin by Tim Heath (The Hunt Book 8 )
English | 2020| Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 3.1 MB
One Impregnable Prison. One Doomed Agent. One Desperate Idea.
Alex, the captured MI6 agent, is in Russia’s most secure and dangerous prison–forgotten, lost, desperate. For all he knows, he’ll die there.
Can MI6 find him or rescue him? But no-one has ever escaped from the Black Dolphin prison.He is an inmate who doesn’t officially exist.
And if the Russian President learns that Anissa and her colleagues have discovered Alex’s whereabouts, will he die before he can be rescued?
“No,” Sergio said, his tone suggesting he wasn’t happy about it either. He had only found out earlier that day when questions got put to the hotel via Jose’s men. Then the story had come out, though it fitted the account from the two women who had been there. It all seemed to make sense. “The guest was also still in the room. He came out of the bathroom when the room door opened. They said he seemed calm and spoke with an accent.”
“He wasn’t Spanish?” the Don asked, raising one eyebrow at that thought.
“No, and he tried speaking in English first, before breaking into basic Spanish.”
“I see. So what happened?”
“The guest did not threaten the cleaning women. He merely walked over to the man tied to the chair and told the women that this was a bad man. Without any weapon or obvious threat, the guest asked him to tell them what he had done.”
“And he confessed to being a rapist, just like that?” the Don asked, his mind jumping to the natural solution.
“Yes, he did,” Sergio replied. “You know this man?”
Jose wasn’t sure which of the two he meant, though wasn’t about to divulge knowledge of either at that moment.
“What happened after your staff heard the man tied up confessing to be a rapist?”
“The guest told them he would not hurt the man,” Sergio said. That seemed strange. Nobody had since seen the man. Someone had got to him, and there were no other suspects aside from the guest. “He said he would see that justice got done. Then he paid the cleaners off in rubles.”
“He was Russian?”
Sergio looked around a little cautiously. “I can’t give you a name––believe me, even if I had access to that, it would be more than my life was worth, but someone arranged the booking via a Russian contact. So yes, I believe a very wealthy Russian rented the suite.”
“Super wealthy?” Jose probed. A Russian oligarch had reached out to the Spaniard that year presenting him with a plan for revenge. He had given the Don the name of a contact inside the prison that had housed a British man named Clifton. The same Brit who’d murdered Don Zabala’s son. Now Clifton was also dead.
“I think you could say that, yes.” Jose need ask no more. This guest could have been the same man Jose met, though the idea there was not only one Russian oligarch in Alicante that same week raised new thoughts in his clever mind.
The Don pulled a photo he had taken from the home of the rapist. “Can you confirm if this is the guy they saw?” and he passed the image to Sergio.
“I will check,” he said.