Mercy ran out of the front door and raced across the lawn to join them. Tears were pouring down her face, but whether from fear, regret or smoke, Charlie was unable to tell. Mercy turned and looked up at the burning villa.
“I didn’t want it to happen like this,” she murmured. “I always thought I wanted to kill him, but in the end, I changed my mind. That would have been too quick. I decided to take his home away from him and then we could hand him over to the police. They’d have enough to keep him under lock and key for the rest of his life.”
“And we need him to lead us to Michael Hawkins,” said Charlie. She shook Mercy’s arm, trying to raise her from her stupor. “We’re going to have to go back in and get him out.” But Mercy was shaking her head.
“It’s too late. The staircase is gone. He refused to leave his home.”
At that moment, Mladov seemed to become aware of them for the first time. He raised his gun and the three women scattered in opposite directions. Stefano fired once. Francine gave a yell and fell to the ground. He turned and sighted his gun on Charlie who was changing course to run to Francine’s aid. As the gun fired for a second time, Charlie heard someone scream “no” and a body hurtled into her and threw her to the ground. She found Mercy lying across her. Charlie felt wet on her hands and when she raised them to look; they were bright red. At least one of them was bleeding.
There was a yell of rage from the building. Stefano tried to fire again, but the gun jammed, and he dropped it as flames ran around the tinder-dry balcony and engulfed the old man. He spun around and disappeared back through the French doors and was gone.
“Charlie, Mercy, are you guys okay?” Francine had risen to her feet and was limping towards them. Blood ran down the side of her leg. She glanced down at it and shook her head. “It’s only a nick. Stings like hell, but I’ll be fine with a couple of stitches. What about you?”
Charlie could see that Mercy’s eyes were closed. As Francine reached them, she gave a gasp and covered her mouth with her hands. Charlie raised her head to see what she was looking at. In the middle of Mercy’s back was a neat bullet hole. As she gently pushed the other woman’s body off her, she saw the exit wound in her chest. And that was a lot less neat. Mercy was gone.
Chapter 59
Holding Suzanne against him, Michael Hawkins walked her down the alleyway and back out into the street. They might almost have been a middle-aged couple enjoying an afternoon stroll together. Except he had a knife pressed against her ribs and she knew any false move could well be her last.
The walk only took about twenty minutes, but it seemed to Suzanne to last forever. They went back down the hill, avoiding the main square, still packed with concertgoers. At the other side, they passed the hotel where Viktor and Lydia were resting. Part of her hoped they wouldn’t look out of the window and see her passing, as that would only put them in danger, too. But the other part was praying they would.
They passed the place where she was supposed to be meeting up with Walter and Charlie. No sign of either of them yet. Then they walked up the hill at the other side of the town, the hill Charlie had climbed a couple of hours earlier. In the distance, Suzanne could just see the Mladov villa. It appeared hazy in the afternoon sun, but there were black clouds gathering on the horizon just behind it.
At least, Suzanne thought they were clouds, but as they got closer, her sense of smell kicked in and she looked more closely. Not clouds, but smoke. And flames. Flames flickering high into the sky. The Mladov villa was on fire.
Hawkins had been walking with his head down, as though planning his next move, but suddenly he looked up and his eyes widened as he too realised the villa was ablaze. He looked wildly around for a second and that was all Suzanne needed. She wrenched herself away from him, aimed a kick backwards into his knees and raced away. She was halfway down the road when she realised the full implication of what she’d seen. The Mladov villa was ablaze. Her friend Francine was being held there and her sister Charlie had been scouting the place ready for their meeting. And Hawkins had implied she too was now a prisoner. Suzanne stopped, wondering whether she should continue running down towards the town. Would they have a fire brigade in such a small place? Or should she run the other way, back towards Michael Hawkins and danger, in order to help the others?
Her hesitation was a mistake. Hawkins was grimacing with pain but could still move faster than her. He was down the road and had grabbed her once more before she had time to move again.
“Get away from her, Fredrick!” The voice was as welcome as it was unexpected. Walking up the road towards them was Walter Mukooyo. His cheeky smile, which Suzanne had first mistaken for a smirk, but which she had recently grown to appreciate for what it was, was gone, replaced by a snarl she guessed his political opponents had seen on more than one occasion. And in his hand was a snub-nosed black pistol which he was pointing straight at Michael Hawkins.
Hawkins let go of Suzanne’s arm and stepped away from her.
“Hello, Walter, old boy,” he said, with a smile and a coolness which, despite herself, Suzanne found difficult not to admire. “Long time no see. Watched any softball games recently?”
But Walter didn’t respond with a smile. He threw a pair of handcuffs into the road in front of Hawkins.
“Pick them up,” he said, “and put them on. You’re going to come back into town with me and I’m going to introduce you to my friends in the local police force. They’ve heard all about you and your friend Stefano and they’re very keen to talk to you.”
“Oh no, I don’t think so, Walter,” replied Hawkins, shaking his head, “and I don’t think you’ve got the balls to use that ancient Makarov on an old friend. Did you borrow that from your friends in the police force?”
There was an explosion of sound: bangs, whooshes and whoops. It looked and sounded like someone at the villa was setting off fireworks. Walter glanced up at the sky, watching the display.
“Walter, look out,” yelled Suzanne, but it was too late. Hawkins had taken the opportunity to throw a punch at Walter, knocking the larger man to the ground. The pistol flew out of his hand and skidded across the road. Hawkins dived after it, grabbing it and turning in one swift movement. He raised his arm and fired a single shot towards his old college friend. Walter rolled to one side, and the bullet missed his head but thudded into his shoulder. He groaned and lay still. Hawkins raised the gun once more.
“You’re losing your touch, old boy,” he said. “The Walter Mukooyo I remember was a better shot than me. And would always fire first and ask questions later.”
Suzanne let out a scream and hurled herself across the road at Hawkins. He was turned away from her and she took him by surprise. Her momentum carried the pair of them down the hill and they stumbled together, rolling a few metres and coming to a stop in the grass at the side of the road. Hawkins appeared stunned by the fall, but still clung on to the gun. Suzanne grabbed hold of his arm, trying to slam his hand against the floor, hoping to loosen his fingers. He groaned, shook his head as though to clear it and pushed her sideways, rolling on top of her. She screamed again and tried to throw him off, but he was too heavy. She brought her knees up, slamming him in the back. He jerked forward and there was a deafening bang as the gun went off.
Suzanne waited for the pain, but it never came. Her assailant slid sideways onto the grass, yelling and swearing. She jumped to her feet and looked down in disbelief. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to see Hawkins was still alive and conscious. The shot had smashed through his right foot. He certainly wouldn’t be running anywhere else for a while. The gun had fallen from his hand and slid across the road, out of his reach.
Hawkins looked up at her and grunted through gritted teeth.
“I’ve done very few things I’ve regretted over the years. But recruiting you was certainly one of them, Ms Jones!”
Without bothering to respond, Suzanne picked up the gun, turned away from her former boss, and walked across
to Walter Mukooyo. He was conscious, and obviously in pain, but his grin was back.
“Looks like you really got him this time, Suzanne,” he gasped.
She helped him sit up and lean against a tree. At that moment, there was a shout from further up the hill. Two figures were walking through the gates of the villa. One was limping and leaning on the other for support. But both Charlie Jones and Francine Matheson were smiling and waving. Checking that Walter was okay, Suzanne gave a yell and ran up the hill towards them. Walter looked across at Michael Hawkins as he lay in the dirt.
“I’m still a better shot than you, ‘old boy’,” he said. “And at least I’ve never shot myself in the foot.”
Epilogue
They were all sitting around the table enjoying a late breakfast when the doorbell rang. Everyone looked towards Anton. It was his apartment, his prerogative to see who had come calling. But at that moment, his mobile rang and glancing at the screen, he stiffened. “It’s the hospital,” he said. “I must take this.” He walked over to the window, listening carefully to the voice at the other end. An anxious-looking Lydia followed him, tugging at his sleeve. The doorbell rang again.
“I would get it, but I’ve been told to rest my leg,” said Francine, indicating her bandaged calf.
“I’ll go,” said Suzanne, uncurling herself from the easy chair and strolling out of the room. She was back seconds later, followed by a beaming Walter Mukooyo, his arm in a sling. Charlie made room for him at the table while Suzanne found an extra mug and poured him coffee.
As Anton concluded his call, everyone looked expectantly at him. He heaved a huge sigh of relief and wrapped his arm around his sister, pulling her close to him in a warm hug.
“She’s going to be fine,” he said. “The doctor thinks it was stress and panic rather than a heart attack. Apparently, she’s sitting up in bed, bossing everyone around and demanding her breakfast!” There was a cheer of relief from everyone in the room. Anton turned to his sister. “Lydia, can you pack some clothes into a bag? She’s being discharged this afternoon and we can’t very well drive her home in her nightie, now can we?” The young woman giggled and ran off to do her brother’s bidding. Anton took his place at the table and turned to Walter, holding out his hand.
“Well, Dr Mukooyo, Walter, I owe you a huge debt of gratitude, as well as Suzanne and Charlie. It seems you’re responsible for bringing Lydia back to me and saving Francine.” Walter Mukooyo flushed and shook his head.
“Oh no, my dear sir, I did very little. It was all down to these brave ladies here.”
“And to Mercy,” said Charlie quietly. Suzanne stretched across and squeezed her sister’s arm. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they’d headed back to St Petersburg the previous night after two days of police debriefing and Suzanne realised her sister was feeling the death of the enigmatic woman more deeply than she might have expected to. It was the second time she’d lost her friend-turned-enemy and this time there was no doubt about it. The police had confirmed four bodies were found at the Mladov property. The remains of an old man were discovered in the ruins of the villa when the fire had been damped down enough for the rescue services to enter. Two younger men were found in the grounds, both with broken necks. And a woman in her late thirties had been found in the garden with a fatal gunshot wound.
“Yes, and to Mercy, of course,” said Anton. He raised his coffee mug aloft. “We’ll celebrate properly this evening when Mama is home and the family’s complete once more. But in the meantime, here’s to all our friends and their help in recent days.”
“Amen to that,” said Francine, crossing to stand behind Anton’s chair. She whispered in his ear and he nodded enthusiastically.
“Walter, we’ll be having a quiet dinner here at home tonight; I do hope you’ll be able to join us. After this week’s events, you’re as much a part of this family as everyone else in the room.”
Walter beamed and nodded his head.
“I would be delighted,” he said. Then he cleared his throat and straightened his glasses. “But I have to admit I came here this morning on official business.” Everyone looked up, a sudden silence descending on the room. “I am delighted to tell you, Anton, that the World Health Organisation is dropping all charges against you and Petrovpharm. My report has been accepted in full and there’s no longer any question of you being involved in the codeine phosphate tablet scam. Investigations are now focussed on Boris Lechkov, and his shipping company.”
“And what about Michael Hawkins?” asked Suzanne.
“Well, he’s still in hospital at the moment, but handcuffed to the bed and with a round-the-clock guard on his room. We’re expecting him to be transferred to a detention centre in a few days pending prosecution. Along, I might add, with a number of other members of the Mladov family.”
“We’ve really got him this time, then?” asked Francine.
“Oh yes, my dear lady, there’s no question about it. The WHO and the Russian authorities are putting together a watertight case against him for black marketing of drugs, handling stolen goods and half a dozen other charges as well. He’s going to be spending a long time in a Russian gaol. And that’s not to mention the fact that the folk at the British Embassy want to talk to him and there’s a possibility of extradition back to the UK at some point in the future.”
“Well, thank God for that,” said Charlie. “Now I can stop worrying about Annie and about you, sis! Although, in the end, you didn’t need my protection, did you? You and Walter seem to have done it all by yourself.”
“And that reminds me, Walter,” said Suzanne. “What happens to you now this project’s over? You won’t be staying in Russia, will you?”
The Kenyan chuckled and shook his head.
“No, I’m afraid my days in the field are coming to an end. I’ve been recalled to the headquarters. It seems they have an Assistant Director’s job for me in Geneva.”
“Oh no, that’s terrible,” said Charlie with sarcasm dripping from her words. “Nothing to look forward to but official dinners, invitations to conferences and receptions, and the occasional overseas visit.”
“I know,” he replied with a twinkle, “life’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
Francine insisted on accompanying the Jones sisters to the airport the following morning. Anton had regretfully left for the factory as they were finishing packing but sent his car back for them just a little while later. Lydia wanted to come to the airport too but was persuaded that Mama D needed some company at the apartment. So the three friends squashed in the back of the Mercedes and chatted about the events of the past few days.
“So, what happens now, Francine?” asked Suzanne. “Are you coming back to the UK any time soon?”
“Yes, I’ll be back in around six weeks’ time,” she replied. “The sales of the Dolphin Square apartment and the house in Devon are both going through nicely and I’ve got to come back and finish getting everything packed up.”
“So where are you going to live once both properties are gone?” Charlie asked. “I’m surprised you aren’t keeping at least the flat in London.”
Francine shook her head.
“Too many memories, Charlie,” she said, “too many memories of Richard.” She bit her lip and blinked hard, then seemed to shake herself mentally and went on. “I’m looking at keeping something small in London, though; maybe even over on your side of the water, Suzanne.”
“In Vauxhall?”
“Yes, that’s right. The new tower block is due for opening next year and there are some beautiful places in there.”
“Wow, that would be fun. We’d be neighbours,” said Suzanne, then stopped and laughed shakily. “Oh, yes, I’ve just remembered. I don’t live there any longer. I only use it when we need to stay overnight in town. But it would still be good to be that close.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be there all the time either,” said Francine.
Two pairs of eyebrows raised, the sisters looked at her, waiting
to hear the words they suspected were coming—and they were right.
“Anton and I have become quite close lately. He’s asked me to prolong my visit indefinitely; and I’ve said ‘yes’. I suspect I’ll be spending a fair bit of time in Russia from now on.”
“Francine, that’s wonderful,” said Suzanne. “Congratulations!” She leaned over and kissed her friend on the cheek.
“But you’ll miss Europe and all the sophistication, won’t you?” said Charlie. “All this criminality and skulduggery is a bit much, isn’t it?”
Francine shook her head.
“I don’t think any of us has seen Russia at its best,” she said. “Anton assures me life is normally a lot quieter and more European than we’ve experienced. Besides which, you know how much of a Francophile he is. He’s planning on buying a property in Brittany, and we’ll be spending as much time as we can over there too, so it won’t be that difficult to nip across for the odd curry now and then.”
She paused and looked out of the window before looking back at them with a huge grin on her face. “Anton’s a good man and I love his family too. It’s going to be a change from the past few years, but I have a good feeling about it. And who knows? I may just have a go at some local politics once my Russian has improved.”
The sisters dozed through most of the flight, waking only as the ding of the bell announced the seat belt sign was illuminated and they were making their final descent into Gatwick Airport. They touched down less than thirty minutes later and made their way through immigration and into the baggage recovery area. As they waited for their bags to appear on the carousel, Charlie pulled out her phone and switched it on. There was a single message waiting for her: Baby on its way; see you at the hospital. A x
Corruption! Page 22