by A. J. Roe
The light flickered on. Rick dived from the right in a rugby tackle, trying to take Ivan off guard but the soldier was fast, faster than a man of his age and disposition should be.
The Russian slid sideways, both of his hands found the back of Rick’s shirt, directing his attacker’s momentum straight through the open door and out into the hallway.
The noise was deafening as Rick’s head smashed deep into the once-white plasterboard wall opposite. Cracks spread from floor to ceiling like veins across its grey surface.
Ivan spun on the spot and took two steps forwards. He raised his good leg and stamped a heavy army boot down onto Rick’s left kidney.
The pain was an overwhelming explosion. He couldn’t move or even breathe and was only offered the slightest respite by collapsing and curling into a ball.
Ivan hobbled back into the room and ran his hands across a table in the far corner until he found what he was looking for, a rusted iron, ball-peen hammer, that somehow Rick had missed.
In the moment the soldier’s back was turned, Rick managed to will his body out of paralysis. He began a desperate crawl towards the cage just twenty feet further down the corridor.
With his fingers wrapped around the steel bars of the gate, Rick yanked them hard praying for a miracle. It’s Locked.
He glanced back just in time to see Ivan circling the hammer, like a professional baseball player warming up for the play as he limped down the corridor, now just fifteen feet away.
“That was a fucking bad idea.”
Ten seconds and then I’m dead. Rick shoved his right arm through the gaps in the bars and pushed, squeezing his shoulders deeper into the cage.
Ivan let out a deep guttural laugh as he closed the final few steps towards his victim. The Russian raised the hammer up high and closed one eye, ready to deliver the killing blow.
28
Ivan’s smile dropped to the floor. Only as he got closer did it become clear that his victim wasn’t actually trying to escape.
By the time he’d figured it out, Rick’s fingers had already found the smooth carbon fibre grip of the hunting crossbow. He pushed and pulled at the handle, trying to release the weapon from the hook but his angle was awkward and it was heavy.
As Ivan's swing fell, Rick spun on his heels pulling the crossbow sideways through the bars. Fighting every instinct to squeeze his eyes shut and cover his head, he pulled the trigger.
Rick dropped his weight to the floor and the hammer thundered against the iron bars where his head had been just a quarter of a second before. A shower of sparks was thrown from the impact of metal on metal. Only then did he notice the crossbow bolt lodged into the far wall, some thirty feet down the corridor. I missed.
Covering his head again, waiting for the cold iron to smash his soft skull like a watermelon, Rick took a little solace in the fact that at least his death would come fast.
One second passed, then two. After three, he dared to open his eyes and saw Ivan slumped against the cage at his side. He was braced with one arm on the bars and wobbling like his legs were made of jelly. The Russian tried to raise the hammer again, but his arm flopped down with no power behind it.
Ivan slid down with his back against the bars until he was sitting at Rick’s side, who was still trying to figure out what had just transpired.
Warm blood was pooling around their feet on the cold stone floor. Ivan was pale, his left hand held against his stomach, trying in vain to seal the hole that the bolt had torn through his abdomen before burying itself in the far wall.
Wrapping his hands around the bars at his rear, Rick heaved himself to his feet and spat a wad of bloody phlegm on the ground in front of the dying old man. “Cunt.”
On entering the main chamber of the basement, Rick found Yuriko bound and gagged on the bed. She was unconscious, with her thick trousers unbuttoned and pulled halfway down over her hips. Lucky I got his attention when I did.
A thick patch of blue bruises on her throat made it clear Yuriko had been choked unconscious. Rick put his fingers on her neck feeling for a pulse but got nothing back. Oh shit.
Pressing his ear against her chest, Rick tried to silence the sound of his own pulse in his head.
Yuriko’s heart was beating, her chest was gently rising and falling and he felt her exhale on the back of his neck.
Silently, Rick cursed her for scaring him. They hadn’t exactly started out as friends but by now she was like a distant family member, the kind you never really liked but knew you had to get on with because your relationship was based on something more important.
Rick untied her as fast as humanly possible and gently rolled her sideways into the recovery position. First Aid was one of the few lessons he’d actually paid attention to in his time as a climber.
Slowly, Yuriko started to come around. Her eyes were glassy and confused but with each passing second she seemed to gather more strength and awareness. “Are you okay?
A relieved smile spread across her face when she realised who was looking back at her. “What happened?”
“That bastard Ivan sold us out.”
“How?”
“God knows, but it must have been Sota’s work, why else? Ivan knew who we were and he went straight for the relic. We need to find it and get out of here fast before we get any more surprises.”
“Where is he?” Yuriko said.
“Dead,” Rick answered, his tone flat and factual. He wasn’t sure if he should be feeling pride, shame or a little bit of both. In reality it was a lot more of the former than the latter but he wasn’t keen to admit that, even to himself.
Rick left Yuriko to recover and started tearing the room apart. He pulled every drawer out of the desk, then turned his attention to the bed, yanking the mattress off and looking for a stash cut into it or anything underneath but found nothing. For a moment, Rick hoped the relic was actually gone for good and he could finally wash his hands of the whole situation. However, he knew life was unlikely to be that straightforward, it never was.
After scouring the rest of the room to no avail, Rick tried to slide the stack of computer hardware to one side, thinking it might be hidden beneath, but the heavy metal case barely budged an inch. In frustration, he threw his whole weight into a shove and sent the tangled wires and electronic rack units to the ground, dragging the desk along behind them.
Watching the lights on the stack flicker out one by one, Rick tried to put himself in Ivan’s shoes instead. If I were a crazy old Russian, where would I hide a priceless artefact?
In a moment of startling clarity, he knew exactly where it would be. On the far side of the room, he pulled out the huge homebrew vodka jars sitting atop the shelf one by one. Sure enough, directly behind the third jar, half obscured by refraction, the black-tinted metal glimmered through the plexiglass sheath. Yes!
“I am sorry things turned out as they did,” Thyos said. Rick was about to let her have it when she spoke again, cutting him short. “Ivan was a calculated risk, unfortunately it was one we had to take. But no harm done.”
“No harm done?! He’s broken most of my ribs and was about to rape Yuriko until I stopped him.”
“Your ribs are not broken, there is some soft tissue damage, that is all. Besides, some good still came from the situation, he got us what we needed. Now, you must take the passports and the gun, travel south by land, get as far as you can as fast as you can. I will be back in contact soon.”
Rick was beyond trying to argue or reason with her at this point, she had no sense of empathy or understanding for what he was going through, how could she? There was only one way to end this, one way to be rid of this burden once and for all.
He grabbed one of the smaller bottles from the shelf and poured the powerful clear liquid over his cut and reddened wrists, wincing and pulling in a sharp breath through his teeth.
It would be ridiculous to come through all of this then get taken down by tetanus or whatever other nasty surprises Ivan’s basement held.
Wiping his hands down, Rick lifted the bottle up to his lips and took a long gulp. It burned his throat almost as much as it had his cuts but it would help with the pain in his side at least.
Slamming the cage shut behind them, the latch clunked into place. Literally the moment it closed, Rick saw in his mind’s eye the green backpack, containing the passports, gun and their rations, which had been tucked under the bed. Bile rose in his throat. “Oh my God.”
Rick reached back through the bars searching with his fingertips for the keys in the pockets of Ivan’s lifeless body. They weren't there. He tried to force the gate, doing his best not to lock eyes with those on the cold, lifeless corpse he had created. It wouldn't budge an inch.
“Looks like we need a new plan,” Rick said quietly, trying to ignore the lump that was growing like a stone in his throat. The sheer feeling of despair and stupidity made him want to curl up in a corner and cry.
Yuriko just nodded, there was a distant, detached look in her eyes, he guessed she probably felt much the same.
Resigning himself to having made a mistake so enormous it may well bring about the collapse of his entire species, Rick pulled open the wooden front door and took a long deep breath of the cold night air.
The pair wandered aimlessly down the street of the nondescript Russian suburb. Despite everything, the air had never tasted sweeter and soon enough Rick’s mood started to improve. Yuriko trailed a few footsteps behind, her quiet was a little disconcerting. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine.” Her steely resolve was impressive but whether it was stubbornness or something else, Rick wasn’t sure. There certainly weren’t many young academic women who would still be holding things together half as well as she was. Or so he thought until she spoke again. “I need to tell you something,
Rick stopped walking. “What is it?”
Her voice was shaky and slow, her eyes had a faraway glassy look, even in the darkness. He made a mental note to check her for concussion once they got somewhere safe.
“Ivan. I had to tell him where we were going. He would’ve killed me if I hadn’t.”
Rick took a breath and tried to relax. “Okay, that’s not the end of the world.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “So, we know he was paid off by Sota somehow, but that doesn’t mean he actually told him where we were going, does it?”
“When I was tied up, I heard Ivan speaking with someone on the phone.”
“Was it Sota?”
“I don’t know, but we should assume it was. Ivan must’ve just been stalling us the whole time.” Yuriko paused and looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry, I’ve ruined everything.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, putting an arm on her shoulder. Yuriko stepped in, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest, silently sobbing. Not quite sure how to react, Rick held her tightly, like he used to do with his daughter when she was upset, and let his mind wander elsewhere.
“I think I have an idea,” he said after a few minutes had elapsed. “We’re not out of the woods yet, not even close, but we still have nearly five days, it might just be enough.”
29
The vast imperial-style domed building stretched several hundred yards along the open boulevard. With the huge red Cyrillic lettering suspended over the turquoise and white facade, Irkutsk-Pasazhyrsky station was probably the most stereotypical Russian-looking building Rick could have imagined.
“You really think this is a good idea?” Yuriko asked.
“What choice do we have? We’d never get past airport security. Besides, I’d rather not repeat our last experience anyway. Let’s just get this over with, that’s all I care about.”
The pair entered the arched main gates of the station and a cold breeze whipped in through the open doors behind them, demonstrating that in Siberia even the warmest of summer nights still had some bite to it.
Along the inside of the station entrance, a row of steel benches ran a hundred yards or so. The air was filled with the sweet aromas of ground coffee and boiling vegetables. Dotted around the main terminal hall were a number of small stalls selling hot drinks and soup. Rick had a serious craving for a jolt of caffeine but knew it would have to wait. If they missed their one and only chance for a quick escape due to his need for coffee, he would have a lot to answer for.
Across the hall were ticketing counters, each one with what Rick guessed was the name of their destination written in the mysterious Cyrillic script above. As far as he could tell from the pictures of the surrounding countryside and posters dotted around the station, Irkutsk seemed to connect much of Russia with the frozen Siberian north as well as nearby Lake Baikal. For some unknown reason, the fact that it was the world’s deepest lake had remained in his mind from some long forgotten high-school geography class.
Rick waited on the cold steel benches of the ancient station among a few tourists and families, trying to keep his head down as Yuriko negotiated their tickets. He figured the busiest place would offer him the best chance of going unnoticed. It might even dissuade any police or would-be assassins or drawing their guns too.
Yuriko soon returned, with what looked like a smile trying to fight its way through on her face.
“We’re in luck,” she said. “I bought long-distance tickets. One change we can get as far south as Tibet in just under four days. That’s enough time, right?”
Rick gave it a moment of thought, counting back the hours from his conversation with Thyos in the plane. “It’ll have to be.”
“Good.” Yuriko said. “We’ll need the time to figure out the rest of the coordinates on the relic and get an exact location anyway.”
Rick smiled in return, biting his lip as he rose. His side was killing him and the situation wasn’t helped by pangs of hunger, thirst and a growing sense of frustration at Thyos. He understood that she was short on time but just telling them to ‘get to the Himalayas’ and figure out the rest for themselves by translating some ancient archaic cypher was infuriatingly, fucking vague.
Within the hour, the sound of clunking iron announced the arrival of their train. From the platform Rick and Yuriko watched as a massive red locomotive entered the illuminated area of the track. It was headed with a huge Soviet star in the centre, glinting and gold, a stark contrast to the faded blue carriages that snaked out of the darkness behind it.
The boxy, angular vehicle gave Rick the impression that function was valued over form here. This train had no doubt been built to survive the intense cold of Siberian winters, the scorching heat and pounding sandstorms of the Gobi Desert, and everything in between.
As they entered the third-class carriage, a stern-looking officer with a bushy black beard and a blue peaked hat held out his hand. Yuriko went first, handing him both tickets, the old man gave them a cursory glance. “Passports?” he mumbled in English.
She made a show of looking in her pockets and huffing with frustration. “Ah,” she said as though finding them and laid a few of the remaining notes into the guard's hand.
The officer chuckled. He slid the cash into his pocket, punched a hole through one corner of the tickets, and handed them both back, waving the travellers on.
Down the length of the carriage, there were two levels of brown, leather-covered planks on both sides, that were apparently considered beds in this part of the world. The third-class section was already close to full. A mix of farmers, families with young children and backpacking students occupied the space, the majority of whom remained asleep through the stop.
Bags, boxes and crates all spilled out into the narrow walkway from under the beds making it hard to pick a path through, especially as the train picked up speed and started to sway.
Each section was separated from the next by a thin plastic wall that seemed to offer no privacy or soundproofing from the sounds of snoring old men or crying children.
Much to Rick’s relief, Yuriko led him beyond the economy carriage and into the next car. They squeeze
d through the tiny thudding corridor on the right-hand side, opposite the private compartments on the left. The whole walkway rose and fell with each bump of the track and took the pair more than fifteen minutes for them to work their way up the almost endless string of adjoining carriages.
Yuriko finally slid back the wooden door of 34B, glancing down at the pair of tickets in her left hand to confirm they were in the right place. The first thing that hit Rick was the dust, it tickled his throat and nose, and he wondered if the room had ever been cleaned.
It was entirely furnished with cheap composite wood. There were two narrow single bunk beds and a large window in the middle straddled by vomit-yellow curtains. Below them was a tiny aluminium table with a couple of litre bottles of water on it. Rick opened one up and downed half the liquid, immediately feeling better for it, before passing the bottle to Yuriko who did the same.
He then investigated the window. There was a plastic and metal mechanism that stopped it from opening more than five inches. Rick figured if the worst came to the worst, he’d be able to force it open to create an escape route. Although whether he’d actually have the balls to climb out a moving train window and run along the top of the carriages like a scene from a Bond movie, was a different question altogether.
Yuriko slid the door shut behind them and the latch clicked into place. She climbed up the ladder to the top bunk and Rick slumped down on the bottom. Yuriko let out a sigh, “I figured this would be better to keep us off the radar. It took almost all the rest of my cash though.”
“Good thinking.” Just the idea of having a private room, with a bed and a locking door was enough to get Rick excited, although he still was torn on whether or not it was worth going hungry for.
With his stomach growling, Rick decided to get some rest instead and pulled his legs up onto the bed. It would have been a good fit for someone about seventy percent of his body size but with an aching back and throbbing feet, he didn’t even care. “Well it’s not exactly the Hilton but it’s definitely an upgrade from the cargo hold and the murder dungeon.”
