‘Are you certain you can find this damn thing?’ he asked, giving voice to his concern.
‘Oh yes. Trust me on that score,’ the old man replied grimly and then added, ‘That bastard will be sorry I did.’
As they turned the corner to the section of the cemetery that contained Puzanov’s grave, Shlyapnikov put out his hand and touched Teschmaker’s arm. ‘Pull over here, before we get to the next street light.’
‘Why not just drive up to the grave?’
‘You want to get out of this alive? Then do as I say.’ He turned in his seat and glanced at the van pulling up behind them. ‘Pull over a bit, we need him to get past.’
Teschmaker couldn’t see the point of the exercise, but moved the car to the side of the road and switched off the motor. ‘I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.’
‘Just make sure you get Jane and her father out of the van and into your car before we go any further. And put the flashlight back in the glove box.’
There was a sudden tone of determination in Shlyapnikov’s voice, as though the brief exchange with Rusak had hardened his resolve. Teschmaker decided not to argue, picked the light up off the seat and stowed it away.
‘I would murder for a vodka,’ the old man growled quietly. ‘Okay, let’s get this over with.’
Rusak watched them carefully as they got out of the car. He gave every indication of a man in command of the situation. He cradled the machine-pistol in his arms as he spoke quietly into his phone. He finished his conversation and hooked the phone back on his belt before approaching them. ‘It’s here?’
‘Just opposite that next lamppost.’ Shlyapnikov indicated along the road. ‘You’ll need to get your van closer. The scientists were not as clever as the propaganda would have you believe. The damn thing weighs about forty kilos.’
Rusak’s eyes were alight with excitement, as though he had finally let himself believe he was actually going to get his hands on the weapon. He looked at Shlyapnikov. ‘You were part of the team that hid it here?’
‘For what it’s worth, yes.’
‘Oh, it’s worth a lot,’ Rusak said. ‘But what I don’t understand is how you are still alive. Every one of the team members is dead.’
‘Not this one,’ the old man said bluntly.
‘How is it possible?’
Shlyapnikov squinted at Rusak, weighing him up. Then, obviously wanting to tell the story but not directly to Rusak, he turned to Teschmaker ‘The other member of my team had instructions to eliminate me. Unfortunately he was unfit for the task. When the time came he broke down and told me. He knew the only way he could survive was to disappear and so we solved two problems at once. We put his name on the tombstone above the device.’
‘So that’s not Puzanov’s body in there?’ Teschmaker was stunned.
‘No. We obtained the body of an old alcoholic. We simply changed the death notice and the inscription.’
‘So this man, Puzanov, he is still alive?’ The idea that someone else knew of the device’s location obviously alarmed Rusak.
Shlyapnikov turned to him. ‘Don’t worry, Rusak, we are the only ones who know.’ He turned back to address Teschmaker. ‘I sent a signal to Moscow saying that everything was in place and that Puzanov was dead. The reply instructed me where to hide the remote control. It also specified that it should be done on a specific date. At the time I thought nothing of that. When the day came I was ill with flu and so Puzanov said he would do it. Unfortunately, because Moscow had set the time and place, it was easy for them to eliminate the surviving team member. They killed Puzanov. It should have been me.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ Rusak burst in. ‘If they killed him, how would they know where the device was?’
Shlyapnikov shot him a look of disdain. ‘If they knew where the remote was they had no need to know the location of the device. The remote could activate it anywhere within a ten-kilometre radius. It was perfect security.’
‘So all these years you’ve been visiting Puzanov’s grave?’ Teschmaker asked.
‘I was checking that the device was not disturbed. I didn’t care for Puzanov. The man was a traitor. He had orders to kill me and he lacked the guts.’
‘Jesus!’ Teschmaker was dumbfounded.
Something was bothering Rusak. He looked at the old man suspiciously. ‘If you are such a fucking patriot, why are you giving it to me?’
‘Because I don’t have a choice. You’re the one with the guns. Anyway, you deserve it. The damned thing has ruined my life. I figure it will do the same for you.’ Shlyapnikov spat on the side of the road. ‘Now shall we get on with it?’
‘You two walk in front of me.’ Rusak indicated with the pistol.
But Teschmaker stepped in front of him. ‘No, not until Jane and her father are sitting safely in my car.’
‘So they can just drive away? Forget it. The old man comes with us, she stays.’
‘You can keep the keys,’ Shlyapnikov said.
Teschmaker looked at him in disbelief, then realised that they weren’t far enough away from the grave site to give Jane a real chance of getting away, even discounting the fact that she would have to turn the car around.
Rusak thought about it then turned back to the van. ‘Dimitri.’
The side door slid open and a huge bear of a man got out. He was blond-haired with eyes as dark as deep water and just as cold. He was carrying another machine-pistol. In his huge hands, it looked like a toy. Teschmaker knew the odds were not improving.
‘Bring them out,’ Rusak ordered.
The man nodded and said something to the occupants. To Teschmaker’s relief, Sydney Morris stepped cautiously out onto the road, followed by Jane. As they moved forward into the van’s lights Teschmaker saw that Jane was deathly white, her eyes rimmed with red as though she had been crying. Her father looked haggard. Clearly disoriented, he looked around blinking, loose-jawed and mouth open.
Teschmaker moved to greet them but Rusak stepped in front of him. ‘Piss off,’ Teschmaker snapped and ignoring the man and his weapon took Jane in his arms. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked quietly.
She looked at him, her eyes cold and distant. ‘No, I’m not okay.’
‘I’m so sorry about this . . .’ Sydney Morris began, looking down at his hands. They were shaking uncontrollably.
Rusak reasserted control. ‘Enough! Dimitri, take the keys from the car and shut her in.’
The big man moved quickly to the car, located the keys and handed them to Rusak. He opened the passenger door and gestured for Jane to get in, but Teschmaker held on to her, trying desperately to think of something to give her hope in a manifestly hopeless situation.
‘Come on, let her get into the car,’ Rusak said impatiently.
Jane turned away. She’s in shock, Teschmaker thought, as he watched her move zombie-like towards the car. As she reached it she turned, steadying herself against the door, her eyes locking with his, pleading. But there was nothing he could do or say. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming and yet . . . there was something. Suddenly his mind flashed back to the first time they had sat in the car together and he knew he had to let her know what he had remembered. ‘Jane — ’
‘I said, enough,’ Rusak snapped. ‘Dimitri, get her in the car and stay beside it.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Teschmaker knew his face was a picture of false optimism, but he hoped she would understand what he was going to say. ‘Just remember the only thing you know about playing pool.’
But her face was a mixture of bewilderment and resignation as with a weak smile she allowed herself to be pushed into the car. Dimitri made a show of slamming the door shut then took up guard, leaning back against the vehicle.
Rusak nodded in approval and turned to Teschmaker. ‘Mr Morris will accompany us in order to verify that the device is in an operable condition. And you . . . what’s your name?’
‘Shlyapnikov.’
‘You will find it for me.’
<
br /> ‘That’s what I said.’ Shlyapnikov looked as though it was taking all his self-control not to spit in the man’s face.
‘Good.’ Rusak grinned broadly. ‘Then let’s go.’ He indicated that they should walk in front of him.
‘What about your van? There’s no way you can carry the package.’
‘All in good time. I want to see it first.’
They walked in single file, the only sound the crunching of the gravel beneath their feet and, away to the right, the frightened call and sudden flight of a night bird disturbed by the unexpected intrusion into its domain. As they came to the lamppost opposite the grave, Teschmaker caught a fleeting glimpse of a small bat darting through the feast of moths that fluttered around the light. Maybe it was the unspoken presence of death that heightened his awareness, but he was acutely conscious that his senses were working on overdrive. Even the night air seemed to be full of subtle presences, as though on its meandering journey from the coast it had collected the essences of backyards, streets, gardens and people, stealing their perfumes and scents; gathering from the graves the odours of the marshy ground and cold stone.
He remembered Laverov. With any luck the man had followed his instructions exactly and parked his car further along the road in order to block any attempted escape by vehicle. Hopefully he had located the grave and was now in position, waiting for Teschmaker to give him the agreed signal. A lot was resting on Laverov’s ability to perform.
Shlyapnikov stopped at the side of the road, the nearest light casting his shadow across the grave. ‘It’s here.’ He stood like a mourner, his hands clasped behind his back.
Rusak pushed the others aside. ‘Where?’
‘Under there.’
Rusak looked nonplussed, not knowing who to blame for the fact that nobody had told him the device would have to be dug up. ‘So how do we get it out?’
Teschmaker looked back to his car, hoping to see Jane, but Dimitri had moved around to lean on the bonnet and obscured his view. Deciding that he would feel better with something in his hands, even if it was only a spade, Teschmaker started round the side of the grave.
Rusak moved quickly, levelling the machine-pistol at his stomach. ‘Stop right there. Where the fuck are you going?’
‘To get a spade. Or do you want to use your hands?’ It was then, as he turned to Rusak, that he saw something he should not have been able to see. Laverov’s car, just visible beyond the light of the next street lamp, was parked in the middle of the road.
Rusak followed the line of his gaze and with a smile on his lips called loudly, ‘Hey, Gennadi.’
Gennadi? Who the hell was Gennadi? Even as he thought it Teschmaker felt his stomach sinking and he knew that the last hope he had been clinging to was gone. The car headlights flicked on, the motor started and as the Ford moved slowly forward, its lights illuminated what had appeared to be a shadow across the road: Laverov’s body, spreadeagled on the gravel. He had not even made it as far as the grave, for the spade and pickaxe he had collected from Teschmaker’s garage lay beside him.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you about Laverov. He had a bit of an accident.’
‘You’re fucking insane, Rusak,’ Teschmaker said through gritted teeth.
Rusak laughed. ‘Insane for stopping a man you set up to ambush me?’
‘I told you I would give you the device. There was no need for this.’
‘No? Then what was he doing waiting here? It was lucky I sent my man ahead to secure the area. This man posed a threat, so he was dealt with.’
Speechless with rage and ignoring the pistol in Rusak’s hand, Teschmaker brushed past him and went over to the body. Kneeling down he felt for a pulse in the neck, even though the jagged exit wound in the side of Laverov’s skull was ample evidence of his death. On the gravel lay Laverov’s glasses, the lenses shattered, the frames buckled. They had been trodden on. It infuriated him to be so helpless. Behind the wheel of the Ford he could see the killer watching him, his face blank, impassive. Teschmaker took his hand off Laverov’s neck and reached out for the spade, but even as he raised it he knew that if he attacked the man he would end up on the road beside Laverov. He gripped it firmly and walked back to the grave.
Shlyapnikov had Sydney Morris by the arm and was seating him a few feet away, his back up against a neighbouring tombstone. Behind Teschmaker the car motor had been turned off. Rusak called to the driver in Russian, instructing him to bring the van up. The man who got out of the Ford was as big as Rusak’s other offsider, Dimitri, and just as blond.
‘The bastard has been mass producing them,’ Shlyapnikov murmured as he returned to Teschmaker’s side.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Teschmaker said coldly. He blamed himself for Laverov’s death. It would have been just as easy to come all in the one car, but he had thought it best to dispatch Laverov in advance. It hadn’t occurred to him that Rusak would also send an advance guard to scout out the location. The man must have seen Laverov open the gates and from there it would have been a simple matter of following him, making the hit and phoning Rusak to inform him.
‘Start this side of the gravestone,’ Shlyapnikov instructed. ‘There’s a concrete lip, you need to dig about half a metre this side to be clear of it.’
‘How deep is it?’ Rusak stepped up onto the thick concrete wall that enclosed the grave, the pistol gripped firmly in his hands, his eyes shining with expectation. Teschmaker wondered if he already had a buyer lined up for the bomb and if so, who? It hardly mattered; if it went that far then the likelihood was that he and the others would have joined history’s roll call of innocent bystanders — innocent and dead.
‘I can’t remember,’ Shlyapnikov said.
‘You’re certain it’s here?’
‘Bozhe moy! You want to do the digging?’ Shlyapnikov blazed. ‘I’ve told you the fucking thing is here. Just shut up and let us get on with it.’
Teschmaker prodded around with the tip of the spade until he had located the concrete slab then began to dig through the matted weeds to the reasonably soft damp earth beneath. In a matter of minutes he was down about twenty centimetres.
‘Take it easy,’ Shlyapnikov cautioned. ‘Just scrape the dirt away now.’
Teschmaker turned the spade around, banged it against the side of the grave to dislodge the clogged dirt and began to scrape. He hit something. Suddenly fearful, he pulled the spade away and looked to Shlyapnikov.
‘Use your hands.’ Shlyapnikov frowned as though trying to recall something.
Teschmaker handed him the spade and crouched down, his mind flashing up macabre images, as gruesome as they were irrational. There’s nothing here, he told himself, but he half expected his fingers to plunge into rotting flesh, or skeletal remains. The earth was warmer than he had expected and he imagined he could smell decay rising, cloying in his nostrils. Cautiously he worked through the earth, sifting and discarding until his hands found the object that the spade had struck. He wished he had the tools of an archaeologist and could take his time, brushing the soil away rather than probing with his hands. But then his fingers recognised the shape and texture of the object and after working it back and forth a couple of times he pulled it from the ground. It was a glass jar, the lid rusted but still in place. Realising he had been holding his breath, he took in a lungful of air and tossed the jar to one side.
‘That’s the first marker,’ Shlyapnikov said matter-of-factly. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you. I forgot all about them.’
‘Them?’
‘Yes, there should be another marker down a further fifty centimetres or so.’
Teschmaker reached over and grabbed the spade. ‘Anything else you’ve forgotten?’
Shlyapnikov shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago.’ He paused, then added, ‘The next marker is a sheet of black plastic at the bottom of the hole. It’s okay to use the spade for a time.’
‘Thanks,’ Teschmaker said darkly and recommenced digging. As he did he heard the sound
of the van’s motor. It swung past his car and its lights flashed momentarily across the grave. Then it pulled in beside them, spotlighting Sydney Morris who was leaning back against the neighbouring headstone. He looked a picture of misery, head bowed, his hands still trembling despite the fact that he was half asleep.
‘Tell your man to back it up,’ Shlyapnikov said to Rusak. ‘The shorter distance we have to carry this the better.’
‘I give the orders here,’ Rusak snapped, but nevertheless conveyed the message to Gennadi who proceeded to do a rather badly executed four-point turn on the narrow road.
‘There’s the plastic.’ Teschmaker stepped up out of the hole he had excavated.
Rusak moved cautiously forward and peered down into the dark. ‘I can’t see a damn thing!’ He glared at Shlyapnikov. ‘You had better not be playing games with me.’
‘Look for yourself.’ Teschmaker stood back, but Rusak waited until Gennadi joined them then handed the man his pistol.
‘Cover them,’ he said, then pushed past Teschmaker and stepped gingerly down into the hole. He bent over and tore some strips off the remains of what had been a folded sheet of thick plastic, then took the spade and drove it down forcefully. There was a splintering noise as the spade went deep and for a second Rusak looked down at his feet then sprang from the grave. ‘For fuck’s sake! It’s a fucking coffin.’
‘I understand that’s pretty standard in graves.’ Teschmaker smiled sardonically but he too stepped back as the sickly sweet smell of long-trapped air rose from the hole.
Rusak was not amused. Grabbing his pistol from Gennadi he brought it up to Shlyapnikov’s head. ‘Okay, no more games. Where the fuck is the device?’
If Shlyapnikov was fazed he refused to show it. ‘Really, Comrade, I think you have too little faith in the skill of our motherland’s agents. Only a fool would place something directly on top of a coffin.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Patience. Now we have to dig forward.’ He brought his hand up slowly and pushed the pistol barrel away from his skull then turned and looked unflinchingly at Rusak. ‘If you stop interfering maybe we can continue.’
Delicate Indecencies Page 40