Free Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1) by Azam Hossain Page A

entourage,” said Guy emphatically looking me straight in the eyes.
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 11 - AN EPIPHANY.
     
    My feelings were mixed, from one of anger and a desire for revenge to one of apprehension and curiosity about meeting such an appalling excuse for humanity – Vasily Ustinovich Zhukov. As I was driven to the Onegin Gallery with Ollie, it occurred to me that this was an opportunity to see my adversary in close proximity and gather some intelligence. In accordance with Russian nouveau riche ostentation it was not so much the occasion that warranted the gathering, but whom one invited, the number and the lavishness with which they were to be entertained, that determined how important an event was. As the car approached the Gallery I could see the area littered with expensive cars, which had no doubt just delivered some of the guests to this function. The car stopped and Ollie and I got out and headed towards the entrance. As I expected the photographers took no notice of us, we showed the security personnel our invitations and were shown in to the lobby. A moment later we were in the main reception area where drinks and canapés were being served. As the guests mingled I heard not just Russian being spoken but French, English and German; it was a truly international crowd.
     
    I sipped my champagne and looked around and asked Ollie, “So what’s Zhukov’s interest in art? I thought he was far too base for all this.”
    “It’s all in aid of his girlfriend. I understand that she fancies herself as a bit of an art connoisseur. She also paints,” Ollie replied.
    “You’re remarkably well informed,” I teased, “You haven’t been reading the celebrity magazines I hope.”
    Her brows furrowed in annoyance, “It’s my job to know,” she rebuked me haughtily.
    Just then a waiter passed with a tray of canapés and Ollie and I partook.
    “Tell me about this girlfriend,” I implored. I imagined some spoilt, vain and vacuous bimbo.
    “It’s not her we have come to meet,” she chastised “It’s Zhukov that has brought us here.”
    “Meeting the girlfriend might enable me to insinuate myself with her so that she might reveal valuable intelligence,” I explained with a logic I thought beyond refute.
    Ollie looked over my shoulder and teased, “Here’s your chance to insinuate yourself with not just the girlfriend but Zhukov.”
     
    I turned around and saw a man I recognised from the photograph that Guy had shown me as Zhukov, looking very well for his years: fit, lithe and athletic; wearing an immaculate dark suit with a white open necked shirt. He had pronounced cheek bones, piercing eyes and an air of self assurance , acquired no doubt, from years of getting his own way through his wealth and casual attachment to violence. With him was a beautiful brunette woman about 27. She had slim hips, nicely proportioned breasts, an exquisite smile, silky smooth lightly tanned skin and beautifully lustrous hair. She wore a skirt with a matching designer jacket. They were accompanied by a couple of officials and were meeting and greeting their guests.
    “Got a good look Tarquin?” whispered Ollie teasingly as she stood by my side and spoke discreetly into my ear.
    I turned to look witheringly at Ollie, rather annoyed that she had disrupted my appraisal of the couple, or the gorgeous brunette if I’m candid.
    “What’s her name?” I asked and as if to justify my question, “It would be frightfully bad manners not to know the name of ones host,” I added.
    “Her name is Anastasia Olonova,” answered Ollie begrudgingly.
    They worked their way through the crowd and gradually came closer to us.
    “May I introduce Meester Damian Willoughby from England and his wife,” said the official escorting Zhukov and Olonova. My alias was coming in useful already!
    “How do you do?” I said as graciously as I could, as I got a good look at their faces close up. Everyone was all smiles. I noticed there was a look of