The Domino Game

by Greg Wilson

  Nikolai blinked. “You mean he committed suicide?”

  Vari swung him a blank look. “No, little brother, I meant what I said.” He turned back to the road, letting the meaning sink in. “Then a while later I heard Stephasin was killed in a car smash in Monaco or someplace like that. That was all part of Ivankov’s rehabilitation I guess. Those guys were dinosaurs. They had to go. Ivankov had made new connections by then, people who didn’t like the stink of the past hanging in the air.” His lips pursed. “And you might find it hard to believe but there are more honest people around now as well, so it’s not so easy to do now what they did before.”

  Nikolai sat back, considering. “So why not just get rid of me like they did the others?”

  “Think about it, Niko. They get rid of you and then they have to get rid of me and then maybe the tapes surface and some of the new TV channels or the newspapers owned by people who don’t like Ivankov start asking questions, and then where does it all stop?” He shook his head. “We’re lucky they’ve become more sophisticated, Niko. Nowadays they try to find more… what’s the word? More elegant solutions. But their reach is longer than it used to be, that’s their ultimate power. You misbehave, you don’t play the game, and they can get to you anywhere and they expect you to understand that, Niko. They’ll go along with this for now because it’s a tidier way of cleaning up an old problem, but if you cause them any pain, make no mistake…” He shook his head slowly, leaving the rest unsaid.

  Up ahead at the end of the street a black Mercedes wagon was crawling the corner from Ulitsa Petrovka. Vari leaned forward, alert. ‘This is them.”

  He gripped the wheel and watched as the vehicle approached. A security guard from the Budapesht saw it as well. Stepped from the doorway clutching a mobile phone, crossed the pavement to the street and directed the driver into a reserved parking bay beside the entry. It looked more like an armored staff wagon than a street vehicle. The kind you might see travelling in armed convoy on the mountain roads of the Caucasus. Nikolai felt his pulse quicken. His eyes fastened on the vehicle, straining to see beyond its gleaming black glass. The wagon drew to a stop and the front passenger door opened, an immaculately gray-suited figure swinging down to the street and stepping around the cabin, into view. In his mind Nikolai superimposed the image from the tapes on the man now standing just a street width away.

  Vitaly Kolbasov’s face had narrowed with age. His features had grown more pronounced and severe and his soft brown hair had receded at the temples. It was thinner now and the hot breeze caught it and lifted it in a wave from his head. He raised a hand reflexively, settling it again. Then the hand moved on, caught the arm of his sunglasses and lowered them from his pale brown eyes, reached sideways and flung the door shut. He turned then, looking towards them across the hood, his expression calm and impassive, waiting. Vari reached across to the back seat and scooped up the packet of tapes.

  “Okay.” His voice drew tight. Serious. “This is how we play it. The housekeeper will take Larisa inside, into the hotel lounge. She’ll have one of Kolbasov’s goons with her. You stay put. You don’t move. There’s a room booked upstairs with a VCR already set up. Kolbasov and I go up together, he checks the tapes and if he’s happy with what he sees he calls downstairs to his man and he and the woman leave.” He turned to Nikolai, his tone easing a fraction. “Then you go get her, little brother. You get Larisa and you bring her back to the car, then when that’s done… you’ve got the spare cell?” Nikolai nodded. Slid the phone from his trouser pocket. “Okay, then you call me like I showed you and Kolbasov and I come down together.” He stared sharply at Nikolai. “You got it?”

  Nikolai felt his chest tightening. He nodded again. Once.

  Vari sucked in a breath and reached for the door. “Okay, little brother. Then let’s move.”

  He stepped outside and a wave of burning air swept into the cabin. Nikolai lifted the jacket from his knees feeling the weight in the pocket dragging it down. He swung it across to the back seat and edged forward, watching. Saw Vari nod towards Kolbasov and Kolbasov nod back, then the gray-sleeved arm lifted lightly in a signal to someone inside the wagon. The rear door on the driver’s side swung open and a blonde woman climbed down. Nikolai shifted in his seat, trying to get a better view. She was pleasantly but not expensively dressed, short and solid with a body and face starting to turn heavy with age. She swung back to the cabin and he saw her face soften in a smile of reassurance to someone inside, then her lips moved and her hand beckoned, coaxing. One slender leg appeared from the cabin and then another, dangling for a moment across the edge of the seat, then two small hands grabbed the leather at either side and pushed away and a willowy dark-haired girl slid down. When he saw her Nikolai felt his heart break. His hands twisted into fists at his side.

  She was even more beautiful than her photograph. More like Natalia than he could ever have imagined. Slim and lithe with pale golden skin and she wore a white T-shirt tucked into bright blue cuffed shorts that hugged her waist and white socks and sneakers on her feet. The blonde woman took her shoulder and leaned in close and said something to her and she nodded, serious, then she turned around towards where Nikolai sat and raised a slender arm to shield her gaze from the light trying, as he had, to see beyond the tinted glass that separated them. Then the woman took her by the arm, gently, and started leading her away. She did as she was directed until they reached the curb and then she stalled a moment, looking back with a curious, confused expression. Then a tall, heavy- set man emerged from the other side of the wagon and joined them, falling in on Larisa’s other side, clutching a suitcase that looked as small and light as a child’s lunchbox in his massive hand.

  They disappeared into the lobby and Nikolai took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the seat, fighting the instinct to leap from the car and follow them, to take Larisa from them now before it was too late. Vari was staring back at him from outside, unable to see him perhaps, but by the look on his face no less able to read his emotions. He nodded once with grim reassurance then turned away and started across the street to where Kolbasov waited. When he was a pace away Kolbasov turned on his heels and joined him and they walked together, side by side, past the plaque of Lenin, through the Budapesht’s doors, into the shadows of the foyer.

  The heat inside the parked vehicle was suffocating. After ten minutes Nikolai reached across and turned the ignition, letting the air-conditioning run again, his eyes moving between the dashboard clock and the lobby door. Ten minutes more and his gut was beginning to scream. What was going on? For God’s sake, how much longer? Then a movement caught his eye and he looked up and saw the massive bodyguard leaving the hotel, spilling down from the steps and straightening his jacket as he strode along the pavement towards the waiting wagon. He reached the back door, pulled it open and turned back towards the entry, waiting. Nikolai swung back, following his gaze. A minute passed and the blonde woman appeared. Nikolai’s eyes followed her, his heart pounding in his chest. She struggled back towards the wagon, her head turned down, her gait unsteady and dazed. Little enough distance separated them for Nikolai to be able to see the pain in her face, the hand that rose to her eyes, tugging at her tears. Who was she, he wondered, this woman who worked for Vitaly Kolbasov? Was this stranger the woman who had been the mother to his daughter all these years? And if she was, had she been cruel or kind… Larisa’s protector or complicit in her defilement? Nikolai felt his jaw tighten and the muscles of his chest run taut.

  The man beside the door watched the woman as she approached then ushered her into the cabin and followed, closing the door.

  Now it was Nikolai’s turn to step into the unknown. He closed his eyes and took a long breath. Opened them, snapped the ignition switch, pulled the keys and reached across and opened the door.

  The heat of the air hit him like a blast from a furnace searing his skin but he hardly felt it. Instead he strode into it, cutting through it with his stride as he circled the car and crossed the
street. He hit the glass panel with the heel of his hand and the door swung inwards on the cool gloom of the lobby. He stopped and his eyes swept around. Reception to the left across a cracked marble floor; elevators ahead; an archway to the right, a sign beside it indicating the lounge. He forced back the dizziness and stepped towards the archway, crossing beneath it into the dark, carpeted room.

  At the far end a bartender stood behind a counter polishing a glass. He looked up as Nikolai entered then away again as quickly, placing the glass on the counter and edging sideways, disappearing behind a curtained screen. Between the bar and the entry lay a dozen square tables surrounded by tired, green leather chairs, all of them empty save for one. A single chair on the far side by the window where a small, solitary figure sat staring at him nervously like a frightened gazelle. Music trickled softly from speakers somewhere and the air was laced with the smell of cheap furniture polish and the stale smoke of cigars.

  Nikolai hesitated in the doorway, looking at his daughter, unsure of what to do next. He noticed her eyes drop to his hands wrapped in closed fists by his side and he forced himself to open them, flexing his fingers, dragging the dampness from his palms against his thighs. She looked up again and he tried to smile but the muscles of his face fought against him. Then she smiled for him. It was forced and anxious and uncertain but she looked at him and smiled, and for the first time in longer than Nikolai could remember he felt the bitter softness of tears welling in his eyes.

  Larisa rose tentatively as he came closer, edging sideways so that the table stood between them. Nikolai stopped, reading her apprehension, watching as her eyes narrowed and her head began turning slowly from side to side.

  “They say…” she stopped, her teeth tugging at her lip, her eyes darting over him. She swallowed and started again. “They say you are my father.”

  He closed his eyes and let the memory of her voice flow over him. It wasn’t the same. No longer the voice of the tiny animated child but not yet a woman’s either. Lost and then found again, somewhere between, the tone curiously cultured, the inflection precise despite the turmoil of the moment. Nikolai opened his eyes.

  “I am.” He let the words float gently between them.

  Her face clouded as she examined him.

  “They say everyone thought you had died, but you hadn’t.”

  Nikolai nodded slowly. “That’s right. I hadn’t.” He felt the heaviness of exhaustion in his words.

  Larisa turned slightly shaking her head. “I don’t think I remember you… I want to,” she frowned, “but I don’t think I do.”

  Nikolai smiled. It was easier now. “That’s all right.” He took another step towards her. “I remember you.” His eyes fell to the suitcase that rested on the floor beside the table, to the small ragged brown pile sprawled on top of it. He looked more closely and smiled again. “And Boris. I remember Boris.” He saw her mouth open in awe. Her face glided into a smile and she reached down and scooped up the tattered bundle.

  “Really?”

  She clutched Boris in one hand, looking between him and Nikolai her face suddenly alight with pleasure. “You, really remember him? Truly?”

  Nikolai nodded again. “Absolutely, truly.” He reached out slowly, bridging the gap between them, taking the bear from his daughter’s hand. Boris’s padding had subsided with gravity and time. He had a paunchy look now, and his once bright button eyes had turned opaque, clouded with age. Nikolai examined him, frowning. “He looks a lot older.” He glanced up. “Do you remember how you used to dress him in a pink ballet skirt to take him shopping?”

  Larisa’s head tipped to the side, her lips parting as her memory worked. Then her eyes narrowed and a curious, surprised smile glided across her face and her head started nodding. “I do. I do remember.” Her eyes lowered then rose again. “You really are my father. You must be. No one but you or Mummy would remember that.”

  Her eyes swelled with tears and she struggled past the table and threw her arms around him, burying herself against his chest. Nikolai lifted his own arms from his sides and held them wide, uncertain for a moment, then something within him took over and he closed them around his daughter and wrapped her tight, lowering his face to her head, losing himself in the soft apple scent of her silken hair. For a long minute he held her close, then her sobbing gradually faded and he felt her body start to relax and begin moving gently with the breath that rose and fell within his own. Finally she leaned back and looked up at him through dampened eyes, her face caught somewhere between delight and pain.

  “I’m so happy.” She bit her lip and tossed her head. “I always knew you’d come back. Mummy promised that you would. I’m so happy you’ve found me.” Then her eyes filled with tears again and she swallowed and shook her head. “I just wish she was here as well.”

  The words were like a shank driven and twisted into Nikolai’s gut. He tensed and drew Larisa to him again, cradling her head against his chest.

  “So do I, my darling,” he whispered. “More than you can possibly imagine.” He took a breath and squeezed her again. “We have to go now. Are you ready? Are you okay?”

  Her head nodded against his chest. Nikolai opened his arms and let her go and she took a step back, switching Boris from one hand to the other as she cleared away her tears. He watched her, fixing her eyes with his own.

  “Now listen to me, Larisa, it’s very important you do everything I say. We’re leaving now. We’re going outside and getting into a car and then I have to make a phone call and another man is going to join us. Uncle Vari. Do you remember him?”

  Larisa shook her head.

  “Well, don’t worry.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “When you see him you might remember him. But you mustn’t be concerned. He’s a friend and he’s going to drive us somewhere and then we’re going to be together and no one is going to separate us again, you understand?” Nikolai watched his daughter. Watched her take it all in and process it and nod her head. “Good.” He picked up the suitcase and took his daughter’s hand. Her grasp was light as air to begin with, the touch of her skin impossibly soft and cool in his palm. Then as they walked across the room together he felt the grip of her fingers closing and tightening against his.

  As they crossed the street she looked back once towards the black Mercedes. Hesitated just a second and then turned away again, letting him lead her. He opened the rear door of the Range Rover and she climbed in, waiting while he went around to the tailgate and tossed her suitcase in beside his own. Then he came back and climbed in beside her and closed the door, taking her hand again and smiling, his other hand scooping up his jacket, his fingers travelling through the folds of the fabric, finding their way to the side pocket and closing around the handgrip of Leonid’s pistol. He eased it free and wrapped the jacket back over the top so that it lay almost concealed but loose in his lap. Larisa’s eyes flicked down, alert and anxious and he felt her hand tighten in his own. He turned to her and shook his head, his voice soft with reassurance.

  “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. We must be careful, that’s all.”

  She looked at him and nodded hesitantly; unconvinced, he thought.

  Nikolai broke the grasp and eased the cell phone from his pocket. Keyed in the auto-dial number and lifted the receiver to his ear. Vari answered before the first ring ended, his voice tense.

  “You okay?”

  Nikolai nodded.” We’re fine. We’re in the car.”

  “Okay.” Vari’s sharp response bounced back along the line. “Coming down.”

  Nikolai killed the phone and laid it down on the seat. Picked up Larisa’s hand again and squeezed it hard while beneath the fold of his jacket his finger closed around the warm steel of the trigger.

  A minute passed, then another, then light flashed against the glass door of the Budapesht’s lobby as it swung aside and Nikolai dropped his daughter’s hand and reached for the window release as Kolbasov stepped out into the street, the parcel of tapes caught in his
left hand. Nikolai tensed, his finger hovering above the button as his brain measured angles and distance, then Vari was outside as well, stepping away, walking briskly towards them across the street and then, even if he had wanted to – and how he wanted to – it was too late to even try for the shot. Kolbasov was behind the black wagon, opening the door and climbing in beside the driver and even there, within the sealed cabin of Vari’s Range Rover, Nikolai could hear the other vehicle’s engine burst to life and before Kolbasov’s door had even closed it was wheeling away, slicing past them in a blur of black steel and glass.

  Nikolai let out a breath and fell back against the seat, his fingers, slippery with sweat, loosening their grip around the weapon, his hand moving out from under the jacket and falling back to his lap. Then the driver’s door swung open and Vari was climbing in and cranking the ignition and Nikolai felt another hand settle over his own, slender fingers, light as a swan’s feather touching them gently. And he heard the voice of a child, incomprehensibly older and wiser than her years, soothing in his ear.

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. We’re together now. I won’t let them take me away. I won’t let them take you away. I promise.”