Ganglands, Russia

by Ross Kemp

  ‘Where did you come from?’ asked Alexei. ‘I didn’t see you.’

  ‘You do now,’ the American replied enigmatically.

  ‘How’s Lena?’

  ‘Stable. There’s been no improvement.’

  ‘I should be with her,’ Alexei said pensively. ‘She needs me.’

  ‘She needs you to complete her mission. If her condition changes you’ll be the first to know. I’ve given you my word.’

  As they walked slowly around the plaza, Alexei could see the other visitors openly staring at the tall, dark-skinned American. Westerners were not an everyday sight in Moscow – let alone men who looked like Darius Jordan. But if he was aware of the curious inspections, Jordan didn’t show it. Alexei had never been around anyone who had exuded such calm self-confidence – except perhaps his father.

  Jordan pointed at the crescent-shaped building that curved around the back edge of the plaza. ‘Before you arrived, I took the opportunity to go round the museum. It’s pretty incredible. Do you know how many Russians died during World War Two?’

  ‘About twenty-five million,’ Alexei replied automatically. He smiled wryly. ‘Too many soldiers in the family. It’s not the kind of fact they let me forget.’

  ‘Twenty-five million. Jesus, Alexei! All those deaths, all those sacrifices just to stop the Nazis, and now, sixty years later, Russian kids are heiling Hitler and saluting swastikas.’ Jordan shook his head. ‘It baffles me.’

  ‘You have racists in America, too,’ Alexei pointed out. ‘It’s everywhere. People are poor, they can’t get a job, they want someone to blame. It’s easy to pick on immigrants.’

  Jordan raised an eyebrow. ‘You telling me about racism, son?’ He barked with laughter. ‘Can’t say you’re wrong, though.’

  He stopped at the base of the obelisk, where a stone statue depicted a man on horseback wielding a spear – St George, the patron saint of Moscow, slaying the dragon. To an impatient Alexei, it seemed that the American was more interested in a history lesson than learning about his mission.

  ‘Any news on the lawyer?’ he asked pointedly.

  Jordan shook his head. ‘The authorities are maintaining a firm line – they don’t negotiate with terrorists. I can understand their point. If they let someone as dangerous as Borovsky go free, it sends out the wrong kind of signals. God knows who gets kidnapped next. Besides, we’ve got a man inside the police department, and he’s informed us that finding Ms Petrova isn’t exactly top priority.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Over the years Rozalina Petrova’s been fighting pretty hard to get certain assault cases classed as race-hate crimes. That tends to complicate matters – and some policemen are more interested in an easy life than getting justice. And maybe some of them don’t entirely disagree with the Moscow Eagles anyway. Didn’t you say that you saw policemen cosying up to Medved after the attack on the Uzbeks?’

  Alexei nodded. ‘Put it this way: he wasn’t in handcuffs.’

  Jordan sighed, and looked out across the park. ‘Wish I could say that I was surprised,’ he said. ‘I’ve been around the world, and Moscow’s no different from anywhere else. It doesn’t matter what uniform you’re wearing, or which side you’re supposed to be on, there’s only one rule: there are good men and there are bad men, and you sure as hell gotta know which are which.’

  ‘There aren’t any good men in the Moscow Eagles,’ Alexei said darkly.

  ‘Damn right,’ the American replied. ‘Which is why we need to break them up. It’s up to us, Alexei: if we can’t locate Rozalina Petrova in the next five days, she’s a dead woman. So what have you got for me?’

  In a low voice, Alexei told Jordan about his conversation with Marat, their trip to the university and meeting with Nadia. At the mention of Viktor’s email, the American’s brow furrowed.

  ‘Tsar? Means nothing specific to me. It’s sure not the handle of a second-in-command, though. Sounds like Viktor’s reporting to someone. You know, since I started studying the Eagles I’ve had a nagging feeling that there was more going on here than met the eye. Take the gym – it’s in Viktor’s name, but we’ve checked his employment records and he hasn’t worked for years. Someone had to buy it; someone who didn’t want it made public. Problem is, the money trail doesn’t seem to go anywhere. If this Tsar is funding the Eagles, he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Guess I should go and find Marat – see if I can get any more information out of him.’

  Jordan shook his head. ‘You’ve taken enough risks for one day. Don’t push your luck. We’ll run Tsar through some databases, see what we can come up with. Meantime, you take the night off.’

  Alexei laughed humourlessly. ‘Thanks, boss.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Jordan replied, refusing to rise to him. He paused. ‘Oh – I nearly forgot. Richard Madison wants me to ask whether you’re taking care of that bug of his.’

  Alexei had completely forgotten that he was still carrying the miniaturized listening device around. Patting his wallet pocket, he felt the familiar outline of the metallic disc.

  ‘Tell him it’s safe,’ he replied. ‘I’m just waiting for the right place to use it.’

  ‘He’ll be a relieved man. I know he’s Technical Support, but sometimes I think he worries more about his gadgets than his kids.’

  Alexei looked surprised. ‘He’s got kids?’

  ‘We are actual human beings at Trojan, you know,’ Jordan said, his voice laced with amusement. ‘We’ve got kids, husbands and wives. Some of us are even lucky enough to have particularly demanding girlfriends …’ His voice trailed off. ‘We don’t take this work lightly, son.’

  ‘I guess,’ Alexei replied, uneasy at the sudden change of mood. ‘I’m heading back now. Are you going to the metro station?’

  Jordan thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘I think I’m going to stay here for a while. This is the kind of place you shouldn’t rush visiting. Stay in touch – and be extra careful from now on. The deeper you go, the more dangerous it’s going to get.’

  Alexei nodded briefly, then turned and walked away. Halfway down the boulevard, he looked back to see the American still standing alone on the windswept plaza, neck craned upwards as he stared at the statue of the victory goddess.

  13. Assault Course

  Take the night off, Jordan had said. Easy for him to say, Alexei thought to himself bitterly. Having been totally immersed in his mission for five days, it wasn’t as though he could just go to the cinema and forget about everything. The ironic thought occurred to Alexei that almost everyone he knew in this city was from either Trojan Industries or the Moscow Eagles – and he certainly didn’t want to spend any more time with the latter.

  In the end Alexei spent a sombre couple of hours at Lena’s side in the hospital, then returned to his uncle’s flat for dinner. Stepan was in a convivial mood, knocking back glasses of vodka as he attacked a plate of beef stroganoff and dumplings. Sitting in their warm kitchen, listening to Stepan’s tales of youthful misbehaviour as the deep aroma of their meal swirled up around them, Alexei felt the first knots of tension in his shoulders begin to ease. Then his mobile phone buzzed in his pocket.

  Assemble 0930 tomorrow at gym. Do not be late. Come prepared. V.

  Alexei’s heart sank. Come prepared for what? Another street fight? He wasn’t sure he could go through that again. He had just about managed to avoid doing any real damage last time, but the Eagles would be watching him now: he was certain of that. Even more unsettling was the fact that Viktor Orlov had his mobile number – presumably Marat had given it to him. Even though Alexei was trying to win the Eagles’ trust, he didn’t want to be any closer to their sinister leader than necessary. The fact that Viktor could contact him whenever he wanted bothered Alexei more than he could let on.

  As he put his phone away, Alexei caught Stepan giving him an enquiring look over the rim of his vodka glass. ‘Anything wrong, nephew?’

  ‘Just more university
stuff. It’s no big deal.’

  Stepan drained his glass and slammed it down on to the table. ‘Maybe I’m just an old soldier,’ he said, unscrewing the top off the vodka bottle, ‘but this engineering course sounds distinctly fishy to me.’ Suddenly there was an edge to his voice. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?’

  Alexei looked down at his food. Although part of him was desperate to confide in his uncle, he knew that Stepan would hit the roof if he heard the truth about Alexei’s mission. Wartime heroics were one thing, but teenage black ops were something entirely different. Stepan would be on the phone to Alexei’s parents in a heartbeat, and who knew what would happen then. What would Trojan do to keep their activities a secret – would Valerie Singer come knocking on their door again, this time with a gun in her hand?

  Alexei shook his head. ‘No. Thanks, though.’

  His uncle harrumphed, and refilled his glass. The warmth had ebbed from the atmosphere in the kitchen, and they finished their meal in awkward silence. Stepan polished off his bottle of vodka in front of the television, getting so drunk that Alexei had to help him to bed. Next morning, as Alexei quickly showered and dressed, the apartment reverberated to the sound of his uncle’s snores.

  Any brief relief Alexei had felt the previous evening had been replaced by a sense of impending dread that only grew as he neared the Eagles’ gym. He arrived just before half past nine to see the skinheads clambering into three white vans parked at the pavement. There had to be nearly thirty men in total – twice the size of the group who had attacked the Uzbeks.

  Pavel was standing in front of the lead van, dressed purposefully in crisp combat fatigues. He broke off from shouting orders at the gang as Alexei approached, and glanced meaningfully at his watch. ‘Just in time,’ he said. ‘Don’t think we were going to wait for you.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘No questions. Get in.’

  Pavel gestured curtly at the third van and turned his back on Alexei. Trying to ignore the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach, Alexei jogged over to the vehicle and jumped inside. The dingy confines were crammed with skinheads, none of whom Alexei recognized. The van reeked of body odour and bad breath. Deafening thrash metal pounded out from the car stereo at the front of the van, where Medved was hunched in the front seat, his hands drumming on the steering wheel. Alexei had barely taken his seat when someone slammed the van door shut, and they were moving.

  It was impossible to be heard above the music, and no one was going to ask Medved to turn it down, so the men kept their own counsel as the van made its way north through the Moscow suburbs. Alexei almost wished that Marat was with him – at least they knew each other. He tried to ask a bullet-headed teenager where they were going, but the boy scowled and refused to answer.

  Finally the van came to a stop. Alexei hurriedly opened the doors and leaped down on to the sunlit road, pleased to be out in the fresh air. He was standing on a quiet street in the shadow of a large, unfinished building – a forbidding complex of slate-grey levels, with black holes where the windows should have been. Even from this distance, Alexei could see the gaps in the walls where the concrete had crumbled away.

  As he looked on, Marat climbed down from the second van and jogged over to him.

  ‘Alexei!’ the blond-haired boy hailed cheerily. ‘Thought you weren’t going to make it.’

  ‘What’s the big deal? What are we doing here?’

  Marat jerked a thumb at the building. ‘Training day.’

  Alexei tried not to let the relief show on his face: training, he could handle. He followed the gang as they entered the complex grounds and snaked their way through an untamed forest of Japanese knotweed. Judging by the height of the plants, construction here on what was apparently going to be a hospital must have been halted several years ago. The Eagles reached the edge of the knotweed, and scrambled inside the building through a yawning hole in the wall.

  Even in the dingy half-light of the interior, it was clear that the hospital was in a terminal condition. The floor was riddled with holes, and the gang had to skirt around piles of rubble as they made their way up to the roof of the complex. Water streamed through the ceilings and down the walls. Reinforcing rods poked out of the concrete as they vainly tried to keep the structure from falling apart. Everywhere Alexei looked, the walls were daubed with Nazi slogans and the Eagles’ tag.

  By contrast, the roof was bathed in warm spring sunshine. Viktor Orlov stood by the edge of the roof, dressed smartly in a full-length leather coat, dark trousers and a pair of sunglasses. Skinheads were changing into combat fatigues around him, against the bright-blue backdrop of the Moscow skyline.

  Amid the heaps of green camouflaged rucksacks and multipacks of bottled water, Alexei was surprised to see Nadia sitting on a fold-up chair, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears and her brow creased in concentration as she typed at a laptop. Glancing up from the screen, she caught Alexei’s eye: he gave her a friendly smile, but she immediately looked away. He still wasn’t sure whether she had believed his story about the email back at the university – and whatever her relationship was with Viktor, Nadia certainly had his ear. As Alexei struggled into a set of musty fatigues with the rest of the gang, the leader of the 88s went over to place his hands on Nadia’s shoulders, fondly kissing the top of her head as he inspected her screen. Then he clapped his hands together.

  ‘Gentlemen!’ Viktor called out. ‘We stand alone at the front line of a war, my brothers: the true army of the White Russian. An army needs to be fit. An army needs to be lean. Days like today – tests like these, tests of the body and of the heart – are crucial if the Eagles are to be ready for war. We will be watching you, brothers. Do not disappoint us.’

  Although his words echoed sonorously around the deserted complex, Alexei noticed that Viktor had made no moves to put on fatigues himself. Instead the leader of the Eagles took a seat alongside Nadia, allowing Pavel to step forward.

  ‘You will all complete one full lap of the terrain with a rucksack on your back,’ the ex-soldier said briskly. ‘I will lead the way. Fifty press-ups for anyone who fails to keep up. There is no room for passengers in the 88s.’

  Trooping over to pick up a rucksack, Alexei was astonished by how heavy it was. He unzipped it, only to see that the sack had been filled with bricks.

  ‘What the hell –?’

  There was an unpleasant laugh next to him. ‘You’re with men now,’ growled Medved, slipping his rucksack on to his back as though it was filled with feathers. ‘Try and keep up.’

  Gritting his teeth, Alexei pulled on the rucksack. There was no way he was going to let Medved get a cheap laugh at his expense. The Eagles fell in line behind the diminutive form of Pavel, who turned and began jogging along the rooftop. Alexei took up a position close behind Medved at the back of the formation, trying to ignore the bricks scraping against his back as he kept pace with the giant skinhead. The air rumbled with the sound of boots clumping across the concrete.

  The Eagles jogged down a set of steps running around the outside of the complex to the ground, before abruptly turning into a basement. Temporarily blinded by the plunge from sunlight to complete darkness, Alexei cried out as he felt his feet go out from under him and he tumbled into a pool of water. It was collected snowmelt – so cold that the air was buffeted from Alexei’s lungs, and his heart pounded in protest. Weighed down by his rucksack, he desperately searched out a footing on the rocky floor, breaking back through the surface of the water. As Alexei wiped his eyes, gasping for breath, he saw the burly figure of Medved wading past him. The Eagle had completely ignored him. Alexei splashed angrily after him, and dragged himself out of the snowmelt on to dry land.

  He soon realized that he was probably safer in the freezing pool. The basement was a pitch-black deathtrap of missing steps, holes in the floor, and reinforcement rods sticking treacherously out of the ground. It may have only been a training day, but there was real risk of serious
injury here. The Eagles’ pace slowed as they stopped to warn one another about the upcoming hazards. Still shivering from his plunge into the snowmelt, Alexei dropped to the back of the line.

  As the basement exit finally came into view, there was a howl of pain in the gloom ahead of him. Peering through the darkness, Alexei saw that Medved had trapped his foot in one of the treacherous potholes, and was clutching his ankle in pain. Trying to suppress a grin of triumph, Alexei made to jog past him – only to stop in his tracks. Medved may have been a loathsome individual, but that didn’t mean Alexei had to be too. He turned back and held out his hand. The large man looked up at him suspiciously, then grasped Alexei’s hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

  ‘You all right?’ Alexei asked.

  Medved gave him a furious look, checking Alexei’s face for any sign of mockery. Eventually the large man nodded. ‘Better get a move on,’ he growled. ‘Unless you like press-ups.’

  Alexei didn’t need the encouragement. As he burst out of the cellar back into the sunlight, leaving the hobbling Medved far behind, Alexei’s competitive nature took over. He drove onwards through the vegetation and then back up through the levels of the hospital, taking pleasure every time he overtook a panting skinhead. The Eagles might have done this exercise before, but Alexei had been in intensive training of his own for years, and was nearing his physical peak.

  By the time he had completed a circuit of the complex, only five of the Eagles had finished ahead of him. Alexei threw down his rucksack and peeled off his combat jacket, which was now drenched in a combination of sweat and snowmelt. As he took a couple of deep swigs from a water bottle, he was aware of Nadia closing her laptop down and rising from her chair.

  ‘Not bad,’ she said, with a faint smile.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ Alexei panted. ‘I didn’t see you down there.’

  Nadia pulled a face. ‘It’s bad enough that Viktor makes me come and watch, without having to swim through freezing water in a dingy basement myself. Anyway, the Moscow Eagles don’t let women take part in their army training.’