Quantum

by Tom Grace

  ‘Good luck, Dmitri.’

  ‘To us both, Victor Ivanovich.’

  Malik handed Leskov one of the Krinkov AKS-74U submachine guns from the rack and two spare clips. Leskov quickly checked over the weapon and flipped off the safety.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  65

  JULY 31

  Moscow, Russia

  Kilkenny began rearranging the furniture in Avvakum’s office to create a defensive nest. Already, he heard the sounds of gunfire and knew that he needed to keep Avvakum safe until the battle was over.

  ‘Lara, whatever happens, don’t come out of here until I tell you to. All right?’

  ‘I understand,’ she replied, curling herself down behind the protective wall of furniture.

  Kilkenny went back into the lab and began looking through the pile of boxes and equipment that was stored in the far corner – most of which had been stolen from Sandstrom. It didn’t take long to locate the three-inch-thick stainless-steel top of Sandstrom’s vibration isolation table.

  After removing the boxes that were stacked on top, Kilkenny grabbed two of the table’s legs and dragged it back to the doorway that led to the suite of offices where Avvakum hid. He flipped the table onto its side, then pushed it until one edge touched the lab wall to form a defensive barrier.

  Kilkenny crouched behind the makeshift barricade, peering over the top at the two doors that led from the lab into the hallway. From where he was positioned, he had a wide triangular field of fire. He pulled the spare clips from his pocket and set them within reach on the floor.

  As they neared the lab, Leskov pressed himself against the wall to reduce his profile. Malik followed his lead. The two men slid along the wall until they reached the first of the two lab doors. Inching forward slowly, Leskov peered through the door’s glass panel. He saw on the opposite side of the room a large metal table lying on its side in front of the suite entryway.

  ‘Dmitri’ – Orlov’s voice filled Leskov’s ear – ‘Kilkenny has built a barricade in front of the lab’s offices.’

  ‘Understood,’ Leskov replied. He then turned to Malik. ‘Did you hear that?’

  Malik nodded.

  ‘I’m going to double back and move into the empty space on the other side of the lab. When I’m in position, I’ll signal you to fire on that barricade. I’m going to attack from the rear.’

  ‘There’s no door back there?’ Malik replied.

  ‘Not yet, there isn’t.’

  Leskov slipped around Malik and headed toward the area of the second floor still under renovation.

  Leskov worked his way through the poorly lit space behind the lab to where a wall framed in steel studs carved out a large chunk of the space. The wall that defined the perimeter of the lab was finished only on the lab side; the studs, wiring, and other services were still visible from where Leskov stood. He measured off the distance in his head, working his way around to what he believed was an empty office in the lab suite.

  ‘Now, Malik!’ he signaled.

  In reply, Leskov heard an explosion of gunfire through the newly built walls.

  The sudden burst of gunfire caught Kilkenny off guard. He hadn’t noticed anyone moving in the hallway. In response, Kilkenny randomly fired a couple of shots at the door, just to keep the shooter pinned back in the hallway. A short burst of four rounds answered back, hammering into the slab of stainless steel. Malik fired again, this time high over the top of Kilkenny’s barricade. The high-velocity rounds ripped through the wall behind him, grazing the top of Avvakum’s desk and imbedding themselves in the back wall of her office. Avvakum screamed as the bullets flew all around her.

  ‘You okay back there?’ Kilkenny shouted after firing back at Malik.

  ‘Nyet! I want this to stop!’ Avvakum screamed back in tears.

  ‘You and me both,’ Kilkenny replied.

  Leskov stood about two meters from the wall and emptied the entire clip of the Krinkov into it, drawing an elongated oval on the gypsum wallboard. He then popped the empty magazine out of the weapon, slipped in a fresh one, and kicked the wall in the center of the perforated oval. The wallboard snapped and clattered onto the floor of the empty office.

  Kilkenny turned when he heard the burst of gunfire behind him, and saw several rounds ricochet into the suite’s hallway.

  ‘Shit!’ he growled.

  Another burst from the far door slammed into the steel barricade. When the firing paused, Kilkenny rose up, aimed at the wall beside the far door, and emptied the Glock. The tightly clustered rounds pounded through the wallboard like a hammer, opening a hole wide enough for the last of Kilkenny’s shots to tear through with full force. A loud moan answered Kilkenny’s barrage, followed by a brief glimpse, through the door’s shattered glass, of someone collapsing in the hall.

  ‘Keep down, Lara!’ Kilkenny shouted as he discarded the empty clip, slammed one of the spares into the Glock, and leapt to the opposite side of the barricade.

  Leskov stepped out of the office, firing wildly down the short corridor. He aimed low, and on full auto, the Krinkov was nearly empty before he realized that Kilkenny was in midair jumping over the protective slab of steel.

  As he hurdled the table, Kilkenny turned and aimed the Glock at Leskov. A shock of fiery pain struck his right forearm like a blistering whip when he fired and the double tap intended for Leskov’s chest flew wide of the mark. Struck numb, Kilkenny lost his grip on the pistol, which clattered to the floor on the opposite side of the tabletop.

  Leskov cautiously advanced on Kilkenny’s position, slipping his last magazine into the Krinkov. ‘Malik,’ he said into the lip mike, ‘Kilkenny is on your side of the barricade.’

  No answer. Leskov cautiously moved farther down the hall. On the floor near the table, he saw the Glock Kilkenny had taken from Avvakum’s guard and a few droplets of blood. Leskov neared the barricade, the Krinkov cradled in his right arm, his left hand wrapped around the barrel grip for support.

  The bullet that ricocheted off the steel tabletop dug a deep groove in the underside of Kilkenny’s right forearm. The wound stung, but he ignored the pain and the bleeding. He crouched low as he scanned the edges of the table, his weight balanced on his tightly folded right leg. His left leg was extended full length parallel to the tabletop – in this position, he could easily shift from one leg to the other without lifting his head above the barricade. He cocked his left arm at eye level in front of him in preparation to block an attack from above.

  Kilkenny caught sight of the Krinkov’s short barrel near the top of the barricade. When six inches of the stocky assault rifle were visible, he sprang up and struck the barrel of the weapon with his left elbow, pushing it away from him. Rising up, he coiled his left arm around the Krinkov like a snake until he grasped Leskov’s left wrist from below.

  Leskov squeezed the trigger as Kilkenny trapped the Krinkov between his arm and torso. The barrel flared red hot, vibrating against Kilkenny’s ribs as a rapid series of explosions blazed within its milled steel barrel.

  Continuing with his upward momentum, Kilkenny twisted his torso counterclockwise, pulling the erupting weapon forward and Leskov off balance. Kilkenny’s right arm swung fluidly with the rotation of his upper body, the palm of his hand held flat in search of a target.

  He struck at Leskov’s head, ramming the heel of his palm into Leskov’s face with such force that the Russian’s nose folded over against his right cheek. Still pulling Leskov forward, Kilkenny used his elbow to cave in Leskov’s eye socket.

  Leskov howled in pain. Coiled like a spring, Kilkenny snapped back in the other direction, yanking Leskov over the barricade and driving him headlong into the vinyl-tile floor.

  Holding tight on the Krinkov, Leskov pulled the weapon free as he fell. As soon as he hit the floor, Leskov pointed the barrel upward and drove it into the soft tissue of Kilkenny’s left armpit. Kilkenny recoiled, a numbness like an electrical discharge racing from shoulder to fingertip. Leskov dug the barr
el in deeper, wedging it in the underside of the shoulder joint, separating the bones of Kilkenny’s shoulder. With his left arm now free, Leskov rolled clear as Kilkenny fell back, clutching his damaged limb.

  Leskov clambered to his feet, keeping some distance between himself and Kilkenny, took aim with the weapon, and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing. Furious, Leskov grasped the Krinkov, swung it up over his head like a club, and charged Kilkenny.

  Kilkenny backed away, protecting his left shoulder. As Leskov charged, Kilkenny slipped to his right, moving out of Leskov’s path and into his blind spot. Crouching with all his weight balanced on his right foot, he snapped a devastating kick with his left leg into Leskov’s groin. Leskov doubled over, screaming an unintelligible epithet; the Krinkov clattered to the ground.

  From the same position, Kilkenny folded his leg back, thigh against abdomen, and kicked again, this time snapping the outside edge of his foot straight into the side of Leskov’s knee. The joint buckled, and Leskov lost his balance, toppling over in front of Kilkenny. As Leskov fell, Kilkenny reached out, grabbed a handful of his hair, and drove the Russian’s head into the floor.

  He reset his stance, ready to strike again as Leskov lay motionless. In the corridor, the sound of gunfire drew closer; then, after a fierce exchange, it stopped. Two Alphas stepped over Malik’s body in the corridor and entered the lab with weapons trained on Kilkenny. Kilkenny gingerly raised his arms in surrender.

  ‘Kilkenny!’ Fydorov shouted as he followed the Alphas into the lab.

  Fydorov said something in Russian, and the Alphas turned their weapons away from Kilkenny. One of them quickly checked Leskov for a pulse, then turned to Fydorov and shook his head.

  ‘So, at least you’re still alive,’ Fydorov said.

  ‘Yeah, so’s Avvakum. She’s holed up in her office. How’s Cooper?’

  ‘Dead, I’m sorry to say. We found him with Orlov’s mistress, Zoshchenko. She was shot as well but may yet live.’

  ‘What about Orlov?’ Kilkenny asked as he retrieved the Glock and set it in the holster.

  Fydorov shook his head. ‘Haven’t found him yet.’

  Kilkenny groaned as he rolled his head in a wide circle, stretching the tightened muscles in his neck. His shoulder ached. Then he noticed another of the mirrored half domes in the ceiling near the corner of the lab.

  ‘Security camera. Have you taken the security office yet?’

  ‘Da, just a moment ago.’

  ‘There are cameras all over this building, inside and out. If he’s still here, we should be able to spot him.’

  66

  JULY 31

  Moscow, Russia

  After pulling Avvakum free of the makeshift barricade in her office and placing her under the protection of the Alphas, Kilkenny and Fydorov worked their way down to the security office on the first floor. Though they still heard occasional bursts of gunfire, the assault on Orlov’s building was nearly over.

  Several corpses lay where they had fallen in the corridors. Visual evidence of the intense battle for the first floor – spent shell casings, bullet-scarred walls, and scorch marks left by flash-bang stun grenades – was strewn everywhere, and the air was heavy with the acrid scent of recent gunfire. Corpsmen were carefully removing the wounded Alphas, and a triage had been established at the building’s loading dock. Gear removed from the injured Alphas lay in a pile by the wall.

  ‘Here, put this on,’ Fydorov said as he handed Kilkenny a black, Kevlar-plated vest from the pile. ‘This way my people won’t think you’re one of Orlov’s men and fuck with you.’

  ‘Will do,’ Kilkenny said as he carefully worked the vest around his injured shoulder.

  They cut through the loading dock and made their way to the security office. Along the concrete wall, Kilkenny saw a flush stainless-steel door and frame. The door had no visible hardware except for a keypad mounted on the wall to the left.

  ‘That a vault?’ he asked.

  Fydorov threw a quick glance at the door. ‘Could be. We’ll open it up later.’

  Kilkenny and Fydorov passed the armory and entered the monitoring room. Banks of small, black-and-white closed-circuit video screens filled the wall above the operator console. Rows of numbered buttons lined the console, each tied to a remote camera, in addition to the joysticks and sliders that allowed the operator to pan, tilt, and zoom the cameras. Kilkenny studied the monitors – black figures passed across a few of them, but the rest showed empty corridors and offices.

  An Alpha entered the security suite, walked up to Fydorov, and said something in Russian. Fydorov nodded and turned to Kilkenny.

  ‘At the moment, I am needed elsewhere. Stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  After Fydorov left with the Alpha, Kilkenny started punching the numbered buttons and cycling through a series of preprogrammed views. The first set of buttons covered the building’s exterior, rooftop, and entry points. He left those on, as they were the only way in and out of the building, then began looking at the interior camera views on the remaining monitors.

  He visually swept through the building – section by section, floor by floor – but Orlov was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘He’s got to be hiding somewhere,’ Kilkenny mused as he punched up the next camera series.

  Four monitors flickered as linked cameras relayed images of their remote locations. The eerily lit images on two of the screens showed a long, narrow concrete passageway.

  The fourth monitor showed a bright flash of light approaching the camera from a distance. The camera shuddered as the bright light quickly passed underneath, followed by a strobelike pattern of light and dark.

  ‘That looks like a subway.’ Kilkenny studied the image intently.

  He turned his attention back to the previous series. Using the controls, he maneuvered the cameras and swept the length of the passageway. Zooming deep with the second camera, he detected some movement. A figure came into focus – Orlov, with a flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  ‘Gotcha! But how’d you get in there?’

  Kilkenny looked at the first monitor, which showed a corridor. He swiveled the camera and found that it provided an excellent view of the vault door just outside the security suite.

  He ran to the loading dock, but Fydorov was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Shit!’

  Kilkenny searched through the pile of vests and assault gear until he found a coil of ribbon charge and a detonator, then ran back to the vault door. Carefully, he uncoiled the white ribbon of explosive and taped it over the seam between the door and frame where the locking bolts should be. He then set the detonator, activated it, and ran for cover in the security office.

  The five-second detonator fired, igniting the linear explosive charge. The blast rang loudly off the concrete walls, and a cloud of smoke filled the short corridor. The blast compressed the edge of the door as it peeled the thick steel skin back and away from the rigid metal core.

  Kilkenny found the door hanging ajar, its torn metal edges still hot. As he nudged it open, one of the actuated bolts fell out of the jamb and clattered onto the floor.

  Beyond the door he found a narrow flight of stairs. Kilkenny drew out the Glock and carefully began his descent into the darkness below.

  Orlov was three-quarters of the way down the hundredmeter tunnel when the eerie, subterranean silence was replaced with an ear-splitting roar of concussive energy. The blast knocked him to his knees, and he dropped both his flashlight and his pistol. His ears rang as if someone were boring through them with a drill into his skull.

  He shook off the dizziness and groped around on the floor. He found the flashlight first and tested the switch. Nothing. He blindly twisted the screw fittings as tight as they would go and tried the switch again – a dim light shone. He aimed the faint beam on the floor and searched for the pistol.

  Kilkenny reached the bottom of the stairs and, other than the glow of light from the d
oorway above, was enveloped in darkness. In the distance, about seventy-five meters ahead of him, he saw a faint illumination.

  ‘Orlov!’ he shouted, his voice echoing down the long concrete passageway.

  The summons thundered around Orlov, breaking through the high-pitched ringing in his ears. He glanced back down the tunnel but saw nothing in the darkness.

  ‘Orlov!’ the voice boomed out again, getting closer. ‘Surrender!’

  Orlov reached down, picked up the Glock, and fired.

  In the darkness, Kilkenny moved carefully in a crouch along the tunnel wall as Orlov fired recklessly down the darkened passageway. He focused his attention on the dark space between the dim light and the flashes of Orlov’s pistol fire. His body ached, both arms throbbing.

  ‘Fuck this!’ Kilkenny cursed, and fired his weapon.

  Orlov shrieked as the bullet ripped through the thin metal housing of the flashlight, shredding the device in his hands. Kilkenny then broke into an open sprint, screaming like a madman. Muzzle flashes from Kilkenny’s Glock illuminated the tunnel like a strobe as he closed in on Orlov.

  Orlov cowered under the sonic assault of gunfire and Kilkenny’s deafening kiai, lying on the floor as bullets flew over his head. Terror gripped him, and then he felt a warm, liquid sensation around his abdomen and thighs.

  Kilkenny dove the last two meters headfirst, landing squarely on Orlov’s back. The two men slid across the concrete floor before the friction of the rough surface brought them to a stop.

  ‘Move, and I’ll kill you,’ Kilkenny warned, more a promise than a threat.

  He propped himself up, grinding his knee into the center of Orlov’s back. He then pulled the pistol from Orlov’s quivering grip and tossed it down the tunnel.

  ‘I have money,’ Orlov said feebly.

  ‘What?’