by Graham Potts
“They’re too afraid to fight me.”
Murphy chuckled humourlessly. “You think they’re that scared of you?”
“No, they’re that scared of you, and that’s why you will stand in my place after I move into the Kremlin.”
Murphy held his breath. The whole world seemed to grow around him, as if he were shrinking.
Korolev smiled broadly. “Take a good look at me, Stepan. I’m your future.” He crouched down in front of Murphy. “From the moment I saw you in that cell, I knew it would be you.”
“What are you talking about?” Murphy stammered.
“I built your myth, gave you the space to grow, and look what you’ve become. Seven years and the whole world trembles when they hear your name. You’re my protégé, my successor, my apprentice.”
“No,” Murphy said weakly.
Korolev laughed. “I was worried about sending men for Simone, but it worked out perfectly. For seven years, I used her to keep you here, gambling on your guarantee. Now, you’ve learned the most important lesson of all.” He jabbed Murphy in the chest. “You don’t need her. You achieved all of this without her.”
“It’s not what I want.” Murphy felt his blood pounding through his body.
“Yes, it is.” Korolev’s pupils were wide, his lips flecked with spit. “Deep down, you know how good it will feel to take everything she cares about and burn it all right before her eyes. Then, from the ashes, you build it into something that she could only dream about but can never have because you are in control, you decide, you have the power.” He jabbed Murphy in the chest again. “They want us to be pitiful wrecks, to long for them, but that’s not what a man does. A man rules, a man is king.” Korolev stood tall, his back straight. “And they will beg for a second chance.”
“I’m not you,” Murphy said through clenched teeth.
“You feel it burning inside you, don’t you?” Korolev said. “You hate her. You know that you are stronger without her, a better man. You know that she should kiss the ground you walk on just for knowing her name.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Then leave, go to her. What has that world ever given you? Your family neglected you. Your army threw you in jail. Your lover hates you and blames you for something that wasn’t your fault. Now, they all fear you.”
Murphy felt like a heavy weight was pushing down on his chest.
“They took everything from you, and you’ve only just realised that nothing they took actually matters.” Korolev stabbed the air with his finger. “Everything you have here, now, is yours, you’ve earned it, and no one can take it from you.”
Murphy ran his hand down his face and peered through the window.
“You were made for this, Stepan,” Korolev said. “Fight this war. Take my crown and rule this place.”
Murphy glared at Nikolay Korolev, his nostrils flaring.
“You should take some time to think,” Korolev said, checking his watch. “I have business to attend to, but I’m leaving two sentries on your door and some men on the street.”
“You’ll need more than that.”
Korolev snorted. “Their task is to stop unwanted visitors,” he said. “I know you won’t run.”
“You’re sure?”
“You have nowhere left to go.”
Murphy closed his eyes.
“Behave yourself,” Korolev said, “get some rest, and I’ll send for you when I need you.” He marched to the door.
“What if she had said yes?” Murphy asked quietly.
Korolev smiled, his hand on the doorknob. “She was never going to say yes, Stepan.”
“Satisfied?” Grigoriy looked up. “Can we go now?”
“I told you, I’m not leaving him.” Anna closed the door behind her.
“He’s already abandoned us,” he pointed out. “It’s time to go, Anna.”
She ran both hands through her hair and folded her arms across her chest.
He sighed. “Fine. What happened?”
“They let me have five minutes.”
“And?” He placed his pistol on the coffee table.
“And he was just sitting there, eating peanuts out of a jar from the minibar and smoking cigarettes.”
“Was he dipping the peanuts in mayonnaise?” Grigoriy screwed up his nose. “He does that sometimes.”
“Grigoriy!” Anna yelled in frustration.
“Right, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, collapsing on the sofa.
“He was watching the news,” Anna said. “He hardly said a word, and then he just fell asleep.”
Grigoriy stared down at his hands. “Did he tell you what Nikolay said?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Like I said, he barely spoke. I think you were right. It’s like he’s given up.”
“It’s worse than that.”
“It’s Simone,” she cried. “It’s because of her.” She wrung her hands.
“I told you, without her, he’ll become what Korolev needs to win his war, and I don’t want to be around when the first shot is fired.”
“Shut up, Grigoriy,” she yelled. He frowned.
“Can’t you see? They’re scared,” she said, waving vigorously towards Murphy’s room. “They’re afraid of Nikolay, and that’s why they stand guard, but they’re also afraid of Stepan, and that’s why they stay outside.”
“They’re standing in the hall?”
“And they’re calling him ‘sir’,” Anna panted. “They don’t even call Nikolay ‘sir’.”
“Anna, calm down,” Grigoriy pleaded, holding his hands in the air.
“He could fight this, if he wanted to. Why doesn’t he want to fight? So many people are dying and he can stop it.” She paced in front of the sofa. “I’m scared, Grigoriy,” she said, wrapping her arms around her body. She sat down beside him and nestled her head underneath his arm. “Why can’t he see it? Why doesn’t he fight?”
Grigoriy held her awkwardly and cleared his throat.
“Why couldn’t she love him?” she asked, placing her hand on his chest. “Why did she have to leave him with nothing?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know anything about these things.”
“She only needs to know one thing,” she whispered. “Being in love shows a man how he ought to be.”
“What does being hated show him?” Grigoriy asked.
Anna squeezed her eyes shut. “Promise me you’ll stay with me today, Grigoriy.”
“I promise.” He said it without thinking. “But we have to leave. We have to get far away from here.”
“Wait until tonight,” she pleaded. “Just give him a chance. Maybe he’ll change his mind. Maybe he’ll find a reason.”
Grigoriy took a deep breath.
Oh, God. Please give me the courage to keep her safe.
MOSCOW, RUSSIA SATURDAY 17 SEPTEMBER 10:31 PM MSK
Grigoriy rested his lips against the top of Anna’s head and sighed. Her arms were folded against her stomach, her fingers curled against her face, and her hair tickled his nose and tumbled down his chest. He’d started to stroke her back but he didn’t know why. She could sleep peacefully without him.
I’m not strong enough for you.
Murphy had abandoned them and now Grigoriy had to keep her safe, but he wasn’t a warrior or guardian: he was an IT graduate.
I wish I could be more like Volkov.
Anna was almost right. Murphy wasn’t a machine but he wasn’t quite a man either. Grigoriy had been trying to decide if Murphy were human at all.
Of course he is, because a man is the worst of all monsters. That’s what people say, isn’t it?
Volkov was a wild animal, killing out of necessity, amorally, sweeping aside all compassion and sentiment, the burdens of civilisation. The man, Murphy, however, still shared the same body, weighed down by chains and fast asleep. Nikolay Korolev had prodded and poked before stirring a pot of emotions and memories right under Murphy’s nose. Murphy was waking, his nostril
s flaring, straining against his shackles.
But Murphy is tired.
Grigoriy brushed the hair from Anna’s eyes and felt his heart sink. He knew he needed to be like Volkov to keep Anna safe, but to be loved he had to be a man. He had to be like Murphy.
Could I be both?
He remembered Anna comparing Murphy to a painting: alive but dead, material but forever. He’d immediately thought of the wolf, a murderous shadow that stalks the living, teetering on the edge of darkness and light.
Is it possible to balance on that edge?
Grigoriy knew the Chechens had named Stepan Volkov and it was easy to see why. The wolf was a legendary animal to those men. It was not afraid to fight, even when outnumbered and overwhelmed. The wolf knew it was smarter, faster, stronger, and it had courage.
God, it was brave.
And if the wolf were beaten, its chest heaving, fur matted with sweat and torn with wounds, it would lie down and face its opponent, its eyes still shimmering, ready to die. That’s what the wolf would do, but not what a man would do. A man was never ready to die.
Murphy can’t be ready to die.
Grigoriy’s phone started to vibrate, shuddering across the coffee table. He gently pried Anna’s arms loose and lowered her to the sofa.
“Da?” he said curtly, answering his phone. His eyes narrowed and then widened. “Did Nikolay tell you not to call me?” He paused, smiling thinly. “No, of course I won’t tell him. I’m happy to help. I’ll even let you take the credit for the idea.” He stood up. “Yes, Yuri. Use the meat locker, just like the American. I’ll come along to help. I’ll be there in…” He glanced at his watch. “Just wait for me, okay?”
Grigoriy slid his phone into his pocket and grabbed the pistol from the coffee table.
It’s not over yet, not until I say so.
“Wait, Grigoriy,” the boyevik at Murphy’s door said. “You can’t see him.”
There were two of them, heavy men with big biceps, buzz cuts and bulging stomachs. The spokesman wore a combat vest over a tight t-shirt and grenades slung from his chest pockets. His fingerless gloves hovered over a pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans. The other man wore a long coat that remained unbuttoned and his jewelled hands hung loosely by his sides.
“It’s important,” Grigoriy said. His heart was beating furiously and his shirt was clinging to his back.
“I’m sorry, Grigoriy,” the boyevik said. “We have our orders.”
Grigoriy ran his hand through his hair before letting it fall behind him. He snatched the pistol from the small of his back and fired once. The boyevik flopped to the ground while his friend drew his weapon. Grigoriy ducked, shifted his aim, and fired again. The second man fell before he could shoot back.
Grigoriy gasped for breath and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He pushed through Murphy’s door. All of the lights were off, the room was dark, and he couldn’t see Murphy anywhere. “It’s me,” Grigoriy rasped.
“Jesus, Grigoriy,” Murphy said, emerging from the shadows. “How much caffeine have you had?”
Grigoriy marched up to his boss and punched him in the jaw.
Murphy stepped back, stunned, and reached for his chin.
“Damn it, Stepan, even I could do it. Why couldn’t you?”
“What’s the point?” Murphy said wearily. “Where are you going to go now, Grigoriy?” He nodded towards the balcony. “There are more of them out there.”
Grigoriy took another swing. Murphy blocked and Grigoriy countered by shoving the pistol into the Wolf ’s chest. “Stop being a fucking coward,” he hissed.
“Put it down, Grigoriy,” Murphy said softly.
“Do you know what Anna told me?” Grigoriy’s voice was quaking. “She told me that being in love shows a man how he ought to be.” He lowered the pistol. “I get that now, because when you feel that, everything becomes clearer, and you know what the right thing to do is.”
Murphy threw his hands in the air. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s not meant to be simple. It’s hard and it’s hard for a reason.”
Murphy glanced at his assistant and put his hands on his hips.
“Look, Stepan, she might reject you again if you run away from this life, but I guarantee she will reject you if you stay.”
“Damn it, Grigoriy.” Murphy folded his arms. “She nearly cut my throat.”
“Why? Because of her brother? Did you tell her why you were there? Or did she think you were there for another reason?”
Murphy’s mouth fell open and he closed it again slowly, his forehead wrinkling.
“You can never give up,” Grigoriy said. “Not when you’re fighting for something this important.”
Murphy ran his hands through his hair and stared at the floor.
“So what’s stopping you?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid,” he whispered. Grigoriy nodded. “It’s not the fighting that gets you, is it?” He stepped nearer. “It’s the fighting alone.” He waved a mobile phone in the air. “But you don’t have to.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s coming for you.”
Murphy rubbed his forehead.
“Yuri called,” Grigoriy said, pointing at the phone. “Nikolay told him not to, but he didn’t know who else could help him. Yuri was personally assigned the job and doesn’t want to mess it up so he called someone he could trust.”
“Job? What job?”
“Simone’s about to land in Moscow and he wanted to know if he should use the meat locker.”
“What?” Murphy growled.
“She came for you,” Grigoriy said again. “Now can you see?”
Murphy started to smile but it faded quickly. He peered past Grigoriy and studied the two dead boyeviks in his doorway. He looked back at the dining room table and saw three empty jars of peanuts. “Grigoriy, does your watch glow in the dark?”
Grigoriy took a step back. “Uh, yes. Why?”
ON APPROACH INTO MOSCOW, RUSSIA SATURDAY 17 SEPTEMBER 10:50 PM MSK
Elliot was standing on a dining room chair in Darren Harper’s apartment when she heard the front door open. She looked down at her bare feet before closing her eyes. Murphy’s combat boots clomped into the dining room. She looked up.
“Hi.” She waved.
“Hi.” He took off his beret and tossed it on the table. “Is Darren home?”
“He’ll be a few hours.” She folded her arms across her chest.
Murphy cleared his throat. “Are you feeling insecure about your height today?”
“What?” She looked down again. “Oh, the chair.” She frowned and curled her toes. “Do you promise not to laugh?”
“I’d hate to lie to you.” Elliot took a deep breath. “There’s a spider in the bathroom.”
“You’re in the dining room.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his fatigues. “And you’re standing on a chair.”
“The spider is pretty big,” she said. “Now that you’re here, you can kill it.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. “Spiders freak me out.”
“They freak me out, too. Did you know some have enough venom to kill a cow four times over?”
“Are you going to get it or not? You’re the man.”
“Don’t be sexist,” he scolded.
“C’mon, knight in shining armour,” she said. “Don’t you guys love swinging to the rescue on a vine?”
“Knights don’t swing on vines.”
“I don’t care if they brandish balloons and ride in on pandas. I want that spider dead.”
He groaned. “Okay, but you can’t leave me to fight alone.”
She raised her hands. “That’s not the deal.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“You’re going first, though, right?”
He found a newspaper and rolled it up. Then he reached out for her arm and towed her along behind him. She laughed, trying to drag her feet, but he was to
o strong. They reached the bathroom and she took shelter behind him when she saw the spider. It was crouched in the middle of the floor, staring at them. She spurred Murphy on, poking him in the ribs. He turned and smiled at her, raising his weapon above his head.
There was a loud slap and Elliot woke up. The woman sitting next to her had accidentally unfastened her tray table and it had fallen down on to her thighs. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she cooed in French.
“It’s okay.” Elliot couldn’t believe she had fallen asleep. She hated falling asleep on planes. Sleep was a state of vulnerability and strangers could gawk at you while you mumbled your way through an imagined orgasm or drooled on your shirt. She stretched and watched the woman reset her tray table. Meanwhile, the captain announced their descent into Moscow. Elliot’s heart sank with the plane and she grasped her armrests, staring through the window at the blinking lights on the wing.
Maybe I’ll be dead before I have a chance to leave the airport.
A part of her wanted to die, the part of her that she’d buried deep inside since her brother had been killed. As soon as his coffin had returned, Elliot had set to work building up the lies, rationalisations, and self-deceptions needed to cope. In her mind, she saw it as a castle. It looked impressive, with its towering battlements and wide moat, and it seemed so permanent. But then the ocean would creep towards her castle and sweep it all away, and she would realise that her fortress had been built with sand.
A psychologist had once accused her of indulging in “dissociation”. Elliot created identities to complete her cons, building whole histories and eccentricities that defined her adopted persona, pushing her true self aside. She always came back though, and everything was waiting for her when she returned, which just prompted her to find another con and another identity. It had gotten worse, lately. She had run away when Darren Harper died. Then again with Angela James, and Elliot had started wondering if she could ever be herself again.
She’d felt safe as Leanne Waters until she’d met Murphy again. He was like a one-man ocean, sweeping away her carefully crafted castles. Sometimes, it was as if he had the power to steal away all the sand on the beach, leaving her unable to hide at all. So this was her, diving into the ocean instead of waiting for it to come; knowing that she had no control over the tides and the waves, knowing that she could be dragged under.