by Guy Adams
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he says. There’s no way he’s giving her his name, not in front of the other two. He steps back into the main room. ‘We need to be moving.’
He presses the button for the lift.
‘Not going,’ says the redhead, her voice still sluggish. ‘If we run, they’ll only come after us.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ Toby explains, unhooking his cummerbund and flipping it over. He peels back the silk and pulls out a thin strip of explosive. ‘They won’t think there’s anyone to come after.’ In truth, they won’t care enough to look too closely. The Bratva will be far too concerned about which rival gang has attacked them to worry about the fate of three prostitutes. These women were disposable, though he isn’t going to tell them that. ‘You need to put on some clothes.’
As the women dress, stumbling around in quiet confusion, he places the explosive in predetermined points. This is careful physics. Too much and the risk to innocents will be unacceptably high, not enough and they’ll have wasted their time. He removes the detonator from his jacket pocket and sets it for five minutes. That will be time enough.
‘They won’t think anyone was interested in rescuing you.’ As he says this he realises how awful it sounds and regrets it but the clock is already ticking. ‘They’ll think this was just a rival gang making waves. They’ll be thinking about retribution, not you. You can vanish, start again.’
The lift chimes and he spins towards it, his pistol in his hand. The doors open, the lift is empty. He pulls a chair from next to a writing desk and drags it over. Holding the doors open, he stands on the chair, reaches inside and stretches up to disable the camera. He doesn’t want anyone to know who left this suite.
‘Get in,’ he says. He suspects it’s their conditioning more than anything else that has the blonde and the redhead running into the lift. They’re used to doing as they’re told. ‘You need to run,’ he explains, beckoning for the brunette who’s still hanging back. ‘Keep your heads down for a while and you should be safe.’
Something occurs to him. He dashes over to the body of the gangster he killed in the lift and removes the man’s wallet. He opens it. Loads of cash. Showy bastard. He throws the wallet to the blonde. ‘Share it. It’ll get you a train ticket.’
He turns back to the brunette, glancing at the detonator. Four minutes.
‘Come on! We need to go.’
‘No,’ she says, cold and simple.
‘Tell her who you are,’ says Shining in his ear.
‘How would that help?’ he replies. ‘She’s never met me.’ He pleads with her. ‘We haven’t time to argue, please, we need to go.’
Behind him the lift chimes again and he turns to see the doors closing.
‘Wait!’ he shouts, but the redhead has stabbed the button for the foyer and she isn’t interested in hanging around.
‘Fuck!’ Toby shouts as the doors close and the lift begins to descend. He looks to the timer as it continues to count down.
‘What’s happening?’ asks Shining.
‘Two of them have left without us,’ Toby explains, stabbing the call button for the lift, wanting to bring it back up as soon as it’s free.
‘How long have you got?’
Toby looks to the timer on the detonator. ‘Three and half minutes. Enough.’
‘Disconnect it.’
‘No, it’ll be enough.’
‘Disconnect it.’
‘No.’
‘Who are you talking to?’ the brunette asks.
‘A friend,’ he replies, tapping at his ear. ‘Now, as soon as the lift comes back we won’t have long. I need you to do exactly as I tell you.’
‘That is what men always say.’
He ignores that. The lift has reached the ground floor. He presses at the button again, pointless but unable to help his impatience.
Eventually, it begins to climb back up again. He glances at the detonator. Three minutes. Plenty of time. It’s fine. It’s all fine.
‘Ready?’ he asks her as the lift passes the fourth floor. ‘We go right down, walk straight out of the hotel and my friend is waiting in a car outside. We don’t hesitate. We ignore everyone. We just walk.’
He looks at her and she gives a vague nod. That will have to do.
The lift arrives. The doors open. Toby has his gun in his hand but, once again, the elevator is empty and all is well. ‘Get in,’ he says, pushing her forward.
As the elevator descends, he finds himself counting down along with the detonator. Two and half minutes …
Just before the doors open, he replaces his gun and straightens the .45 in his waistband. He checks his appearance in the reflective metal wall of the lift. He’ll pass muster. In a perilously short cocktail dress that has seen better days, his companion is likely to raise the odd eyebrow but they’ll move quickly. No time for questions. Straight out to the car. Drive to the docks. Go home.
The doors open and the foyer is a hive of activity. A group of people arriving clutter the reception desk, bellboys run around loading luggage and trying to be invisible. The entrance to the bar is suddenly filled with the party of gangsters, having drunk their fill. They are heading towards the lifts, towards Toby and the girl.
‘Keep your head down,’ he says, grabbing her by the shoulder and manhandling her towards the exit. Just young lovers out for a night on the town.
‘Son of a bitch,’ the woman says, spitting the words as if they’re poisoned food in her mouth. He feels a tug at the waistband of his trousers and he realises she’s taken the damn gun.
‘No!’ he says but it’s far too late, she’s pointing the gun towards the gangsters and firing.
The foyer becomes a chaos of noise and panic as the sounds of the gunshots echo off the walls. He sees the girl’s target, Bretzin of course, spasm as two bullets hit him, one taking off the side of his head, the other punching a hole in his throat. His companions are quick to respond and all of a sudden the room is filled with armed men and people screaming.
‘What’s going on?’ Shining shouts in his ear.
‘Get moving!’ Toby replies, grabbing the girl by the arm and running towards the door even as the gangsters try and aim their guns. They don’t know who they’re aiming for and that’s the only thing that saves Toby and his companion, forcing their way through the panicked bystanders as everyone tries to take cover.
The girl tries for one more shot and that’s nearly the end of them. The bullet goes wild as she’s pulled across the lobby but it identifies them as the enemy.
‘Stupid,’ shouts Toby, snatching the gun from her and slamming her through the exit with more force than he will later be comfortable with. He’s angry and panicked. He sees their escape vanishing, their chances evaporating with every step.
‘He had to die,’ she tells him as they emerge onto the street.
‘He may not be the only one,’ he replies, looking towards the headlights of August’s car as his partner accelerates towards the hotel. People on the street are looking around in confusion, alarmed by the gunshots and not knowing which way to run. August has to swerve the car to avoid a couple who run out into the road, wanting to put some distance between themselves and the hotel.
Armed pursuit appears in the hotel doorway. Out in the open, Toby has no idea what else he can do but get in the first shot. He removes the subcompact from his holster and fires. Shattering the glass in the door and hitting two of the gangsters.
The car screeches to a halt next to them.
‘Quickly!’ August shouts, throwing open the door.
Toby pushes the girl towards the back, still keeping his eye on the hotel exit. A gunshot rings out and knocks a hole in the passenger window. If August hadn’t been bent over, opening the door for Toby, it would likely have caught him too.
Toby returns fire but there are too many of them, he knows that he doesn’t stand a chance if they focus their aim on him. He has no cover and his death is so certain to him that he feels calm as
he grabs the car door and turns to climb inside. At least they got her out, he thinks, waiting for the bullet that will end his life, at least it’s over for her.
Which is when the private suite erupts, a blossoming of light in the night sky and a compression of air that claps like the wrath of God.
Toby gets in, unable to believe the good fortune of the timing. The car screeches off up Voznesensky Avenue.
Shining checks the rear-view mirror as he turns left to drive back past the cathedral. ‘They’re still coming,’ he says, ‘it takes a bit more than blood and thunder to shake off the Bratva.’
Toby turns in his seat, trying to get a clear view of the road behind but August has taken the corner now and there’s nothing to see.
They drive past the cathedral, turning left again as they cut back towards Senate Square and, beyond it, the English Embankment. They’re drawing back past the hotel now, still smouldering on the other side of the cathedral.
‘What went wrong?’ Shining asks.
‘Someone felt the need for revenge,’ Toby replies, glancing towards the girl in the back. ‘She shot Bretzin.’
‘Good for her,’ Shining replies, changing down so he can turn onto Senate Square.
‘But not for us.’
‘He deserve it,’ she says in English from the back seat.
‘No question,’ Toby replies. ‘I just hope it doesn’t stop us getting out of here with our heads attached.’
The traffic is in chaos. Many cars have pulled to a halt, responding to the explosion that has lit up the St Petersburg sky. Shining is aware that he’s drawing attention to them by driving so quickly but can only hope to put a bit of space between themselves and any pursuit.
He doesn’t manage it.
‘They went the other way,’ he says, stabbing a finger at the mirror where a black BMW is speeding towards them. ‘They must have guessed we’d have to cut back on ourselves.’
‘Or there’s enough of them to take a punt that we might have done,’ Toby replies, turning back to the girl. ‘Keep your head down.’
The BMW, having spotted them ahead, accelerates, weaving past the slow traffic to draw up behind them. Toby can see one of the passengers leaning out of the window and aiming a gun towards them.
‘Brace yourselves,’ he shouts as a pair of shots ring out, neither hitting them.
Toby sees the girl turning in her seat to look through the window.
‘Don’t,’ he says, reaching back and tugging at her arm. ‘Just keep your bloody head down.’
Shining swerves in the traffic, cutting from one lane to the other, weaving through the cars and trying to keep them a moving target. He tugs his phone from his jacket pocket, concentrating on the road ahead, and tosses it to Toby as the shooter in the car behind fires again. There is the terrifying sound of pierced metal then a crack of glass as a bullet hits the rear window.
‘Andrei,’ Shining says. ‘Evac. Plan B.’
Toby nods and presses the call button. After a few seconds the call is answered, the car still speeding along Senate Square.
‘Andrei?’ Toby asks, ‘we need you to do your thing. Black BMW on our tail. Can you handle it?’
There’s a raucous stream of Russian expletives from the phone and Toby hangs up.
‘He can handle it,’ he says, turning back to the girl. ‘You need to hold on tight.’
Shining keeps his foot on the accelerator as the water and English Embankment appears ahead of them.
In the car behind, Sergei Usoyan, a young shestyorka, the bottom rung of the Russian Bratva, tries to retain his aim as Albert, the driver, weaves around a stationary truck.
‘Just shoot them,’ suggests Semion, from the back seat.
‘What do you think I’m trying to do?’ Sergei replies, taking another shot and blowing out one of the car’s brake lights.
There is a flash of light from the pavement, as if someone has turned a searchlight onto the road and, for a moment, the occupants of the car can’t see a thing.
‘What now?’ asks Albert, fighting to keep control, only too aware that he is driving blind.
The light is gone as suddenly as it appeared and he slams on the brakes as they approach the junction with English Embankment. Ahead of them, the car they’re pursuing makes no effort to slow down. It surges straight ahead, shooting through a gap in the traffic.
‘They’re not turning!’ Semion shouts. ‘You must have hit the driver.’
‘Yeah,’ says Sergei. He knows he didn’t, but he’ll take the credit if it’s on offer. Something like that is your passage up the ranks.
The car sails straight across the road, mounts the pavement, hits the low wall and vaults towards the Bolshaya Neva river. For a moment it’s flying through the air, its undercarriage torn lose by the impact. Shattered concrete and bricks trail behind it. Then it curves down and falls out of sight. A moment of silence then a plume of water shoots upwards as the car hits the river.
Albert ignores the blaring horns of other drivers as he cuts slowly across the road, pulling up alongside the hole in the wall. They get out, running to the wall and looking out onto the river where the impact has sent great circular waves out across the frothing surface of the water.
Sergei raises his gun but Semion knocks it away. ‘Not now,’ he says, ‘the place will be crawling with police any second. They’re dead. Job done. Let’s get out of here.’
They run back to the car, Sergei laughing. ‘I got the bastard! You see that? I got him!’
The BMW turns back up Senate Square, Albert sticking his finger up at the complaining traffic. ‘What’s wrong with the fuckers?’ he says. ‘You’d think they’d be more interested in someone taking a nosedive into the river.’
‘People don’t give a shit about one another these days,’ says Semion, seemingly without a trace of self-awareness. ‘Makes you sick.’
They drive back the way they came, not sparing a glance for the young man standing on the pavement who watches them go past. If they had, they might have noticed the strange way he was staring at them. Maybe they would even have noticed the large flashgun he puts back in a case before wandering off through the park.
Half an hour later, and a mile or so down the road, three people ascend the gangplank of the cruise liner Oriana.
‘Well, Mr and Mrs Somerset,’ says Shining, speaking Russian for the girl’s benefit. He hands out their fake passports. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your honeymoon. Don’t mind me, your gracious uncle, I’m just so glad you didn’t mind inviting me along.’
Toby looks at the girl. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sleeping on the floor. It’s only a cover story.’
She shrugs, looking at her face on the passport. ‘I don’t sound like a Caroline.’
‘You’ll stay in your cabin until we get back to Southampton,’ says Shining. ‘Isn’t that what all honeymooning couples do?’
She just stares at him. ‘I don’t understand. I am grateful, but …’
‘Working with August is always confusing,’ admits Toby. ‘You get used to it.’
‘But they just stopped following,’ she says. ‘Why?’
‘A friend of mine,’ says Shining.
‘He has a lot of friends,’ adds Toby.
‘He has certain skills,’ continues Shining.
‘They always do,’ adds Toby.
‘He makes people see what he wants them to.’ Shining acts as if Toby hasn’t interrupted, these are two men who have spent long enough together that they have a habit of talking at the same time. ‘Remote hypnosis. He can create brief, shared illusions. Andrei is invaluable whenever I’m in St Petersburg, though it takes a lot out of him. He’ll be sick for a week thanks to us.’
‘You’re talking crap,’ she insists, scowling at them. ‘Why do you treat me like a child?’
‘We certainly don’t mean to,’ says Shining, taking her hand, ‘and crap is subjective. You’ll get used to it. We’re not your average espionage department.’
‘I think you’re trying to make a fool of me,’ she says. ‘Don’t. Too many men have made a habit of that.’
Toby stops singing, his face now completely serious. ‘I know. That’s why we had to come for you. I understand. It seems unbelievable. I was just like you a few months ago, I didn’t understand any of it. You get used to it. If there’s one thing you can accept, it’s this: we look after our own.’
‘But I don’t even know you!’
Toby nods and she is struck by the look of deep sadness on his face. ‘I know, and that’s my fault. But listen, Tamar, I’m sorry you had to wait so long but you’re free now. You’re safe.’
‘Safe?’ Shining smiles. ‘For now. Give it time … Things in the Clown Service rarely stay safe for long.’
SIX MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER ONE: THE TEST
Baekdu Mountain, Baekdudaegan, Korean Peninsula
The Changhe Z-11 helicopter veered over Heaven Lake, buffeted by the high winds that always rage around the peak of Mount Baekdu, and prepared to descend.
Its sole passenger looked out through the window, gazing down on the brilliant, shining surface of the frozen caldera lake. The ice showed a distorted reflection of the helicopter as it passed. It was stretched thin, then fat, like a customer in a fairground hall of mirrors.
Local myths claimed that the lake was home to monsters. The passenger smiled at the thought. He knew all about monsters.
It was also claimed as the birthplace of Kim Jong-il. The Korean Central News Agency had added one last piece of deific splendour to the dead dictator’s legend when it claimed that the ice had split with a deafening crack at the moment of his death. The passenger knew all about the power of legend too.
They came to a shaky landing on an area of flat ground away from the tourist areas and the passenger stepped out, barely able to stand in the wind.
‘You are lucky we didn’t end up in the lake,’ said the pilot. ‘This is not a good place to fly.’
‘I have a feeling our host likes to make things difficult,’ the passenger replied, removing a data tablet from his jacket and checking the GPS information. ‘As well as keeping this so close to the border he can deny us later. We need to head down towards the forest,’ he said. ‘About a kilometre or so.’