by Matt Rogers
Viktor had been telling the truth. The two parties weren’t connected.
The two bodyguards didn’t know who Viktor was.
But they knew about the shipbuilding plant.
And they knew Slater meant business.
Slater jabbed a finger toward the other end of the carriage and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. Both men continued staring. Neither budged. But neither showed signs of hostility, either.
Slater opened and closed the four fingers on his right hand against his thumb, making a let’s talk gesture, and once again jabbed his finger in the direction of the carriage’s end. He was pointing to the rear of the carriage, in the opposite direction of the bathroom with the dead man. The other way led straight into the dining car, and Slater had no intention of talking to the two men with witnesses around. Only a couple of days into the train’s journey he’d seen a door at the very front of the train leading into a carriage reserved for staff.
Hopefully, with only a few hours left on their journey, the carriage would be deserted.
Otherwise things could get messy.
He was under no illusions as to what the bodyguards wanted to do with him. He was armed, and didn’t shy away from confrontation. He seemed to be conspiring with someone who knew a great deal about the shipbuilding plant. All of these aspects combined into a serious threat, one that needed to be eliminated before they arrived in Vladivostok, even if the men knew nothing about Slater or who he worked for.
Getting rid of him was the safest option, by far.
There seemed to be a great deal on the line, even though Slater had no idea what it involved.
But the pair of bodyguards must have thought he was a moron, because the hint of a smug grin spread across one of their faces and they nodded in unison, accepting the silent proposal. To reinforce his supposed idiocy, Slater shoved the Grach back into his waistband and turned both palms out, each hand facing the men across the aisle.
I don’t want to fight.
They certainly did, but they feigned their own innocence by following suit, draping their jackets over the holsters at their waists so that the weapons disappeared from sight. One of them swept his hand in the same direction Slater had pointed.
After you.
They must have thought they’d struck gold. Here was a significant threat that could pose serious problems to them once they arrived in Vladivostok, but he seemed to be walking willingly to his death, completely unaware of what their intentions were. Slater knew exactly what they were thinking, but he played the role of the bumbling dipshit by nodding and smiling politely.
He got to his feet, leaving Viktor sitting alone in the booth, pale as a ghost and visibly shaking.
‘No,’ Viktor whispered, barely audible.
Slater heard, though.
His brain was firing on all cylinders, attuned to the slightest twitches and the softest sounds. He heard Viktor’s quiet protest and ignored it — Viktor must think he was an idiot too. He realised no-one in the carriage knew his background — sure, Viktor had watched him kill a man without much effort, but anyone could get lucky with a single punch.
Slater stepped out into the aisle as the train rattled on the tracks, and paused momentarily to get his balance. When he righted himself, he walked straight past the three men on the other side — by now, the man in the expensive suit had noticed what was going on.
Slater strode purposefully down the length of the carriage and moved through to the next one.
Silently, the two bodyguards left their booth and trailed behind him.
10
He didn’t dare look back — he had a role to play, and it meant pretending that he trusted the two men completely. So he stared straight ahead as he moved through carriages packed with passengers, politely skirting around plump men and women reaching for their luggage on the shelves overhead or heading for the restrooms at the end of each carriage.
One of the train’s staff smiled at him as he moved past, and he returned the gesture. She was moving in the opposite direction, which meant she would pass by the bodyguards a few seconds after she passed him. Slater listened closely and heard both men softly step aside, only a couple of feet behind him. They were keeping close on his heels.
The strange procession made their way through the train, probably seeming perfectly ordinary to any onlookers. Slater, however, hadn’t been on edge like this in quite some time. He knew conflict was inevitable, in the same way he knew the sun would rise each day. That was just the nature of the beast. He had spent enough time in these kinds of situations to recognise the electricity in the atmosphere.
Right now, everything pointed to death.
Either him, or the two guys behind him.
They wanted him out of the equation, because they didn’t know what his business with the shipbuilding plant involved.
Slater passed another pair of staff serving drinks and traditional Russian snacks in the frontmost passenger carriage. He nodded to them, and they nodded back. On the last few hours of the journey, Slater couldn’t imagine any of the staff loitering in their quarters. There were jobs to be undertaken.
He would have complete privacy if he forced his way in — he was sure of it.
Then the three-man unit crossed into carriages containing the sleeping quarters — Slater passed the door to his deluxe suite without a second look. The whole time his mind roared, running through all the potential ways the encounter could unfold.
He couldn’t talk to the pair, or pry information out of them. Any attempt to subdue them wouldn’t work — he could tell they were trained, otherwise they wouldn’t have been assigned the role of protecting the man in the expensive suit. So to try and beat them down without giving the fight his all would only result in disaster. It would only take a narrow window of opportunity to capitalise on one of Slater’s mistakes, and then the fight would be over. Two on one — especially against men who were expecting it and ready for it — had to be over in a matter of seconds.
He couldn’t hesitate, or he would die.
They passed through the final carriage open to passengers, skirting around a group of civilians heading back to their sleeping quarters — probably to pack their things in anticipation of arriving in Vladivostok. Then Slater came to the familiar wood-panelled door, labelled Staff Only in a number of different languages.
He turned back ever so slightly, showing no trace of hostility in his mannerisms. He caught a glimpse of the two bodyguards hovering behind him, only a few feet away, standing side by side across the narrow aisle in case he felt the need to flee. They were boxing him in, their hands crossed together in front of their bodies so they could wrench their weapons free in an instant if the situation required it.
They’re going to kill me.
Without a doubt.
Slater didn’t make direct eye contact, instead raising a palm to silently tell them to be patient. Then he turned back to the door and rapped on it once, slamming his knuckles against the wood with enough force to draw the attention of anyone inside. He waited three seconds, then rapped again.
Nothing.
No-one home.
Nodding satisfactorily, he checked once more behind the bodyguards for any sign of witnesses. Finding nothing but an empty corridor, he bent at the knees, lowering his bodyweight a few inches. Then he slammed his shoulder against the right-hand side of the door, putting enough forward momentum into the charge to snap the lock. Any other door would have left him looking like an idiot, but this train was archaic. It had been renovated and decorated and made to look luxurious, but the foundations were old and suffering from all manner of wear and tear.
Slater burst into the staff quarters, which consisted of nothing more than a few shiny plastic booths and a kitchenette taking up the far third of the carriage. He assumed the staff’s sleeping area was in another carriage.
‘Shut the door,’ he said.
He doubted either of the men spoke English, but they understood all the same. T
he man on the right — a little taller and a little heavier than his partner — reached back and wedged the broken lock back in place as best he could.
It held.
They were alone.
11
Slater raised both eyebrows at the same time and leant forward imperceptibly, drawing both men in a little closer. They paused — one of them had already started reaching for his gun, but the gesture was strange enough to make them hesitate.
Perhaps Slater had important information…
Before they even realised what was happening Slater reared his head back and lashed out with the underside of his heavy winter boot, slamming the sole into the solar plexus of the guy on the left. For some reason the breaking ribs made no noise, but Slater felt the sickening crunch underfoot and knew the injuries would be horrific.
That was enough to give him comfort.
Before the guy had even started to collapse, Slater jerked forward at the waist and slammed his forehead into the delicate cartilage of the other guy’s nose. The second man hadn’t had the chance to recoil, so his septum cracked and blood spurted from both nostrils at once. He made to let out a howl but Slater clamped the guy’s jaw shut with a whistling uppercut, twisting his hips to transfer all the natural momentum of his body into the punch. The man’s teeth smashed together and he stumbled back a couple of steps.
Then Slater’s mind went haywire as he noticed the guy on the left reaching for his Desert Eagle.
It seemed that the man hadn’t gone down like Slater anticipated, instead riding out the pain of his broken ribs and making a lunge for his weapon all the same.
Slater twisted back in the other direction and launched a turning side kick, aiming for the guy’s jaw with as much accuracy as he could muster. If he connected, it would be lights out.
But he missed.
The smaller guy with the broken ribs darted out of range and ripped the Desert Eagle from his holster. In one smooth motion he thumbed the safety off and brought the massive firearm up to aim at Slater’s throat.
His pulse racing, his senses reeling, Slater finished turning a full revolution to ride out the inertia of the missed kick. He’d put his all into it, and now he found himself on the back step.
He would die.
But, thankfully, the guy on the right — his nose broken and a handful of teeth falling out of his mouth — came lunging into range with a panicked burst of adrenalin. He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings — he was in pain, and had chosen to take all the rage he was feeling and direct it toward Slater.
If he’d stayed put, Slater would have died.
But instead he charged into range, making the other guy hesitate — a Desert Eagle round would put a crater in both of them, and the smaller man didn’t seem to want to gun down his comrade just to incapacitate Slater. At the same time a wave of unavoidable pain creased his features — the agony of the broken ribs had finally caught up with him.
He’d been able to keep it at bay for a couple of seconds, but the window of opportunity to move without hindrance was rapidly closing.
Slater absorbed a wild, looping haymaker to the side of his skull — it hurt, but didn’t slow him down one bit. With that out of the way, he snatched two handfuls of the taller guy’s jacket and hurled him straight into his friend, pinning the gun between their bodies. Both of them went down in an ungainly heap and Slater followed them to the floor.
He knew if the Desert Eagle resurfaced, his life would be over. He picked the taller guy up with one hand and delivered one of the hardest punches he’d ever thrown in his life, breaking a cluster of bones in his cheek and sending him straight back onto the tiled floor, unconscious. The guy with the broken ribs began to worm his way to his feet and Slater stomped down on his chest, driving him back into the floor with enough ferocity to send the Desert Eagle spinning away.
The guy squeezed his eyes shut and curled into the foetal position, in so much pain that he found it hard to move.
Slater glanced at the Desert Eagle resting in the corner of the room and shook his head. A gunshot from such a fearsome pistol would sound like a bomb going off in this confined space. It would attract the attention of everyone on the train.
This would have to be done silently.
Uncomfortable about what had to be done, Slater hardened his features, turning his face to stone. He bent down, rolled the guy with the broken ribs onto his front, and silently looped a forearm around his throat.
He started to squeeze.
12
A steady murmuring arose in the carriage Slater had spent most of the journey in. Not for any notable reason — he guessed it was simply because they were approaching their final destination. Everyone was restless, eager to depart and either explore the port city or make the long winding journey back to Moscow.
Sensing eyes in the back of his head, Slater lowered his gaze toward the floor and slumped his shoulders, making himself as small as possible in an attempt to avoid attention. He dropped back into the seat opposite Viktor, who hadn’t budged since he’d left. He sensed the man in the expensive suit staring at him, in disbelief as to what had occurred. He might not know yet that his two companions were dead, but he would soon come to that conclusion.
Until then, Slater had to make Viktor understand certain things.
‘Where are they?’ Viktor said, this time having the common sense to keep his voice low.
‘They joined the other guy.’
‘What other guy?’
‘The bathroom guy.’
‘Oh… oh no.’
‘I didn’t have a choice, Viktor.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I offered to tell you. You didn’t seem interested.’
‘I thought it was luck. Now I am interested.’
‘There’s plenty of time for that later. Right now, we need to get a few things straight.’
‘Such as?’
‘You need to do exactly what I say. The guy across from us — don’t look — can’t hear us, but any second now he’s going to wander over and ask what happened to the men he was with. He saw them follow me. He’s looking at us right now.’
‘What happens when he comes over?’
‘You’ll see. But if I even look in your direction you need to do everything I tell you to, as soon as I tell you to do it. Got it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t take this lightly. I understand your family’s at risk, but I can help you. Quick question.’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘You think the guy across from us speaks English?’
‘How am I supposed to know?’
‘I don’t know what it’s like in Russia. Many of you speak English?’
‘Roughly a third of us. Most have some kind of grasp on it. We need to in this day and age.’
‘Okay. Perfect.’
‘Why do you need to know?’
‘I need to catch him off guard. And I need him to understand.’
‘He’s coming.’
Slater noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and spotted the guy in the expensive suit slinking slowly out of his seat. He was cautious and hesitant and in no way comfortable with approaching, but Slater could tell the guy didn’t have any other choices. Without his two friends he seemed lost. Nervous and uncomfortable and out of his element.
Suddenly, Slater realised the dynamic wasn’t what he originally thought. He thought the guy in the expensive suit might have been held against his will by the two henchmen, but they hadn’t been sitting across the aisle seats to prevent him from leaving.
They’d been protecting him.
Not keeping him in.
Keeping other people out.
‘Sit the fuck down,’ Slater hissed before the man even had the chance to open the conversation.
It took the guy entirely by surprise, and he flapped his lips like a dying fish, trying to formulate a response.
Before he could, Slater yanked one of the dead men’s Dese
rt Eagles out of his jacket pocket and waved it in the direction of the man. ‘Three seconds before I blow your brains over the far wall. I’m not afraid to.’
The guy sat down next to Viktor, never taking his eyes off Slater for a second. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t move. Slater realised the fear he’d seen in the man’s eyes hadn’t been because he was being held hostage.
It was because he was scared to reveal something.
He was implicit in all of this.
Somehow.
‘English?’ Slater said.
‘Yes,’ the guy said, with less of an accent than Viktor.
‘You someone important?’
‘You going to kill me?’
‘Answer the question.’
‘Sort of important,’ the guy said.
‘You’re a businessman?’
‘Something like that.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘I would rather you kill me than tarnish my reputation.’
‘Who said anyone’s reputation is being tarnished?’ Slater said.
‘Why else would you be here?’
‘What are you involved in?’
‘Like I said … I would rather you kill me.’
He was sweating and shaking and pale, but he seemed sincere enough. Slater tucked the Desert Eagle under his jacket as a staff member strolled past their aisle, offering a warm smile as she glanced into the four-seat booth. Slater smiled back, and she continued on her journey down the carriage. Breathing a sigh of relief, he poked the barrel of the pistol against the inside of his jacket material, letting the businessman know he could kill him with a simple pump of the trigger.
‘What do you want?’ the businessman said.
‘You ever seen this guy before?’ Slater said, motioning to Viktor with the gun barrel.
The businessman glanced across. ‘No.’
‘What’s your name?’ Slater said again.