Ganglands: Russia: Russia (15 page)

‘Hi, Nadia,’ he said cordially.

‘I have some business to attend to,’ Viktor said, transferring Nadia’s hand to Alexei.
‘I take it I can trust you to take care of my most precious jewel?’

Viktor gently kissed Nadia’s free hand and then walked away.
She watched the man leave with something approaching a look of apprehension.
They were the strangest couple Alexei had ever met.
For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom what she saw in Viktor, or how the two of them had even met.

Nadia suddenly stumbled, nearly toppling over on her high heels.
Alexei had to reach out and catch her.

‘You’re drunk!’ he said.

‘Maybe,’ Nadia replied coquettishly.
‘Can’t a girl have a bit of fun every now and again?
Why don’t you come and dance with me?’

Alexei allowed himself to be dragged reluctantly on to the dancefloor.
As quick and nimble as he could be in the ring, as soon as music started playing he found himself clumsy and leaden-footed.
He let Nadia dance around him, the girl giggling as she twirled to the music.
Alexei begged her to stop, laughingly pleading dizziness, and they made for a small table in the corner of the club.
She sat purposefully in the chair next to him, close enough for her legs to brush against his.

Nadia glanced conspiratorially around the room, then leaned forward and whispered something to Alexei.

‘What did you say?’ he shouted.
‘I can’t hear you over the music!’

‘You’re different!’ she said, more loudly this time. ‘From the rest of them, I mean.’

‘The Eagles?’

‘Yes, the Eagles.
Who else?’ Nadia said bitterly, taking an unsteady sip from her drink.
‘I’ve been around this gang for longer than I can remember.
The men – they look the same, they talk the same; they even
smell
the same.
But not you, Alexei.
You can act the big tough guy all you want, but you can’t hide the tenderness inside of you.
Not from me. Women can sense these things.’

‘What – female intuition?’ Alexei scoffed, hopeful that she wouldn’t catch the desperate edge to his voice.
‘I don’t believe in that rubbish.
If you knew me better, you wouldn’t call me soft.’

Nadia coiled her fingers around his, and drew herself closer.
Alexei could feel the swell of her breasts as she pushed herself up against him.
‘OK, maybe I get to know you better, then,’ she murmured in his ear.
‘Leave with me.
Right now.’

Alexei swallowed nervously.
‘Are you crazy?
What about Viktor?’

‘Who cares about Viktor?’ Nadia replied, making a face. ‘I’m not scared of him.
Are you?
Come back with me, Alexei.
I promise you won’t regret it.’

Alexei couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t want to leave the club with Nadia.
There was a quiet sorrow about her that made him feel protective towards her.
But then there was Lena.
There was always Lena.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally.
‘I can’t. You’re really sweet but –’

Before he could finish his sentence, Nadia untangled
herself from him and stormed off into the nightclub.
Alexei slumped back in his seat with a sigh.
He drank by himself for a time, moodily watching other people enjoying themselves.
Whereas earlier Orbit had seemed glamorous and exciting, now it just seemed loud and overcrowded.
Unable to spot any of the other Eagles among the throng, Alexei pushed his way outside to get some fresh air.

The club’s doors were now shut to new entrants, and those who had been queuing in vain for admittance had long since drifted off dispiritedly into the night.
The street was cold and still.
Alexei checked his watch: 0430.
He tried to phone Marat, but there was no response.
If the teenager was still inside Orbit, there was no way he would hear it.

Alexei was halfway through a text when a woman’s strangled scream rang out.
It had come from the alleyway next to the club.
Alexei ran over and peered around the corner.

He was shocked to see Nadia lying in a crumpled heap, her dress covered in filth from the alleyway floor and a hunted look in her eyes.
Viktor Orlov was standing over her.
He was shaking with rage; his calm facade stripped away.
As the tattooed Eagle bouncer looked on impassively from the shadows, Viktor picked Nadia up and pushed her up against the wall by her throat.
Alexei took an instinctive step forward, then checked himself.
His mission would be jeopardized if he got involved – no matter how much he wanted to.
Instead he pressed himself against the wall and listened.

‘If I want a dumb bitch’s opinion I’ll find a dog in the street,’ Viktor spat.

‘Please, Viktor,’ sobbed Nadia. ‘You’re hurting me …’

Viktor slammed her against the wall again.
‘If I hurt you,’ he said through clenched teeth, ‘it’s for your own good.
You need to learn to keep your mouth shut.’

‘But you’re going to kill her!’ Nadia said miserably. ‘I know what those emails are about.
I know what the package is.’

‘You don’t know a thing.
Not a goddamn
thing
,’ Viktor snarled.
‘Remember that whatever happens to Petrova can just as easily happen to you.
I’ll do it myself if necessary.
Do you understand me?’

Choked, Nadia nodded quickly.
Finally Viktor relented, lowering her to the ground.
‘There, there,’ he said softly, placing his arm around the cowering girl.
‘It’s all right.
There, there, little sister.’

With that, several things clicked into place for Alexei.
Viktor wasn’t Nadia’s boyfriend – he was her brother!
Suddenly her role in the Moscow Eagles didn’t seem quite so surprising after all.

Viktor was now making low murmuring noises in Nadia’s ear, trying to calm her down.
As the trio left the alleyway and returned inside Orbit, Alexei slipped back into the shadowy recesses of a doorway.
He waited outside for twenty minutes, until Marat came reeling out of the club, grumbling about all the stuck-up women that had turned him down.
As they headed back to the Eagle’s apartment, Alexei barely listened to his complaints: all he could think about was Viktor Orlov, his hand wrapped mercilessly around his sister’s throat.

19. The Tsar

The men came for them at dawn.

Alexei was fast asleep on Marat’s floor when the front door exploded open.
He barely had time to work out where he was before masked men were swarming over him, firm hands pinning him to the carpet.
Alexei tried to struggle free, but a swift blow to the side of the head stunned him.
He heard Marat cry out in surprise, and then someone rammed a woollen balaclava down over Alexei’s head – back-to-front, so he couldn’t see through the eyeholes.
As his hands were roughly bound together, a hand rummaged through his pockets and pulled out his mobile phone, sending it clattering across the room.
Now there was no way he could call Trojan for help.

The men hauled Alexei to his feet, manhandling him out of the apartment and down into the car park, where he was bundled into the back seat of a vehicle.
He collided with another body – presumably Marat’s – as he was thrown alongside him.

‘Move and you’re dead,’ a voice hissed, and then the car door slammed shut.

Alexei tried to stay calm as the vehicle drove away.
The biggest danger was that his cover had been blown – but
if that was the case, why had the men kidnapped Marat too?
Alexei shifted uncomfortably in his seat, every breath only forcing the balaclava’s stale odour further down his throat.
As the car mapped out a silent path through unseen streets, Marat whimpered quietly.

Then, without warning, someone ripped off his balaclava.
Alexei blinked in the morning sunlight.
Looking out through tinted windows, he saw that they were travelling along a broad, treelined highway in the middle of the countryside. Moscow’s grand sprawl was a distant dream.
Viktor Orlov was sitting in the front passenger seat, watching the startled teenagers with undisguised amusement.

‘What’s going on?’ Marat blustered.
‘Where are we?’

Viktor smiled.
‘We thought the pair of you had earned a little drive.
You must forgive our rather elaborate caution.
We’re going to meet someone who guards his privacy fiercely.’

Pulling out a small knife, Viktor leaned over and cut Alexei and Marat free.
‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘it’s always good to test your men’s mettle.
An Eagle has to be prepared for anything.
I was pleased to see that neither of you begged for mercy.’

‘Though you may want to mewl a little more quietly next time, Marat,’ Pavel said pointedly, from behind the wheel.

Alexei glanced around the car in surprise.
‘It’s only us four?’ he asked.
‘Where’s Medved?’

‘Busy explaining his hangover to Svetlana,’ the ex-soldier replied.
‘Today is a day for business, not action.
Not Medved’s speciality.’

‘You should be flattered,’ added Viktor. ‘This is the most exclusive of invitations.
Occasionally our rendezvous likes to run his eye over our foot soldiers – make sure that they are up to the task.
After your clash with the Uzbeks, we felt you should represent the fresh new wave of the Moscow Eagles.’

‘Do not make us regret that decision,’ Pavel said ominously.

As the car continued along the highway, Alexei caught a glimpse of a turret poking out from above the treeline.
The trees began to thin, and he saw that the highway was lined with houses set back from the road along sweeping driveways.
Many ordinary Russians had modest dachas they used as countryside retreats, but these houses were a different world altogether – state-of-the-art mansions with swimming pools, satellite dishes, and garages the size of aircraft hangars.
Through gaps in electrified railings, Alexei saw chrome flashes of expensive foreign cars: Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis.

He jumped as a sleek black sports car appeared out of nowhere, its bodywork gleaming in the sunlight as it screamed past them.
Before Alexei could blink, it had disappeared over the brow of the hill and out of sight.

‘Did you see that?’ Marat said excitedly.
‘That was a Bugatti Veyron!
One of the fastest cars ever made!
There’s only about 200 in the whole world!’

Alexei shook his head.
It was hard to believe that only a couple of hours ago he had been sleeping on the floor of Marat’s derelict apartment.
They continued along the highway for another ten minutes before Viktor tapped
Pavel on the arm and pointed towards a gated driveway.
Two men were standing guard outside, sub-machine-guns slung over their backs.
As the car pulled up beside them, one of the guards handed Viktor a portable scanner.
The Eagles’ leader pressed his thumb down on the pad, and a tiny LED flashed green.
The guard nodded at Viktor, and the gate swung open.

Pavel steered the car up the long driveway, past a small wooden banya – a traditional steam bath – and up towards an imposing redbrick house with high gabled windows.
Two figures were visible on the veranda in front of the dacha.
One was a small, powerful man, with a bristling beard covering his square jaw.
He was wearing a pair of jeans and the Russian national football shirt.
At the man’s side sat a slim, beautiful brunette in a jumper and black leggings, her arm draped through his.
A silver samovar and tea set were laid out on the table in front of them.

As Pavel parked the car next to a grey, open-top Porsche Carrera, the man in the football shirt rose to his feet.
Viktor got out of the car, hurried up to the veranda and embraced him, before kissing the brunette’s elegantly extended hand.

As they followed on behind, Marat nudged Alexei, and nodded at the Porsche.
‘Not bad!’ he whispered.

Alexei shrugged.
He had never been that interested in cars.
Then he caught sight of the Carrera’s personalized number plate.

It was Tsar.

Alexei looked away, praying that the recognition hadn’t shown on his face.
The Eagles had led him straight to
Tsar!
Could this dacha be the fortress – was Rozalina Petrova held captive somewhere within these walls? Alexei silently cursed the fact that the Eagles had taken his phone, and that he had been blindfolded for most of the journey.
Depending on the route they had taken, he could be a hundred miles from Moscow, or ten.

His mind was racing as he walked up to the veranda, where the bearded man was shaking Pavel by the hand.
The soldier turned around to the two teenagers.

‘Marat, Alexei – this is Mr Lebedev.’

Things were starting to make sense now.
Darius Jordan had suggested that Tsar might be someone with money and influence – who fit that bill better than a tycoon?
Perhaps the riot at the Construktko plant had been a smoke-screen.
One thing was for sure – Boris Lebedev didn’t look like he was holding any grudges now.

The tycoon sized up Alexei and Marat with a single glance, then nodded with apparent satisfaction.
He leaned down and kissed the brunette woman on the cheek. ‘Run inside now, little bunny.
We have business to discuss that you will only find boring.’

The brunette rose gracefully from her chair and sashayed barefoot inside the dacha, a diamond-studded chain sparkling on her bare ankle.
Viktor watched her leave with open admiration.

‘Pretty girl,’ he said.

‘Lilya is a former gymnast,’ replied Lebedev.
‘An expensive gift I bought myself.’ He looked reflective.
‘If I had known quite how expensive, perhaps I might have reconsidered.’

‘I’m sure she’s worth every rouble,’ said Viktor.

The tycoon made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
‘Save the silver tongue for young girls and vain men,’ he said sharply.
‘Let’s get down to business.
I take it your boys can keep their mouths shut?’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Pavel replied laconically.

Lebedev pointed at the door.
‘Then come inside,’ he said.

The tycoon led them on a lengthy tour of his dacha, a seemingly endless maze of corridors and rooms; through an opulent dining-room, where a long mahogany table stretched out beneath a row of chandeliers; a conference room, complete with leather swivel chairs and banks of television screens; and an indoor swimming pool, a mosaic of a mermaid on its tiled floor visible through the still blue water.
Priceless oil paintings seemed to hang on every wall.
But – much to Alexei’s disappointment – of Rozalina Petrova, there was no sign.