An Autumn Hunting

by Tom Callaghan

  I opened the back door, took a deep breath. The boys could have done a better job, but I didn’t have much choice. I climbed in, heard the bolts scrape shut behind me. Thin shafts of light streamed in through bullet holes on one side of the truck. I picked the least dirty part of the floor and sat down on the bare metal.

  Chapter 21

  I managed to doze off, in spite of the unyielding floor and the constant buffeting from the unmade road. When I woke, the noise of traffic outside and the comparative smoothness of the road told me we were back in Bishkek. I assumed we were going to yet another of Aliyev’s safe houses – in another life, he would have made a great property developer. Finally, we ground to a lurching halt and a fist hammered on the back door. The hinges screamed and the light poured in; I wondered if it would be accompanied by a spattering of bullets.

  ‘Out.’

  A gruff voice I didn’t recognise, so I pulled myself to my feet, lurched to the door, lowered myself onto the ground. We were in an enclosed courtyard, with high brick walls and solid metal gates. The two-storey house was nothing special to look at, but all the windows had steel shutters, and the front door looked capable of withstanding anything short of a shell from a T-42 tank.

  Half a dozen men stood nearby, hands close to their weapons, watching for the first signs of threat. Aliyev shrugged at the look on my face.

  ‘They don’t know you, Inspector. You’ll understand trusting a police officer doesn’t come naturally to them.’

  ‘These days, it doesn’t come naturally to me either,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sure the penalties for failing to kill a state minister are much lighter than if you’d actually succeeded,’ Aliyev said. ‘Perhaps better marksmen in the firing squad?’

  We both knew if Tynaliev ever caught up with me, I’d want to die a long time before he finally obliged.

  ‘What have I got to lose?’ I shrugged. ‘Whoever kills me, they can only do it to me once.’

  ‘It’s how they do it that counts,’ Aliyev said, and I sensed the shark’s fin break out of the water, circling in search of prey.

  ‘Something to eat?’ he said. ‘Then perhaps we resume our chat? I find your insights illuminating. Like reading the mind across the other side of the chessboard.’

  Except you’re not the one facing checkmate, I thought.

  We walked towards the house, the door swinging open as we grew near.

  ‘I made a few calls on the way here,’ Aliyev said, gesturing for me to enter before him. ‘You’ll be surprised to hear we weren’t the only survivors of last night’s troubles. I’m not sure how they managed to get away, but it should be enlightening to find out.’

  The hall was as gloomy as I’d expected, brown-painted walls, pairs of outdoor shoes and felt slippers scattered in one corner. A large mirror hung slightly askew on one wall, the backing silver tarnished and chipped away in places. A diagonal crack split my refection in half, obliterating my left eye.

  ‘Not the Hyatt Regency, I’m afraid, but at least it’s above ground,’ Aliyev said with an almost-sincere apologetic smile.

  ‘No one trying to kill us either,’ I said.

  ‘Give it time.’

  That wasn’t the most comforting comment I’d ever heard, but the house looked impregnable enough. The only question was who would come looking for us. The police and Tynaliev’s security team? The attackers at the last safe house? Aliyev’s rivals in the mob? Quicker and easier to compile a list of people who didn’t want us dead. But at least I’d made it into the inner circle, the first small step towards what I had to do.

  As I stood in the hall, avoiding the accusing stare from my reflection in the mirror, I heard footsteps on the wooden staircase at the far end of the room.

  Then all questions of who might want to see me dead at some point in the future faded away. Because I knew the man who stood in front of us, fists clenched at his sides, was very keen to see me dead there and then.

  ‘Privyet, Zakir,’ I said. ‘Good to see you escaped too. You couldn’t make me a cup of tea by any chance, could you?’

  Chapter 22

  For a second Zakir looked confused, almost childlike, as he tried to work out what lay behind my simple request. Then, as the full force of my insult hit him and he snarled with rage, my boot connected with the side of his kneecap. Hard. His bellow of anger morphed into a howl of pain as he stumbled against the wall.

  When it comes to fighting, whoever gets in the first, unexpected blow almost always wins. Do it like you mean it and it usually takes just one. You don’t bother waiting around to discuss exactly what’s troubling them; strike first.

  ‘You’re quicker off the mark than I’d taken you for,’ Aliyev said.

  ‘Being impetuous will be the death of me,’ I said, and it was only partly a joke.

  Zakir was helped out of the room, hurling me a glare that promised a slow and agonising death at some future meeting.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be able to play football in a couple of days,’ I said. ‘If I’d really been impetuous, I’d have shattered his kneecap, then kicked his head from between his shoulders.’

  ‘That’s the problem when you hire people with muscles, not brains,’ Aliyev said. ‘By the time they’ve geared up for action, anyone with quick wits has already removed the problem.’

  He stared at me, the sort of look you give when you’re trying to assess just how great a threat someone might be. When he finally spoke, his words came as much of a shock to me as my toecap had come to Zakir.

  ‘You’ve ended your career in law enforcement. Conclusively, I would have said. How would you feel about coming to work for me?’

  When I finally spoke, I was as cautious as I’d ever been with Tynaliev at his most threatening.

  ‘I’m not good at taking orders. You know what happened to my last boss. I can be rash, impulsive.’

  ‘I prefer to describe it as decisive,’ Aliyev said. ‘Assessing the situation, making a decision, considering the consequences, carrying it out.’

  Praise of a sort, at least if you live without any sense of loyalty or decency, and if your code of ethics is as basic as ‘feed on the weak’.

  ‘I wanted to ask you,’ Aliyev continued, ‘what made you shoot the minister? You’d worked for him long enough without pulling the trigger. Tired of being his puppet?’

  His casual tone was deceptive, but I’d had the ride among the sheep shit in the truck to work out an answer. Now I was about to find out if it was credible.

  ‘Have you ever considered suicide, pakhan?’ I asked. The question took Aliyev aback, but he shook his head.

  ‘If I’m going to die from a bullet – and I almost certainly am – I want it to be from someone else’s gun, not mine,’ Aliyev said.

  ‘Tynaliev wanted me involved in his crazy scheme, act as his go-between, his bodyguard, his patsy and his fall guy. I figured that gave me a career expectancy where I wouldn’t need to buy new shoes. I’d done a few things for the minister but they didn’t come with a guarantee of getting killed. But turning Tynaliev down wasn’t going to be a live and let live option either, not with what I knew of his plans. Killing him and going on the run seemed my best option. My only option.’

  Aliyev nodded, as if what I’d said made sense, rather than the bullshit I knew it was.

  ‘Still a pretty big call, Inspector.’

  ‘I think it’s time we dropped my old job title, don’t you?’ I suggested.

  ‘I’ll keep it if you don’t mind,’ Aliyev said. ‘It will remind me of who you were, and, of course, to never underestimate you.’

  I shrugged, as if I didn’t give a fuck one way or another. The past wasn’t going to complain. It was time to turn Aliyev’s attention away from me, give him something else to feel paranoid about.

  ‘Don’t you think . . .’ I started, then paused.

  Aliyev raised an eyebrow. ‘Think what?’

  I did my best to seem reluctant to speak.

  ‘We
escaped the attack on the safe house. Now Zakir and I are never going to be best friends, but isn’t it a little surprising he managed to escape? Considering the amount of lead flying around?’

  I let the barb sink in for a moment, knew Aliyev would consider possible scenarios.

  ‘Did anyone else survive? I haven’t seen anyone.’

  ‘I dare say Zakir can explain,’ Aliyev said, a flicker of doubt crossing his face.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I agreed, ‘but all the same . . .’

  ‘You’ll find clean clothes upstairs in your room,’ Aliyev said. ‘Third door on the right. You might want to wash off the sheep shit as well. And now, if you’ll excuse me, Inspector?’

  Once Aliyev left the room, I’d done my best to set Zakir up for a beating, at the very least, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel any remorse. He made a lousy cup of tea.

  Chapter 23

  I showered, changed into the army fatigues laid out for me, and lay down in the narrow bed to rest my eyes for a few moments. Resting them took rather longer, because my watch said I’d slept for five hours. I sat up, uncertain for a few seconds as to where I was. Then it came back to me: in the lion’s den.

  I didn’t have an escape route; all I could do was wait and react to whatever happened. I wondered about food, decided hunger was preferable to nausea. And while I was putting on my shoes, the screaming started.

  If you’ve ever heard an animal caught in a trap, that shriek of pain and fear, you’ll know how primal and terrifying it sounds. What made it worse was I could hear human sobs, a man’s voice begging to die.

  I took the stairs two at a time, not because I wanted to join in, but because I wondered if it would be me doing the screaming next time.

  I traced the noise to the kitchen, pushed open the door, entered into hell. Zakir knelt by the stove, pinned down by two bodyguards. Aliyev, wearing an oven glove on one hand, was heating a metal spoon in the flame from one of the front gas burners.

  He turned and stared at me, gave a welcoming smile.

  ‘Did we wake you, Inspector? You’re just in time to help me prise the truth out of our friend.’

  I looked down at Zakir, his face swollen, bloodied, burnt almost beyond recognition. My stomach lurched as I stared into the empty socket of his left eye, realised the piece of flesh stuck to the spoon in Aliyev’s hand had once been how Zakir saw the world.

  ‘Don’t worry, Inspector,’ Aliyev said, as if reading my thoughts. ‘He still has the other eye. For the moment. And he’s never been one for watching television anyway.’

  I felt the vomit spill out of my throat, burning and unstoppable. I stumbled over to the sink, emptied my stomach, long, shaking, shuddering heaves that left me weak and disoriented.

  ‘I’m surprised, Inspector,’ Aliyev continued. ‘Surely Sverdlovsky basement hardened you to minor upsets such as this? I thought you might like to join in; after all, you could have died in the safe house along with my other men. Revenge doesn’t always have to be served cold.’

  Aliyev held up the spoon to the light, brought it closer to his face, as if to check the heat of the red-hot metal. With a casual, almost careless flick of his wrist, he lightly brushed the spoon across Zakir’s cheek. The howl that followed was empty of any hope, simply begging for a swift end. Zakir’s cheek blossomed with the red of a burn.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Aliyev,’ I said.

  ‘I want to find out how this piece of shit got out alive. It also sets a good example to the others, reminds them how I reward disloyalty.’

  Aliyev stared at me, then dipped the spoon back into the flame.

  ‘You’re in vorovskoi mir now, the thieves’ world. And I’m vor v zakone, the boss. Which means it’s my duty to uphold our rules, just as you upheld those of the world you once belonged in.’

  Aliyev brought the spoon close to his mouth, spat. Saliva hissed and bubbled on the metal the way flesh sticks and burns.

  ‘But you don’t belong there any more, not after shooting your boss,’ he said. ‘You’re in my world now.’

  I kept my face impassive. Nothing could help Zakir now.

  Aliyev waved away the men holding Zakir, who fell to the floor, barely conscious as I watched a puddle of blood spread beneath his head.

  ‘Our friend tells me he simply pretended to be dead, lay among the bodies of his comrades, waited until the attackers had gone. Then he made his way to the road, caught a ride, turned up here just before you and I arrived.’

  Aliyev gave the semi-conscious bundle at his feet a nudge with his toe before tossing the spoon into the half-full sink. A hint of steam rose from the water then the spoon was just a kitchen utensil once more. That’s the frightening thing about torture; how quickly it reverts to normality. Not just for the instruments, but for the torturers as well.

  ‘For all we know, this house might be surrounded by men Zakir led here. And there’s no tunnel for us to scramble through. So if we’re going to end up fighting, I need to know whose side you’re on, Inspector.’

  Aliyev reached over to the next counter, picked up the Makarov lying there, handed it to me.

  ‘For a start, finish off this piece of rubbish,’ he said, pointing down at Zakir.

  Chapter 24

  I’ve been a serving police officer for too long to have any illusions about the criminals I come into contact with. But I can live with myself knowing I’ve fired my gun in self-defence; otherwise it would have been me lying on the left-hand side in the traditional yurt, the man’s side, waiting for the men to wrap my body and carry me down to the burying place.

  I could even argue that shooting Tynaliev was a case of getting in my retaliation first. But killing Zakir would mean overstepping the line I’ve always drawn for myself. It would make me a criminal, perhaps worse than a criminal, a man who betrayed everything he’d ever thought important and honourable. I didn’t know if I could live with myself if I pulled the trigger, watched the begging in Zakir’s one remaining eye fade into indifference.

  ‘You want him dead,’ I said, ‘you do it. Or maybe you don’t have the stones. I think you’re worried about his face appearing on the pillow next to you before you go to sleep.’

  I paused, considering the matter, gestured at the guards in the room.

  ‘You’ll really win their respect, won’t you? The pakhan who can’t kill. Big man. Until the next big man comes along.’

  Aliyev swung the gun in my direction, and I imagined the bullet’s bite as it gnawed its way deep into my guts.

  ‘You’re betting your life I won’t kill you?’ he asked. ‘Remind me never to play cards with you. It would be too easy to win.’

  I took the gun from Aliyev’s hand, pointed it at Zakir’s head. I didn’t take my eyes off Aliyev’s face.

  ‘This is how a man does it,’ I said, in a harsh, brutal voice I hardly recognised, and pulled the trigger as Zakir gave out a last anguished howl.

  The gun dry-fired, as I’d gambled it would, the dull click somehow filling the room. Aliyev was far too smart, far too cautious, to give a fully loaded gun to anyone he didn’t trust, and so far I fell hard into that category. I handed the gun back, shrugged, refusing to look at Zakir and see the misplaced hope in his face.

  ‘Misfire,’ I said, not wanting Aliyev to think I’d guessed his bluff all along.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, Inspector,’ he said, taking a magazine out of his pocket, loading the gun, pulling the trigger.

  The back of Zakir’s head took flight across the room, followed by a crimson spray and grey gobbets of brain. The stink of his shit where he’d messed himself was suddenly stronger. I could taste the tang of fresh blood in my mouth, wondered if it was his, realised I’d bitten the inside of my cheek.

  ‘Perhaps you should stick to shooting ministers of state,’ Aliyev said, waving a head at the others to clean up the mass that had once been a man.

  ‘I wasn’t even very good at that,’ I said, forcing a grin onto my face. />
  ‘Different people, different skills,’ Aliyev said. ‘Zakir was a stone killer, a one-man death sentence, but, let’s face it, not as smart, not as cunning, as you. And these days, winning is all about brains. That’s why they’re mopping his up off the floor, and you and I are still talking. Betrayal? Disloyalty? You’ve seen where that gets you in my world.’

  ‘Do you end all your job interviews like that?’

  Aliyev spread his hands, palm upward, the universal image of a man misunderstood.

  ‘I need people who can think, then act. Just one or the other is no use to me.’

  I simply nodded; I didn’t tell him that when you’ve handled hundreds of guns for thousands of times over a couple of decades, you can tell at once if the weapon is loaded or not. It’s knowledge you keep to yourself, just in case it comes in handy sometime.

  Aliyev ordered coffee, had someone bring me tea, asked if I wanted sugar or a spoonful of jam. Maybe this was also part of the recruitment process. Better than boot camp, at any rate.

  I had been wondering when the ‘if I only had the manpower, I could rule the world’ speech would kick in. Every major criminal I’ve ever sent to Penitentiary One has been convinced he’d been caught because of the failings of others. I was pretty certain Aliyev, however smart and resourceful, would share this basic flaw.

  No doubt the man was persuasive. His vision and plan stretched far beyond the latest sports car, lavish meals that never ended with a bill, and a procession of beautiful woman who demanded everything expensive they could think of when their mouths weren’t otherwise engaged.

  He talked of extending his markets, of importing new drugs for people who wanted to get high but didn’t want to go within a hundred metres of heroin. He spoke of extending the old tried and tested methods – bribery, intimidation, murder – to include social media, news manipulation, innovative delivery routes. And all the time, it came back to the familiar lament: where can I find people who understand and want to be part of the new order, the world according to Aliyev?