by CJ Carver
The pantry was crammed to the ceiling with supplies; dried and salted meats, pickles, a variety of zakuski, kholodets and hard cheeses, beans, oils and cured fish. They wouldn’t be resupplied until the snow melted and the roads became clear once more. If they needed fresh fish or meat, there were plenty of salmon and partridge to be had. All three guards were competent hunters and had already provided plenty of venison. They seemed to think of their assignment as a bit of a holiday and she’d heard lots of laughter late at night, and the sound of empty vodka bottles being thrown out the following morning. She didn’t know what Yesikov had told them, but the guards didn’t seem to see her and Milena as a threat. With no phones or wireless, no Internet, no way to contact the outside world, they were all prisoners of their environment.
The only piece of equipment that could help should there be an emergency was a satellite phone, but it was kept in one of the locked gun cabinets and neither woman was allowed the key. With their generator and barns full of wood, guns and fishing equipment, they were meant to be entirely self-sufficient until the child was ready to be born, whereupon Jenny would be flown to the clinic.
What would happen to her afterwards was anyone’s guess but Ekaterina didn’t think she’d be allowed to mother her son for long. They wouldn’t want any maternal imprinting on the boy.
She pulled the pantry door shut behind her and Milena. It was cold enough that her breath plumed as she spoke. ‘We have to get her out of here.’
Milena shook her head. ‘No.’ She put one of her small hands on Ekaterina’s shoulder. ‘Look, I know you’re –’
Ekaterina moved her hand away. ‘We have to do it while the Yesikovs are here. Nobody will expect anything to happen, let alone suspect us. We’re –’
‘No way!’ Milena looked appalled.
‘Come on, Milena. You know it’s our best chance. They think we’re completely cowed. They’ll never expect us to fight back, let alone tonight. It’s our best chance, believe me.’
‘I don’t want this!’ Milena protested. ‘I’m not strong, like you. I’m not a soldier. I’ve fired a gun once, remember, and that was only because you insisted. This isn’t my fight, Katen’ka.’
‘Don’t you love Russia?’ Ekaterina demanded.
‘Of course I do!’ She looked incensed. ‘But there are five of them, and not only are they men but they’re combat-trained! They’re a hundred times stronger!’
‘I have no intention of fighting them.’
‘Why do you want to help her?’ Milena’s voice was indignant but then her look turned sly. ‘She’s Daniel’s wife. I’ve seen your looks of poison. We all know what that means.’
Ekaterina felt like shaking her friend. ‘This isn’t about Dan and me! This is bigger than all of us. With this child presented to the people as their next great leader, there will be no pause in Putin’s regime. No crack in his heartless, brutal control. We will kowtow to Edik when he inherits power from Putin, and then we’ll kowtow to his so-called son, Kazimir.’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘If the child grows up as they want him to, with a heartless and distorted view of the world, it will be catastrophic!’
‘No.’ Milena shook her head again. ‘I won’t do it.’
Ekaterina gaped. ‘You really want your children to live through another Stalinist regime? You know that’s how it will be with General Kazimir’s offspring at the helm. You really want people executed for looking the wrong way, the rest sent to slave-labour camps? You think your grandchildren will thank you for a life filled with nothing but starvation, fear and exhaustion?’
Milena looked away.
‘Things have changed already,’ Ekaterina said. Her tone was fierce. ‘Haven’t you seen it? Felt it? Where has our optimism gone? We used to rub shoulders with activists, journalists and politicians, remember? We all thought of ourselves as the post-Putin generation. Some were tied to the Kremlin, others the opposition, but we all went to the same parties. No more! Don’t you get it? Our generation now accuses everyone else of compromise and collaboration. We’ve fallen straight into a pit of pessimism and paranoia. We are Putin’s puppets. He enslaved us from when we were young. Our generation is Putin. We can’t let the next generation follow suit!’
‘You can’t say it’s going to be the same.’ Milena’s chin jutted. ‘Jenny’s son might make a great leader.’
Ekaterina gave a snort. ‘If Edik and Lazar are paranoid psychopaths, just imagine what their prodigy will be like. He’ll be even more brutal than his grandfather. And if he isn’t, he’ll just be a puppet to their ruthless machinations.’
Milena clenched her fists. ‘Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun? He isn’t even born! He might not even live that long!’
Even through the morphine Ekaterina felt a moment’s shock. ‘You’re not saying you’d kill him?’
‘No!’ Milena looked horrified. ‘He could get a disease or have a weak heart or something. That’s all I meant.’
Ekaterina eyed her friend squarely. ‘I know you don’t want to help Jenny. That you want her to have this baby and then we can return to Moscow, to our old lives.’
Milena’s eyes flared suddenly, filling with hope, and Ekaterina knew Milena was picturing walking back into their beautiful apartment, opening her wardrobe and choosing which designer outfit to wear, which shoes would match, which jewels, before wrapping herself in fur and calling for their driver and getting him to drop her at one of their favourite bars, where she’d glide inside greeting old friends as though she’d never been away.
‘You know it won’t happen, Milena.’ Her voice was soft. ‘Once the baby’s born, he’ll dispose of us.’
‘But Edik promised.’ Milena twisted her hands together. ‘He said he’d reward us.’ Her expression turned pleading. ‘He’s promised things to us before and never reneged.’
Ekaterina let the silence stretch. She wasn’t going to tell her that this was a totally different matter. Milena already knew this.
‘I can’t let him kill my family,’ Milena begged. ‘How can you let him kill yours?’
It was the perfect opening. She said, ‘We warn them.’
Milena evaluated this. ‘How?’
Ekaterina outlined her plan.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Dan watched Heathrow fall away as the Aeroflot Airbus A321 rose into the sky. With a stop in Moscow, he wouldn’t get to Murmansk for another nine hours, arriving just before ten tomorrow morning. His contact would, apparently, collect him in his car outside the terminal. Dan hoped it wasn’t another Lada with the performance of a rice pudding, but something faster and more agile.
He prayed Yesikov hadn’t moved Jenny again. Russia was enormous with great expanses of wilderness that hid a plethora of lodges and fishing huts. Yesikov could move her around the country, from Siberia to Kamchatka if he wanted, making it impossible to find her.
He was still assimilating the fact that Jenny had been adopted. After he’d called Emily from the hospital, she had contacted the adoption agency and overridden the absolute veto that was in place. There was no doubt that Aleksandr and Elizabeth Stanton were Jenny’s parents, and that their daughter appeared to be directly related to General Kazimir. He’d only truly believe it when he saw the DNA test results, which he supposed Yesikov had already done at the clinic.
And what about the rest of the descendants? When he’d spoken to Lucy just before he’d boarded, she’d told him about the filicide case near Bristol, where Oxana Harris, née Stanton, had supposedly poisoned her two daughters and grandson, and how her eldest son had allegedly killed his two young children before killing himself. Lucy seemed convinced these people had all been murdered, but Dan wasn’t so sure. What if they’d learned the truth about their history and had decided to commit suicide in order to cut the line? After all, that’s what Aleksandr had done, by sterilising himself, albeit a bit late in the day and after his wife fell pregnant.
In Frankfurt, he checked his emails to see Lucy and her poli
ce colleagues were currently embroiled in contacting as many people descended from General Kazimir as they could, which sounded a major task considering they also lived in Australia. Ominously, the one descendant they’d managed to track down in Queensland had already died, seemingly in a kayaking accident while on holiday two months ago. A coincidence? Or was it, as Lucy believed, part of a sinister conspiracy?
He owed Lucy, he realised. If she hadn’t been so dogged in her investigations, Jenny would have been kidnapped without anyone knowing why. It had been the policewoman who had traced the clues from Adrian Calder to Aleksandr Stanton, and uncovered Lazar Yesikov’s monstrous scheme.
Well done, Lucy.
Now all he had to do was get Jenny and their unborn child home.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Monday 9 February
Milena lay quietly next to Edik. She’d been surprised when he’d demanded she join him after supper – she thought he wouldn’t want her with her bruised face but he hadn’t seemed to notice. He’d taken her roughly, fucking her on the edge of the bed before flipping her over and fucking her arse, slamming into her so hard she felt her skin tear.
When he came, he groaned and fell on top of her. She wriggled to the side and he mumbled something as she dislodged him. He was already half asleep. He’d drunk a bottle and a half of vodka earlier and by the time she’d squirmed and twisted out from beneath him, he was snoring like a traction engine.
Quickly, she washed and got dressed. Tiptoed down the corridor. Everyone had gone to bed two hours ago and no lights burned. Everything was still and silent. She was nearing the boot room, planning on putting on her down coat and snow boots, when she heard the creak of leather nearby.
‘What are you doing?’
Slowly, she turned. It was one of the guards. He was sitting on a chair in the corridor, a Kalashnikov at his side. Now he rose.
Hell. She hadn’t realised anyone would still be awake but obviously the old man had left a guard awake in case they tried anything.
‘Hi,’ she whispered.
She slipped close to see it was Nik. The youngest of the guards. A nice young man who was frightened of caves and spiders. He’d fallen skiing and broke his leg when he was eight. He hated pop music, preferred heavy rock. He could build a camp fire and skin a deer. He loved his Mama. He was allergic to nuts. He held a gun and her fate lay in his hands.
‘I was hoping you’d be awake,’ she told him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Even though it was dark, she could see his eyes flare.
She gave him a soft smile, shy and uncertain. ‘I’ve been thinking of you, you see.’
‘You have?’ His voice was hoarse.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. She held out her hand. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen. Get a drink.’
He lifted his weapon uncertainly. ‘I shouldn’t.’
She raised herself on tiptoes. ‘Nik,’ she whispered. ‘Everyone’s asleep. Nobody will know. Just one drink with me, that’s all.’
She held out her hand again.
Slowly, as though he was sleepwalking, he put his hand in hers and let her lead him down the corridor. Her heart was beating fast, her skin tight. Could she do it? Could she be brave enough? Or should she simply slip back into bed with Edik and do nothing? Let the gods decide?
She closed the kitchen door behind them. Looked at Nik, his messy brown hair, the pleading and anticipation in his eyes. He was like a puppy-dog waiting for a titbit.
I can do this, she told herself. I can be brave. Just this once.
She said, ‘I’ve got some Zyr in the pantry. Edik will never miss it.’
‘I’ve never had Zyr,’ Nik said wonderingly. ‘I’ve heard it’s really good.’
Milena slipped into the pantry and picked up the prepared flask. Thank God for Ekaterina, who had foreseen that this might happen. Back in the kitchen, she poured them both generous tumblers.
‘Za nashi zdorovie!’ she whispered. She gently touched her glass against his. To our health!
He drank greedily, his eyes on her as she pretended to sip. Then she put down her tumbler and stepped back, raised her hands and stripped off her sweater. She wore a tight woollen undershirt beneath that clung to her body and outlined her breasts. His eyes bulged. She topped up his glass. He downed the rest of his vodka in four swift swallows.
‘Sit,’ she purred. Pointed at a chair. ‘You can watch me.’
As he moved towards the chair he stumbled, putting out a hand to steady himself against the big pine table. Milena’s heartbeat increased. Ekaterina’s sleeping pills were already having an effect.
‘Don’t normally get drunk,’ he said. His words were beginning to slur.
‘Zyr,’ she said. ‘It’s very strong.’
He almost fell into the chair. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘I feel dizzy.’
And at that, he was out like a light.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Ekaterina replaced the fuel cap and stripped off her ski gloves, which were now soaking wet, and exchanged them for another pair in her pocket. She barely felt the cold through the morphine and knew she had to keep pushing herself to make sure she didn’t slow down. She had to be quick. Make a getaway before anyone noticed.
She stamped the snow from the back door and around the helicopter to muddle her footprints with the guards’. She didn’t need a torch to see what she was doing the starlight was so bright. Then she walked to the barn, where Milena was waiting. Her friend had prepared both snow machines, making sure their oil and fuel were topped up, and filled the gas cans and strapped them into the gas racks. She’d also laid out three helmets and snowsuits. Milena helped Ekaterina into her suit and pulled the hood drawstring tight, careful of her bandages as she made sure the fur trim was in position.
Then Milena made to hand her a survival pack. Ekaterina looked at it, then back at her friend. Her heart squeezed.
‘Kotenck.’ Kitten. Her words were gentle. ‘I’m not going to need it.’
Milena stared for a second. Her eyes were wide and panicky. She thrust it forward. Her hands were trembling.
Ekaterina said, ‘You keep it for you and Jenny. OK?’
Milena bit down on both her lips, but she didn’t cry. Hope rose inside Ekaterina. Milena hadn’t just managed to drug Nik, but she was making a real effort to be strong. That was good. That was vital.
The silence went on forever but Ekaterina didn’t want to break it. Knocking out Nik had been easy compared with what was going to come. Milena had to come to terms with the situation in her own time. Ekaterina felt as if the very air was holding its breath, crystalline and as brittle as shards of ice.
Finally Milena nodded, turning to strap the pack on the second snow machine. She said, ‘The compass won’t work.’
‘No,’ Ekaterina agreed, grateful for her pragmatic comment. It showed Milena was trying to keep her emotions under control and endeavouring to be level-headed and sensible about what they were doing. They both knew compasses were unreliable near the Poles, and that they would have to be guided by the stars.
Together, they pushed one snow machine out of the barn. The lodge was silent. It was an effort, but they managed to force the machine a reasonable distance from the lodge, where they hoped its engine wouldn’t be heard.
Ekaterina climbed aboard. She turned her head to Milena. They stared at each other.
Milena closed her eyes briefly. Her face spasmed. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’
‘You will be happy. You will find a good man who will adore you and shower you with gifts and spoil you until the day you die.’
‘I wish things were different . . . I wish . . .’ Her voice broke.
Ekaterina brought up her hand and touched Milena’s cheek. ‘I know.’
She looked at the pain in Milena’s eyes and at the same time, felt the first pulse of fear at what she was doing. And as she recognised her dread, she felt a silence seep into her soul, a cool
river of peace that soothed and calmed, drowning out all anxiety and leaving her thoughts distilled and clear.
She was doing this for Russia, yes. Also to help Dan and his wife. But it had become more than that.
She didn’t want Lazar Yesikov to win.
As she drove into the wilderness, the air as cold and sharp as needles in her lungs, she held his face in her mind, his look of shock and rage when he discovered his prize had vanished, swept from beneath his nose by two insignificant women and making him look fantastically stupid.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Monday 9 February
The sky was only just beginning to lighten when Dan’s aeroplane landed. Sunrise wasn’t for another half an hour, which was a lot later than Dan was used to. Throwing his overnight bag into the footwell, he climbed into the passenger seat of a Lada Niva, a rugged Russian-built four-wheel-drive that, although new, looked as though it had been built in the 1950s. There was plenty of squeaking and rattling coming from the back that could have been the LPG tank moving on its mounting bracket, but otherwise it seemed OK. He wouldn’t choose it as a getaway car on the streets of Murmansk, but with its minimal weight, narrow tyres, low-ratio transfer gearbox and diff lock, it would be formidable off-road.
‘Any luck with the hunting lodge?’ he asked. ‘Or the helicopter?’
His contact, a squat man with a coarse face and intelligent eyes, said, ‘The aircraft, I have trouble with. But the lodge . . .’ He reached into his side pocket and withdrew a sheet of paper. Dan scanned the list of four names, all in Russian.
‘Edik Yesikov has been a guest at all of these,’ said Simonov. ‘He doesn’t own a particular lodge in the area.’
‘What about his father?’
‘I cannot find anything about him staying in any hunting or fishing lodge. He is like a ghost, that man.’
Dan studied the list again. ‘You think she could be at one of these?’
‘I couldn’t say.’ Simonov shrugged. ‘But it’s a good place to start.’