CHAPTER NINE

My inspiration for this setting was the fish and chip shop used as a safehouse by Tom in season one or two.

Sasha brushed the snow from the dilapidated coffee shop door. Checking once more for tails, he led his father into the long-empty safehouse. After learning that the British were running the assassination on his father, Kuzmin had commanded Sasha to keep quiet and take his father somewhere safe. Stepan and Leo were back in the integration safehouse with Ekaterina finishing up her debriefing and checking her story.

The windows of the safehouse were boarded with a mish-mash of newspapers and plywood. Pinewood chairs and tables appeared to be scattered haphazardly across the floor were actually placed in a very specific order.

Sasha stooped to inspect the room. The dust lay undisturbed on table surfaces and the furniture still seemed to be perfectly balanced.

"This takes me back." Ilya reminisced. His tall and proud figure contrasted against the shabby paint peeled walls. Sasha's reply formed a mere grunt as he began lifting the chairs and tables and stacking against the side wall. Ilya did not hesitate to join his son in the labour.

Soon the room was cleared and the eighties laminate square flooring was revealed. Sasha flung out a thin mattress and sleeping bag for his father. Tough. You'll just have to make do, he thought. Ilya, sensing Sasha's mood, moved towards the back kitchen.

"I'll see if I can make some coffee." He called. Sasha sat at a table and pulled up another chair to rest his throbbing leg. The gunshot wound to his knee still occasionally hurt when he exercised too much. Ilya appeared from the kitchen carrying to chipped mugs, steaming in the chilly air.

"No chance of a heater?" he joked. Sasha shook his head. His father knew very well that a heater would be an instant giveaway to anyone trying to locate him. They both sipped their coffees in frosty silence. This is shit coffee, Sasha thought, but at least it's warm. Ilya attempted to make conversation once more,

"You say the British want to assassinate me to break down our countries partnership?" He queried. Sasha sighed and put down his coffee.

"That is the intel we have received so far. Until further knowledge you're to be under my protection." He replied.

Sasha clutched his coffee again. Addressing his father like that was out of place. As a child he had always feared his father's grave austerity.

"Sasha!" his nanny threatened, "You're father is here. Come and greet him like a good son." Sasha looked up from his game of toy soldiers to see his father entering the hall. Peering through the banister railings Sasha noted his father was, as usual, surrounded by his colleagues.

Rising tentatively, Sasha watched his father shoulder off his heavy fur coats and then look upwards towards the mezzanine level where Sasha stood. Sasha was seized by awe mingled with terror at his powerful father. Ilya's face offered no reassuring smile or friendly twinkle in the eye. He met his son with a stiff nod and then proceeded to direct his colleagues into the nearby sitting room.

Sasha's musings were broken by Ilya who suddenly put down his coffee with a disgusted face.

"This coffee tastes like shit, but it's hot." He declared, pulling his lips into a bitter pucker. Sasha looked up at his father and grinned. Ilya met Sasha's eye and chuckled to himself. The moment was interrupted by Sasha's phone which buzzed in his coat pocket. He answered it,

"Speak." He said, Stepan's hurried voice replied,

"Sasha, the Chinese assassin. He's real and in Moscow." He related curtly.

"Text me the address." Sasha said as he slid on his coat and unlocked the door.

"I'm on my way."