Hetman: Donetsk Calling

Начало книги

Brian Webb swayed as he hailed a taxi. It was the early hours of the morning and he’d been drinking since the early evening. The heat of the day had long since given way to the chill of the night. Webb shivered in his short sleeved shirt and cargo shorts. Within seconds a battered, yellow Daewoo Nubira pulled into the curb. The driver lowered the front passenger window and then with a price agreed Webb climbed into the back. It was four a.m. as they sped along the all but deserted city streets. Even by his standards this had been a late night, Webb chuckled to himself. Life was good. He had a great life in Kyiv, a great wife and a great daughter. What more could he want? He let his eye lids drop as the taxi moved from tarmac to cobbles and headed downhill towards the Dnipro River. The vibration made his stomach wobble and his head nod. Webb had arrived in Ukraine in October 1997 with only four words of Russian ‘Da’, ‘Niet’, ‘Babushka’ and ‘Vodka’ but had somehow managed not only to survive but thrive. Not passing for a local, with his thick Yorkshire accent but being accepted as one by his neighbours, he would be sad to leave his adopted home. He opened his eyes as the taxi crossed the river and wound down the window slightly, breathing in the river cooled air. His eyes met those of the driver who quickly looked away. The man seemed to be in no mood to talk. The taxi continued on across the bridge, through Hydropark and then onto Levo Berezina – Kyiv’s left bank. The taxi abruptly pulled in at the side of the road. Webb sat forward and looked around. It wasn’t his street. The driver quickly got out and walked away. His brain slowed by alcohol, Webb remained seated for several seconds before he realised that something was wrong.

Читать дальше →