The Nine Men (A Novella)

by Haydn Jones

  Leonid Kovalsky was a born killer. By the age of thirteen he’d cut the throat of another boy for stealing his mother’s washing basket.

  In Afghanistan he’d survived the bitter winters as a sniper in the mountains of the Hindu Kush. A deadly shot then, and a deadly shot, still.

  With no job prospects on his return to Russian after the Afghanistan War, he turned to a life of crime as a paid assassin. There was no shortage of work in Russia and Kovalsky lived a life of luxury.

  Physically, he would pass for the average man in the street. At just under six feet and weighing twelve stones he was still very fit, for a fifty-five-year-old.

  He’d been driving through Moscow in his 7 Series BMW when the call came in from an old comrade, Commander Tsvetaeva.

  He pulled over and immediately began chatting and scribbling notes into a small book as he listened on his cell phone to the Commander’s request. Clearly there was an urgency in the Commander’s voice. There was also anger, Kovalsky could sense it; even over the phone.

  Why he wanted this man dead didn’t concern Kovalsky, all he was interested in was the details of the person he was to kill. He’d been waiting for the favor to be called in, ever since the Commander had saved his life in Afghanistan.

  Sergey Volodin, he scribbled in his note book and underlined it.

  Why would the Commander want to kill a member of the Duma?

  The flight scheduling officer at Moscow’s International Airport walked back to his desk to hear his desk phone ringing.

  With a mouth full of food, he picked up the handset and mumbled: ‘Flight scheduling, Boris, speaking.’

  ‘Commander Tsvetaeva, FSB,’ he said, coldly

  The officer immediately straightened his back and quickly swallowed his food. ‘…Yes, Commander, what is it I can do for you today?’

  ‘There’s a private jet leaving here in two days time.’

  ‘There’s more than one, sir; one moment and I’ll check the flight schedules… There are eight private flights in all.’

  ‘Is there a flight booked under the name of Sergey Volodin?’

  Boris scanned the list. ‘Yes, sir, there is. There are five passengers booked for a flight to Germany: Mr. Volodin, a Dr. Michael Waterman, a Dr. Victor Canseliet, plus two others, simply listed as Alex and Victoria.’

  ‘That’s fine, thank you for your help,’ Tsvetaeva said, and ended the call. ‘Bang! — You’re dead, Volodin.’ He picked up the phone and called up Leonid Kovalsky again.

  Chapter 46

  It was the morning of the departure from Moscow and Victor had invited everyone to breakfast at his suite. There was fresh and smoked salmon, caviar, a cheese board, cold meats, scrambled eggs, toast, bread, fruit, and of course, three bottles of Veuve Clicquot champagne.

  By 8.30 only Sergey Volodin was missing and everyone else was enjoying the spread.

  Viktoriya was nervous about tasting the champagne but Victor persuaded her to try it. She took a tentative sip and rolled her eyes in delight. Alexi was next to try but his response was less enthusiastic.

  ‘I will stick with the orange juice,’ he said, grimacing. Victor laughed and popped another cork. He checked that everyone had a drink and nodded to Robert.

  Robert tapped the table to gain everyone’s attention. ‘Today, my friends,’ he said, ‘we are celebrating. It is the beginning of a new and exciting life for Alexi and Viktoria. And all because of a book that I wanted so badly. I know I couldn't have done it without you, guys and I will be forever grateful to you… So, please join me and raise your glasses in a toast to the book, Alexi and Viktoriya and their new life in the USA.’

  At that moment Sergey Volodin walked in.

  ‘Sorry I’m late everyone,’ he said, and Victor offered him a glass of champagne.

  Robert raised his glass, ‘To the book and to Alexi and Viktoriya.’

  ‘To the book and to Alexi and Viktoriya,’ everyone replied.

  Robert continued. ‘I’m also delighted to announce that Sergey will be joining us on the flight today. He has also decided to leave Russia, for good.’

  Victor raised his glass, ‘To Sergey,’ he said.

  ‘To Sergey,’ everyone said.

  ‘Thank you one and all,’ he replied, ‘these are exciting times.’

  ‘They are indeed,’ Victor agreed and sipped his drink.

  Robert noticed that Viktoriya had become tearful. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked her.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s actually happening, Robert; it seems just like a dream. We will never be able to thank you for what you’re doing for us.’ Viktoriya wiped a tear from her cheek, took another sip of champagne and giggled. ‘The bubbles go up your nose,’ she said, and everyone laughed.

  Sergey looked at his watch and said, ‘Everyone,… we leave for the airport in one hour. The transport has been arranged so please meet outside the hotel entrance.’

  Robert looked at Sergey and nodded his approval.

  Alexi made an excuse to return to his room and walked out. When he arrived at his suite he sat quietly on the bed, knowing his voice mimicking skills were about to be tested to the full. A few deep breaths and he picked up the phone and dialed a number. Suddenly there was a familiar voice at the other end of the line.

  ‘This is Bishop Remizov speaking.’

  ‘Bishop, this is Commander Tsvetaeva speaking. I’m calling to tell you that Gorinyenko has been found,’ Alexi said, convincingly.

  Remizov froze.

  ‘He has produced some extremely incriminating evidence against you and Bishop Yakunin. I intend to bring both of you in to answer these accusations.’

  Remizov's head lowered as the words sank in.

  ‘Please be ready within one hour, Bishop; we’re coming for you.’ Alexi smiled and replaced the receiver.

  It’s time to try the champagne again, he thought, and made his way back to Victor’s suite.

  The Bishop remained motionless for some time after replacing the receiver. Slumped in his chair he seemed to be focused on some distant object. Finally, he stood up and walked slowly out of his office and into the courtyard. There, he looked up at the bell tower, which housed the Bolshoi Bell and he smiled.

  The steps leading up to the bell tower where familiar to the Bishop; he’d climbed them countless times over the years and each time it seemed to take an age; but not today.

  At the top of the stairs he stopped to catch his breath. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead.

  Facing him was the awesome 13 ton Bolshoi Bell; a survivor of the Stalin regime. He walked towards it and touched the cold, metal casting, caressing its inscribed icons of winged angels, saints and Christ.

  Glancing around the floor he found what he was looking for. He picked up the length of flax bell rope and secured one end of it to the top of the wooden bell frame and with the other end he made a noose. Placing the noose around his neck he tightened the knot and climbed up onto the frame. He tugged at the rope to check it was secure. Then, with his foot, he pushed the heavy bell a number of times until it reluctantly started to toll.

  ‘God, please forgive me, for I have sinned,’ he said, making the sign of the cross. As the bell swung to one side, Bishop Remizov hurled himself into the darkness.

  The Bolshoi Bell continued its slow death toll, as the lifeless body of the Bishop swayed like a pendulum at the end of the rope.

  Chapter 47

  Leonid Kovalsky had been up since dawn preparing for the kill. Like all good professionals he knew the importance of being well prepared.

  He had confirmed the stand number of the private jet at the airport and he’d estimated the distance of the shot to be fifty-one yards, after visiting his chosen location just after sunrise. It was no problem for a sniper of his ability, especially with the weather conditions being favorable.

  His plan was to park up on the perimeter road and shoot through the open window of his BMW as the target approached the steps of the airplane. He was pleas
ed to find plenty of large holes in the perimeter fencing that he could exploit. It was, as jobs go, one of the easier ones. He considered all the angles, if the target exited the limo on the far side or the near side. He would still have time to take the shot.

  In Kovalsky’s mind the person he was about to murder in cold blood was now referred to as “the target.” It was his way of dissociating himself from the reality. It was just a job, nothing more than that.

  Most of Kovalsky’s victims had been Mujahideen fighters in Afghanistan and to see them die in agony gave him immense pleasure. The way they collapsed, blood spurting from their wound; convulsing in agony; before the second bullet blew their brains out. But that was different, that was war. Today was unrelated, this was a job. It was a case of one clean shoot to the head.

  No enjoyment. No sentiment.

  ‘…It’s time to go, guys,’ Rob said, opening the doors of the limo. ‘All the luggage in?’

  ‘All in,’ Sergey confirmed.

  Victor stubbed his cigarette out in the sand tray and clambered into the rear seat followed by Viktoriya and Alexi. Rob and Sergey faced them on the opposite rear seat.

  As the limo pulled away from the hotel, Commander Tsvetaeva started the engine of his Skoda and pulled out behind them.

  The drive to Sheremetyevo International Airport took just over 30 minutes, through unusually heavy traffic, but the for the limo passengers, time seemed to fly by, with talk of things to do and places to see in the USA.

  Rob suggested to Victor that once his project in Moscow was over he might like to visit the States for a holiday.

  Victor seemed quite taken by the idea and agreed that a holiday in the US sounded very attractive. But secretly all he could really think about at the moment was the enigmatic Dr. Zhukov. The woman fascinated him with her beauty and brains. They had so much in common and yet there was so much he didn’t know about her. All he knew was that he felt so alive. But remember Victor, Tu dois idéaliser les femmes et être trop exigeant, he reminded himself.

  Sergey smiled at Rob. ‘So far so good,’ he said. ‘I’ve ordered champagne and caviar for the flight, as I think our celebrations will continue for some time yet.’

  Rob chuckled but inside he was preparing himself for what was to come.

  One mistake; that’s all it would take.

  Chapter 48

  The advantages of flying in a private jet were made obvious when the limo pulled up outside the main arrivals area of Sheremetyevo Airport. There was no queuing, no booking in and no baggage handling to worry about. A female airport representative greeted Sergey and spent a few minutes chatting to him, as if they were old friends.

  The group were then escorted to the tranquility of the VIP lounge, avoiding the noisy throng of queuing travelers struggling to control their noisy, badly behaved children.

  Victor immediately found the smoking area and lit up to calm his nerves. He was not the best of fliers.

  Outside, in the parking lot, the Commander was sitting and staring through the windscreen of his Skoda, deep in thought. He was looking forward to Volodin’s demise and he’d come here to relish the spectacle.

  The way he’d been treated by Volodin, as if he was an imbecile, and for what? For doing his duty for the Motherland and getting the information he needed out of that little, fucking whore, that’s what!

  It was obvious now why Volodin was protecting her. He’s a fucking traitor; and very soon he’ll be a dead one! The thought delighted him.

  They’re all involved in this. It’s a fucking setup. He pondered over the reason why Volodin was protecting the monk and suddenly the answer came to him.

  ‘Oh, how stupid; the book the sewer rat brought to my office — it’s got to be a fake!’ he said.

  He opened his driver’s door and stepped out of the car. ‘Time to break up the little party; the game is over.’ He turned and leaned inside the car to get his walking stick and a bullet shattered his left knee. The Commander slumped onto the ground, writhing in agony. He looked up incredulously at a masked stranger, pointing a hand gun at his head.

  ‘You made a huge mistake, Commander, when you picked on one of my family,’ he said, and pulled the trigger twice; shooting the Commander through both eyes.

  The killer calmly unscrewed the silencer from the end of his gun and walked away, glancing at his watch.

  Alexi was standing at a viewing window looking out in awe at the busy airport, watching the massive metal birds taxi, take off and land with comparative ease.

  It was then that the nerves started to kick in. He had never been on an airplane. He looked around for Viktoriya who was accepting a glass of champagne from Sergey.

  She noticed his worried expression and walked over to him. ‘Alexi, are you feeling nervous?’ she asked.

  Alexi nodded. ‘A bit,’ he said, trying to stay calm.

  ‘I’m beginning to feel a bit nervous too, my love. This is a first for both of us.’ Viktoriya offered Alexi a sip of her champagne. ‘Try some of this, it might help to calm your nerves,’ she said, and he took a grateful sip.

  ‘Viktoriya!’ Robert called out.

  Viktoriya turned and there, standing next to Rob, was a very excited, Olga.

  ‘Someone to see you,’ he called out.

  Both girls ran to each other and burst into floods of tears as they hugged.

  ‘I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,’ Olga managed through some heavy sobbing. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  Tears poured down Viktoriya’s face. ‘I’ll miss you, too, Olga. And I’ll never forget what you did for us,’ she said, as Alexi joined them.

  ‘Take good care of her, Alexi.’ Olga insisted.

  Alexi smiled and hugged Olga. ‘I will,’ he said and put his arm around Viktoriya.

  ‘Have you heard the good news?’ Olga asked.

  ‘No, what news is that?’

  ‘Your friend, Commander Tsvetaeva has been assassinated.’

  Viktoriya’s jaw dropped open. ‘No way! Well, I can’t say I’m sorry after the way he treated you.’

  ‘Well, he won’t be bothering you any more,’ Alexi said. ‘Do you know who did it?’ he asked.

  Olga suddenly looked uncomfortable. ‘No, I have no idea,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘Oh my, is that the time, I must go, things to do you know… Have a safe journey both, and please keep in touch?’

  She kissed and hugged them again before turning and scurrying quickly out of the lounge, blowing her nose into a handkerchief.

  ‘Come and see us in America,’ Viktoriya called out as Olga disappeared through the lounge doors.

  Alexi was intrigued by the news. ‘I wonder who killed the Commander?’

  Viktoriya moved close to Alexi and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Olga’s father is a senior Mafia member and apparently not someone to mess with. I’ve got a pretty good idea who did it,’ she said, nodding knowingly at Alexi.

  ‘Oh,’ was all Alexi could say, stunned by Viktoriya’s revelation. ‘Anyway, the evil bastard got what he deserved in the end,’ he added.

  Robert checked his watch. ‘Are we ready?’ he asked Sergey.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ Sergey responded.

  Leonid Kovalsky was in position with the end of his sniper’s rifle resting on the half open passenger window of his BMW. He could see the approaching limo and he knew the moment was imminent. He took some deep breaths and tried to calm himself. A racing heart was no good to a sniper. He raised the gun and looked through the cross-hairs of the telescopic site to check the focus at the distance of the plane; it was crystal clear.

  The limo came to a stop just in front of the airplane steps. Robert asked Victor, Alexi and Viktoriya to remain in the vehicle for just a few moments while he and Sergey got out.

  Sergey stood next to Rob and nodded. Rob nodded back.

  Opening the rear door, Rob said, ‘Okay guys, let’s get on the plane.’

  First out, was Victor, who looked around with a be
aming expression on his face.

  Then Alexi got out and looked up at the plane, with trepidation.

  Viktoriya looked at Alexi. ‘Oh! my love,’ she said, ‘You’ll be fine, don’t worry,’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Alexi asked, clearly unconvinced.

  Kovalsky watched as his ‘target’ came into view. His finger caressed the trigger as the cross hairs of his telescopic sight stopped on the target’s forehead.

  Without hesitation the sniper squeezed the trigger. He knew immediately that the hit was successful and Alexi dropped to his knees.

  With both hands on the ground, Alexi’s head slowly dipped, like a praying Muslim, until it touched the tarmac.

  When Sergey saw the blood, he smiled and breathed a huge sigh of relief: ‘I’m glad that’s over!… They’ve been chasing him for years, Robert. It’s quite ironic that an assassin should die like that, don’t you think?’

  ‘…“By the sword you did your work, and by the sword you die.”’ Rob concluded, quoting the Greek tragedian, Aeschylus.

  Chapter 49

  ‘Alexi?’ Viktoriya called out.

  ‘…I’m kissing the ground, just like the Pope does,’ Alexi answered, ‘the difference is, I’m kissing it goodbye!’

  ‘Come on then let’s get out of here,’ Rob said, as he herded his passengers onto the plane.

  ‘How you know these things simply amazes me, Robert,’ Sergey said, ‘but I’m very glad you do.’

  Sergey gave a thumbs up to a uniformed officer on the roof of a nearby building, dismantling his sniper rifle. The officer waved back in acknowledgement.

  ‘That was a very close call,’ Rob whispered.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Sergey, as they climbed the steps into the jet. ‘But… he is the best Russia has to offer. I’m just glad he doesn’t know I’m defecting!’

  Some fifty yards away on the other side of the perimeter fence, a group of armed guards surrounded the 7 Series BMW containing the unrecognizable, blood drenched body of Leonid Kovalsky. Shot dead through the windscreen of his car.