Ganglands: Russia: Russia (20 page)

The lawyer looked up uncomprehendingly at Alexei, her eyes those of startled prey.
At the edge of the clearing, Marat turned his back and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unwilling to look at his erstwhile
friend.
By contrast, Medved was only too keen to press his face up against Alexei’s.

‘I should have listened to Svetlana,’ he growled.
‘She knew you were full of shit from day one.’

‘Don’t let her do all of your thinking,’ Alexei replied.
‘She’s just as stupid as you are.’

Viktor grabbed the skinhead by the shoulder, pulling him away. ‘Leave this to me, Medved,’ he said calmly.
The leader of the 88s inspected Alexei through his horn-rimmed glasses.

‘Since you’re here,’ he said, ‘why don’t you enlighten us as to the identity of your employers?
I presume you’re not acting alone.
Is it the police?
The government?
Some other cowardly and treacherous organization that fears the might of the Moscow Eagles?

‘Go to hell,’ replied Alexei, and spat in Viktor’s face.

For a second time, Pavel brought his gun down on the back of Alexei’s head – harder this time.
Alexei collapsed to the turf beside Rozalina Petrova.
There was a roaring sound in his ears.
It felt like someone had dropped an anvil on his head.

Viktor pulled a tissue from his pocket and slowly wiped his face clean. ‘Now that,’ he said softly, ‘was a mistake.’

Alexei crawled to his knees, still holding the back of his head.
He was going to die in this clearing.
He knew it for certain.
But although he was scared, there was no way he was giving Viktor the satisfaction of showing it.
Not when Rozalina was next to him – kneeling but unbowed.

‘I’m not scared of you,’ he said, through gritted teeth.

‘Oh, but you should be,’ Viktor replied.

‘He’s just a boy!’ Rozalina begged.
‘Do what you must with me, but don’t kill the boy!’

Viktor ignored her, and turned to Pavel.
‘Who do you think we should shoot first – the bitch lawyer or the back-stabbing traitor?’

Pavel shrugged.
‘As long as they both die I don’t care.’

‘The efficient attitude of the fighting man,’ remarked Viktor, with a smile.
He pointed the gun at Alexei.
‘The traitor it is.’

Alexei closed his eyes.
Images of Lena flashed through his mind.
I never got the chance to say goodbye
, he thought to himself.

There was a loud report in the clearing, and Alexei heard someone cry out.
Opening his eyes, he was astonished to discover that he was still alive, and that Viktor was clutching his right arm, his gun lying on the ground.

‘Someone’s in the trees!’ Orlov yelled.

Pavel whirled round, training his handgun on the woods.
His heart singing with relief, Alexei made out a shape darting through the darkness: Trojan had arrived.

As bullets zinged through the clearing, the Eagles scattered like ninepins, diving to safety behind the headstones.
With a loud oath, Pavel fired off a couple of rounds, then dragged Viktor out of the line of fire.

‘Forget about me!’ Viktor screamed.
‘Kill the lawyer!’

Snarling, Pavel turned round and pointed his gun at Rozalina.
Without thinking, Alexei dived headlong, knocking the lawyer to the ground as a bullet whistled
through the air where she had been kneeling and bit into the headstone behind her.

‘Stop right there!’ a female voice commanded in Russian.

Alexei looked across to see that Pavel had frozen in between shots, a wisp of smoke wafting from the barrel of his gun.
Behind him, Valerie Singer emerged from the shadows like an apparition, her gun trained on the back of Pavel’s head.

‘Drop the weapon,’ she said crisply, before calling out: ‘Madison!’

The Englishman appeared at the edge of the clearing, calmly reloading his weapon.
‘Present,’ he said.

Gesturing with her gun, Valerie ushered Pavel into the centre of the clearing.

‘You too, Orlov,’ she said.

Viktor grudgingly obeyed, hate smeared across his face like a bloodstain. He clutched at the wound in his arm.

‘That’s two of them,’ Madison said, scanning the headstones.
‘Where did the other two go?’

A loud crashing sound made them whirl round – Medved broke from his cover, barrelling into the trees.
As Alexei watched, Marat peered out from behind another of the gravestones, his face ashen as he weighed up whether to make a run for it.
For a brief second, the teenagers’ eyes met.
Then Marat bolted.

‘Stay where you are, Alexei!’ Valerie cried out.

But Alexei was already running into the trees.
He plunged into the darkness after Marat, darting in and out of the birches, his eyes fixed on the boy’s bright red
sweatshirt.
Behind him, Richard Madison was calling out his name.
Alexei redoubled his efforts, closing the gap on Marat as the other boy stumbled in fear.
As the cemetery gate appeared on the horizon, Alexei rugby-tackled Marat, sending both of them crashing to the floor.

‘No!’ Marat cried, as Alexei pinned him down. ‘Please!’

‘You hurt Lena!’ Alexei said, his voice ragged.

‘Who?’

‘My girlfriend.
On the metro.
You and Medved.’

Marat’s eyes widened with terror.
‘Her?
I never knew! I’m sorry, Alexei!
Please don’t hurt me!’

Alexei wasn’t thinking clearly any more.
The next thing he knew, he had punched Marat hard in the face, and was banging his head against the ground. Marat’s nose was twisted and bleeding profusely, and Alexei must have hit him again.
Then, dimly, he was aware of a strong hand pulling him off the other boy.

‘Enough, Alexei!’

Alexei whirled round, his fists clenched.
Richard Madison held his hands up in the air.

‘It’s only me,’ the Englishman said softly. ‘We’re the good guys.
Remember?’

‘Yeah,’ Alexei said dully, suddenly aware of the damp blood on his knuckles, and Marat’s senseless heap on the ground.
‘I don’t know what happened.
I was so angry …’

His voice faltered.
Madison wrapped an arm around his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, lad.
You’ve been through a lot.
It happens to the best of us.’

‘What about Medved?
Did you catch him?’

Madison shook his head.
‘He managed to give us the slip.
But we’ll catch up with him.
The most important thing is that you and Rozalina are safe, and Viktor is in our hands.
If Valerie hasn’t already killed him.’

They walked slowly back to the clearing, carrying the slumped form of Marat between them.
Valerie was standing guard over Viktor and Pavel, her arm straight and unwavering as she trained her gun on them.
Rozalina Petrova stood behind her.

‘I suppose you’re pleased with yourself, you bitch,’ sneered Viktor.

‘
Jew
bitch,’ Valerie replied coolly.
‘And I’d be happier putting a bullet in between your eyes.’

‘Do it, then,’ said Viktor.
‘I’d rather die than submit myself to subhumans.’

Valerie smiled thinly.
‘Why do you think you’re still alive? You’re going to have a long time in prison to live with this indignity.’

‘Prison?’ Viktor smiled glassily.
‘Oh no.
I don’t think so.’

His hand snaked into his jacket pocket, bringing out a tiny .22 calibre pistol.

‘Look out!’ Alexei cried.

Valerie didn’t even need to shoot.
In one movement, Viktor pressed the .22 to his head and fired.
The gun’s report echoed around the clearing like a death-knell as the leader of the Moscow Eagles dropped to the ground.

In the silence that followed, Pavel glanced down at the .22, lying inches from Viktor’s outstretched hand, then back at the gun trained on him.

‘Feel free to try for it,’ Valerie said icily.
The soldier took a final look at the .22, then shook his head.

‘Pity,’ she murmured.

As Richard Madison handcuffed Pavel and the immobile Marat, Alexei stood stock-still, unable to take his eyes away from Viktor’s corpse.
A pool of blood was spreading out across the grass from the man’s gaping head wound.

He realized that someone was standing at his side.
It was Rozalina Petrova.
She looked up at Alexei, then dissolved into floods of tears.

‘It’s OK,’ he whispered, gently holding her shaking frame.
‘It’s over.’

26. Mission End

The monastery echoed to the sound of activity as Trojan Industries closed down their Russian headquarters.
Operatives bustled around Alexei, packing up laptops, rolling up electricity cables and unplugging the television screens. The spotlights were switched off and carried away, leaving the hall in dusty darkness.

Alexei was standing in the centre of the hall with Rozalina Petrova, Darius Jordan and Richard Madison.
The American’s face was wreathed in a smile.

‘I’m delighted to say that Trojan’s second mission has been as successful as its first,’ he proclaimed.
‘We’ve achieved both our primary objective – rescuing Ms Petrova – and our secondary objective – breaking up the command structure of the Moscow Eagles.
And all thanks to Alexei.
I tell you straight, son: if you ever want a job in the intelligence service, you come and find me.’

Alexei laughed.
‘Thanks, but I’ve been shot at enough to last me a lifetime.
I’m looking forward to getting back to normal, boring life.’

‘Fair enough.’ Jordan turned to the human rights lawyer. ‘And what about you, Ms Petrova?
After all you’ve
been through, do you think you might take a break for a while?’

‘Are you kidding me?’ The lawyer’s face was pale but determined.
‘Pavel and Marat may be in custody but they haven’t been convicted yet.
I need to make sure they join their friend Borovsky in prison.
This is no time to take a break, Mr Jordan.
The Moscow Eagles aren’t the only skinhead gang in Russia.’

‘Too true.
At least we’ve put a stop to the 88s.
Medved may have evaded us in the cemetery but the police are combing Moscow for all the members of the Eagles – he can’t hide forever.
And I’d wager both Pavel and Marat will sing like canaries in the hope of getting a lighter sentence.
Which should mean our friend Boris Lebedev will get a knock on his door before too long.’

‘That’ll put a dent in his political ambitions,’ Richard Madison added.
‘Difficult to run for office from a prison cell.’

Jordan looked around the monastery, frowning.
‘We seem to be missing someone.
Where’s Valerie?’

‘Said she had something to do before we left,’ the Englishman replied with a shrug.
He grinned at Alexei.
‘I wouldn’t hold out too much hope of an emotional goodbye, or a parting gift.
She’s not that kind of woman.’

‘When you see her, will you tell her thanks?’ Alexei asked. ‘She saved my life back in the cemetery – I never got a chance to say that.’

‘Count on it,’ replied Richard Madison.
‘Now, before we go, I believe that Yelena here is going to help you with something.’

The pretty make-up artist stepped forward.

‘Ready to start treating that tattoo?’ she asked. ‘You’ll need quite a few sessions under the laser, but I’ll be in Moscow for as long as you need.
By the end you’ll be as good as new.’

Alexei paused.
‘When you put the swastika on me, Richard said you’re an expert.’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ she replied modestly.

‘Instead of removing the tattoo, can you change it to something else?’

‘Of course.’ Yelena nodded.
‘I only thought you’d want it completely removed.’

‘So did I,’ said Alexei.
‘But I’ve been through too much to turn my back on it all now it’s over.
There should be some kind of reminder.’

‘It might take a bit of time, but my kit’s still here,’ Yelena said.
‘What did you have in mind?’

Alexei smiled.

By the time Alexei had gingerly pulled his sweatshirt back on, the last of the equipment had been removed from the hall.
There was no clue that Trojan had ever been there; not a single footprint in the dust.
A wooden beam creaked in the silence.

‘Right,’ Richard Madison said briskly, clapping his hands together.
‘Home time.’

Outside the monastery, a convoy of unmarked vans was crunching away down the driveway.
Only the black people carrier remained parked by the entrance.
Jordan rubbed his hands together.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I like Moscow,’ he said conversationally.
‘But Miami’s a damn sight warmer.’

‘Stick around for the summer,’ Alexei replied. ‘You’d be surprised how hot it can get.’

‘You know, part of me wouldn’t mind doing that – I reckon you could have a lot of fun in this city.
But duty calls.
Trojan’s barely started.
There are plenty of other gangs out there just as unpleasant as the Moscow Eagles.’

‘Where will you go next?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Jordan replied, looking over the Moscow skyline.
He continued, in a softer voice: ‘But even though we’re leaving, rest assured that Lena’s treatment will be paid for – no matter how long it takes.
She’ll wake up soon, son.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Thank
you
, Alexei.’

Stretching out a large hand, Jordan firmly shook Alexei’s.
The American strode over to the people carrier and climbed inside.
Behind Alexei, Richard Madison closed the monastery door and chained it up.
He gave Alexei a quick hug, patting him on the back.

‘Well done,’ he muttered.
‘I’m bloody proud of you.’

‘Wish my uncle agreed with you,’ Alexei replied gloomily.

‘Ah.
Going off to patch things up with the old man now, eh? He’ll come round.’ Madison’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
‘Us military men can be a bit slow on the uptake, but we get there in the end.’

The Englishman nodded at the people carrier.
‘Want a lift anywhere?’

Alexei shook his head.
‘I need the walk to work out what I’m going to say to Stepan.’

‘Fair enough.
You take care of yourself.’

Madison hauled himself into the driver’s seat, then started up the engine.
With a merry beep on its horn, the people carrier rolled away down the winding driveway and out of sight, leaving Alexei alone on the bleak hill.

If anything, Alexei felt even more nervous approaching his uncle’s flat than he had done entering Novodevichy Cemetery.
No matter how much he rehearsed what he was going to say, nothing sounded right in his head.
Even though his mission had ended, Alexei still felt honour bound to keep it a secret.
Exposing Trojan Industries to public scrutiny might threaten Lena’s care.