Exit Wounds (13 page)

141

23.14 BST (British Summer Time)

Five Months Ago

Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

University Hospital of Wales, Heath Park

Over the past few weeks Richard had pumped and squeezed every informant he had for information about this new drug, Plug, but he was still no closer to finding its origin. He could follow it back as far as its Russian distributors but then the trail went cold. None of his sources were high enough on the food chain to be given that kind of information and S.O.C.A. were proving less than accommodating to his enquiries. Drugs were their territory and they didn’t like M.I.T. officers butting their noses in their business. The drug epidemic across the country that Plug had helped fuel was already enough of an embarrassment to them as it was.

There was one last lead that until now Richard hadn’t followed up on.

Richard parked his car in the hospital’s visiting area and fed the machine a handful of coins. It spat out a printed square with a sticky peel-off section which he stuck to the inside of his windscreen.

Colgan had made it very clear he didn’t want Richard going anywhere near the suspect that had shot him.

Suspect
. The thought of the word almost made Richard laugh aloud. The man had shot one police officer dead and then put five more holes into Richard’s chest, in broad daylight. Another three officers had witnessed the shooting, not to mention the various civilians living in the nearby houses. If they wanted more proof they could take a look at the scars embedded in Richard’s skin!

Heath hospital was where Richard was taken after he had been shot. It was where was supposed to have gone to see Jade’s first scan. It was where the man who had shot him now lay in his sleep.

Richard flashed his warrant card at the uniformed officer sat outside Mr. Confidence’s room, not breaking his stride. The uniform nodded once, not bothering to get up. Either he didn’t understand the difference between M.I.T. and S.O.C.A. jurisdiction, or he simply didn’t care.

S.O.C.A.’s most recent information had Mr. Confidence’s real name listed as Kirill Luzhin. He was born in Russia and, according to his last known address, lived in London. Kirill was a suspected “cleaner” for the Russian mafia or Vory V Zakone (thieves in law). S.O.C.A believed Kirill was close to the London Vory crime boss and was sent to Cardiff to oversee the expansion of the Russians’ activities into the city. If that was true, then he would have some idea of where this new drug was coming from.

Richard stood at the foot of the bed. In front of him Kirill lay, motionless besides the steady repetition of his breathing. Monitors beeped along to the rhythm. All was calm.

When Kirill fired at Richard he had fired back. Kirill’s five bullets had hit first, but Richard’s one round had caught the Russian in the head. His skull had been fractured by the impact and the medical records told Richard it had taken three operations to remove the 9mm. He was still critical but stable and had regained consciousness, meaning that he was just asleep now not comatose.

Bandages were wrapped rightly round the top of Kirill’s head and his head was supported by a metal brace. Richard moved round to the left side and lifted the oxygen mask off Kirill’s mouth, removed the flowers from a nearby vase and tossed the water onto his face.

The Russian woke with a start from being splashed but quickly fell back into the pillow with pain.

“Wakey, wakey,” Richard said, leaning over him. “Remember me?”

Kirill didn’t answer.

Richard pulled the visitor’s chair closer to the bed and sat down. He reached into his jacket and retrieved his firearm from its underarm holster and placed it on the bed table next to him.

Kirill eyed it and sneered, “You think you can scare me, Policeman?”

“Let’s find out shall we?”

“I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the man in uniform sat outside this room. You wouldn’t dare do anything.”

Richard nodded, “That’s why I had to deal with him.”

The Russian studied Richard’s face for a moment. “You’re lying.”

“Maybe. I will tell you one thing that’s true though. You make think you’re in pain now, but believe me that’s nothing compared to what I’m going to put you through if you don’t tell me what I want to hear.”

Kirill turned away as far as the metal brace would let him, “You can’t hurt me. You’re just a silly, little man.”

Richard jumped out of his seat, snatching up his gun. He fought back the urge to slap the man across the face with his weapon. He had come up here all anger and rage but knowing full well he had no intention of actually doing this man any harm. He knew it and Kirill knew it.

This man had shot him. He had nearly killed him. Put him in a hospital bed for over a month and had worried his poor wife into almost having a miscarriage. Yet despite all that Richard knew he didn’t have it him to even rough him up a bit. He would bend the rules. Sometimes he would even have to break them. But there was a line Richard could never cross. No matter what he felt like.

“I should kill you for what you did to me,” Richard said.

Kirill looked him in the eye, “Then do it. You’ll be doing me a favour.” The Russian paused for a moment, but when Richard didn’t move he slowly turned back the other way, “Go away, Policeman. You’ve killed me already.”

“What are you talking about?” Richard scoffed. “You’re going to make a full recovery.”

“Of course,” Kirill said.

Richard looked up to the monitors. Kirill’s heartbeat had quickened slightly when he spoke. “What are you talking about?” he repeated.

The Russian breathed deeply. He was making an effort not to get riled. “By coming here you have already enacted your revenge and sentenced me to death. No doubt his spies will have seen you and they will assume that I have told you what you want to know.”

“Who? The vory boss?” Richard asked.

This made the Russian laugh. He struggled to suppress his own laughter, the pain too much to bear. “If only I had just my Капитан to worry about. I’d expect to have my throat cut if I failed him, but this man... he will do other things.”

“Is this the man b
ehind Plug?”

Kirill didn’t answer.

Richard sat down next to him again. “If you have information we can use, we’ll protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from him. You can’t even stop him. He is everywhere now.”

“Give me a name,” Richard said.

“You should have turned your head first. See the target, draw and then follow through. You were clumsy, that’s why I got you.”

Richard bit down hard on his bottom teeth, “Give me a name.”

“Whatever you think you’re going to do to me to make me tell you, policeman, believe me, he will do a lot worse,” Kirill told him.

“But you’ve already said he’s going to assume that you’ve talked to me, so you might as well give me his name if you’re dead anyway,” Richard said.

Kirill laughed again, “I’m not going to tip my executioner.”

Richard felt his hands curl up into fists. This man knew what Richard wanted to know but he wouldn’t tell him. He stood up and turned around.

Walk away. Just walk away right now.

Richard stopped half way to the door. “This man that’s going to kill you,” he paused. “He’s going to hurt you first?”

“I have seen what he does to those who displease him. Death will come as a release.”

“Then how about I release you right now?” Richard turned round to face the Russian. “You give me his name and I’ll make sure you never have to face that fate.”

Kirill’s eyes rolled over Richard’s face. “You’re serious?”

“I’ll make it quick.” The Russian studied Richard’s face carefully. After a moment, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back as far as it would go in the brace. He sighed once, “The man’s name is Giacometti.”

07.14 BST (British Summer Time)

Four Months Ago

Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

Lisvane & Thornhill Train Station, Lisvane

Paul Russell watched the train roll out of sight before lifting his heavy bergen back over his right shoulder. It weighed over sixty kilos, but considering it contained everything he owned, some might consider that light.

It was years since Paul Russell had been back in Cardiff. The last time he had set foot in his hometown had been his brother’s wedding. Richard had asked him to be his best man. Paul hadn’t been comfortable with the role and knowing that Richard’s best friend would step in at a moment’s notice, turned up purposely late, making up some excuse about army transport delays. He hadn’t missed the ceremony like he said, though. Careful that no one saw him, he watched it all from the back of the church.

Paul felt reluctant to move away from the platform. The regiment was the only place he had ever truly felt at home and whilst he knew he could never go back to the life, it was hard to just walk away.

Paul climbed the concrete slope to the car park and looked around. Nothing here had seemed to change in the years gone by. The wire fencing was still falling apart and the painted marking on the road were as faded as ever. A handful of new CCTV poles had been erected but no one had bothered to take down the old ones. Paul allowed himself a small smile as he remembered throwing empty beer bottles as a teenager at the cameras and realised that one still stood with a smashed lens from the night he had broke it.

The car park was almost full with what Paul guessed were primarily commuters’ cars. He checked his watch. Richard had said he would be here at quarter past, but Paul’s train had been late. His brother was probably just running late too.

Paul felt his stomach turn over. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunch time, but he knew it was more than that. He wasn’t sure about this. He’d been a soldier since he was sixteen. He didn’t know any other life. Now he was just expected to live a normal life like everybody else?

Paul looked up at the sound of an approaching car to see his brother behind the wheel of a Black Ford Mondeo. He pulled up in front of Paul, not bothering to park in one of the marked spaces. He hopped out and moved round the car quickly, his arms open.

“My little brother!” he shouted gleefully.

Paul smiled letting his bergen slide down his arm to the ground. Richard grasped him tightly. Paul returned the hug.

Richard held on to him with one arm and rubbed his knuckles into Paul’s hair with the other, “It’s so good to see you!”

Paul squirmed away from his brother’s grip, laughing. “I’m not your little brother. We’re twins, remember?”

“I remember that I was born eight minutes before you, little brother!”

Paul rolled his eyes, “You’re a tedious motherfucker I’ll grant you that.”

Richard grinned, and attacked Paul again.

“Get off!”

“All that bloody Special Forces training doesn’t mean shit. I can steal beat you up!”

“Yeah.” Paul broke free again. He turned away and picked up his Bergen.

Richard regretted the joke the instant he had said it. It couldn’t be easy for Paul. The last thing he needed were careless remarks like that. “Seriously though, Paul. I am glad you’re back.”

“Thanks, Rich,” Paul nodded. “I appreciate you letting me stay with you.”

“Hey, you’re my twin brother. What’s mine is yours. Except my wife!”

Richard held out his hand. Paul handed him his bergen. His arm drooped momentarily with the weight, “Bloody hell, what have you got in here?”

“Everything I own,” Paul replied.

Richard pressed the button on his keys to open the boot. He pushed the lid up further than the mechanism had allowed and swung Paul’s bergen inside. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“It’ll just be until I can find a place of my own. I promise.”

Richard raised both his hands up, “Hey, its fine. Trust me. I’m looking forward to having my brother live with me again.”

Richard walked round to the driver’s side door.

“And you’re sure Jade’s okay with this?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, no worries. I think she’s grateful to have an extra pair of hands round the house when I’m in work. She’s got her hands full already with Simon and Adam and now we’ve got another one on the way.”

“You ever thought of using protection?” Paul asked.

Richard pulled a face.“What’s that?”

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Cheriton Drive, Thornhill