by Graham Potts
I can’t leave him to fight alone.
The voice inside her was weak but it was enough. She reached into her pocket and salvaged her caduceus necklace. She wanted to leave the airport alive.
The aircraft thudded to earth and Elliot jumped, her chest heaving. The cabin lurched, the tyres squealed, and the engines roared to slow the plane down. She draped the chain around her neck, tucking the medallion inside her shirt, and collected her carry-on bag, joining the queue to leave the aeroplane.
The airport was bare and tired, the brightly lit bookshops and wood-panelled cafés shuttered and closed. The walls were cracked and the windows frosted over with oil and dust. Elliot staggered into the arrivals lounge and fought her way through the groaning crowd. Her skin crawled, as if someone was watching her, but a quick survey of the airport revealed nothing. Still, the feeling was there. She could hear the people grumbling around her, speaking a language that she hadn’t used in a long time.
Elliot felt a sharp pain in her thigh, her vision blurring as she turned around. All she saw was a man’s shadow in front of her as she flopped into somebody’s arms.
MOSCOW, RUSSIA SATURDAY 17 SEPTEMBER 10:58 PM MSK
The concierge’s head snapped back and he crumpled to the floor. Murphy turned off the lights in the lobby and holstered his pistol. He placed three jars on the concierge’s desk and jogged to the glass doors, peering into the darkness.
A van was parked in front of the hotel and four boyeviks were leaning against it, smoking cigarettes and talking loudly. Murphy knew there would be more men in the back of the van, playing cards and drinking. They would be tired after a long day.
He returned to the desk and removed a grenade from his pocket. He pulled the pin on the grenade and eased it into one of the empty jars, letting the lever push against the glass. The jar held the pressure and he tossed the pin to the ground. He repeated the process two more times.
Murphy studied the entrance and saw two arcs traced out on the tiled floor where the doors had opened and closed repeatedly. He placed a jar in the middle of each arc and placed the third jar on the concierge’s desk, perching Grigoriy’s glowing watch on top. Finally, he returned to the entrance, his face close to the glass.
One of the boyeviks looked up and smacked the shoulder of his friend with the back of his hand. They froze and Murphy faded back into the darkness, listening to their shouts. A boyevik slapped the side of the van and the back doors were thrown open, five men filing out. They moved quickly, tossing away their cigarettes and grabbing their weapons.
Murphy walked to the back of the lobby and turned into the hallway, taking cover. The glass entrance shattered and bullets raked through the lobby, smashing paintings and chipping plaster.
The firing paused and Murphy heard shouting as boots crunched on broken glass. He stood up straight, took a deep breath, aimed at Grigoriy’s glowing watch, and fired.
The jar shattered and the lever leapt into the air before clattering to the floor. The grenade twirled on the concierge’s desk. The doors flew open, and Murphy heard the other jars shatter as the men swept through the lobby. A boyevik paused at the counter and his jaw fell open.
The blast smashed windows and set off car alarms, the mouth of the hotel belching dust and debris. The roar reverberated down the darkened street and a dog started to bark as metal clanged on the pavement.
Murphy stepped through the lobby with his pistol drawn. A man grabbed his leg, holding on desperately. Murphy looked down.
“Volkov, please,” the boyevik begged.
Murphy shook him off and held his foot on the man’s throat, aiming at his head. “That’s not my name.”
Murphy fired.
“So, where do we go?” Anna asked, rubbing her eyes.
“A place that doesn’t exist anymore,” Grigoriy replied. He picked up Anna’s gym bag and reached for her hand, leading her into the hall. A bald man in striped pyjamas was standing in the hallway, shouting at a member of the hotel staff. A woman wearing a nightgown and a mud-mask stood behind the bald man, her arms crossed. An entourage of bleary-eyed guests were standing against the wall, and the uniformed man was trying to calm them down. Two security guards entered the hall, hitching their trousers.
Anna and Grigoriy elbowed through the scrum unnoticed. They rode the freight elevator to the ground floor and she watched Grigoriy disarm the alarm in the loading dock. He led her outside and through a maze of alleys until they reached a row of garage doors.
Grigoriy unlocked one of the doors and then turned to her. “I need to know that you trust me.”
She blinked. “Of course I trust you, Grigoriy. I wouldn’t be standing here in the freezing cold if I had any doubt.”
“Good. Some people don’t like my method of emergency transportation.” He lifted the garage door, cringing when it shrieked in protest. He paused and glanced around. Car alarms were still wailing from the blast at the hotel and a dog started to howl but there were no other sounds.
“Hang on, Grigoriy,” she said, catching a glimpse of his vehicle. “You never mentioned this.”
“I need to get you safe,” he said tenderly. “Let me do that.”
Anna reluctantly agreed and Grigoriy reefed the tarpaulin off the motorcycle. He tossed her a helmet and helped her put the gym bag on her back before mounting the bike and starting it up. He eased it out of the garage before screeching along the alley and launching into the street. The motorcycle bawled along the dark roads as Grigoriy sped through intersections and leaned into corners, opening up the throttle on the straights, the glowing needles flickering on the bike’s dials.
I have to be that man.
Elliot woke up in what she thought was a musty dungeon. Eventually, her eyes adjusted to the light of the dim bulb dangling from the ceiling. Meat hooks hung from rails and there was a damp stench of rotting flesh. She staggered to her feet and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.
The door clanged and a large man with no neck stepped into the room. The most colourful thing about him appeared to be his tattoos. A small man with jewelled teeth followed after him, pushing a trolley laden with tools.
“Watch her, Vlad,” the little man said. He spoke in Russian, thinking Elliot couldn’t understand him.
“Yes, Yuri.” Vlad, the big one, approached her and she shrank against the wall.
Yuri picked up his drill and loosened the chuck, fitting a spade bit. He pulled the trigger to test the battery’s charge, and the drill whirred in his hands.
“I thought we were waiting for Grigoriy,” Vlad said.
“We have our orders,” Yuri said, placing the drill on the trolley.
“Remember what happened with the American?”
“She’s not American,” Yuri hissed. “She can’t give us information.”
“How do you know?” Vlad asked.
Yuri glared at Vlad.
“You could ask her,” Vlad suggested with a shrug.
Yuri narrowed his eyes. “Just make sure you keep her focused.”
He turned to Elliot. “Welcome to Moscow, Miss Elliot,” Yuri said in English.
“It’s good to be here,” she said sarcastically.
Vlad backhanded Elliot across the face. She fell to the floor, her head reeling.
“I have not told you to speak yet,” Yuri said.
Elliot placed her hands on the floor and tried to get up. “Nobody ever does.”
Vlad kicked at her ribs. Elliot saw it coming and rolled with the blow but there was too much force to absorb. The air rushed out of her lungs and her chest heaved, fighting to breathe again.
Yuri crouched in front of her. “I’ll talk and you’ll listen.” He stood and returned to his trolley. “Our organisation likes information. We thrive on it. What remains of your life will be much less painful if you can offer us something that we would consider valuable.”
“What do you want to know?” Elliot rasped.
Yuri ran a finger along the handle of a cl
aw hammer. “Everything.”
“I have a better idea,” Elliot said. She sat up against the wall and waved Vlad down. He took half a step back.
“You’re not in a position to bargain, Miss Elliot,” Yuri pointed out.
“Oh, I’m done bargaining.” Elliot rolled over and kicked Vlad’s kneecap with the heel of her boot. The bone crumbled and his leg collapsed. He cried out and crashed to the floor. Elliot jumped to her feet and vaulted over Vlad’s back as Yuri pulled a pistol. She kicked the pistol out of Yuri’s hand and punched him in the throat. He staggered back, struggling to breathe. She yanked a meat hook off a rail and drove the hook into Yuri’s stomach. He screamed, his abdomen torn open.
Elliot let him flop to the ground and bent over to retrieve the pistol. Her feet were pulled out from under her and she threw out her hands, grabbing the trolley of tools as she was dragged to the floor. The tools crashed to the ground and she rolled over. Vlad let go of her foot and crawled towards her holding a knife in the air.
He brought the knife down.
Elliot rolled, the blade striking the floor, and she kicked Vlad in the face. Spitting blood, his hand climbed up her leg, and Elliot tried to reach for the pistol, her finger touching the butt.
The blade whooshed and Elliot parted her legs, the knife stabbing into the floor between her knees. Her hand out, she found a wooden handle and looked up. A claw hammer. Vlad grasped at her leg, pulling her towards him.
He raised his knife. She grabbed the hammer.
Elliot sat up and drove the claw of the hammer into the top of his skull. He collapsed on the floor like a ragdoll and Elliot slithered away. She struggled to her feet and used the wall to stand up straight, her head dizzy.
She retrieved Yuri’s pistol, smacked herself in the cheek, and stepped through the door. Outside was a busy loading dock and about thirty faces looked up at her. Guns emerged from various hiding places and she dropped the pistol.
“Ne strelyai!” she heard a familiar voice shout. They all obeyed and put their weapons down. Stephen Murphy emerged from the crowd and marched towards the freezer, stopping in front of her. “Still underestimated, aren’t you, Slim?”
She swayed on her feet and pointed at him. “Your organisation is terrible at welcoming visitors.”
Murphy caught her as she collapsed. “I’ll be sure to bring that up at our next AGM.”
MOSCOW, RUSSIA SATURDAY 17 SEPTEMBER 11:32 PM MSK
Anna couldn’t see at all. “What is this place?” she asked in wonder, running her hands along the stone wall to keep her balance. Grigoriy reached for her hand and she gratefully laid her fingers on his palm.
“This is where I live,” Grigoriy said. “And work.”
He had ridden the motorcycle through the outskirts of Moscow to the end of a disused road that carved its way through thick woods. The road looked like it had been built in the 1960s and not used since. Trees and bushes had overgrown the asphalt, cracking the road’s edges and littering it with debris. Grigoriy rode slowly and carefully until he reached a sign commanding trespassers to turn around or face execution. They kept on for another kilometre, eventually reaching an overgrown railway line that disappeared into a tunnel.
“How do you know about this?” Anna asked.
“Stepan recruited me because I can find out people’s secrets,” Grigoriy explained. “This is Moscow’s secret.” He turned and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Bear with me.”
She heard a click and a buzz and squinted as fluorescent lights blinked to life.
They were standing in a large man-made shelter that had been carved into the rock. She looked behind her and saw the long narrow tunnel stretch into darkness. Grigoriy closed a set of blackout curtains, masking them from the outside world.
One wall was cluttered with bookshelves holding volumes of computer manuals, textbooks, and comic books. In the corner were three computer monitors on a large desk. Bunches of wires and cables had been neatly bound together and snaked along the floor to a power outlet. There was a small kitchenette, a sofa, a dining table, and a thick rug on the floor. Another room branched off, a bedroom with a small bathroom nestled in the corner. There was heating, running water, and even a refrigerator.
“This is an underground nuclear shelter,” Anna said.
“That’s right,” Grigoriy said. “There are about thirty kilometres of tunnel under Moscow that were excavated by political prisoners. Shelters like this were designed and built after America dropped the bomb in World War II. The tunnels were supposed to allow the Politburo to escape the Kremlin in the event of nuclear or chemical warfare.” He rifled through one of the bookshelves and pulled out a copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy. A frayed piece of folded paper was hidden between the pages. It was a map and Anna helped him unfold it and smooth it out on the table.
“See here,” he said, pointing at the faded map. “The main tunnel has a train line that leads to Vnukovo Airport. The most important people in Moscow could be transported by subway to the airport and evacuated. Meanwhile other people, maybe thousands of them, could live through a nuclear attack in shelters all over the city. Or at least the rich people could.” He tapped his finger on a mark on the map. “We’re here. The shelter is joined to the railway line by the tunnel. We came in by following the railway line.”
“Are all the shelters like this one?”
“This is one of the smaller ones. It could support two families,” he said. “They’re largely forgotten now. The underground trains use a lot of the tunnels and many of the others have been sealed off or filled in.”
Anna turned on her toes. “This is amazing, Grigoriy.”
“It took me a few months to set up. I had to reconnect to the city’s power supply, water, and telecommunications without them noticing, and then I had to get everything down here without drawing too much attention.”
“How many people know about this place?”
He cleared his throat. “After me, you’re the first.”
“Not even Stepan?”
“If he does, he hasn’t told me.”
Anna smiled at him and he looked at his feet.
“Oh, I have a surprise for you, too.” Grigoriy waved for her to follow him to his computer desk. He logged on and all three of the screens came to life. “I hope you don’t mind that I did this. I just got curious.”
Anna squinted at the screen. “They’re exam results.” She leaned in closer. “They’re my exam results.”
“I hacked the database this morning, but I wasn’t sure if I should say anything.”
Anna shrieked excitedly and threw her arms around Grigoriy’s neck. “I passed!” she cried. “I passed, I passed!”
Grigoriy felt his face grow hot. “I always knew you would,” he said. “I wish I had something to give you but I don’t have much. I should have bought some champagne.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve given me more than enough, Grigoriy.”
He blushed but finally found the courage to look up, her eyes swallowing him whole. She placed her hand on his chest. “Now, can we wait in this place until the storm passes?”
“Um.” Grigoriy’s mobile phone beeped loudly and Anna stepped back. He reached into his pocket and read the text message, turning away and retreating into his bedroom.
“Grigoriy?”
He returned with a bundle of documents and a small box. He placed them on the dining table. “Your new life,” Grigoriy said.
“And the box?”
“We can’t just wait out the storm.” Grigoriy opened the box and reached inside. He placed a pistol on the table. “That’s your raincoat.” He placed a grenade beside the pistol. “And that’s your umbrella.”
Anna wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Oh.”
MOSCOW, RUSSIA SATURDAY 17 SEPTEMBER 11:34 PM MSK
Elliot inhaled sharply as she woke up, which immediately sent a throbbing pain through her head. She groaned and rubbed her forehead with her palm, slowly rea
lising that she was lying on a soft bed in a room bathed in warm light. Everything beyond that was a blur. She could hear sounds nearby: metallic sounds and running water, cupboards opening and closing, zippers undoing and lights being switched on and off. She didn’t want to roll over in case the pain got worse.
The bed creaked and she felt someone sit beside her.
Stephen.
She could hear his steady breathing: “You know, I thought you were unconscious until you started to snore.”
“You used to like my snoring,” she said. “You said it was sweet, like a purring kitten.”
“A purring kitten drowning in a bucket of honey.”
“Right,” she mumbled. “I always forget that second bit.”
“Are you going to sit up? I’ve got things to do, you know.”
“I’m just waiting for the room to come into focus.” She felt his hand on her shoulder and wrapped her arm around his to pull herself upright.
Her face wrinkled as a wave of pain broke over her.
“Vlad is a bit of a truck,” Murphy remarked, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Or was.”
“Trucks have more give in them.” She groaned. “Do I have you to thank for that welcome?”
“Nope. That’s not my area. I found out at the last minute.”
“Well, it’s lucky you showed up when you did. Otherwise I would’ve had to kill all of those people. I’m too much of a lady for that.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re a delicate little flower.” He raised his hands. “I’m going to look you over.”
“Are you asking for my permission?”
“Warning you. I’m not keen on giving you more reasons to belt me.”
“’Fraidy cat.”
“Let me know when it hurts.”
“Oh, you’ll know.”
Murphy cupped her face in his hands, gently massaging his fingers into her skin. She tried to stop her eyes watering as he checked her cheekbone for breaks. “Don’t be a hero,” he said.