No Free Man

by Graham Potts

  “I found the two dead Timorese guys in your freezer, too,” she continued, contemplating the vodka in her glass. “Caught in their own blast, the headlines will say, and I suppose a motel key will be found in a pocket. The cops will find lots of stuff in their room. Passports, plans, travel documents, and evidence that they were pissed off about the murder of Dr Marco Belo.” She looked up. “Pissed off enough to flatten Titan’s oil refinery and headquarters.”

  “You think you’re quite clever, don’t you?”

  “Wait, I haven’t got to the best bit,” she said. “The media attention will trigger an inquiry into the maritime border dispute with East Timor. Titan will be caught up in red tape but they still hold the rights to the oil, so nobody else can drill until they get their due process. Titan will no longer have the money or the means to drill themselves. And that means China can’t depend on Australian supply, so guess who they’ll turn back to.”

  “This is not your business.”

  Elliot placed her pistol on the bar. “I’m making it my business.”

  The Bear shook his head. “You won’t leave here alive.”

  “I get it, you know,” she said. “You guys need to get Australia out of the energy market. But it makes you terrorists, and nations like dropping bombs on terrorists.”

  “They won’t know it was us.”

  “The cops won’t buy it,” she said. “It’s neat but too dramatic. They’ll come for you.”

  The Bear grunted, eyeing the pistol. “You fear a war?”

  “I fear for one of the soldiers.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You’re going to tell me everything.”

  He snorted and burst out laughing. “Everything? Bah.” He dismissed her with a flick of his wrist and neared the bar. “Why should I?”

  He heard a click.

  He looked down at his leading foot.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Elliot said casually. “This isn’t the movies, right? In the real world, landmines go off as soon as you stand on them. There’s no dramatic pause, there’s no chance to jump out of the way.” She held up a finger. “But you’ve been around. You know how easy it is to come up with something new.”

  His eyes followed the path of an electrical cable clearly outlined under the rug.

  “It’s a custom job,” Elliot continued, running her finger along the rim of her glass. “The trigger is from one of your floor-lamps. You know, with those switches you stand on? I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the light doesn’t turn on or off until you actually lift your foot off the switch.”

  The cable ran under an overstuffed armchair that stood beside him, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

  “It’s not a huge explosive charge under the armchair,” Elliot said, picking up the bowl of limes. “I should be fine behind this big bar. You, however, will give the nightclub a new organic paintjob.” She swept her arms across the room, gesturing to the oil paintings on the walls and the pool table. “And that would be a shame.”

  Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  “I can disarm it.” Elliot turned and opened the glass door of the refrigerator. She placed the bowl inside and closed the door. “I just need a reason to.”

  He could feel his shirt clinging to his back and eyed the armchair beside him.

  “Go ahead,” Elliot dared. “You can try to disarm it yourself, but I’ve met blind carpenters with more fingers than you, so you should probably just try to relax instead.”

  He stretched out an arm but the chair was beyond his reach. His hands fell to his sides and he licked his dry lips. “Disarm it,” he said. “Disarm it now.”

  Elliot placed her glass on the bar. “You’ve seen people stand on landmines before,” she said. “The Russian army left them everywhere in your hometown.” She shook her head. “Things like that stay with you. They keep you up at night.”

  “I said disarm it!” the Bear yelled, his voice cracking.

  “You’re thinking about it right now. Maybe you’re seeing someone’s face disappear behind a column of mud.”

  He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

  “Maybe you’re remembering what was left behind after the smoke cleared.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Whose face do you see? Is it a friend? A stranger?” Her face hardened. “A child?”

  “Enough!” the Bear cried out. “Enough,” he whispered.

  “Pistol,” she said. “Two fingers. Slowly.”

  The Bear reached behind him and retrieved a pistol from the small of his back, holding it with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Throw it away.”

  He obeyed, tossing it towards the stage.

  Elliot gulped down her drink and slammed the tumbler down on the counter. “Talk and we both walk away. Don’t talk and you don’t walk, ever again.”

  The Bear wiped the sweat from his face with a clammy hand and contemplated the cable, the armchair, and the switch held down by his shoe. He eyed Elliot steadily. “I don’t trust you.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  His shoulders fell. “You expect me to take the word of a woman who left her lover rotting in a jail cell.”

  “Watch your mouth,” she hissed. “You’re no stranger to betrayal.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You turned on the Chechens to work with the Russians.”

  “How dare you?” the Bear seethed. “You know nothing! I joined Nikolay Korolev because he offers what we always wanted. He is our best chance.”

  “Independence?” Elliot snorted. “Bullshit. This is about money. Nikolay doesn’t have the clout to give Chechnya independence,” she said. “He’d have to be…” Her face fell.

  “Yes, now you see, don’t you?” the Bear said. “Nikolay Korolev is going to be the next president of Russia.” He slapped an open hand with his fist. “Destroying Titan is just one move in his game of chess.”

  “How many more moves are there?”

  “None in this country,” the Bear said, staring steadily at Elliot. “The battlefield is in Russia: Nikolay is playing against the Kremlin.” He wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt. “President Nevzorova tried her best move already, attempting to force the failure of the trade deal and starve Nikolay of funds.”

  “She’s almost succeeded,” Elliot noted, gesturing towards the television.

  “But she doesn’t know that Nikolay armed the militants who are now bombing Moscow.”

  She shifted on her feet. “He’s going to destabilise the Kremlin. He’s going to use the failed oil deal against the president.”

  “Exactly.” The Bear could feel his calves tightening. “He will strike when she is at her weakest and he will have the Kremlin. On that day, we will push Australia out of the market. Beijing will have to do a deal with Russia, and Nikolay will be the president who saves the country.” He massaged his thigh and winced.

  Elliot waggled her finger. “Uh-uh, no cramping up yet,” she said, walking around the bar. “We’re not done.”

  He grunted. “You want to know about Stepan.”

  Elliot nodded and flicked the hair from her eyes.

  The Bear showed his teeth. “I’ll tell you about him for free.”

  “That’s generous of you.”

  “Your old boyfriend is the most important piece on the board. Nikolay needed to create ‘Stepan Volkov’: a monster that everyone would fear. A ‘Wolf ’.” He wiped his sweaty lips with his forearm.

  “He’s been planning this for that long?” Elliot let out a low whistle.

  “This deadline was not just about oil. It’s the opportunity Nikolay has been waiting for. He’s in the perfect position to seize power.”

  “How does Stephen fit in? Is he a part of this coup?”

  “Nikolay has a much bigger role for him,” he said. “Stepan is the future, Miss Elliot, but his past has to go.”

  “Everything?”

/>   “Including you.”

  Elliot took a step back.

  “We’ve wanted you dead for so many years,” he said, his eyes cold. “But Stepan only gave his loyalty to Nikolay in exchange for your safety. He promised he would never set foot in Australia, never talk to you, never see you.”

  Elliot reached up for her forehead. “When?” she said softly. “When did he make the deal?”

  “Soon after he was taken to Russia.”

  “Seven years,” she mumbled.

  “But you couldn’t stay out of it, could you? You couldn’t stay away.”

  Elliot lurched towards the bar, her eyes darting around the windowless room.

  “What do you hope to gain, huh?” the Bear asked. She leaned against the bar, her hands outstretched.

  “You think you can stop this?” He snorted. “It’s only a matter of time before someone finds you and cuts your throat. Stepan won’t be able to save you. Perhaps he won’t even want to.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “They’re coming for you,” the Bear growled. “An army of them. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Her eyes snapped open and she snatched her pistol from the bar. “You’re wrong,” she said.

  “You think you can save yourself?” He laughed, his chuckle scratching his throat. “You think you can save him?”

  “You’re going to tell me where he is, where I can find him,” Elliot said. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

  “Not until you disarm this and get me out of here.”

  “That’s not the deal.”

  “I’m not saying another word.”

  She aimed her pistol. “I’m warning you.”

  “Disarm it.”

  Elliot fired at the Bear’s kneecap, the crack echoing through the basement. He stumbled, clutching his knee, his leg collapsing beneath him.

  The switch clicked and he held his breath. “No!” he cried, squeezing his eyes shut.

  A light blinked on underneath the armchair.

  Elliot peeled back the rug and picked up a glowing light bulb. She stood up, clicked the switch, and the light went out. “Do not underestimate me,” she warned.

  “You really are a stupid girl playing a dangerous game.”

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs to the basement, Russian shouts echoing off the stone walls.

  “Gunshots are loud, Miss Elliot.” The Bear spat on the floor. “And you just woke the sleeping animals.”

  Elliot sprinted across the rug and vaulted the bar, sliding over the countertop as three boyeviks opened fire with assault rifles. She crashed on to the floor, the air whooshing out of her lungs as she collided with a dishwasher. The bullets smashed the bottles on the shelves, showering her in glass as she covered her head with her arms.

  The guns fell silent.

  A grenade clattered over the bar, bouncing on the tiled floor. Elliot quickly scooped it up and dumped it in the dishwasher, slamming the door shut and slithering to the end of the bar. The grenade went off with a thump, the door of the dishwasher cartwheeling into the bar and black foam spilling across the tiles. Smoke curled up to the ceiling and set off the fire alarms, the loud bell pealing throughout the building.

  Elliot adjusted her grip on her pistol and peered around the corner of the bar. The boyeviks opened fire again. The rounds pounded into the counter, splintering wood and shattering tiles. Ducking behind cover, her hand swept across the floor and found the knife she’d used to slice limes.

  The firing stopped and she heard thudding footsteps. Elliot picked up the knife and crouched. A boyevik rounded the end of the bar and she quickly stabbed him in the foot. He doubled over, his mouth opening wide as he screamed. Elliot shoved her pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  She turned around and fired three shots at another boyevik at the other end of the bar. He staggered backwards, falling to the ground. Boots shuffled behind her and she stood up, pivoting on the ball of her foot and lashing out with her leg, kicking the third boyevik’s weapon from his hand.

  He fell back and drew a knife, slashing the back of her hand, and her gun fell to the floor. The boyevik’s knife whipped through the air again and Elliot ducked. She flung open the refrigerator door, smacking him in the face. The boyevik lurched backwards for a moment but then jumped forward, stabbing wildly. Elliot opened the refrigerator door again and the knife glanced off the glass, then she seized the boyevik’s wrist, locking it behind his back, and drove his knife into his kidney.

  He cried out, throwing her on top of the counter. Elliot’s hand found a vodka bottle and she smashed it across his face before rolling off the bar and springing to her feet.

  The boyevik shook it off and pulled the knife from his back. He jumped the counter and adjusted the grip on his knife, baring his bloodied teeth and wiping his nose with his forearm.

  Elliot walked backwards into the pool table and saw that the Bear wasn’t where she’d left him. The boyevik lunged forward and she looked up, stepping sideways. She whipped a pool cue through the air, slapping the knife from his grasp, and then kicked him in the crotch.

  The boyevik howled, his legs trembling, the knife landing on the edge of the table and out of his reach. Elliot snapped the cue into two jagged pieces, dodging the boyevik’s fist as he attacked again. She drove one half of the cue under his chin and crouched, using the other half of the cue to snatch his leg. He fell forward towards the floor and Elliot stomped on the back of his neck, the cue bursting through the top of his head.

  She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and slipped the remains of the pool cue under the blade of the knife. She whacked the pool cue with her palm and the blade whirled upwards in an arc. The Bear threw himself on top of a dead boyevik, picking up a dropped assault rifle and rolling on to his back. He chambered a round as Elliot snatched the knife from the air and threw it. The knife struck the Bear in the chest. He grunted, dropping the rifle.

  Elliot crossed the floor, wiping a bloodied hand across her face. She wrenched the knife from the Bear’s chest and knelt beside him, holding the blade to his throat. “Tell me where to find him,” she hissed. “A hotel? A house? A fucking cave?” She slapped his face. “Tell me!”

  The Bear grinned, red foam bubbling from his lips. “Capture—” he wheezed, eyes closing, “—Protocol.”

  Sirens started wailing weakly over the clanging fire alarm.

  Elliot held her breath, yanking the Bear’s shirt from his belt. There were no bandages on his abdomen. Her eyes darted around the room. “Where is it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  A mobile phone was lying on the carpet next to his hip pocket. She picked it up and saw a timer ticking down on the glowing screen.

  One minute and fifty-eight seconds.

  The sirens were deafening. Tyres screeched and doors slammed. Male voices shouted over each other.

  Elliot crawled behind the bar, collecting her pistol and shoving it into the back of her jeans. She grabbed a tea towel and a bottle of spirits, soaking the towel with alcohol and cramming it into the neck of the bottle.

  Boots pounded on the pavement outside and the restaurant’s front entrance crashed open. “Police! Police!” someone shouted.

  Elliot grabbed the light bulb and smashed it against the counter. She held the light bulb to the rag and pressed the lamp switch, the filament flaring brightly before blowing out, the towel catching alight.

  “Clear! Clear!” the police bellowed, their clomping boots nearing the staircase.

  Elliot heaved the bottle at the ceiling near the stairs. The glass burst on the rafter. A pool of fire splashed on the carpeted floor, the flames spreading quickly.

  A team of police stampeded down the stairs, their weapons raised. They stopped when they reached the roaring flames. “Go back!” she yelled. “Get out of here!” The police fired and Elliot threw herself behind the bar, diving through the doorway to the emergency exit, the bullets whistling over her head. She gritted
her teeth and lurched towards the exit.

  The street is full of people.

  She bounded up the stairs, emerging onto the street and squinting into the sunlight.

  There were no people in the street.

  A police cruiser was parked on the cobblestone street, lights flashing and all four of its doors open. A constable was propped against the car, his back to her, his elbow resting on the roof, his eyes scanning the street as the last shoppers fled the square.

  Elliot glanced towards the main road and saw barriers, marked vans, and constables wearing blue fatigues and body armour. She snatched the gun from her jeans and pistol-whipped the constable across the back of the head. He collapsed and Elliot pushed him into the back seat of the car, folding his legs behind him. She shut the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the gearstick into reverse.

  The tyres screeched and the engine whined as Elliot steered the car towards a narrow alley, ducking her head beneath the dashboard. Assault rifles chattered, the bullets smashing through the windshield and thudding into the bonnet.

  There was a thunderous boom and the ground rumbled beneath her. The car lurched over on two wheels, leaping over the gutter and crashing through the window of a bookshop.

  The glass façade of the restaurant shattered and the brickwork cracked, the building shuddering briefly before it started to collapse. A blanket of stone fell over the street, drowning the road in a thick cloud of grey powder.

  Elliot sat up and noticed that the gunfire had stopped. She climbed out of the upturned car and felt a dull pain in her arm. A bullet had grazed her tricep. Her skin was covered in blood and it glistened in the sunshine.

  You think you can save yourself, the Bear had said.

  You think you can save him?

  She dragged the constable from the wreckage and laid him down on the floor, checking his pulse while holding her cheek near his mouth to check his breathing. “Sorry,” she said, “but better a sore head than dead.” She stared at the dust and smoke swirling across the square. “A lot of flags are going to be draped over a lot of coffins in the next few days,” she said to the unconscious constable. “And I’m tired of it.”

  I’m coming for you, Nikolay.