He helped her out, making sure she was well-wrapped before easing the door to the hallway a few inches. No one was in sight. From somewhere - outside he thought - he could hear Uri and Podruznig barking orders, sounds of people running over gravel.
'Come on.' He pulled her into the hall. As he helped her out, the way her eyes widened at something behind him screamed a warning.
The usual response in such circumstances would be, turn, assess, react. But Murray knew that by the time he got to the third stage, it would most likely already be too late. And though he didn’t yet know what the danger was, he practised what he’d learned during the weeks of preparation for Priscilla but had never had to put into practice. Dipping right - her eyes dictated his choice, if he was wrong he was dead anyway – he bent his right arm and pulled it tight in to his side, using it as a shield. At the same time he raised his left arm, defending his neck and face as he spun round. It saved his life – for the moment.
Something punched into his upper right arm, but though it went instantly dead, he was still alive - and quick enough to swerve back and out of the way of Lamaar’s second, slashing strike. The steel blade whistled past his nose to score through the palm of his left hand. Gina screamed as Lamaar leaped at him. Then he was on the floor with Lamaar on top, pressing his full body weight down on the knife that only Murray’s grip on his wrist was preventing from plunging straight down into his throat.
Throughout his life, Murray had always kept himself fit, as had Lamaar. In his youth, Murray played football for the county and later, in the army, rugby. Lamaar never bothered with sport - until he realised that the fitter and stronger he was, the easier he could hurt people. In service assessments of his physical prowess, Murray always scored highly. So did Lamaar. Since leaving the army, Murray worked out regularly. Lamaar worked out every day, sometimes twice. Murray focused on aerobics - running and swimming - his favourite. Lamaar concentrated on strength and speed, pumping iron and using a device of his own invention that involved weights on chains attached to spinning poles that would smash his skull or shatter bone if he didn’t duck and dodge quickly enough.
With two good arms Murray might, possibly, have been able to hold Lamaar up. Without leverage, the downward pressure could not exceed Lamaar’s total body weight. But when Murray brought his other arm up to support his left, it wouldn’t work properly. A quick glance told why. Blood flowed from the wound to the inside of his arm. Lamaar’s first thrust must have penetrated right through, and though the bone wasn’t broken, Murray imagined shredded muscle, sliced tendons. As Lamaar kept up the pressure, Murray felt himself weakening, the knife-point drawing near.
'NO,' Gina screamed.
The knife flashed down, cutting through flesh, cartilage and, most of all, the jugular. Blood spurted in an arc, just like Billy’s had done, splattering down on the expensive ceramic, splashing across the coverlet Gina still held around her. She opened her mouth to scream again, but this time there was nothing there.
Murray looked up at Lamaar, his eyes wide in shock and horror. As the blood spurted again, Lamaar gripped at his throat with both hands - the knife gone now - gargling and gurgling as he drowned in his own blood. Then he slipped away to his right, out of his line of vision.
Murray’s eyes closed as he lay there, gasping for breath, blood still pooling on the front of his shirt.
'Don’t just lie there you lazy bastard, MOVE!'
Murray looked up into the cherubic face that ought to have belonged to a poet. Ryan O’Donnell’s left hand was stretched out towards him, waiting for his bloodied former Op Commander to take it. In his right was the titanium-steel hunting knife with the black ivory handle. Blood dripped from its tip.
Murray turned to his right. Next to him, Lamaar’s body twitched in the throes of death, the accompanying rattle mingling with the gurgles still emerging from the ear-to-ear gash that for some reason brought to mind a shark’s bloody smile. He grasped the hand offered and hauled himself to his feet. He had to take several deep reviving breaths before he could talk.
'Thanks-’ Breathe- ‘Boyo.'
'No need,' Ryan said. He turned to look down at his his victim, 'That was for Billy, you twat.' Then he kicked at the body once, viciously. 'And that’s from me.' Lamaar didn’t react.
Murray turned to Gina. She was trembling now. Crying. He went to put his arms round her, but she pulled away, eyes flaring in horror at his blood-soaked shirt. He tore it off and threw it away.
'Let’s go,' Ryan said.
Murray had to all-but lift her to get her moving again. They had covered only a few yards towards the kitchen when Red, Kishore and Wazzer came running out. Lamaar’s body and the state of Murray told Red the story. He shook his head.
'Just as well Irish here spotted yon bugger coming back, otherwise you’d be dead and we’d all be fucked.'
'Tell me about it.' Murray’s head flicked towards Gina, hanging onto his arm. 'I need to get her out of this.'
Red jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'We’re secure downstairs. Give us a couple of minutes.' Murray nodded and led her away.
'Right,' Red said. 'Let’s do it.'
The four ran to the front door. As they opened it, Podruznig was sprinting back up the steps towards them. He stopped dead as the stainless-steel barrel of a Heckler-Koch G36 assault rifle appeared in front of his nose.
'Don’t move a fucking inch,' Kishore said, smiling his goofy smile.
CHAPTER 58
Over by the gates, still trying to work out what the men in the field intended, Uri spun round as he heard the shout.
'ON THE GROUND, NOW, DO IT.'
At the top of the steps, his master stood with his hands raised in the posture of capture, a rifle barrel pressed to his neck by a ginger-haired man Uri had never seen before. As he took in the others, fanned out around Podruznig, already sighting on their targets, Uri knew at once what not to do.
Not so Stanislav.
A shout of defiance came from Uri’s left as Stanislav brought his weapon up. There was a short burst from the weapon of one of the men on the steps. and Uri heard the sounds of first Stanislav’s weapon, then Stanislav, hitting the ground. Stupid, Uri thought.
Following Uri’s example, they laid their weapons down, then did as commanded, lying face down, hands clasped on heads in the posture that maximised their chances of not falling victim to a jumpy trigger finger. Two of the men on the steps came amongst them, securing wrists behind backs with zip-ties. A minute later, the ginger haired man spoke into a radio.
'Red to Zeus. Compound secure. It’s over.'
When, a minute later, the Englishman appeared through the front door, the girl at his side, Uri cursed the day he hadn’t killed him when he had the chance - and made another promise to himself.
As Murray came out, Kishore was already opening the gates. Headlamps beamed and the noise of engines starting up came to him. He looked across to where Red was securing Podruznig, still snarling defiance. As Podruznig saw Murray emerge, he stopped to pin him with a stare.
'Do not think this is over Englishman. My reach is as long as my memory.'
Letting go Gina’s arm, Murray crossed to stand square in front of the Russian, the way he had that first day. Their gazes locked.
'It’s about time you learned to listen,’ Murray said. ‘And to read the writing on the wall.' The Russian’s eyes narrowed, as if working out if it might be an oblique reference to the kitchen graffiti that started everything.
Through the gates came a convoy of vehicles, led by two police SUV’s, blue lights flashing. They stopped in front of the steps. Pippis stepped out and rushed over to Gina. As they hugged each other, Galios Iridotu helped his elder brother, Papos from one of the cars behind. They shuffled forward to gaze on the face of the man responsible for their family’s pain.
As his lip curled into a sneer of contempt, Podruznig turned to hail Pippis in a voice still full of defiance.
'Know this, Polizei. If your famil
y thinks they can avenge themselves by killing me they are mistaken. My murder will hang over your family like a curse. Even here, the police cannot get away with such things.'
Pippis broke away from Gina to come and stand before him, like the others. For a long time he gazed into the Russian’s face. Murray thought he could imagine some of what was going through the policeman’s mind, but not all. One-armed or no, he steeled himself, just in case he needed to step in. There was no need. When he spoke, Pippis’s voice was matter-of-fact, as if he’d been preparing for the moment for a long time, but now it was here, felt it an anti-climax.
'The only thing I and my family will ever be guilty of, Pontian, is breaching Civil Aviation Authority Regulations.'
Podruznig’s eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement.
Pippis turned to retrace his steps back to the second police car in the convoy. He opened the back door. A man wearing an expensive grey suit, collar and tie got out. As he straightened up and Podruznig got his first good look at him, his jaw dropped.
'Hello Valerik,' Anatoly Kaskiv said, smiling. 'Good to see you again.'
As sight of the man he hadn’t seen since leaving Odessa registered in his brain, Podruznig’s mouth gaped. Other men - Kaskiv’s bodyguards - materialised in the background. Their eyes were everywhere, particularly on Red’s still-armed assault team.
Knowing what to expect, Murray shoved Podruznig forward. As they neared the car, Kaskiv stepped to one side. 'Perhaps you might like to say hello to an old friend Valerik?'
Presented with the inside of the car for his inspection, Podruznig bent to look. What colour still remained in his face drained away as he saw the bound and gagged figure of Viktor Bogdanof, Kaskiv’s long-serving, chief body-guard. As Podruznig turned from one to the other - Bogdanof, Kaskiv, Murray, Pippis - Murray noted how his Adam’s-apple was suddenly pronounced, his eyes those of a hunted deer, now cornered.
As if recognising the moment he too had waited a long time for, Kaskiv came forward. The way he started, by gesturing theatrically at Murray, Murray suspected he intended to make the most of it.
'Of course, Valerik, I had no idea whether to trust Mr Murray here when he first came to me with this story about you, and Viktor, and my little Sissi.' At mention of Kaskiv’s dead daughter’s name Podruznig swallowed. 'At the time, some hinted that you could, in some way, be responsible. “He likes them young,” they said. I never realised just how young. Or your taste for those substances that help your imagination roam where it likes to go.' Kaskiv’s voice lowered an octave. 'From what I hear, Valerik, that must be a very dark place. One no woman, young or otherwise, should ever be made to visit.' His face was like stone as he added, 'Like my Sissi was.'
Podruznig took a step forward. 'Anatoly, I-'
'SHUT THE FUCK UP!' Kaskiv’s hand whipped across Podruznig’s face, the crack of the contact echoing back from the house. Podruznig stood there, stunned. In all his life he had never had to take it as he was having to now. Kaskiv resumed.
'I was foolish Valerik. I demanded proof. I said that for all your weaknesses, you were loyal to me, and my family. Besides, I knew that with Viktor here being the efficient truth-finder he is, you would never risk something so stupid. You would know that I would tell him to leave no stone unturned. Which of course I did. So when he told me you were not involved, I believed him.' At this point Kaskiv turned to look into the car. Bogdanof’s sweating face stared back at him, terrified. 'The thought never even entered my head he would lie to me. That, knowing your guilt he would keep it from me.' He turned back to Podruznig, and the words he spoke next were as chilling as any those close enough to hear would ever remember. 'But then I was not to know that Viktor was with you that night. The night you persuaded him to try out your obscene substances. The night you both decided to see if my Sissi possessed the qualities your fucked-up brains imagined.'
Kaskiv paused in his delivery, as if to calm himself, not wanting to give vent to what every bone in his body was crying out for. At least, not yet. In the silence that followed no one moved or said anything, not even Podruznig. Kaskiv took a deep breath.
'No Valerik, I knew none of this. Not until Mr Murray here came to see me….' Podruznig spun round on Murray. The look on his face said, But how-? Kaskiv continued. 'And told me that he knew it to be true because….' Podruznig’s eyes grew wide. Surely it could not be. '..Your wife told him so.'
For a couple of seconds, Podruznig just stood there, then, like the collapse that follows the final blow, his face caved. Marianna. In that moment, a man’s image floated before him. Oscar Nazarov. Uri’s predecessor. A ruthlessly efficient soldier, enforcer and bodyguard, but one who was, nonetheless, always kind to women and children. Shot dead during an encounter with a rival faction years before, he alone knew the truth of what happened that night. It was Nazarov who protected his employer by spiriting him away from the scene, despite his disgust and horror. And Nazarov was the only member of his team Marianna ever had time for, the only one with whom she ever talked. Before Sasha’s arrival, it was invariably Nazarov who accompanied Marianna on her long walks. They’d have talked…
Up to that moment, Podruznig had clung to the idea that once away from here, he would convince Kaskiv it was all a plot to oust him. That all Murray and the policeman had done was feed off the rumours that had always been around. He knew now that would not happen. The bitch had betrayed him, just as Uri had always said she would. He should have-
'And in case there was any doubt, Valerik,' Kaskiv was determined to finish. 'I had our good friend, Viktor, here confirm it. He seemed to think that if he could lay the blame on you and that shit you gave him, I would be more understanding. More merciful.' As he took hold of the car door he looked back at the man lying trussed on the back seat. 'I cannot imagine what gave him that idea.' The muffled pleadings that leaped from the back of Bogdanof’s throat cut off as Kaskiv slammed the door shut.
As if at a prearranged signal, two of Kaskiv’s men came forward to stand either side of Podruznig, gripping his arms.
Realising what was about to happen, Podruznig turned a desperate face on Pippis. 'You cannot let them do this. You are the Police.'
Pippis was as impassive as Murray had ever seen him. 'Do what? They were never here.'
'Come my old friend,' Kaskiv said, signalling to his men. 'We have a plane to catch. To Odessa.' The men dragged Podruznig, screaming, towards one of the cars.
'BASTARDS,' Podruznig yelled. 'I WILL-.'
In the dark, Murray didn’t see what happened that stopped Podruznig’s protests. A door opened. There was a brief struggle. It slammed shut. Then there was only silence.
Kaskiv turned to Murray. 'Thank you Mr Murray.'
Murray gave an acknowledging nod, but made no answer. None of it had given him pleasure. An agreement had been concluded, that was all. Besides, he knew enough about Kaskiv’s own past to hope they would never have to do business again.
Kaskiv seemed to understand. He turned to Pippis, nodded his goodnight. 'Superintendent.'
By now Galios, Papos and Gina had gathered to him. Pippis stood there, arms about them, rock-like, as he too nodded a silent farewell.
This part of the night’s business over, Kaskiv climbed back into the police car he had stepped from. Pippis signalled to the officer leading the convoy. As it pulled away, lights still flashing, the others followed. No one spoke as the visitors from the Black Sea that were never there turned left through the gates onto the kilometre-long track that would take them and their prisoner back to the main road, the airport and, by dawn, Odessa. When the last vehicle had passed out of sight, Pippis turned to Murray.
'I hope you have a key, Mr Murray. The house is yours again.'
CHAPTER 59
Dawn’s first light was showing behind the hills of the Pafos Forest by the time Murray and Gina returned to the house. In the close to three hours since they’d left, their wounds had been treated and dressed. The level of service on offer at Pafos
’s General Hospital shot through the roof when Pippis arrived and collared the night-duty doctor. But while Gina’s injuries were more superficial than they looked - Murray feared that the real damage may not show until later, and then not to her body - they’d wanted to keep him in, ‘for observation.’ The hole in his ribcage where the knife had penetrated through his arm, might lead to complications they said. His lung could be pierced. Murray took several deep breaths to show them they were talking bollocks, and told them he wasn’t staying anywhere, though he kept to himself how it nearly killed him to make it sound convincing.
As Gina drove them away in the replacement Merc provided by her insurance - she had ordered her father to have it brought to the hospital and insisted she was fit to drive - Murray slipped the sling off his neck and tossed it into the back seat. He pretended not to notice the admonishing look she threw his way.
As they drove in through the gates, he was surprised to discover that the only way he could cope with the emotions that hit him was to close his eyes. They stayed shut until Gina pulled up at the bottom of the steps. Apart from it being the first time he’d been able to drive straight in without being challenged, he was conscious that whatever his confused feelings for Gina Iridotu, it should, rightly, have been another woman next to him. And while he was glad Gina had returned with him, he worried about how she may react when she learned the truth. He hoped he hadn’t miscalculated.
As they got out, he heard noises, poolside. They told him all he needed to know. But he resisted going to look while he checked out the hallway. He was glad to see someone had kept their promise.
Bad enough that he’d failed in his initial aim of keeping it out altogether - it had probably never been on the cards anyway - but if death had to come within, as it had, he wanted its stay to be as short as possible. He didn’t intend to ask what they’d done with Lamaar’s body, but trusted it wouldn’t wash up on the beach below any time soon. Giving Gina a wan smile, he headed round back.
A Killing Place in the Sun Page 28