by Keith Short
‘I’ll go with him.’
‘No, Leon! I forbid it. It would be too dangerous.’ Chekhov stared out of the screen with pleading eyes. ‘And you are very precious to me.’
The black cab rolled into the forecourt of the Paddington Hilton. This was some big hit – half a dozen police vehicles, two ambulances, blue lights flashing. The dog handlers were getting their dogs back into the vans and it looked like the armed police officers were retiring. Job done. Leon showed his Fusion pass to the uniformed officer at the entrance and breezed past him into the hotel’s reception. Ivan Kuzmin and his two security officers were standing at the reception desk; Kuzmin was speaking into his wafer – reporting the good news to Chekhov, no doubt.
‘Leon? What are you doing here?’ Kuzmin slapped the wafer on to the desk.
First-name terms, he must be happy. Leon gave Fusion’s head of security the broadest of smiles. ‘I couldn’t resist—’
‘This is no laughing matter. Mr Chekhov is going to be angry.’
‘He needn’t be. I only followed you to catch the final curtain. I knew you’d do a fine job. I’m just a member of the public, don’t forget. And the police wouldn’t put the public at risk—’
‘The police bungled it!’ Kuzmin snapped. ‘Their observers failed to do their jobs. Look!’ He pointed. Two paramedics were each wheeling a stretcher with a body bag perched on top. ‘Rodin and Vitaliev slipped through the net and that’s what they’ve left behind – both shot between the eyes.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. We’ve lost them thanks to police incompetence. That’s what he’s going to be angry about. Not your disobedience. Who knows where they are now? They’ve probably arranged a new rendezvous with their contact. The airport is close. All those terminals, scores of shops and restaurants – it’s going to be impossible to find them.’
‘You’re right, they have to be heading for the airport. And there is no contact. The zip is so valuable that Rodin has to be carrying it over personally – with Vitaliev riding shotgun. Quick! Get on to the flight scheduling sites. Find the most direct route to Los Alamos and forget the police. From now, we’re taking over the chase.’
‘Screen on!’ Kuzmin frantically worked the reception’s touch screen. ‘Here they are. Terminals 3 or 5. Los Alamos via Dallas Fort Worth. Which one?’
‘Flight times. Look them up.’
‘Let me see. Dallas Fort Worth – Terminal 5, British Airways four hours from now.’
‘Any more flights? Hurry!’
‘Yes, there’s another – Terminal 3, Delta Airlines just under two hours’ time.’
‘That has to be the one. Let’s get a move on. There’s a new Metro-link that takes only ten minutes.’
‘How did you know about—’
‘Come on. We’re wasting time.’ The last few months of my life have burned the Metro map into my brain. That’s how.
Kuzmin and his men regrouped. After searching the whole of the Terminal 3 Departures area, there was no sign of Rodin or Vitaliev. ‘They’re not here,’ Kuzmin said.
Leon clenched his fists like a boxer and tapped them against his temples. ‘Let me think. OK, let’s check the Arrivals area.’
‘What? Are you sure they won’t have already gone through to the Departures lounge?’
‘Call it a hunch. Why would they pass through security so early? And they wouldn’t just hang about here. Come on, follow me.’
The Arrivals hall was teeming. ‘We’re never going to find them among this crowd,’ Kuzmin said, sounding dismayed.
Leon was beginning to think Kuzmin was right. They were chasing a lost cause. He peered towards the throng of passengers pouring out through Customs. A young man in baggy jeans, Dallas Cowboys football top and a baseball cap caught his attention. Nothing unusual about being dressed like that if he’d just got off an American flight, but why did he carry no luggage?
‘Leon, what are you looking at?’
‘I’ve seen that guy before. Got it. The photograph Gunther Schroeder showed me of his interview candidate. It’s Karl Fenner, our man at Los Alamos.’
‘That’s impressive. You must have a photographic memory.’
‘Yes, I have,’ Leon casually replied. ‘Don’t you see? I was wrong. They were never going to fly over to New Mexico themselves. The deal was probably finalised days ago and Fenner has come over to collect the data. He has to be a double agent. Come on, let’s follow him. You and I will stay a few paces back, Kuzmin. He may just recognise our faces.’
‘Kobra, Gaduka – get after him!’ Kuzmin yelled, ‘Melomet-links on open.’ The four men followed Karl Fenner out of the terminal building. ‘He’s heading for the car park. Once he reaches it, spread and stay well back until we identify the car he’s making for.’
‘I’ll stay right with you, Kuzmin.’
‘Make yourself scarce, Leon. If Vitaliev is here, I don’t want you anywhere near him. We’ll sort it out. These guys are trained in tactical assault.’
‘I’ll be careful.’
‘Just get out of here.’ Kuzmin broke into a trot.
Leon watched Kuzmin until he was three car ranks ahead. A thought struck him. He’s going to recognise Vitaliev. They worked in the same security centre. Disobeying orders yet again, he followed Kuzmin. Within thirty seconds, the wafer traffic went into overdrive.
‘Red Mercedes saloon on Row M.’
‘Got it. One male, one female inside. It has to be them. Kobra, get to the back of Row N and wait until I give the signal. Gaduka, back of Row M. Start moving towards the target, but keep low.’
‘Directly behind target. The mark is at the driver’s side now.’
‘Stay low, Kobra. And don’t budge.’
‘Ready.’
‘Can you see the mark, Gaduka?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wait.’
Leon watched their adroit manoeuvres from Row K. As if part of Kuzmin’s team, he crouched behind a Mini and peered across its bonnet towards the Mercedes. Fenner was speaking to Rodin through the open car window. Kuzmin was walking slowly towards the car. What’s he playing at? They must be able to see him by now.
‘Go!’
Kuzmin’s men sprang from their positions and bounded towards the vehicle like leopards. Kuzmin went full tilt at Fenner and downed him with an American-football-style tackle. Alexei Rodin’s mouth gawped open. The security officer code-named Kobra dragged her out of the driver’s seat and held her in a rear arm lock. Rodin cut a sleek figure in her silk blouse and short skirt. At least they had the decency not to beat up a woman this time.
A man wearing jeans and a tight sweater leapt from the passenger’s side of the car. So that’s Sergei Vitaliev. Leon jumped up, whistled and waved his arms in an attempt to distract him. It worked. For a second their eyes met across the rows of parked cars. The second security officer charged in from the side. Gaduka has him. Vitaliev moved like lightning. Before Gaduka could take him out, he caught him by the arm and twisted it up his back. Gaduka’s arm broke at the elbow joint with a loud snap. He screamed like a banshee. Vitaliev let him drop to the ground and bolted off like a sprinter. With no idea of what he was going to do next, Leon set off after him.
‘When does the next flight leave?’ Leon asked, panting as he arrived at the Delta Airlines Terminal 3 check-in desk.
‘Thirty minutes,’ said the girl behind the desk. ‘You still have time to get to the gate, sir.’
Leon produced his Fusion security pass. ‘I have no passport. Can I use this? First class if possible.’
‘Of course, Dr Dabrowski. A director of Fusion can travel on almost any airline in the world. Let me see, I’ll just scan it through. Yes, that’s fine. Fusion’s account is now debited. Will there be anything else?’
‘No thanks. Have to run.’
‘Call for you, Leon
,’ said the Melomet, from the wafer in his pocket. ‘Mr Chekhov.’
Leon was taken aback. Attractive though the voice might be, the trouble with the Melomet was it didn’t convey the caller’s emotion. He’s going to be mad, I know it.
‘Leon, you’ve just booked a flight to St Petersburg. What are you doing?’
‘Vitaliev. I’m going after him.’
‘I’ve already told you. No! We have Rodin and that traitor, Fenner. Leave Vitaliev to the police. I don’t wish to lose you a second time.’
‘Sorry, Father. It’s important to me.’ Father? Just doesn’t sound right. And he made no mention of the zip. Decision made, he scurried towards the Departures lounge. Still running, he flashed his Fusion pass across the scanner at Gate 7. Made it.
The gate was open and the economy class passengers were beginning to scan their boarding passes. No sign of him. According to Magda, Vitaliev was planning to go back to St Petersburg once he finished his contract at Eight Over Nine. With Rodin and Fenner arrested, surely it was time for him to implement his retirement plan? I’ve blown it. Vitaliev wasn’t taking this flight after all. He has the zip and he’s on a plane to the States right now. He rubbed his hands across his eyes and looked up towards the gate as the final passengers filed through. And there at the back of the line was Sergei Vitaliev. Game on.
Leon settled back into the seat in his private corral. ‘Welcome to first class, sir,’ said the hostess. ‘Can I get you a news-wafer?’
‘No, thanks. I’d like a blindfold, though.’
‘Certainly, sir. Would you like me to wake you up before we land?’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t be sleeping.’
Let’s just think about this. If they’ve searched and interrogated Rodin and Fenner, Chekhov would know by now that Vitaliev has his precious data. The zip in Vitaliev’s pocket contains key information that would assist the Americans in developing their own commercial fusion reactor and he’s well aware of its value. He’s going to hold out for megabucks. And if Vitaliev realises who I am, he’d be doing the Americans a favour by killing me. How have I got myself mixed up in all this? He lifted the blindfold and rubbed his tired eyes. Gunther Schroeder was standing in front of him.
‘If the Americans knew of your personal contribution to this project, it would be you they’d be stealing.’
Have they lured me on to this plane?
Schroeder faded away and Chekhov took his place. ‘You are very precious to me.’
He tried to stop me getting this flight. Is it because he doesn’t want the Americans to have me?
Magda, is that you?
‘Guilt? Jealousy? These are new words for our dictionary, aren’t they?’
Is it about Magda and Vitaliev . . . or me and Vitaliev . . . or me and Magda?
A long and stressful afternoon was drawing to its close; the emotions flooded in and Leon let out the tears in silence.
Thirty minutes into the flight. It’s time. There can’t be many passengers back there in economy class. Let’s hope the seats next to him are unoccupied. Leon was halfway down the aisle when he spotted him. Window seat, alone. Perfect. With his heart in his mouth, he sat down next to Sergei Vitaliev.
‘Mind if I join you?’
Vitaliev’s face was a picture of surprise. ‘I saw you in the car park,’ he said, wide-eyed. ‘Who are you? Ah, don’t tell me. You work for Vladimir Chekhov. You’re a Chekhov boy.’
‘Yes, to both assertions.’
‘You have no business with me. What do you want?’
‘I want the zip you’re carrying. It doesn’t belong to you.’
Sergei sneered at him. ‘You’re not one of his security team – I can tell. Besides, I’d recognise you if you were. You want your data back? Go ahead, take it from me if you can. I’m waiting.’
It was Vitaliev who made the move. Like an expert pickpocket, his hand darted inside Leon’s jacket and emerged with his wafer. ‘You won’t need this,’ he said, switching it off. ‘Now what are you going to do?’
Leon now had no way of alerting the authorities. He cursed his own stubbornness. His jealousy had driven him to this showdown, with no available backup. He was at the mercy of a killer and looking him straight in the eyes. Should he tell him who he was? That would only give him the opportunity to gloat over his conquest of Magda. He shook his head to clear the thought. Vitaliev wouldn’t give a damn about Magda. He knew who he was and he’d be deciding whether to kill him.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are about to enter a zone of high turbulence. For your own comfort, I would ask you to remain seated with your seat belts fastened. In the event of an emergency, please carry out the actions shown in the hologram. Thank you.’
Leon kept his eyes fixed on Vitaliev throughout the captain’s announcement. It was almost like looking in a mirror. Did Magda use him as a substitute to satisfy her womanly needs? Would she have closed her eyes and pretended it was him every time they made love? Surely, it had to feel different for her? Was it better?
The plane lurched to the side as it dropped into the air pocket. Involuntary yelps of surprise rang around the cabin. Leon instinctively turned in his seat and clicked the buckle of his seatbelt. He realised his blunder too late – it provided his adversary with the chink of opportunity he needed. He felt a sudden pressure on his throat as Vitaliev’s forearm pinned him back in his seat. His first reaction was to raise his right arm to defend himself but it felt limp and useless. He felt a sharp icy pain on the wrist of his free arm. A heavy weight pressed down on his legs and shoulders and the cabin lights swirled above his head. His mouth sagged open as his head collapsed on to his shoulder and he felt a warm liquid running off the fingertips of both hands. I’m dying. His whole body was numb and his eyes were closing. With his last shred of energy, he raised his eyes and stared through the haze. Vitaliev was smiling, brandishing his gleaming white teeth. ‘Goodbye, Chekhov boy.’
CHAPTER 45
Leon’s eyes focused. Another gleaming smile. ‘Magda, is that you?’
Vladimir Chekhov welcomed Leon back into the world with a squeeze of his hand. ‘We were all worried about you.’
‘Where am I?’
‘St Petersburg. You are in hospital, my son.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was Pentothal, a barbiturate that induces general anaesthesia within thirty seconds. Vitaliev used a specially adapted wafer with an edge honed to razor-blade sharpness. It would have been undetectable to the airport security scanners. He also tried to kill you by slitting your wrists. What sort of person carries such vile and covert weaponry?’
Leon looked down at his bandaged wrists. On the opposite side of the bed to his father, a peristaltic pump squeezed fresh blood through his veins. ‘But, how did—’
‘How did we stop him? It was Ivan Kuzmin who did that. On my instruction, he followed you on to that flight. He was a few rows back in the main cabin. For my part, I arranged a brief delay in your take-off to make sure he boarded. And your next question is what happened to Vitaliev?’
Leon tried to smile but he felt like one of the old Metro-tube trains was rattling through his head.
‘Kuzmin is good at his job, Leon.’
‘But Vitaliev is a trained killer.’
‘Even trained killers go down like a sack of stones if they receive an old-fashioned uppercut to the chin. Vitaliev wouldn’t have been expecting it and as Kuzmin was familiar with him from their Goldhurst security training programmes, he knew exactly what style of assault would work best. All Kuzmin then had to do was identify the flight’s shotgun rider and borrow his handcuffs. That wasn’t difficult – the undercover antiterrorist agent came across to investigate the disturbance within seconds. Kuzmin simply showed him his Fusion pass and the agent assisted with the arrest.
‘The wafer-zip?’
‘While Vitaliev was out cold, Kuzmin searched him and retrieved the wafer-zip. I had it destroyed. The whole process of securing this planet’s future energy resources is back under control.’
‘Magda, is she OK?’
‘She’s on her way, my son.’
CHAPTER 46
The old pakhan’s office was empty. From the smell of beeswax and linseed, Leon could tell the floor had recently been polished.
‘Why have you invited me here, Leon? Don’t you understand how I feel about Eight Over Nine after all I’ve been through?’
‘This room is beautiful, don’t you think? Can you feel the spirits? I wanted us to be together in this place.’
‘Before you convert the whole subterranean complex, you mean? You can’t imagine how much that pleases me. What will you do with this room?’
‘I haven’t decided. Perhaps I’ll make it my office?’
Magda raised an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. ‘And those magnificent paintings in the corridor?’
‘Fake. Just like everything else in Eight Over Nine. Music!’
‘What would you like to listen to, Leon?’ said the Melomet.
‘Shostakovich. Second piano concerto.’
The sound of piano music echoed around the panelled room.
‘Would you like to dance?’