Worth The Risk

by Richard Gustafson

Popravko shrugged. “We take no chances.”

  Nor do I, Nick thought.

  Popravko said something to the guard in Russian, and the man nodded. He released the safety on the AN-94.

  Nick moved his right hand behind him. His fingers touched the metal rod he had stashed in his back pocket, and he slowly pulled it free. He rolled it between his fingers so he had it in a reverse grip, pointing down and away.

  “Are you ready?” Popravko asked him. The Russian’s breathing had become faster. The man was nervous, ready for the action to start. Nick forced his breath to slow. He concentrated on what would happen next, visualizing it, concentrating on it. His pulse rate slowed.

  “Anatoli will go in first,” Popravko said. “We’ll give him a moment to find the woman, then come in after him.”

  Nick nodded.

  Popravko waited a long second, then gave a signal to the guard. The man squared himself to the door, hesitated, then kicked out with his right leg. His heel connected with the door just below the lock, and the door splintered inwards.

  At the same time, Nick pivoted to his left, brought his right arm up, and buried the rod in the side of the guard’s neck as deep as he could.

  Immediately the man screamed, a liquid gurgle, and released his grip on the assault rifle. He clutched at his throat, fingers frantically searching for the source of the agony. It was all involuntary. The man’s brain had no time to process the threat coming from the side, rather than the front.

  Popravko had no time to process the threat, either. Nick continued his pivot until he faced the man head-on. He reached up with his right arm, snaked it around the man’s head, twisted, and broke his neck. Popravko’s dead body was falling as Nick turned back to the guard.

  The guard managed to pull the rod from his neck but was slowly sinking to the ground as blood poured through his fingers. Nick grabbed at the straps of the AN-94. The man was in no shape to resist, but the straps were. They hung up around his neck. Nick frantically pulled but couldn’t free the gun.

  A voice came from within the room. A man’s voice.

  Nick cursed, maneuvered around behind the guard, lifted him up under his arms, and propelled him into the room. As the man staggered to his feet, Nick moved his hands to the gun.

  “Help me!” He yelled in English. “This man’s been shot!”

  The second guard was several feet inside the door, on the right side of the room. He had his gun aimed towards the door, but no idea that the person crashing through the door would want to shoot him. The person crashing through the door was supposed to get the hell out of the way so the guard in the room could shoot the unsuspecting American in his pain-in-the-ass head.

  Nick saw the guard with the upraised AN-94 at the same instant the man spied Nick. There was a flicker of confusion on his face as he saw his comrade, covered in blood, gasping as his life poured out his neck, thrown into the room.

  The second guard hesitated for a fraction of a second. There was no hesitation on Nick’s part. His index finger found the trigger of the AN-94 and he pulled. The fire selector was set to a two-round burst. It worked to perfection. The first two rounds hit the second guard in the chest, while the second pair took off the top of his head. He flew back into a wall, turning it crimson.

  Nick dropped the guard with a grunt of disgust and checked his shirt. A large splotch of blood had splattered onto the right side, over his chest. It looked purple on his blue shirt. Nick shrugged. He didn’t have anything to change into, so it was what it was.

  He poked his head out the door and looked around. To his surprise, nobody came out to investigate the shots. He quickly grabbed Popravko and pulled him into the apartment. He shut the door behind him and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, paused, and opened them again.

  Nick looked at the three bodies around him. All three were very dead. Popravko’s head was at an unnatural, grotesque angle. He had a look of surprise on his face. The first guard also had a surprised look on the part of his face not covered in blood. The other guard had no face left, but Nick assumed there would have been surprise there. He rummaged through the second guard’s suit coat, being careful to sidestep the blood on the chest. But outside of the gun, the man had nothing that would help Nick.

  Slower now, all sense of urgency gone, Nick pulled the strap over the first guard’s head and lifted the AN-94 free. He did the same with the other guard. Both guns had four-stack box magazines, sixty rounds per gun. After a few minutes of searching, Nick found additional magazines in a backpack tossed in a corner. It looked like they were ready for a war.

  He glanced around the room. It was empty except for a few chairs. Obviously nobody lived here.

  He knew that would be the case, since Andrei had told him he and Svetlana lived above the candy store.

  This place was probably owned, but not used, by Alexander. A perfect place to kill an American without too many inquiring eyes. In fact, the entire building might be empty, which would explain the lack of curiosity by other tenants.

  Which would suit him just fine, as he preferred the three bodies stay hidden for a few days. Eventually the smell would attract attention, but by then he’d hopefully be on his way home over the Atlantic.

  The guard’s blood soaked through the shirt and felt warm and wet on Nick’s skin. He pulled the shirt over his head, taking care not to get the blood in his hair, and took it into the bathroom. The shirt reeked of blood, but the smell in the room masked it. A combination of copper and gunpowder that brought back unwanted memories. Nick was glad to close the bathroom door behind him.

  The bathroom was bare except for a single green towel on a rod by the toilet. He opened his shirt to expose the stain, and rubbed it under warm water in the sink. The water swirled red in the drain, then pink. It took a few minutes to get to a light pink. Eventually Nick was satisfied and turned off the water. He dried the shirt by wrapping it in the towel and squeezing hard several times.

  He pressed the shirt to his nose and inhaled. A faint smell of copper, but manageable. He had the feeling he was not done with the copper smell yet.

  He left the bathroom and wandered around the room slowly. Eventually he found what he had been hoping for: a green duffel bag, empty, lying on a chair. Nick assumed it had been used to bring in supplies. He quickly stashed both weapons and the extra ammunition in the duffel. He lifted it carefully and slung it over his back, adjusting it as the weapons and ammo settled into their new position. He shook the bag slightly to make sure they were stable.

  He took one last look at the men who were ready to kill him. Blood soaked into the old, brown carpet around the two guards. It was going to be a bitch to get out, he thought with grim satisfaction. He hoped that bastard Alexander had to pay overtime to the carpet cleaners.

  With a shake of his head, Nick closed the door behind him and walked down the stairs.

  Anya’s phone answered on the first ring.

  Then silence. Nick heard breathing.

  “Anya?” he asked quietly. He looked around the street. Nobody paid any attention to the man walking briskly, carting a duffel bag over his shoulder.

  “Oh, thank God!” Anya replied. “I was afraid you were dead.”

  “Not yet,” Nick replied. “But I just killed three of Alexander’s men so I guess I’m in it now. Where are you?”

  There was more silence. “Are you alone?” she finally asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Remember that place we talked about, where Andrei started to work?”

  “Yes.” Papa’s warehouse.

  “We’re visiting.”

  “I thought Andrei said he’d never…um, talk to anybody there.”

  “That was before our plans were changed for us,” she replied. Her voice was low, hurried. “I can’t talk now. We’re going to meet with him.”

  Her father, Nick thought. Andrei’s hold-out didn’t last long.

  “I’m coming there,” he said.

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,
” she replied. “It could get messy. We’ll have visitors soon.”

  “That’s why I’m coming. You need help.”

  “Nonna’s not here.”

  “I know. But Andrei is. I’m going to check one more spot. If she’s not there, I’m coming to you.”

  “Where?”

  “Svetlana, Andrei’s girlfriend.”

  After a beat, Anya said, “I’m sorry, Nick. Nonna’s not with Svetlana.”

  Nick cursed. “How do you know?”

  “Because Svetlana was here with us. She picked us up. Papa just made her leave. But she didn’t have Nonna with her.”

  Nick groaned. He suddenly felt like hitting somebody. He thought of the guns in his bag, and felt sorry for whoever got between him and Nonna.

  “Damn. Then I’m coming to you.”

  There was a long pause. “OK…thank you,” Anya said, and hung up. It was a danger sign that she didn’t try to talk him out of it more. She may have been blowing him off, but more likely they were outgunned enough to accept help from a rogue American.

  And he hadn’t even told her about the two assault guns.

  Chapter 37

  The voice answered on the second ring. It was an American voice, but not the one Nick was expecting.

  “Hey, Michelle,” Nick said. “Sorry, I thought I was calling Tom’s phone.”

  “Nick! You are, but he’s in the shower,” she replied. “I’m glad you called, we’ve been worried to death about you. What’s going on? How are things with Nonna?”

  “Not so good, actually,” he said. He paused, then it all came out in a rush. He didn’t leave anything out. There was no reason to. Anya’s deception. Andrei’s plot. Alexander’s plan to kill him, followed by the three deaths in the apartment. He left out the details but she could put the pieces together.

  To her credit, Michelle didn’t gasp or cry. He knew she wouldn’t. She was a cop, and a tough woman. Therefore he wasn’t surprised when her first words were, “What can we do to help?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t want you involved.”

  “Tough,” she said. “We’re friends, even if you make it hard to back you up.”

  “No, Michelle, I’m serious,” Nick said. “It’d kill me if I took Alexei’s mom or dad away from him. But there is something you can do for me. Something that’s less...lethal.”

  Michelle sounded doubtful. “Yeahhh…what?”

  “If something happens to me, tell Kelli everything. Tell her that I tried and that it, well, that it didn’t work out. Tell her that I love her and Danny more than anything and that I went down fighting. She’ll understand.”

  Now Michelle did start to cry. “No, dammit!” she said. “You can tell her that yourself, right now.”

  “No, I can’t,” Nick said. “I don’t have a world phone, or whatever the hell they call them, so I can’t call her now. And I don’t have time to get to the internet café.”

  “So you’re just going to run off and get yourself killed without saying anything to her?”

  “I have no intention of getting myself killed, Michelle,” Nick said. “Kelli’s last words to me were to do what I have to do to get Nonna. I’m going to do that. I just need you to cover my back in case…things don’t go as planned.”

  Michelle sighed heavily. “OK, Nick, I have your back. But I wish there was something we could do. Can’t you call the Rostov police?”

  “That’s exactly what I plan to do next,” Nick said.

  “Archipenko.”

  “Zdrastvoytye, detective, it’s Nick.”

  There was a long pause. “What do you want?” Protr asked. His voice was gruff.

  “I know you’re angry with me,” Nick said, “and you have a good reason to be. But Gennady and his family are in trouble.” Nick had decided quickly not to make it about Nonna. He figured Pyotr had more allegiance to fellow Russians than to a current and future American.

  “I’ve heard,” Pyotr said. “Rumor is that Alexander is planning to move on Gorev’s operation.”

  “Gorev?”

  “Your girlfriend’s father.” Pyotr sounded impatient.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Nick said. “We said that so you wouldn’t ask why I left the hotel.”

  “I know, Nick. Anya told me. At least you’re no longer lying to me.”

  Nick grunted. “I’m done lying to you. And it’s not a rumor about Alexander. The two plan to talk at Gennady’s warehouse.”

  “So how does this impact me? Unless you still think I work for Dmitri.”

  “No, of course not,” Nick said. “But there could be a battle there. I was hoping you’d want to prevent it.”

  “I assume your daughter is there. I can see no other reason why you’d care.”

  Nick sighed. “No, she’s not there. But she’s missing and the people who know where she is are going to be in the middle of a shit storm in a few minutes.”

  “Nick,” Archipenko said, “I’m not your personal enforcer. You can’t just call and ask me to help you out. Put Anya on the line.”

  “I can’t.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because she’s with her father.”

  Nick heard Archipenko swear under his breath, a series of Russian words that didn’t sound optimistic at all.

  “Who’s with Gorev?”

  Nick rattled off the names. There was silence on the other end. Nick could practically hear the gears going in Pyotr’s head.

  “You know, detective, if you were to help them, they would certainly show their appreciation,” Nick said.

  Now it was the detective’s turn to grunt. “If they live through it, yes,” he said. “But we’ve heard that Bocharova is calling in his men. They’ll overwhelm your friends.”

  “Don’t count them out just yet,” Nick said. His words were more optimistic than he felt. “And if they come out on top, you could come out on top as well.”

  There was a long moment of silence. When Archipenko finally spoke, his voice was soft. “The police aren’t coming, Nick. We’ll let them fight it out.”

  Nick shook his head and gripped the cell phone hard. “And then you’ll work with whoever wins,” he said bitterly.

  “Yes,” Archipenko said. “It’s too late to save your friends, Nick. It’s time you accepted that.”

  He hung up the phone before Nick could reply.

  Chapter 38

  Nick squeezed through the rusted door onto the roof. He was in a long, narrow building across the Beregovaya Ulitsa from Gennady’s warehouses. The street, fairly busy in the south part of Rostov, narrowed as it went north, and in this area it was no more than a lightly-traveled two-lane road with cracked asphalt and no stop lights.

  To Nick’s right were two empty concrete frames, formerly known as houses. Four walls, no roofs, pitted concrete, a few holes where windows once were. They were only one story high and Nick could see down into their centers from the four story building he was in. Not that there was anything to see. Green and brown scrub covered the interiors where the concrete floor had broken away. The sun, still high in the sky but starting to sink, created a line across both interiors, separating light from shadow.

  The roof was flat and topped off with asphalt. The asphalt was hot in the sun and grainy bits stuck to Nick’s shoes. He made his way to the eastern side of the building, towards the warehouse and the Don, holding the duffel bag in his left hand. Pigeon carcasses littered the roof, and several vodka bottles, most broken, were heaped on one side. Nick stepped closer and saw dozens of cigarette butts littered among the bottles. Apparently he was not the first to spend extended time on the roof.

  He had no intention of drinking or smoking. He got down on his belly as he neared the ledge overlooking the road and, beyond that, Gennady’s complex. He crawled slowly up to the ledge, dragging his bag alongside, and peered over the side.

  Across the road, perhaps fifty yards away, were four low buildings arranged in a square. Beyond that he could
make out train tracks, then a gray warehouse with a rounded roof. The warehouse was huge but Nick couldn’t make out details from his distance. He wished the AN-94 had a sniper scope.

  Beyond Gennady’s warehouse flowed the brown water of the Don. Nick could see a few barges on the river, but the warehouse roof obscured the near bank. Nick couldn’t tell whether there were any boats docked in front of Gennady’s complex.

  He saw a high fence between the road in front of him and the four buildings. It opened at a driveway near Nick’s building. A solitary figure sat in a chair on the side of the driveway, front legs of the chair up, leaning back into the fence. He didn’t move and Nick wasn’t sure the guy was even awake. Nick didn’t see a gun but assumed the man was armed.

  He watched as the cab that had dropped him off several blocks away drove north on Beregovaya, looking for a fare. The cab slowed as it reached a curve in the road. It stopped, turned around, and headed south, out of sight. The man in front of Gennady’s complex still didn’t move.

  It looked quiet. Nick was pretty sure Alexander’s men were not there yet. He wasn’t sure what to do, and knew from experience that if you don’t know what to do, the best thing to do is sit on your hands.

  So he settled in behind the wall, keeping as little exposed as possible, and watched.

  Anya stared at her father with wide eyes. “You invited Alexander here?” she asked, which was about as close to contradicting Gennady as she was willing to get.

  Gennady Gorev looked across the table at his daughter. He stood, while she sat next to Andrei. He wore a blue suit, which looked crisp in comparison to his haggard features. Anya realized he had probably recently put it on, in anticipation of his meeting with Alexander. Gennady’s gray hair shot off in several directions, and his eyes blazed with anger. To Anya, he looked exhausted and wired at the same time.

  Anya and Andrei’s phones were on the table in front of them, which Gennady had ordered as soon as they walked in.

  He was angry at his nephew, but addressed Anya.

  “You’ve put me in a bad position with Alexander,” he said. “We’re competitors but we must respect each other.” He looked at Andrei, who stared sullenly back at him. “We don’t do this to our colleagues. And now that you have, I must make it right.”