Authors: Rob Sinclair
‘They say it’s one of the most painful ways to die,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure a woman of your experience knows that.’
I rummaged around inside her coat and found what I was looking for. Car keys.
‘The bullet has penetrated your stomach. That’s what I was aiming for. You’ll bleed to death. You’re going to die, Lena. And it’s going to be slow and very, very painful.’
I got back to my feet and walked away.
As I reached the door, I heard her call out to me. But I didn’t take any notice. I was done with her. I carried on out without once looking back.
When I got outside I noticed that only one of the three cars had gone. Two of them must have belonged to the Russians. I pressed the open button on the remote fob and saw the lights blink on the vehicle to the left. A brand new BMW X5. Russia was one of the largest markets in the world for luxury cars. Obviously working for the government was a big money-spinner.
I opened the driver’s door and climbed in. I pushed the clutch with my foot and pressed the start button. The engine roared into life. As I reversed around to face the outer gates, I pulled out Chris’s phone and went to the tracking app. The red blinking light was still there, still moving. I just hoped Schuster was going to be doing his own dirty work. If he was, he would lead me to Grainger. It was the only hope I had left.
Lena’s words to me had been cryptic, but it didn’t take much to figure what she’d meant. Schuster and the CIA thought they were getting Grainger on a plate. They thought they’d be able to kill her, or whisk her away and do what they wanted with her. And they’d been happy to trade me and to kill Mackie, supposedly an ally, to get that.
But Lena had other ideas. She wasn’t going to let the CIA just walk away. My guess was that they were being set up for
an ambush. Schuster, his men and Grainger were probably all on the list to go. Why would Lena pass up such a good opportunity to kill off her competition?
The tyres screeched as I sped away from the warehouse grounds. Time really wasn’t on my side now. I had to catch up with Schuster and fast. The red dot had headed further out of town and was worming its way around the Tret’e Transportnoye Kol’tso, the middle of three ring roads that circumvented the centre of Moscow.
The traffic was building as the working day drew to a close and I had to weave in and out of lanes to stop Schuster’s vehicle edging further away. I’d been driving for twenty minutes when the dot, only about half a mile from me, pulled off the ring road and headed further out of town, toward the Khoroshyovo-Mnyovniki district.
I’d never been to the area before but it appeared to be mainly residential. After initially having a suburban feel, with detached and terraced houses, the area changed. Large residential towers rose upwards on either side of the road. They were a mixture of modern and old, the Soviet-era concrete unmistakeable. Most of the buildings were much like the monoliths in Omsk where the safe house had been. Except these buildings were still in good shape and in full use.
Looking down at the phone, I saw the red dot had finally stopped. It was just a short distance from me. A couple of minutes’ drive. Feeling the buzz of anticipation, I pushed down harder on the accelerator.
I took a left turning and headed toward the position where the dot had stopped. I followed a narrow, winding road that led up to two concrete apartment blocks. They were each about ten storeys tall, their L-shapes mirror images of each other, with a small car park and grass area between them.
The dot wasn’t indicating the car park but the back of the nearest block. I carried on along the road, ignoring the turning that led to the car park and the main doors. I’d slowed so that I was crawling along, keeping alert for any signs of movement around me. The area was quiet, with few pedestrians. Most workers were probably only just beginning their evening commute.
As I rounded the corner of the block, I spotted Schuster’s car in front. It had been parked on its own directly by a service entrance, in between industrial bins that were clustered along the back of the building. Parked side on, the driver’s side faced me. I eased off the accelerator and the BMW rolled to a stop. I looked down at the phone and saw the red dot was still in position, not moving.
Because of the car’s blacked-out windows, I couldn’t see whether anyone was still inside. But seconds later, I knew the answer. The driver’s door, the front passenger door and the back door on the driver’s side opened in unison. Schuster stepped out of the front passenger door and began to walk around to the nearside of the vehicle. His two men stood and gazed around them. One of them spotted my car and said something to his friend, who turned in my direction.
The Glock was stuffed into the waistband of my trousers. I also had a SIG P226 in my pocket that had belonged to Lena that I’d picked up on my way out of the warehouse.
I didn’t need either of them yet. I was already sitting in the best weapon available to me.
I slammed my foot down on the accelerator. The tyres skidded on the frosty ground but the four-wheel drive soon found traction. The car lurched forward, pinning me back against my seat. The engine whined and then growled, the revs pushing it to bursting point. The needle shot up on the speedometer.
The two men were still standing in position, pulling out weapons from inside their coats. Schuster had seemingly only just become aware of me and he slid down behind the far side of the car, out of view.
The two men opened fire. I ducked down as far as I could. I heard a succession of shots, only just audible over the engine noise. The windscreen of my car cracked, then shattered, sending glass flying through the air around me. I didn’t let up. I kept my foot pressed down hard. And braced myself for the impact.
I heard shouts from the men. Then it came.
One thud. Then another.
Then the crash.
My body, weightless for just the briefest of moments, flew forward in the seat, nothing to stop my momentum. Then the seatbelt caught. My head snapped forward, then was thrust back as I was punched in the face by the rapidly inflated airbag. The whole car swung upwards from the back, and I thought it might somersault right over. But it crashed back down to the ground again, bouncing and crunching on the broken suspension.
I don’t know for sure – the impact had been brutal – but I think I lost consciousness for a few seconds. Certainly it took me a while to get my senses back.
When I found the strength to move, I punched down on the airbag, pushing it away from my face. I looked up and saw the carnage in front of me.
The front of the X5 had buckled and crumpled. It had inserted itself into the side of Schuster’s car, which was being held in position on two wheels, having been pushed up and backwards by the force of the crash. One of Schuster’s men was wedged between the vehicles, his torso caught. He was slumped over the crumpled mess that had been the bonnet of the X5. He wasn’t moving at all. No longer a threat.
I spotted movement in front, off to my right. Schuster. He was limping away from his vehicle, towards the service door to the apartment block. His movement was awkward but he didn’t seem to be badly hurt. Being on the other side of the vehicle had saved his life, though his limp suggested he’d still been caught as his car was lifted through the air on impact.
I could see no sign of the other man. But I knew I’d hit him. He’d been one of the two thuds I’d heard before the crash.
I released my belt, then reached out and pulled on the handle of my door. It released but didn’t open. The bending of the frame as the car had been pushed inwards had wedged it shut. I leaned on it, grimacing in pain as I did so. It moved but didn’t open. I pulled back and thrust my weight against it, shoulder first. The same shoulder I’d landed on in the warehouse.
I shouted out in pain.
But it worked and the door flew open. Though I was unable to stop myself falling out of the car to the ground. My body twisted in the air and I landed flat on my front, my face scraping on the cold tarmac.
As I began to pick myself up, I spotted Schuster’s other man. At least what was left of him. He was lying on the ground, his deathly eyes staring right at me. His limbs were twisted and bowed, the left leg still wrapped up in the wheel arch of the X5. His other leg was missing. He had a gaping hole in his mid-section, like something had sliced right through him. Blood and guts lay all around him and up on the car. He seemed to be breathing but I didn’t fancy his chances.
I checked both of my weapons, then got the phone. The dot was still there, still moving. The problem was, I had no idea what floor Schuster would be on.
I darted off towards the door to the apartment block and
entered a narrow corridor that soon opened out to the left and right. The dot was off to the left but I saw no sign of Schuster. I looked around and located the stairs, next to a bank of lifts. The stairs were the better option.
I checked the phone once more, then headed over to the first flight and ran up it. When I reached the top, I poked my head around, peering down the corridor. Still no sign of Schuster. I carried on and repeated the same move.
This time I got lucky.
Schuster was fifty yards in front, hobbling away from me. I took aim with the SIG but didn’t fire. I began walking, a steady pace but enough to close the gap on him. He looked around and I heard him shout something. I couldn’t make out the words but I knew they had been directed at me.
He was cupping his hands around his waist as though he’d been struck there. Or was it just from the damage I’d inflicted back on the train?
Then he swung around unexpectedly, gun in hand, and fired. The rushed shot missed me. I lifted an arm up to my face, pulled back against the near wall. I fired off one shot in response. At that range, having already been set, it was an easy shot to take. I hit him exactly where I’d intended.
Schuster screamed and fell to the floor, clutching at his left leg, the one he hadn’t been limping on. He lifted his hand to fire at me again but I was too quick. I let off another round. This one caught him in the arm, the one that was holding the gun, which he dropped to the ground.
I closed the distance to him, my gun held out. Ready for anything else he had to offer. Nothing came. He was spent. When I got to him he was lying on his back, the elbow on his good arm propping him up. His nostrils were flaring, his determined eyes still glistening.
‘Where is she?’ I said.
‘You really don’t know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘You
can’t possibly expect to get away with this. Do you know who we are!’
‘I could say the same thing to you. You should have thought more carefully before doing your dirty deals.’
‘There was nothing dirty about it. Mackie had it coming. Grainger does too.’
‘I’m not sure the Russians had quite the same idea as you.’
‘No. There’s nothing wrong with the Russians. At least you can deal with them. Negotiate with them. They always have something to offer. They understand how this game really works. They’re not all out there trying to be goddamn heroes like you. They’re realists.’
‘You know, if this hadn’t been personal for me, I’d have relished watching you get taken down by them.’
‘Taken down?’ Schuster said, confusion on his face.
‘They’ve set you up. There was no deal. They’ve had you running around this country taking out people on your own side. There was no intention of ever letting you out of here alive with Grainger, your prized possession.’
Schuster didn’t say anything to that. I gave him a moment to mull it over. Perhaps he finally understood.
‘I’ll help you get her out of here,’ he said, a sudden change of tack. ‘It’s your only chance. You’ve got no-one else now. You help me, I’ll help you.’
‘Sure you would,’ I said. ‘But I learned my lesson a long time ago. Don’t do deals with people you don’t trust.’
I pulled up the gun and shot him in the face.
I rummaged through Schuster’s pockets and found what I was looking for. A piece of paper. That’s what it had all come down to. Mackie’s life. All the other people who’d lost theirs on the way. All the betrayal and the blood and the tears. The misery that had come to so many. All for the address that was scribbled on that one small piece of paper.
Apartment 406.
I looked up. All of the doors on this floor were numbered in the three hundreds. The four hundreds were one floor up. Angela was just one floor up.
After all this time, Angela.
I walked back to the stairwell and made my way to the next floor. Reaching the top, I peered cautiously around. Schuster and his men were all taken care of. But Lena’s words were still reverberating in my head. The ambush. I didn’t know when or how it would come, but she’d never intended that Schuster and Angela would leave alive. Would it be a sniper? A combat team? Was the apartment wired with a bomb that would go off the minute the door was opened? Was Angela really here at all, or was there one final deception from Lena still to come?
I didn’t know the answer.
But I knew that I would soon find out.
I walked up to the door to 406, knocked three times and waited. I heard the faint sound of movement from inside but no-one opened the door.
I knocked three more times. This time I didn’t hear anything at all.
But then came a voice.
Her voice.
‘Who is it?’ she said in Russian.
I didn’t answer. I just stared at the spy-glass, noticing as a shadow crept over it on the other side. She was looking at me. Then the door was unlocked and pulled open.
And there she was.
‘Carl?’ she said. I saw confusion on her face, and fear and something else…hope?
I’d often wondered what it would feel like to come face to face with her again. I’d known the time would come. I’d told myself it had to. But I’d always been torn as to why I wanted to find her.
Did I want to be her lover again?
Did I want to turn her in for what she’d done?
Did I want to kill her?
Since the moment Schuster had said her name and I’d focused on getting to her, I hadn’t given myself a chance to find the answer. But now, standing before her, I knew.
I wanted to protect her.
Because we were the same. Our own people had turned on us. First, my agency had left me for dead. They’d given up on me. The Americans had come in and they’d seen a chance to negotiate with my life. Grainger had been similarly wronged. It had started with the decision of her government to grant a life of freedom to the man who’d killed her father. Then the bloody quest that the CIA had embarked on to find and punish her for killing that same man.
We were both lost souls. We no longer had anywhere to
call home. No longer had anyone that we could rely on. We had no jobs, no identities. We had nowhere left to go. All we had was our lives and the crowds of people behind us, our friends and enemies alike, trying to find us so they could take us down.
The future was a blank. How we’d get out of this alive, what we’d do next, I had no idea.
But I knew that whatever was to come, I would be facing it with her.