by J. F. Kirwan
Finally, she could save Katya.
Lifting her head above the surface, she inflated her jacket, and waved to Pete. She would have smiled except for the carnage all around her. And Jake, being hoisted into the boat. He looked like hell, white as a sheet. She tried to fin towards the boat, but didn’t move forward. That was when she realised someone was behind her, holding her back, probably by the top of her tank. Someone very large, because he blocked out the sun.
‘Hand the device to me, Nadia.’
It took a moment to process, because he’d spoken in Russian.
‘No! Let me go or I’ll drop it.’
He let her go. Pete was shouting something, but she didn’t catch it, water splashing in her ears. Something about Ben. She turned to see the Russian, and was taken aback by his size. Like some scary character from a kid’s fairy tale. The man she’d seen earlier in Hugh Town. He held an odd-looking pistol. He didn’t look like he needed one.
‘Is that what you want to do, Nadia, drop it?’
The question caught her off-guard, because that was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, having gone through so much pain to recover it.
‘I will,’ she said.
Pete shouted again, and this time she caught most of it, though she didn’t take her eyes off the Russian, and clutched the Rose to her chest.
Pete repeated. ‘Nadia, Ben’s been shot. Jake’s got the bends, we need to get them both to a hospital. Our radio’s fried. His isn’t,’ he said, pointing at the Russian.
Ben? Where was Ben? ‘What have you done with Ben?’ she said.
‘The one you drowned shot him. Ben might make it. Up to you. Give me the device.’
She shook her head.
‘Then let it go, Nadia. Let it go now.’
She couldn’t.
He reached over, seized her free hand, and hauled her, kit and all, into the boat. She still clasped the Rose.
She’d been outplayed.
She landed in the speedboat, almost on top of Ben, who was flat on his back, bleeding from his chest and mouth. She put the Rose down, as far from the Russian as possible.
‘Ben, can you hear me?’
He stared upwards, his breath rasping like sandpaper, occasionally coughing blood.
She unbuckled her gear, let it slide to the deck and stood facing the Russian. ‘Call for a helicopter!’
The Russian was so still for someone so large. And he spoke like a priest. ‘Hand me the Rose, Nadia. Then I’ll call the helicopter.’
She considered her options. Even with a knife she doubted she could inflict much damage. Pete was yelling something lost in the wind and the waves slapping against the side of the speedboat. She thought of Katya, of Jake. And Ben, bleeding out at her feet. She reached out, picked up the Rose, and thrust it into his hands.
‘Take it.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Now make the fucking call!’
She expected him to shoot her and drive off with the Rose, after having tossed her and Ben overboard. Instead, he switched on the radio, set it to channel 16, clicked it on, and handed her the mike.
She took a deep breath, then yelled. ‘Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is Subsea Divers, Subsea Divers. Medical emergency, gunshot wounds and decompression sickness. We need a helicopter at the wreck site of the SS Tsuba. Over.’
Waiting several seconds, she was about to repeat when the coastguard replied. He made her repeat the message, then asked for the GPS coordinates. The Russian pointed to the console, and she read them off.
‘Tell him the radio battery is dying,’ the Russian said.
She did, and then the Russian switched the radio off. He turned to the other boat.
‘Help is on the way. I’m bringing Ben over to you. Stay calm and I won’t kill you.’
He turned to Nadia. ‘Sit.’
He steered the speedboat over to Pete’s RIB, the pistol hanging from his free hand. He waved it at Claus and Gary. ‘Take him onto your boat.’
Pete jumped in instead of Claus, and bent down low over his brother, who was coughing up more blood. Pete moved his hands under Ben so he and Gary could lift him into the other boat.
She caught Pete’s eye. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t meant to be here!’
Pete didn’t answer, focusing on the transfer.
She stared into the boat, saw Jake’s inert body next to Ben’s, and went to cross boats, but the Russian laid a hand on her shoulder.
‘You stay, they live.’
She replayed it in her head. It was the basis of a deal, one also implying her fate. But he was looking at her strangely, as if searching her face. As if he knew her. She certainly didn’t know him. She’d have remembered.
She spoke to Gary, who was trying to rouse Jake. ‘How bad is it?’
He glared at her. ‘It’s fucking shite, Nadia. That’s how bad it is!’
She recoiled. Of course they were angry. None of them had expected this, even if they’d volunteered, she’d dragged them into it.
Claus put a hand on Gary’s shoulder. ‘The chopper will be fifteen minutes. A lot of damage might be done by then.’
She breathed fast, thinking. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I have an idea.’ She dived over the side before anyone could react, and swam to the SEAL, then towed him back to Pete’s boat.
‘Give him pure oxygen. It’s the best thing for him right now.’ She reached the side of the speedboat.
Claus leaned over and unhooked the SEAL’s backpack, and was about to pull him in, when the Russian spoke again.
‘Leave him in the water.’ He aimed the gun at the SEAL. ‘Nadia, get back in this boat, or all deals are off. We leave now.’
Pete and Claus looked at each other. They went to undo the SEAL’s weight belt, but the Russian waved the gun at them, so they backed off.
Without warning, the Russian shot the SEAL in the neck, the sound of the gunshot making Pete and Claus stagger backwards. The corpse sank beneath the waves in a blossoming cloud of red.
‘Do as she says,’ the Russian said. ‘Save your friend.’ He grabbed Nadia’s wrist, and lifted her back into the boat again as if she weighed nothing.
He clunked the engine into gear, gunned it, banked around Pete’s RIB, and headed back to shore.
She caught one last glimpse of Jake, half-conscious, the rebreather’s regulator in his mouth. Then she saw Pete giving CPR to Ben. She watched until they were out of sight.
She slumped at the back of the boat. The Russian didn’t say anything. She thought he’d slow the boat, shoot her, toss her over the side. But they carried on at high speed, bouncing off the wave-tops. At least the sea had finally calmed. Occasionally he turned around to stare at her, as if searching for something. At one point they heard a helicopter, then saw it in the distance going full speed the other way. Jake would make it. A ten minute low-altitude helicopter ride while on pure oxygen over to the recompression chamber. The spear in his shoulder would hurt like a bitch but he’d recover from that. But Ben…
The Russian suddenly pitched forward and vomited blood into the sea, like a demon from a horror film. He slowed the boat, waved the gun in her direction, looked like he might collapse, but recovered quickly. He wiped his mouth with a wet rag.
‘You missed a bit,’ she said, pointing to the left-hand corner of her own mouth. He dabbed at his face then accelerated again.
‘Say nothing,’ he said.
She wondered what was going on, but complied.
Finally she sighted shore up ahead, but it wasn’t Hugh Town. A different island, one she’d not seen before. It was little more than a long mound, upon which stood a single large square house and a wooden jetty. Moored there was a sleek white motor cruiser with a raised wheelhouse and an upper sundeck, and a lounge area below with smoked windows. Built for speed, power and comfort.
The Dragonfly’s engine whine diminished, and the Russian cut it to a murmur, the sound of the backwash reasserting itself as they surfed towards the jetty.
&nbs
p; ‘What now?’ she asked.
‘Now is uncertain,’ he said.
‘Really?’ She’d assumed her imminent death to be the only certainty.
Two men dashed out of the house, and ran towards them.
The Russian turned to her as the boat drifted towards the jetty. ‘I must be sure. Is there one person who really cares about you?’
Nadia had had more than she could take. She wanted it over. ‘Go fuck yourself. I’m not playing games. I don’t even know who you are, except you’re dying.’
He held up a hand. ‘My name is Lazarus. Quickly, who is the one person you really care about?’ He reached forward and held her hand inside one of his giant paws. How could someone so big be so gentle? There was a terrible earnestness in those eyes. And then she understood. He knew. She didn’t know how, but he knew.
‘Katya,’ she whispered. ‘My sister.’
He nodded, slowly. ‘I wasn’t sure until I hauled you into the boat. Life has its own poetry.’ He smiled, for the first time not a horror story character.
‘Lazarus… Is she..? Is Katya…?’
The boat bumped into the jetty. He threw a rope onto it, as the two men came thundering down the wooden planks. The larger one grabbed the line and secured it. She recognised him, though he’d lost some weight – the slicked black hair, the leer that twisted his mouth.
Slick aimed his Glock at Nadia. ‘Lazarus, you dumb fuck, you were supposed to kill her.’
Lazarus heaved himself up, and stepped onto the jetty, making the boat rock violently, forcing Nadia to grab both sides.
‘My price just went up,’ Lazarus said. ‘I want her as well as the other one.’
Slick kept the barrel of his Glock trained on Nadia’s face. ‘Why?’
Lazarus leaned closer to Slick. ‘Sisters,’ he said. ‘I save both of them, they’re in my debt forever.’
Slick’s face hovered somewhere between sneer and smirk, then he lowered his weapon.
‘Come on then, bitch. Family reunion time.’
‘Wait…’ She swallowed, tried to get the name out of her mouth. ‘Katya… Katya’s here?’
But he didn’t have to answer, because at that moment a brunette in a summer dress and heels stepped out of the boat onto the jetty.
Nadia knew it wasn’t over. They weren’t out of the fire yet, but she didn’t care. She leapt onto the jetty and started running, barely able to see clearly as she sprinted towards her sister.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nadia, out of her wetsuit and into dry clothes and a light jacket brought by her sister, glanced at the motley crew squeezed into the motor yacht’s lower deck lounge. The interior smelled of polished wood and leather, and was relatively stable as long as Lazarus stayed put. He’d cleaned himself up, and seemed to be holding it together, though occasionally he’d close his eyes for a minute, a look of intense concentration on his face, and he’d used the bathroom twice since they’d set off.
Katya gripped Nadia’s hand under the smooth oak table separating them all, her eyes gravitating to the burly giant opposite. Two more of Kadinsky’s men faced Nadia and Katya: Slick, who was still large but had hollowed out, adding a hungry, wolfish look to his already darkly threatening features, and a fit, balding man with dark rings framing bloodshot eyes. The latter looked as if he hadn’t slept, and almost nodded off, until Slick elbowed him in the ribs. They must have been travelling through the night, the knackered-looking one had obviously been the pilot. Katya said they flew in a rented Lear to Bristol, then a chopper had brought them to the island.
The boat was underway, gently rocking from side to side, four more crew upstairs, the cupboards on the upper deck stacked with sub-machine guns and a box of grenades. Nadia had no idea where they were going, but they were tooled-up for serious business. The waves were long and smooth, so they were well out to sea, heading for the open ocean. Away from Jake, MI6 and any help whatsoever.
Slick, eyes sharp as a falcon, stared at Nadia like she was prey, clearly miffed that Lazarus had kept her alive. Meanwhile, the pilot gazed at the doorway to the main deck. No one spoke, everyone waiting for the Boss to come down. Katya had said very little, not letting Nadia know what was going on, not giving Slick any excuse to pistol-whip her across the jaw with his Glock. Lazarus glanced at Slick occasionally out of the corner of his eye. Nadia wondered how fast Katya’s latest boyfriend could move.
She checked her sister’s Rolex, and flinched one more time on account of the small bandage covering the stump where her sister’s forefinger should have been. 9:35. Jake should be in the hyperbaric chamber on the other side of St Mary’s by now. Ben would either be… No, little chance of an ‘either’.
Katya winced. Nadia had been squeezing her hand hard. ‘Prosti,’ Nadia said, massaging her sister’s hand.
‘We’re together,’ Katya whispered, then gave her what must have been the tenth hug since they’d met. Nadia relished the contact after a year apart. But what had been the point of everything if they both got killed on this boat? Lazarus had little sway here. The Rose had been delivered. It sat right there in front of them, cleaned up and shiny, pulsing its sad little red diode.
A sledgehammer would do it wonders.
Either cops, the SAS or the Royal Navy would be breathing down their necks by now if they’d headed back to the Scillies. Elise would have gone to the police station, and there were corpses in the water. The coastguard would have alerted a Navy patrol boat. But MI6 was barely operational, and it was eerily quiet aside from the soft purr of the engine and the swishing of water split by the boat’s prow. They could easily be in open ocean by now, hard to find. Once again, she was on her own. She tried to think of a way out, but it was difficult, and she had a feeling she was likely to leave this boat with a length of chain around her ankles. The only wild card was Lazarus. But he was outnumbered, and Slick had relinquished him of his weapon earlier.
The door to the upper deck swung open. Kadinsky thundered down the steps, bald, pot-bellied bastard that he was, gold jewellery draped from his fat neck and pudgy, powerful wrists. But his aura of confidence was gone. He looked edgy, his hands twitching, damp patches on his silk shirt under his armpits. Well outside his comfort zone. Which meant he was more dangerous than usual. He wasted no time. He planted his fists on the table, and his bulbous nose loomed close to Nadia’s face.
‘Do you know why you’re still alive, girl, after you sent me that jumped-up little text?’
Nadia didn’t back away a millimetre. She shook her head.
He stayed in her face, his features creased like an angry gorilla, eyes full of contempt.
‘The buyer wants to ask you some questions.’ He said it as if it was ridiculous. He moved back, swore, then lunged at her. His fleshy paw locked around her throat as he shoved the back of her head hard against the window. He squeezed, cut off her air supply. Her hands grabbed his wrist but he was strong. Katya pleaded with him. No one else moved or uttered a word.
‘Bah!’ He let go.
She clutched at her windpipe, knowing there would be ugly bruises there tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow. She sucked air into her lungs, the first breath like discordant bagpipes.
‘The sooner this is over, the better,’ he said, and headed back upstairs. ‘We’re here. Bring her,’ he shouted behind him, and Slick wasted no time in seizing her wrist and hauling her up the steps onto the main deck.
When she arrived topside she was taken aback. A huge cargo ship towered above them, its rust-coloured sides rising twenty metres to the deck, containers stacked four high at the front of the two-hundred-metre long vessel. Rock steady in the water, despite relentless waves and a constant, keen breeze. As the motor yacht pulled alongside a set of metal steps, she caught a glimpse of massive Chinese writing at the prow, and as they reached the main deck, sure enough there were Chinese sailors, some of them armed with Uzis. She counted four of the sub-machine guns, and they were only the ones she could see.
What was K
adinsky thinking?
They were ushered up several more flights of steps into the main bridge tower, a squat white block five storeys high. They entered a plush room that seemed to be a larger version of the motor yacht’s lounge they’d just left. She’d travelled on one or two ships like this before, and recalled the ever-present hum and vibration of the engines, that constant aroma of oil and seawater. Usually space was a premium on cargo ships, luxuries minimal. But this room was different, like an airline business lounge. The centrepiece was a large oval coffee table made entirely of glass that had been shattered, like a broken windscreen, and then made smooth again. On the rear wall was a Dali, liquefied clocks dripping away time. Someone had taste, and serious money.
Facing front was a bay window that covered almost the full width of the room. Beyond lay the tall white foremast, then the stacks of different coloured containers. She wondered what was in them, then decided it was best not to know. The containers weren’t flush, dark gaps between their corrugated metal sides. Perfect hiding holes for a sniper. From such a vantage point it would be easy to target anyone in this room. Like shooting fish in an aquarium. There was one blind spot, near the door, and maybe if she lay flat on the floor. But only her and Katya, maybe the pilot. The others were too large. A sniper would pick them off easily.
None of the sailors followed them into the room. But a tall slim man entered from a door at the back. He also looked Chinese, late forties, silver-rimmed spectacles, smart dark grey suit, collar-less shirt open at the neck, shiny black hair turning to grey around the ears. Businessman? Mafia? Government? Hard to tell. What struck her was that he was alone, no henchmen, and yet he had a quiet confidence. He moved forward and sat in a large cream leather armchair with his back to the window. His chair was more luxurious, and set slightly higher than the others that faced his, behind the table.