by Graham Potts
The men watching the show pulled their weapons, believing they were being attacked, and the nightclub erupted into a gunfight. The strippers shrieked and retreated behind the curtains while men tipped over tables for cover.
“Do you have it?” Murphy shouted over the noise, crouching against the stage.
Elliot held out her hand and he saw the concussion grenade. “And you can stick it up your Khyber,” she yelled.
He opened the door under the stage and reached inside, pulling out a large bucket.
“What’s that?” Elliot asked.
“Glitter for the girls.” He checked the pistol and fired three rounds at the window in front of them. The bullets thudded into the glass. A spider web of fissures cracked across the surface.
“Is that supposed to happen?” Elliot shouted.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Can I think about it?”
He pulled the pin, tossing the grenade into the glitter and heaving the bucket at the ceiling.
“Get down!” somebody shouted. There was a loud boom before the nightclub was showered in a thick rain of sparkling paper.
Murphy grabbed Elliot and they ran. He leapt backwards through the window, clutching her to his chest. Elliot gasped, the cold air swallowing them as they fell. They landed with a crash, shattering glass and setting off a car alarm. Murphy groaned, turning his head, and saw they had landed on the roof of a BMW sedan.
“They moved the truck,” Murphy breathed, lying flat on his back.
“Get up!” Elliot ordered, rolling off his chest and grabbing his pistol. She fired four rounds at the window before surveying the street at the end of the alley. Nobody was coming for them yet.
Murphy seized her hand and tumbled off the crumpled car.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded. “Let’s go.” And they disappeared into the dark alleys of the city.
Nikolay Korolev stood in the rubble of his club, the music pounding through his feet. Fluorescent lights flickered and swung from the ceiling. He could hear whimpering from backstage and saw one of the girls clutching her wounded leg. Lucky, he thought. Everyone else was dead. The light from the disco ball reflected off the pools of blood and alcohol that matted the carpet, while bullet-casings, glitter, and glass sparkled throughout the room.
“Turn off the music,” Korolev ordered with a wave of his hand.
A boyevik obeyed and the pounding stopped. The girl’s whimpering got louder.
Korolev whipped his pistol from his jacket and fired. The dancer clutched her chest and fell. “Now you have something to cry about,” he said, putting his pistol away.
Maxim entered the club, slinging his rifle, and shook his head: “Gone.”
Korolev grunted and turned on his heels, marching towards the VIP room. Maxim caught up with him at the door to his office.
“You have to cut your losses, Nikolay,” Maxim insisted.
Korolev went straight to the bar in his office and poured a double vodka. He gulped it down and wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
“He’ll destroy everything,” Maxim said. “You have to let me end him.”
“I need him alive!” Korolev roared.
“They’re not like us, Nikolay,” Maxim said. “These two don’t want money or power. They want their freedom. They want their lives back. As long as they feel our breath on their necks, they will do all they can to kill us.”
Korolev took a deep breath, tossing his glass on the counter and running his hand through his hair. He retrieved the coin from his pocket.
“You need to stop thinking like a criminal,” Maxim said. “You should be thinking like a king. You’ll have an army at your disposal. You don’t need him.”
Korolev snorted and smiled, rolling his coin across his hand.
Like a king.
He looked towards his television and frowned. He turned up the volume and stepped back.
“…reports that the bomber was known as the Bear, and was an associate of Russian organised crime figure Nikolay Korolev.”
A photograph appeared on the screen and Korolev held the coin in his fist.
“The Bear took his own life and those of eighteen police officers on Friday, but new information released today reveals that the Bear was planning to attack Australia’s energy infrastructure. The Prime Minister of Australia has announced that negotiations are due to commence with Russian President Valentina Nevzorova on Sunday night, and that Australia will seek to establish a combined law-enforcement task force to crack down on the criminal threat.”
Korolev muted the television.
“How do they know we did this?” Maxim cried. “The Bear was to destroy everything if captured. This.” He pointed to the television. “This could ruin—”
“Shut up, Maxim!” Korolev growled. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But Nikolay—”
“I said shut up,” Korolev said, slicing the air with his hand. “It just means we have to move our schedule forward.”
Maxim opened his mouth to speak but stopped, holding his hands behind his back.
Korolev paced back and forth furiously, the coin a blur as it tumbled across his hand. He glanced at the television each time he passed by, his forehead deeply lined, his cheek twitching. He stopped pacing, glaring at the television, his coin rolling back and forth over and over again. It suddenly fell off his hand and he cried out in frustration, drawing his pistol and firing repeatedly at the television.
Maxim held his hands over his ears. The pistol clicked empty and Maxim gazed at the smoking television, the screen now a cavernous hole with jagged edges. He lowered his hands, watching Korolev holster his pistol.
“You get your wish, Maxim,” Korolev said bitterly, rubbing the scar on his jaw. He glared at his subordinate. “Don’t take all day.”
“Yes, Nikolay. I know where they’ll go.” Maxim bared his teeth. “He’ll be dead in a matter of hours.”
MOSCOW, RUSSIA SUNDAY 18 SEPTEMBER 1:08 AM MSK
“Stop being a baby,” Elliot scowled.
“I’m not,” Murphy said defensively. “Just give me a second.” He emptied his pockets, handing everything to Elliot. A passport, cash, a phone, and a media player.
“What’s this?” Elliot said, holding up the media player. “Is this yours?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “The porn on it isn’t, though.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
“I bugged Maxim to find out what Nikolay was up to,” he explained, watching her place his belongings on the bedside table.
“The audio is on the player.”
“Do you want to keep it?” she asked, squirting hand sanitiser into her palm.
“I’m not sure if there’s much point.”
“You’re right,” she said, scrubbing her hands. “You can stream porn pretty easily these days.” She reached up and yanked off his coat.
He yelped. “Careful.”
“Oh, shush.”
“Getting a little passive-aggressive, there.”
“Shut up.” The coat was torn and his shirt was soaked in blood. “On the bed, now,” Elliot said sternly, pointing with her finger.
Murphy sighed and fell on the bed, lying on his stomach.
Elliot straddled him, ripping his shirt from his body and tossing it away. His coat had taken the brunt of the impact but his back was still cut to shreds, the skin purple, bruised, and tender. She puffed her hair out of her eyes and reached for the washcloth, wringing it out in the bowl and dabbing at his wounds.
“Ah!” He cringed.
“I’ve barely touched you.” She squinted, pulling the lamp closer. The bulb was dim but it was better than nothing. “Your friend needs a new interior decorator.”
“Grigoriy just vacated the property so I don’t think he cares anymore.” He paused. “You don’t like his digs?”
She rinsed out the washcloth and continued soaking up the blood on Murphy’s back. “Bomb-sh
elter chic?”
“It does have a zombie-apocalypse ambience, doesn’t it?”
Elliot tossed the washcloth into the bowl, reaching for a bottle of disinfectant and a gauze pad.
“I thought you might like it,” Murphy said. “A hole in the earth you can hide in, away from everybody else. Ow, shit!” He turned his head and saw Elliot holding the bottle of disinfectant in her hand. The cap was off.
“Oops,” she said drily.
He muttered a curse and dropped his head on the bed. “You haven’t changed.”
“You know, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she pointed out, using the gauze to clean his cuts.
“Tell me about Angela,” Murphy said.
Her breath froze in her chest. Elliot’s mouth fell open but no words would come out.
“It’s complicated, right?” Murphy peered over the edge of the bed and started tracing circles on the carpet with his finger. “You would’ve hunted the murderer down, killed him, and then kicked down the doors of Hell to kill him again. You’d probably tell the Devil to call you when the guy got up again.”
Elliot sniffed and wiped her cheek with the back of her bloodied hand. “It is complicated.” Her voice trembled. She couldn’t hide it.
He cleared his throat. “How bad is it back there?” he asked softly, attempting to change the subject.
“You’re going to need stitches,” she murmured, tossing the gauze away. Elliot tore some sutures out of a packet and rummaged through Grigoriy’s abandoned first-aid kit, eventually finding a needle holder. She huddled under the lamp, trying to grip the suture needle with the needle holder. Her hand was shaking. She tried again, but slipped. “Fuck!” She swiped at the bottle of disinfectant and it smashed against the cement wall.
Murphy rolled over. Elliot was pacing the room erratically with her hands on her hips. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed.
She stopped pacing. “How do you do that?” she cried. “I can convince everyone that I’m anyone, but not you, never you.” She turned a tight circle.
“Simone, we don’t have to—”
“I killed her,” she declared.
Murphy’s shoulders fell and he slouched forward, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.
“I’m still wanted for her murder.”
He looked up at her and she set her eyes on the ceiling, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“It’s a—” Elliot held her palm to her forehead. “She suffered from chronic pain after she was in an accident.” She turned to face him but couldn’t bear to look into his eyes. “She started on basic painkillers, moved on to morphine, and then she found heroin.” Elliot flopped on to a chair next to the bed. “Her family kicked her out, she lost her job, her husband, everything.”
He clasped his hands in front of him.
“I came back from a job overseas and found her homeless. I set her up, bought her a place, and got her cleaned up. She had good days and bad days but we started to get through it.” She absently wiped her hands on her jeans, leaving smears of blood on her thighs. “She tried to make amends with her adoptive family but her dad didn’t want to know her anymore. He said he was ashamed of her. She took it hard.”
Murphy stared at the floor.
“I didn’t know she had a stash in the toilet cistern,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes.
“I, uh.” Elliot cleared her throat. “I found her naked in the tub, a needle hanging out of her arm. I tried to wake her up. I tried naloxone, I tried to resuscitate her, I tried everything, but she was dead. I didn’t want anyone else to see her like that, so I dried her and dressed her, wiped the house and took the body to an empty paddock and cremated her.” She finally looked at him. “I sprinkled her ashes in the sea.”
Murphy rubbed the back of his neck.
“I found her dealer and lost it. I beat him to death with a bar stool and got knocked out in a brawl with his friends. The cops picked me up and tried to book me for Angela’s murder but I broke out.” She stared at her blood-stained hands. “I’m still wanted for that too.”
“Simone, you didn’t—”
“No!” she cried, rising to her feet. “Don’t say it. Not you. Don’t say it.” She started pacing again, turning tight circles. “Don’t you see? If Darren’s death wasn’t your fault, then maybe Angela…” She cleared her throat again. “But if it was your fault.” She shook her head. “I’ve been trying to find you just to ask you.”
He stood up, his hand raised. “Wait a minute. You stole art from Nikolay hoping that he’d send me to kill you just so you could…”
“And then I had to go into hiding,” Elliot said. “Being a cop gave me a chance to shake down some of the Russians.” She sniffed. “That’s when I found out about your girls and arranged a posting near Natalie.”
“And then you found me.” He hesitated. “I don’t remember you asking me anything.”
She shrugged.
“But you already knew the answer.”
She stopped pacing and folded her arms, staring at the floor and nodding. “I already knew the answer,” she whispered. “Earlier, you asked me what I was afraid of. I was afraid that I was right, that Darren’s death was your fault.” She looked up. “What were you afraid of?”
“That you would never believe me,” he said sadly. “I found it easier to think you blamed me.” He shook his head. “But I always hoped you didn’t. If I didn’t see you, I wouldn’t know if it was true.” She glanced into his grey eyes, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Is that why you made your deal with Nikolay?”
Murphy looked away. “Look, you have to understand that you were always the strong one, Simone, stronger than me. You always did what you wanted. It was one of the best parts of you but I knew you were still the porcelain doll too. You were still so easy to break and I did that. I gave you a reason to leave.”
“No.”
“When Darren died—”
“No!” she yelled. “He’d still be dead, even if we’d never met.”
“But we did meet,” he said. “I only gave you up because I believed…” He cleared his throat. “I missed you, but I couldn’t make myself believe that you missed me too. At least I could tell myself that you were safe.” He finally found the courage to raise his head and look at her.
“Like I said, you don’t know me as well as you think,” Elliot said, a smile flickering across her face.
Murphy smiled weakly. “I guess you’re right.”
“And now.” She scuffed her shoe on the carpet. “Look, I don’t know if you’re thinking about running away, or about fighting them.” She ran her hand through her hair. “I just want to say that I’m not leaving this time, like I left her, like I left you in that cell.”
“You can’t stay here because you feel guilty.” Murphy stood in front of her. “Or because of some strange obligation you’ve conjured from the past.”
“That’s not what this is,” she said. “All I’ve been able to think about since Monday night is the way it was before.” She held out her hands, showing her palms. “Before all the guilt, all the second-guessing, all the doubt, and everything else.”
“We can’t get that back.” He scratched his stubbled jaw. “And if we fight, if we’re lucky enough to win, there is nothing stopping you from running away again, and I wouldn’t blame you if you did. You’re only staying in this hole with me now because we need to stick together.”
Elliot compressed her lips and grasped her necklace. “This isn’t about absolution. This isn’t about saving myself. I didn’t come to Moscow just to run away again.”
He frowned and stared into her green eyes. “So what the hell is it all about?”
She let her necklace fall back to her chest and stared at the floor. “Ask me,” she breathed.
The words caught in his throat. “I can’t ask you.”
“Then tell me.” She neared him, staring at her hand as she placed it on his chest. “Say it
.”
“I…” His lips touched her head, her hair tickling his nose, her scent summoning his blood, his skin burning.
“Say it,” she whispered, feeling for his heartbeat under her hand.
He raised his hand and caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes, tilting her head into his hand to feel his touch.
“Please say it.” She raised her mouth to his and he felt her breath on his skin.
He kissed her on the lips, softly, his hand cupping her cheek, her hands moving up his chest. Their mouths parted for a moment, his hands falling to the small of her back. He lifted her shirt, pulling it over her head, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled him closer, kissing him deeply, his hands searching her soft skin.
He cupped her breast in his hand, kneading her nipple between his fingers and she gasped, biting his lower lip. He tore open the buttons on her jeans and lifted her up, her legs entwined around his waist. They fell on to the bed and she pushed him on to his back. He groaned in pain and she shushed him with her finger, her fingernails searching his scarred chest, wandering lower until she found his belt. She unbuckled it and unbuttoned his trousers. He sat up, her hair tumbling over his arm.
She exhaled. “Say it.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “Stay.”
“Okay.” She held his face in her hands and kissed him. “I will.”
Maxim moved quickly and quietly, his knees slightly bent, his assault rifle raised. The six boyeviks trailing behind him barely rustled the trees as they neared the tunnel that led to Grigoriy’s shelter.
They reached the tunnel’s entrance and Maxim crouched, placing his weapon on the ground and shrugging off his backpack. He took a computer tablet out of the bag and fixed a radio headset over his ears.
The boyeviks around him strapped night-vision goggles to their heads. Maxim extended two fingers and pointed to his eyes before pointing into the tunnel. The men stood up, the first pair entering the tunnel and lowering their NVGs. The other men followed.
Maxim studied the screen. Everything the men saw was transmitted to his tablet and he watched as the boyeviks leapfrogged through the tunnel, each pair covered by the others as they advanced. They reached Grigoriy’s shelter quickly and crouched outside.