by Tim Stevens
Calvary said, ‘Except it hasn’t come off the way you wanted.’
Llewellyn hissed through his teeth. ‘Well, yes and no. It’s true that a lot of the elegance has been lost along the way. We can probably blame that gangster chappie for that. But at the end of the day, as the cliche has it, Darya Krupina is dead. She was dying anyway, from cancer, but we got there first. We’ve had our revenge. Thanks to you.’
There was almost too much to process. The cold was settling like a shroud and Calvary felt himself starting to shiver.
‘There still?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve really been most helpful, Martin. Yes, I admit, I made a mistake. I assumed you’d fail to get Gaines. You didn’t. You’ve beaten both the Russians and the most powerful crime lord in Prague. You’re even better than I gave you credit for.’
‘And?’
‘And, I need you to come in now. Bring Gaines in. He can’t be left out there, it’s too messy. As for you, I have great things in mind for you. No more hits. The kind of work you’d enjoy, as well as be skilled in. A senior position.’
Calvary let the silence hang. Then he said, ‘You must be mad.’
‘I can assure you — ’
‘This is the last time we’ll ever speak. You’ll never see me again. Or Gaines.’
‘Wait — ’
‘Rot in hell, Llewellyn.’
He flung the phone high into the darkness, watched it arc over a row of bushes.
*
They were on the march once more, having found a water fountain and gorged themselves repeatedly. Calvary no longer supported the older man but had to put out a hand once or twice when he staggered.
From a pocket Calvary retrieved the other phone he’d taken from the cottage where Gaines had been kept.
‘Ano?’ She sounded guarded.
‘Nikola, it’s me. Can you talk?’
‘What happened? Where — ’
‘Blazek’s dead. Killed himself. I showed him the picture Max took.’
She gasped.
‘How’s Max?’
‘We’re at the hospital. It’s a clean fracture of his upper arm. He doesn’t need surgery. They’re keeping him in overnight, though.’
‘Any trouble on the way?’
‘No. We got a few streets away, called an ambulance. The police are everywhere.’
He was at a loss for a moment. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I am unhurt.’
‘I mean… not physically.’
She didn’t answer, said, ‘Martin, is it over?’
‘Yes. Blazek’s gone for good, and most probably his empire with him. The Russians have failed to get Gaines and most of them are dead, anyway. They may come after us, so Gaines and I need to get away.’
‘Can we meet — ’
‘No. I need to get away.’ Your life’s here in Prague, it seemed unnecessary to say. ‘And you need to get some rest.’
‘Jakub, and Kaspar.’ She sounded as if she was talking to herself.
‘I didn’t know Kaspar, but Jakub was a good guy. He saved me. You all did.’
‘Martin — ’
‘Best that we go. Goodbye, Nikola. And good luck.’
*
It hit him an hour and a half later.
They’d gone west, Calvary and Gaines, stumbling through the streets like two refugees from hell. Eventually the city streets gave way to suburbia. They had no money on them and they looked roughed up.
Calvary broke into a family saloon, a Mazda, that was parked outside a moderately prosperous house. He hotwired the ignition and disabled the alarm within seconds, too late to prevent lights from going on in the house. He felt bad about the theft, and made a mental note of the house number and the name of the street, telling himself he’d send some money in compensation whenever he next had the chance. He wondered if he was kidding himself.
Beside him Gaines dozed. They both needed food — he found a child’s chocolate bar in the glove compartment, which made him feel even more guilty, and they shared the meagre mouthfuls — and sleep. Plus medical attention, especially Calvary. The hole in his forehead was throbbing and when he touched the discharge seeping from it, his fingers smelled.
He kept off the motorways, with no real idea where he was going other than that it was in the broad direction of Austria. What he would do once he got there he didn’t know.
The unease tugged at him all the way. Something Llewellyn had said; or rather, something he’d said to Llewellyn.
On a country road winding between dark fields, the odour of manure pungent in the night air, Calvary slammed on the brakes, sending the car slewing sideways. Gaines jerked awake against his seatbelt, mumbling.
Calvary grabbed the phone.
It was answered, but in silence.
He said, ‘Nikola?’
The chuckle, the one he’d thought and hoped he’d never hear again.
‘Martin. I was so hoping you’d call.’
Calvary pressed himself back into the seat, his head pinned against the headrest. His fists gripped the phone and the steering wheel. His stomach roiled emptily. Bile felt as if it were sludging his throat closed.
Llewellyn had the upper hand.
THIRTY-ONE
The sun had risen an hour earlier and hung low and watery in a pale cocoon of cloud. It would have been warmer to sit in the car with the engine running, but Calvary needed to keep moving to loosen up the joints and get the blood through the muscles. He paced slowly and steadily beside the vehicle. Gaines sat in the passenger seat, glancing about.
The field lay on the outskirts of the city, to the north west. A potholed mudstreaked track curved down from the main road to a gate in a low stone wall. Calvary had pulled through the gate and driven some way in and swung round to face the gate, a hundred yards or so from it. Behind, sweeping up to the road, was a grassy bank with a drainage ditch separating it from the field. Off to the left, half a football pitch’s length away, was the edge of a pine forest.
Every time the noise of a car came down from the road he turned to look, but each one swept by without slowing. Calvary wasn’t all that conspicuous, a man standing next to a car in a field, but he assumed it was private property and didn’t know how likely it was that whoever owned it would find him there.
His phone said it was seven fifteen. He’d synchronised it with Llewellyn an hour before.
*
‘A straight swap. You and Gaines for the young lady.’
Gaines frowned and blinked in the seat beside him.
When Calvary didn’t answer Llewellyn said, ‘Oh, come on, Martin. It’s nothing personal. You know that.’
p› ‹p width="2em" align="justify"›‹span›‹font size="+0"›He’d screwed up, in two ways. By asking Llewellyn to run a check on Nikola and the others earlier, he’d allowed the man to find out her address. And by telling Nikola the battle was over, he’d given her the green light to return home. Llewellyn had already guessed what Nikola meant to Calvary.‹
font›
‘How long have you been in Prague?’ His voice grated like an unoiled hinge.
‘Since yesterday morning. As soon as you told me the mobsters had taken Gaines, I decided to come over.’
With how much backup? Calvary had no idea. There’d be SIS agents here in the city. How many were affiliated with the Chapel?
Llewellyn went on: ‘Let me give you the location of the rendezvous. There’s a — ’
‘No. I decide.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you think I’m stupid? If you set it up it’ll be an ambush.’
‘You’re hardly in a position — ’
‘To be dictating terms? Aren’t I? if this exchange doesn’t happen, I have the girl’s fate on my conscience. You on the other hand lose both me and Gaines. I don’t think you’d like that.’
The smile was there again in Llewellyn’s voice. ‘Fair enough. Name your place.’
‘I will once I’v
e decided on it.’
‘Within the hour.’
‘That’s not possible. It’ll take me two hours at least to get back to Prague.’ It was an exaggeration, but it would buy him time. ‘I’ll call you.’
*
It was seven thirty-five when two vehicles turned and began to lumber down the track towards the gate. A Skoda saloon and a minibus.
Calvary tapped on the roof of the car. Gaines clambered out and they watched the vehicles pass through the gate. Calvary gestured at them, indicating that the drivers should move deeper into the field so that they were closer to the gate than he was. The drivers complied; it was insurance and Llewellyn understood it. When the Skoda and the minibus were a hundred yards or so away, Calvary held up a palm and they stopped.
Llewellyn stepped out of the passenger seat of the Skoda. He raised his chin, beamed. The driver emerged as well: nobody Calvary knew, an impassive functionary. Two men appeared from the back of the minibus, helping Nikola step down through the sliding door. Calvary could see she was pale, gaunt, her hair straggling over her face.
Calvary drew the Makarov from the back of his waistband and held it away from him so that it was clearly visible. At the same time, casually, the two men from the minibus stepped forward in front of Llewellyn. They drew handguns of their own, as did the driver.
Llewellyn led Nikwelorwola forward by the arm, not roughly. She was staring across, but Calvary wasn’t sure if she recognised him. Had they drugged her?
Calvary had phoned Llewellyn nearly an hour earlier from the field, giving him the location, referring to a few distinctive features he’d spotted on the way to make it easier to find. He’d ended by saying: ‘The girl gets swapped for Gaines first. I need to know she’s safe, before you take me.’
Calvary raised his hand, waving it until it caught Nikola’s gaze.
‘Nikola. Start walking forward, slowly. Don’t run, but don’t stop, either.’
Slowly, as if stepping on a path of stones across a pond, she began to pick her way forward across the wet grass.
Calvary said, ‘All right, Sir Ivor.’
The older man started moving towards her.
Calvary raised the gun and aimed it at arm’s length at Llewellyn. Gaines’s pace was a fraction quicker than Nikola’s. Calvary muttered to him to slow down a bit.
Nikola seemed to be taking ever smaller steps. Calvary reflected that anyone driving by on the road above who gave them even a cursory glance would see the guns. He didn’t want to panic her so he said, loudly enough to be heard, ‘You’re doing great, Nikola. Just a bit further.’
He kept his eyes on her, but on the borders of his vision he saw Llewellyn standing motionless a little behind the other three men, who held their guns pointing down at their sides. For a few moments the only sounds were the susurration of a light wind in the pine trees off to the left and the faint mulchy noise of Gaines’s and Nikola’s footsteps, and the slow intake and outlet of Calvary’s breathing.
They would pass each other in ten seconds, he estimated.
He watched Gaines angle inwards a fraction so that he passed directly by Nikola as they drew parallel. Beyond, Llewellyn’s men tensed visibly. Calvary couldn’t hear the older man’s murmur, hoped it had come.
Nikola advanced, her eyes fixed on Calvary’s now.
The crack arced across the flat expanse of the field.
Gaines gave an oddly high-pitched cry and was flung off his feet to land in a sprawl with his neck twisted and his face pressed against the grass.
Calvary yelled at Nikola to run but she had stopped and was standing with her hands pressed to the sides of her head. Across the field there was bewilderment and shouting as the men assimilated what had happened and the three with guns turned to look at the forest. Hoarseness rasped in Calvary’s voice, and at last Nikola’s gaze swung from the body on the ground back to Calvary. She took off at a scramble toward him, feet slithering for an instant on the wet grass.
The men across the field were swinging to stare in their direction again when a second crack lashed the air and Nikola went down.
A third, two secondsd, aga later. Calvary bounced off the door of the Mazda, his face hitting the sodden grass.
*
He’d landed on the passenger side of the Mazda, which was angled out of the line of sight of Llewellyn and his men. From beneath the car he watched the turmoil across the field, Llewellyn ducking inside the Skoda alongside his driver while the remaining pair of men crouched facing in the direction of the trees, weapons levelled but not firing — there was nobody they could see to fire at — and backing towards the minibus.
Much nearer, Nikola’s face was turned towards him on the grass. He caught her eye. Gave a nod, which she returned.
She’d caught Gaines’s whispered instruction.
Calvary rose and hauled open the passenger door, which Gaines had left ajar, dropped in. Through the windscreen he saw Nikola scramble to her feet and reach the driver’s side. She was fast now, all fatigue gone, and she fired the engine and brought the Mazda swinging in an arc alongside Gaines, who was still prone, his head raised. Calvary reached behind him and popped the rear door and Gaines slumped inside, almost catching his leg as he slammed the door shut.
Nikola floored the accelerator and J-turned the car, the wheels churning the ground in a fan of mud and grass. They’d spun a hundred and eighty degrees and the Mazda was now facing the grass bank at the back of the field, leading up to the road and separated from it by a wooden fence. She gunned the engine.
Calvary checked his wing mirror, realised the impact of the bluff had worn off. Both vehicles were on the move, the minibus coming after them, the Skoda veering away towards the gate, meaning to head them off up on the road if we managed to get there. Through the front window of the minibus one of the men aimed his pistol.
The first shot smashed off Calvary’s wing mirror. Ahead the drainage ditch was approaching fast, six feet wide. Beyond it was the bank. Calvary leaned back through the window with the Makarov and loosed off two shots. He heard glass shatter. Then the Mazda leaped across the ditch and its nose hit the base of the grass bank, the front bumper crumpling and the jolt flinging them forward in their seats. The front tyres found purchase on the bank and they were scrabbling and clawing their way up the verge, Nikola having geared down to first. Calvary risked a look back out the window. His shots hadn’t done much damage but they’d caused the driver to slow down, and that had been his undoing because he’d reached the ditch at too low a speed. The van had tipped into it and slammed to a stop. One of the gunmen had been thrown out of the open door into the ditch. The front passenger was trying to kick through the shattered windscreen.
The Mazda approached the top of the bank, building up speed as the slope became less steep, and as they crested it Calvary saw the Skoda reach the top of the track off to the left in parallel with them and begin to turn right on to the road. Nikola muttered something in Czech, a prayer perhaps, and the battered front of the car bashed through the wooden fence at the top of the bank, splintering the wet and rotten wood. The Mazda swung right on to the road as the Skoda gunned towards them from their left, a hundred yards away and closing fast. The Mazda’s gea Mablirs and tyres shrieked as they took off down the road through the forest.
Nikola took them through an S-bend with astonishing skill, but Llewellyn’s driver was good, too, and he kept pace. Calvary didn’t look back, kept staring at the forest flashing past until he said, ‘There.’ Between the trees, a slight figure had emerged, one arm encased in white, the other hauling the rifle like a hod of bricks.
Max.
‘Brake,’ said Calvary. Nikola slowed and Calvary pushed open the door and rolled out on the tarmac and was up instantly, waving Nikola on and loping over to Max and grabbing the rifle from his hands. He swung it to bear just as the Skoda rounded the bend.
Calvary took out the front passenger tyre with a single clean shot.
The saloon swerved wi
ldly and veered to its right and smashed into the base of a tree, glass shattering.
Calvary said to Max, ‘Stay back.’ He laid down the rifle and drew the Makarov.
Steam billowed from beneath the sails of the car’s buckled bonnet. Calvary couldn’t see much inside the car as he approached because the airbags had bloomed and were obscuring the interior. He peered in through the driver’s window. The driver had his eyes closed, was murmuring. Calvary found a stick with a sharp point and slit the airbag. It hissed and settled across the man’s lap. Calvary reached in and switched the ignition off.
He walked round the other side and deflated Llewellyn’s airbag. He was conscious, shifting each arm and leg in turn to test them. When he looked up, Calvary couldn’t read his expression.
Calvary raised the Makarov and touched the muzzle lightly, gently, against Llewellyn’s forehead. He looked past it, at Calvary’s eyes.
Enough.
Calvary lifted the gun away from his head and flicked the safety on and walked down the road towards Max. Beyond him Nikola was reversing back up the road towards them. Another car was bound to come past any moment and they needed to be out of there.
Halfway down the road Calvary turned. He didn’t know why.
The smile, the mocking eyes.
Llewellyn raised a hand to his forehead and tipped Calvary a salute.
THIRTY-TWO
Through the window the early afternoon light soaked the trees in shades of green and gold. The engineering of the train was precise so that the quiet rhythm of the carriage’s wheels on the tracks was barely noticeable. The middle-aged woman sitting opposite had glanced briefly at Calvary, at the bandage swaddling his head, but lost interest quickly and was now asleep.
He put his head against the window where it was cool, and closed his eyes.
They had crossed into eastern Germany an hour earlier. There had been no cd, agas coolheckpoint, as there seldom was nowadays on the borders between EU countries. Nonetheless he’d watched for roadblocks on both sides. Given what Prague had been through over the last forty-eight hours he was unsurprised by the number of police vehicles that seemed to have infested the country’s roads.