Cold Black

ALEX SHAW spent the second half of the 1990s in Kyiv, Ukraine, teaching Drama and running his own business consultancy before being headhunted for a division of Siemens. The next few years saw him doing business for the company across the former USSR, the Middle East, and Africa.

Cold Blood, Cold Black and Cold East are commercially published by HarperCollins (HQ Digital) in English and Luzifer Verlag in German.

Alex, his wife and their two sons divide their time between homes in Kyiv, Ukraine, Worthing, England and Doha, Qatar. Follow Alex on twitter: @alexshawhetman or find him on Facebook.

Cold Blood

Cold East

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

This edition first published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Alex Shaw 2018

Alex Shaw asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © Alex Shaw 2018 ISBN: 9780008306335

Version: 2018-07-17

Table of Contents

Cover

About Alex Shaw

Also by Alex Shaw

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Keep Reading …

Dear Reader,

Dear Reader,

About the Publisher

To my wife, Galia, and my sons, Alexander & Jonathan.

To family in England and Ukraine.

Harley Street, London, England

Aidan Snow sat on the examination table wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts. Dr Durrani poked Snow’s left leg with a gloved index finger, his large, bright eyes focusing intently.

‘Hmm. The incision seems to have healed nicely; the reduction in scar tissue is what we would have hoped for.’ Turning his attention to the right leg, Durrani continued. ‘I’m not as happy with this one, but then you did leave it rather a long time before coming to see me.’

Snow nodded. It hadn’t been his idea to visit the doctor, but a direct command from Jack Patchem, his handler at SIS. Patchem’s view was that no undercover operative could ‘blend in’ if he was riddled with scars. Snow saw no reason to complain.

‘Now the shoulder. Hmm. If you would just raise your arm for me… that will do fine. Any pain at all? Any discomfort?’

‘No.’

‘None?’

‘None,’ Snow lied. He got the occasional twinge from all his old injuries, especially those caused by bullets, but letting the SIS-contracted doctor know that wouldn’t help with his operational status.

Snow was fit – above average, even by army standards – but by the ripe old age of thirty-six, he’d had one leg crushed in a car crash and the other punctured with a round from an AK74. This was in addition to a recent bullet to the right shoulder. Ten years separated the first and second set of injuries, but they had been caused by the same ruthless former Spetsnaz member.

The first injury had led to Snow prematurely leaving the SAS and the second set had caused him to be recruited by Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service (SIS), or as it was more widely but inaccurately known, ‘MI6’. After rehabilitation of his injuries and a refresher course in the Welsh mountains, competing against the newest SAS Selection hopefuls, he had been passed fit for service.

‘Medical over. You can get dressed now.’ Durrani walked to the sink, removed his gloves, and unnecessarily washed his hands. He straightened his blood-red bow tie. ‘How’s Jack these days?’

The question took Snow by surprise. ‘I’m sorry, Jack who?’

‘Good, good, just checking – “loose lips sink ships” as they used to say.’

‘They also make for very bad saxophonists,’ Snow replied as he quickly dressed.

‘What? Oh, very good. Mind if I use that one?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Thank you.’ Durrani smiled and opened the door. ‘Well, all being “well”, I’ll see you this time next year. Goodbye.’

Snow knew better than to shake the doctor’s hand. For a plastic surgeon, Durrani had a strange phobia of ‘personal contact’.

Snow exited Durrani’s examination room and couldn’t help but glance at the pretty receptionist, dressed in her pure white uniform; he could make out the line of a black bra beneath. She smiled at him as he self-consciously looked away and left the building.