by Ross Kemp
‘Novodevichy Cemetery,’ replied Alexei. ‘Ten o’clock.’
‘Well done, son. We’re on our way.’
Alexei didn’t break stride as two girls stumbled into him, howling with laughter. ‘I’ll see you there,’ he said.
‘You’ve done your part. Leave this to us now.’
‘But you won’t get there in time!’ Alexei protested. ‘It’s already half past nine, and I’m much closer than you are!’
‘Stay away from the cemetery,’ Jordan said tersely. ‘That’s an order. The Eagles will be armed and in numbers. You’re not prepared for this.’
‘Do what you like. I’ve been through too much to walk away now.’
‘Alexei –’
He flipped his mobile phone shut, cutting off the American in mid-sentence. Alexei took a final look back at the party, then turned his back on it and strode down the stairs. He was halfway across the lobby when he heard a voice calling out his name.
‘Wait for me!’
Alexei turned round to see Nadia hurrying through the hall after him. She had changed into a pair of jeans, and was pulling a coat over a thick jumper.
‘You’ll never get to Novodevichy in time if you take the metro,’ she explained, jangling a set of car keys beneath his nose. ‘I’ll drive you there.’
‘Are you sure?’
Nadia nodded. ‘You were right. I’ve let my brother get away with things for far too long. It’s time to make a stand.’
Torn, Alexei scratched his cheek. He had placed Nadia in enough danger just talking to her – he didn’t want to make the situation worse. But given that he had just ignored Darius Jordan, how could he deny Nadia the right to defy the Eagles as well?
‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘Lead the way.’
She took him outside to a small car park in front of a laboratory, and unlocked a white Lada. Alexei got inside, shivering in the freezing cold air. Nadia flicked on the headlights and drove into the night, the Lada’s engines shrieking in protest as she floored the accelerator. Alexei sat in silence, nervous energy surging through his system. This was the calm before the storm – like sitting in the changing room minutes before one of his kickboxing fights. He tried to keep calm, focusing on the impending collision with the Eagles. As the car careered through the streets of Moscow, Alexei saw himself walking slowly towards the ring, bouncing on his toes and banging his gloves together. Whatever happened tonight, someone was going to lose. Alexei just had to make sure that it wasn’t him.
Nadia bounced the Lada across an intersection and took a sharp right, on to a road that followed the curve of Moscow River. They hurtled past an imposing turreted building, its golden domes rising up behind a high stone wall.
‘That’s Novodevichy Convent,’ said Nadia. ‘The cemetery’s right next to it.’
As she spoke, the convent passed out of sight and a long railing appeared in front of a line of trees. Nadia pulled over by the entrance – a heavy metal gate between two squat, red-brick buildings.
Alexei glanced at the high gate in desperation. ‘How the hell am I supposed to get inside there?’
The gateway to the cemetery opened, and a security guard appeared in the driveway.
‘Leave that to me,’ Nadia said. She kissed him fiercely on the lips. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered, and then she was gone. Alexei watched as she ran up to the guard, catching him before he could lock the cemetery gates.
‘Excuse me,’ she called out, with a shy smile. ‘I’m lost. Could you help me?’
The guard grinned, and pushed his cap back on his head. ‘I’ll do my best. Can’t have a pretty girl like you wandering around on her own at night. Where are you trying to get to?’
Nadia launched into a long and complicated explanation, pointing away down the road so the guard was forced to turn his back on the entrance. Alexei slipped out of the Lada and crept through the shadows towards the gate. He heard Nadia’s tinkling laugh, and then he slipped through the open entrance into the graveyard.
Novodevichy Cemetery was enshrouded in a portentous quiet, its graves spread out among towering trees. Following a broad path through the dark, Alexei plunged deeper into the cemetery, past a sombre honour guard of headstones. Some of Russia’s most famous artists and statesmen were buried here; every footstep took Alexei past a glorious episode from his country’s past. His senses were working on overdrive, alert to every leaf rustling in the wind, and every small animal scuttling through the undergrowth.
As Alexei hurried along the path, he checked the time on his phone. It was ten minutes to ten. He was running out of time – there was too much ground to cover on his own. The cemetery was a vast maze of paths and graves, a labyrinth of the dead. Alexei prayed that Trojan were closing in on the cemetery. How quickly could they get across Moscow?
Just as Alexei was beginning to give up hope, a woman’s scream rent the air.
He broke into a flat-out sprint, skirting between graves as he left the path and hurtled through the trees. He ran towards the sound, willowy branches lashing his skin, his stomach lurching at the thought that he might be too late. An exposed tree root caught his foot, sending him crashing to the ground. Hearing voices ahead, Alexei picked himself up and crept towards them. He crouched down behind a giant birch and peered around its trunk.
He looked out on to a small clearing amid a knot of trees, backed by a row of ivy-tangled tombstones. Rozalina Petrova was on her knees in front of the tombstones, her hands bound behind her back. A gag had fallen from her mouth, and was hanging around her neck. Three men were standing around her: Marat, Medved and Viktor Orlov. The leader of the Moscow Eagles was pointing a pistol at her head.
‘If I were you, I wouldn’t scream again,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘There’s more than one way to die – and some of them are infinitely more painful than others. I’m not squeamish.’
Viktor looked as unruffled as ever, his dark suit pressed, his side-parted hair wavering slightly in the wind. Medved looked on impassively at his side, his burly arms folded. A few paces away, Marat’s face was pale as he glanced around the clearing, his fingers drumming nervously on the strap of the digital camcorder in his right hand. For all the boy’s violent bluster, Alexei doubted whether he had the stomach for murder.
‘Isn’t it ten o’clock yet?’ Marat asked jumpily. ‘Let’s get this thing over with.’
Viktor shot the boy a murderous glance. ‘There’s still ten minutes to go. You just make sure you’re ready to film when the execution begins. We want the world to witness our actions. Now is not the time for doubt, Marat. Tonight you’re going to prove yourself a true Russian hero.’
Icy rage coursed through Alexei at the man’s words. These were the scumbags who had hurt Lena – and now they were going to murder an innocent woman in cold blood. He was shocked to hear the sound of thin laughter carry across the clearing. It had come from Rozalina Petrova.
‘A true Russian hero?’ she said faintly. ‘Does this execution count as an act of heroism?’
‘Shut your mouth, bitch,’ barked Medved.
Rozalina’s eyes blazed with defiance. ‘I’m not scared of you,’ she said, her voice unwavering. ‘Kill me; don’t kill me. You’re still cowards. No matter how many people you murder, there will always be true Russians lining up to defy you.’
She closed her eyes as Viktor pushed her forehead back with his gun.
‘Your death is only the beginning,’ he said grandly. ‘The Moscow Eagles will soon dominate the streets of this city. And with our backer’s support, it will not be long before the state marches in step with us.’
‘If you believe that,’ Rozalina said through clenched teeth, ‘then you’re even more stupid than I gave you credit for.’
Viktor slapped her across the face with an open palm, sending her crashing to the grass. Alexei had to grip the birch to stop himself from running to Rozalina’s aid. He couldn’t believe how brave she was. But the seconds were still ticking away, and Trojan were still
nowhere in sight: Alexei was on his own. Outnumbered and out-gunned, it didn’t look like there was anything he could do.
Still, thought Alexei as he steeled himself, there was no way that he was leaving Rozalina to face the Eagles alone …
He was clambering to his feet when a twig snapped behind him, and a cold gun barrel dug into the back of his head.
‘Don’t move,’ a voice breathed in his ear. It was Pavel.
25. Avenging Angels
‘I had a feeling you’d show up,’ the ex-soldier said softly. ‘Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist sticking your nose in. How did you find out we were here?’
‘Lucky guess,’ Alexei retorted.
Pavel chuckled mirthlessly, then struck Alexei across the back of his head with his handgun. Bright cloudbursts of pain exploded in front of Alexei’s eyes as he fell to the ground. Through blurred vision, he saw Viktor Orlov glance over in their direction.
‘Who’s there?’ he snapped.
‘It’s me,’ Pavel called back. ‘With an uninvited guest.’ Hauling Alexei to his feet, he marched him into the clearing at gunpoint. Viktor’s eyes lit up at the sight of them.
‘So glad you could join us, Alexei!’ he crowed. ‘I was most disappointed when you escaped from the little party we’d thrown for you at the bathhouse. May I introduce Rozalina Petrova?’
The lawyer looked up uncomprehendingly at Alexei, her eyes those of startled prey. At the edge of the clearing, Marat turned his back and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unwilling to look at his erstwhile friend. By contrast, Medved was only too keen to press his face up against Alexei’s.
‘I should have listened to Svetlana,’ he growled. ‘She knew you were full of shit from day one.’
‘Don’t let her do all of your thinking,’ Alexei replied. ‘She’s just as stupid as you are.’
Viktor grabbed the skinhead by the shoulder, pulling him away. ‘Leave this to me, Medved,’ he said calmly. The leader of the 88s inspected Alexei through his horn-rimmed glasses.
‘Since you’re here,’ he said, ‘why don’t you enlighten us as to the identity of your employers? I presume you’re not acting alone. Is it the police? The government? Some other cowardly and treacherous organization that fears the might of the Moscow Eagles?
‘Go to hell,’ replied Alexei, and spat in Viktor’s face.
For a second time, Pavel brought his gun down on the back of Alexei’s head – harder this time. Alexei collapsed to the turf beside Rozalina Petrova. There was a roaring sound in his ears. It felt like someone had dropped an anvil on his head.
Viktor pulled a tissue from his pocket and slowly wiped his face clean. ‘Now that,’ he said softly, ‘was a mistake.’
Alexei crawled to his knees, still holding the back of his head. He was going to die in this clearing. He knew it for certain. But although he was scared, there was no way he was giving Viktor the satisfaction of showing it. Not when Rozalina was next to him – kneeling but unbowed.
‘I’m not scared of you,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
‘Oh, but you should be,’ Viktor replied.
‘He’s just a boy!’ Rozalina begged. ‘Do what you must with me, but don’t kill the boy!’
Viktor ignored her, and turned to Pavel. ‘Who do you think we should shoot first – the bitch lawyer or the back-stabbing traitor?’
Pavel shrugged. ‘As long as they both die I don’t care.’
‘The efficient attitude of the fighting man,’ remarked Viktor, with a smile. He pointed the gun at Alexei. ‘The traitor it is.’
Alexei closed his eyes. Images of Lena flashed through his mind. I never got the chance to say goodbye, he thought to himself.
There was a loud report in the clearing, and Alexei heard someone cry out. Opening his eyes, he was astonished to discover that he was still alive, and that Viktor was clutching his right arm, his gun lying on the ground.
‘Someone’s in the trees!’ Orlov yelled.
Pavel whirled round, training his handgun on the woods. His heart singing with relief, Alexei made out a shape darting through the darkness: Trojan had arrived.
As bullets zinged through the clearing, the Eagles scattered like ninepins, diving to safety behind the headstones. With a loud oath, Pavel fired off a couple of rounds, then dragged Viktor out of the line of fire.
‘Forget about me!’ Viktor screamed. ‘Kill the lawyer!’
Snarling, Pavel turned round and pointed his gun at Rozalina. Without thinking, Alexei dived headlong, knocking the lawyer to the ground as a bullet whistled through the air where she had been kneeling and bit into the headstone behind her.
‘Stop right there!’ a female voice commanded in Russian.
Alexei looked across to see that Pavel had frozen in between shots, a wisp of smoke wafting from the barrel of his gun. Behind him, Valerie Singer emerged from the shadows like an apparition, her gun trained on the back of Pavel’s head.
‘Drop the weapon,’ she said crisply, before calling out: ‘Madison!’
The Englishman appeared at the edge of the clearing, calmly reloading his weapon. ‘Present,’ he said.
Gesturing with her gun, Valerie ushered Pavel into the centre of the clearing.
‘You too, Orlov,’ she said.
Viktor grudgingly obeyed, hate smeared across his face like a bloodstain. He clutched at the wound in his arm.
‘That’s two of them,’ Madison said, scanning the headstones. ‘Where did the other two go?’
A loud crashing sound made them whirl round – Medved broke from his cover, barrelling into the trees. As Alexei watched, Marat peered out from behind another of the gravestones, his face ashen as he weighed up whether to make a run for it. For a brief second, the teenagers’ eyes met. Then Marat bolted.
‘Stay where you are, Alexei!’ Valerie cried out.
But Alexei was already running into the trees. He plunged into the darkness after Marat, darting in and out of the birches, his eyes fixed on the boy’s bright red sweatshirt. Behind him, Richard Madison was calling out his name. Alexei redoubled his efforts, closing the gap on Marat as the other boy stumbled in fear. As the cemetery gate appeared on the horizon, Alexei rugby-tackled Marat, sending both of them crashing to the floor.
‘No!’ Marat cried, as Alexei pinned him down. ‘Please!’
‘You hurt Lena!’ Alexei said, his voice ragged.
‘Who?’
‘My girlfriend. On the metro. You and Medved.’
Marat’s eyes widened with terror. ‘Her? I never knew! I’m sorry, Alexei! Please don’t hurt me!’
Alexei wasn’t thinking clearly any more. The next thing he knew, he had punched Marat hard in the face, and was banging his head against the ground. Marat’s nose was twisted and bleeding profusely, and Alexei must have hit him again. Then, dimly, he was aware of a strong hand pulling him off the other boy.
‘Enough, Alexei!’
Alexei whirled round, his fists clenched. Richard Madison held his hands up in the air.
‘It’s only me,’ the Englishman said softly. ‘We’re the good guys. Remember?’
‘Yeah,’ Alexei said dully, suddenly aware of the damp blood on his knuckles, and Marat’s senseless heap on the ground. ‘I don’t know what happened. I was so angry …’
His voice faltered. Madison wrapped an arm around his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, lad. You’ve been through a lot. It happens to the best of us.’
‘What about Medved? Did you catch him?’
Madison shook his head. ‘He managed to give us the slip. But we’ll catch up with him. The most important thing is that you and Rozalina are safe, and Viktor is in our hands. If Valerie hasn’t already killed him.’
They walked slowly back to the clearing, carrying the slumped form of Marat between them. Valerie was standing guard over Viktor and Pavel, her arm straight and unwavering as she trained her gun on them. Rozalina Petrova stood behind her.
‘I suppose you’re pleased with yoursel
f, you bitch,’ sneered Viktor.
‘Jew bitch,’ Valerie replied coolly. ‘And I’d be happier putting a bullet in between your eyes.’
‘Do it, then,’ said Viktor. ‘I’d rather die than submit myself to subhumans.’
Valerie smiled thinly. ‘Why do you think you’re still alive? You’re going to have a long time in prison to live with this indignity.’
‘Prison?’ Viktor smiled glassily. ‘Oh no. I don’t think so.’
His hand snaked into his jacket pocket, bringing out a tiny .22 calibre pistol.
‘Look out!’ Alexei cried.
Valerie didn’t even need to shoot. In one movement, Viktor pressed the .22 to his head and fired. The gun’s report echoed around the clearing like a death-knell as the leader of the Moscow Eagles dropped to the ground.
In the silence that followed, Pavel glanced down at the .22, lying inches from Viktor’s outstretched hand, then back at the gun trained on him.
‘Feel free to try for it,’ Valerie said icily. The soldier took a final look at the .22, then shook his head.
‘Pity,’ she murmured.
As Richard Madison handcuffed Pavel and the immobile Marat, Alexei stood stock-still, unable to take his eyes away from Viktor’s corpse. A pool of blood was spreading out across the grass from the man’s gaping head wound.
He realized that someone was standing at his side. It was Rozalina Petrova. She looked up at Alexei, then dissolved into floods of tears.
‘It’s OK,’ he whispered, gently holding her shaking frame. ‘It’s over.’
26. Mission End
The monastery echoed to the sound of activity as Trojan Industries closed down their Russian headquarters. Operatives bustled around Alexei, packing up laptops, rolling up electricity cables and unplugging the television screens. The spotlights were switched off and carried away, leaving the hall in dusty darkness.
Alexei was standing in the centre of the hall with Rozalina Petrova, Darius Jordan and Richard Madison. The American’s face was wreathed in a smile.
‘I’m delighted to say that Trojan’s second mission has been as successful as its first,’ he proclaimed. ‘We’ve achieved both our primary objective – rescuing Ms Petrova – and our secondary objective – breaking up the command structure of the Moscow Eagles. And all thanks to Alexei. I tell you straight, son: if you ever want a job in the intelligence service, you come and find me.’