CHAPTER 59
In the limo, Khitarov pulled out a canvas grip and produced two ugly-looking handguns, which he offered to them. Archie and Burgess looked at each other in panic. Khitarov must have seen their faces in the light of the street lamps as they made their way towards the casino.
He smiled reassuringly at them both. “You in Russia. You need weapon. This is new gun. Replaced Makarov. Ugly but more effect. It’s called Baikal Yarygin PYa but we just call it Grach. Much better. Twice the magazine capacity and a much more powerful round. Makarov outdated now.”
Neither Archie nor Burgess knew what to say. The sight of the gun, its barrel gleaming with menace in the lights of the city, had a sobering effect on them both. Suddenly, the enormity of what they were about to undertake struck them. Neither one reached out to take the gun. Instead, Archie looked at Burgess, eyebrows raised.
“I don’t know about you, bro’ but I get the feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
“I hear you, Arch. I’m not sure what to make of this and whether we should call the whole thing off. This is serious stuff we’re getting into.”
Khitarov heard the anxiety in their voices and caught the gist of their rapid conversation. “This is police gun. We can do paperwork later, if necessary. You in Russia now.”
“I know we’re in Russia.” Burgess sounded testy, even to himself. “But we can’t go around shooting people. We’ll end up in Lubyanka Prison or at the Siberian front. Besides,” he added quietly, “the Bermuda police service is not an armed force. We don’t carry firearms, only certain police officers are trained for that… but not those in the Serious Crimes Unit.”
Khitarov gave such a belly laugh that even the driver looked back at them in the rear view mirror. “Okay. I’ll keep guns. You go without.” He then delved into the grip again and astounded them even more by producing the latest replacement for the Kalashnikov assault rifle - the PP-2000. Since it was much more compact than the Kalashnikov, it could be concealed. It also had greater firepower and was capable of firing handgun cartridges with a lower muzzle velocity. Khitarov liked anything that minimized the chances of a ricochet.
Burgess looked at Archie again and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “What’s he gonna pull out next – an RPG?”
Oblivious to the other two men’s reaction and like a child with a new toy, Khitarov continued to extol the weapon’s virtues. “I like this new gun. It uses 9mm ammunition and has good stopping power but safer. Less likely to go through wall and hit someone on other side.”
“Well that’s reassuring,” chimed in Archie, just a touch sarcastically. He was as worried as Burgess and slightly embarrassed that neither of them had received firearms training. Right now, he wished he could use a gun. He felt vulnerable without one. “Are you expecting trouble?”
Khitarov smiled. “Nyet but you must always expect the unexpected.”
The rest of the journey to the casino was made in an awkward silence, as the driver expertly negotiated the evening traffic. It was not long before they pulled up in front of an imposing and grandiose building of a bygone era. It had been lovingly and expensively restored with a red carpet to welcome patrons up the stone steps. A uniformed doorman let them in. Obviously, they passed muster as no effort was made to detain them. Burgess breathed a sigh of relief when Khitarov – complete with his latest accessory hidden under his jacket - entered without a problem. Their limousine pulled away and parked in a designated area. Across the street, nobody noticed the grey van with its hood up and driver bent over its engine.
Archie was dazzled at the splendor of the casino. For once, he really did feel like an extra in a James Bond movie. The chandeliers sparkled, gloved waiters proffered blinis on silver salvers with sour cream, smoked salmon and caviar. Still more served glasses of the finest champagnes. Beautiful women in low-cut evening gowns escorted a selection of interesting characters: some frankly dubious looking, others clearly twice their age. One thing was a given: they all had money and were happy to show off their largesse playing high stakes Baccarat and Black Jack. Gorgeous croupiers with stunning figures attracted the more foolhardy to the roulette tables. There was an excitement in the air rivalling the pervasive smell of expensive cigars. Archie was mesmerized.
“C’mon, Archie.” Burgess’s calm voice awoke Archie from his trance. “Khitarov wants us to look around for the offices. He thinks they’ll be upstairs. The best thing is to pretend you’re lost if they find you. Say you’re looking for the washroom or something. Once we’ve done the reconnoitering, he’ll go in on his own.”
“Okay. Do we know what we’re looking for? If it says office on the door in Cyrillic, we won’t know.”
“I hear you. Khitarov reckons the office will be locked. We need to try all the doors, as if looking for the washroom and tell Khitarov which ones are locked.”
“Okay. Let’s get on with it.” Archie could feel the thumping of his heart and the change in his breathing. He needed to get a grip. Taking a deep breath, he wandered over to a table, took another glass of champagne and made his way leisurely to the stairs. Burgess noticed Khitarov on the other side of the room observing the crowd to see if there was any untoward interest in Archie. The problem was that, being black, they stood out in the crowd and the Russians were clearly fascinated by them. One struck up a conversation with Burgess in broken English as he was preparing to follow Archie. He managed to make polite conversation with him and when he was finally able to extricate himself, neither Archie nor Khitarov was anywhere to be seen.
Two floors up, in the dimly lit corridor, Archie had tried several doors and found a janitor’s closet, an office supplies storeroom and then poked his head into the anteroom of a plush office. Thankfully, it had been empty at the time. So far, no luck. He ducked into a doorway as a gentleman in a dark suit made his way towards the office, only continuing down the corridor when he heard the office door close with a metallic click. Archie eventually found himself back at the stairs and realized, with a sigh, that he needed to return down the hall and try the doors on the other side. This time, after his third try, he came to one door that was locked. He noted that it was the third from the stairs on the left hand side. As he made his way back towards the stairs again, he almost had a heart attack when he saw a man coming towards him. The figure smiled and Archie realized with relief that it was Khitarov himself. He indicated the door to the Russian and guarded the hallway, whilst Khitarov busied himself with his picks. In less than twenty seconds – an eternity to Archie – he was in. Archie quickly followed behind, exhaling the breath that he had been holding.
Once inside, they dared to turn on the lights. The safe was where the bodyguard had indicated, behind an ornately framed painting of Russian peasants harvesting fields of yellow wheat. Neither detective had time to appreciate its beauty as Khitarov went to work on the combination. He then inserted the key and the door swung open.
“Wow,” exclaimed Archie. “Look what’s in here!” There were bundles of U.S. dollars, Swiss francs and euros, three different Rolex watches, some documents and several DVDs. He looked away, uncomfortable, as Khitarov peeled off some dollar bills and put them in his pocket.
“I need to pay driver for limousine. This should do it.” He quickly placed three DVDs in each of his pockets and gave another four to Archie who did the same. “Okay, I think we can go now.” Closing the safe, Khitarov replaced the painting and moved behind Archie, towards the door.
“Okay,” said Archie. “This is the hard part. I’ll walk out backwards as, if I just walked in, but had made a mistake. If the coast is clear, I’ll knock once.”
“Coast? What coast?” Khitarov was confused.
“If it’s safe to come out, you’ll hear the knock.”
“Okay. I understand now.”
They turned off the lights and Archie made a performance of walking out backwards as if he had just poked his head in the door. He looked around and noticed he was alone. Knocking once, he
moved off as if in no hurry. This time, he really did need to find the washroom.
CHAPTER 60
Although outwardly calm, Burgess was frantic. Where the hell are you both? Relief flooded through him as he saw Archie reappear on the stairs. Making his way towards him, he made a great show of telling him the washrooms were the other way. Anyone within earshot would have assumed Archie had got lost… or so Burgess hoped. Little did either of them know that both Archie and Khitarov’s every move had been recorded by hidden cameras in the corridor upstairs.
“Hey bro’, everything’s cool. I just need to visit the washroom and then we can go. Where’s Khitarov?”
Burgess looked across at the stairs. “He’s on his way down. Looks like the cat that’s got the cream. You go on and meet us in the lobby.”
Burgess picked up two glasses of ice-cold champagne from a table and walked over to Khitarov. “Here you go. You look like you could do with one of these. How did it go?”
“Good, I think. When Archie comes back, let’s get out of here.”
“I’m with you on that one.” Burgess looked around anxiously and was gratified to see Archie returning.
They downed their champagnes, grateful to wet their nervous, dry mouths with the icy beverage and made their way casually towards the main doors. The doorman duly waved over their limousine which had been parked in a special area awaiting their departure.
“Good night, gentlemen.” The doorman bade them farewell as Khitarov pressed ten dollars into his hands. He made no show of having recognized the generosity. No doubt he was used to higher tips from some of the big spenders inside. His disinterest momentarily irritated Khitarov but he had bigger fish to fry and instead waited, somewhat imperiously, for the doorman to open his door to the limousine. Once inside, they pulled away from the bright lights of the casino and began to examine the DVDs they had taken from the safe. The writing on the covers was in Cyrillic, necessitating that Khitarov go through them to ascertain which one was the vital evidence they needed to convict Alexeev.
“Guys,” he breathed. “I think we hit jackpot. I think, from their titles, several of these are pornographic movies. Not sure if they are all snuff films. We need to get back to station and play them first.”
Burgess sighed. “While I’m glad we may have found the evidence, I don’t look forward to watching them.”
You and me both,” echoed Archie. “The first one was bad enough. An uncut version will probably be even worse.”
“Let’s look on the bright side.” Burgess began to relax now they were out of the casino. He started to tick off items on his fingers. “One: We have the DVD, so we can get Alexeev convicted and report back to Bermuda that we’ve found the murderers of the man and girl who were buried under the compost heap. Two: We managed to break into the office without getting discovered and three: we have a face for the murderer of the Bambases. I’d say that’s pretty good going so far.”
“I think celebration in order.” Khitarov took a chilled bottle of champagne from the bar in the limousine.
They all filled glasses once again and toasted the mission, at the same time thanking their driver who was pleased with the sheaf of U.S. dollars that Khitarov had passed to him. All three began to feel the adrenaline leach out of their bodies and leaned back into the comfort of the plush leather seats. As they pulled up to a stoplight, two pretty blondes in a yellow VW convertible to their left – roof down - began flirting with them. One faced the limousine and lifted her tee shirt, flashing them with two perfectly augmented breasts. Khitarov lowered the tinted window and shouted something saucy to them in Russian. The girls continued calling across and making provocative gestures. Even to Archie and Burgess, who spoke no Russian, it was clear the girls wanted to party.
So engrossed were they watching the scene that they were all violently thrown back into their seats when their driver took off at speed as the light changed. They had been distracted and let down their guard, failing to spot a grey van that was attempting to cut them off. The driver had seen it first and, using all of his skill, had put his foot on the gas pedal and roared ahead. The limousine, however, was ungainly due to its length, and lost speed on the corners. The grey van was again rapidly advancing and, now alert, Khitarov spotted the glint of steel from an automatic weapon. In that same moment, they all instinctively ducked as a staccato rat-tat-tat and flashes of light erupted from the van. The limousine veered towards the metal guardrail, grinding screechingly along its right side, spewing showers of sparks into the air. The grey van gained on them again and they heard another shot and watched horrified as the driver’s side window erupted, effectively removing the top of his head, spraying the windscreen with blood and brain matter. The vehicle, now driverless, veered out of control, careening in front of the grey van and back towards the guardrail. The detectives braced for impact as they hit the rail and this time flipped into the air, their bodies thrown upside-down as they somersaulted into the verge below. The limousine landed right-side-up, coming to an abrupt halt against a large tree, engine still revving and headlights illuminating the trunk and foliage eerily in the darkness. As three men from the van approached stealthily, guns poised, they peered through blood-splashed windows, spotting no movement from the wreck of the once-luxurious car. Surrounding the vehicle, one cautiously opened a door.
CHAPTER 61
Khitarov came to first. He felt the rough sacking over his head and his body rocked in rythm to the movements of the van. Someone next to him moaned. Archie’s aftershave was still fairly strong and he guessed it was the Bajan. No sound from Burgess. He wondered if he were still alive. His shoulder and left side throbbed in pain. Trying to lift his left arm, he discovered it was useless. He felt blood trickling down his face and, from the pain on the side of his head, assumed he had some sort of an open wound in his hairline. He blinked the blood out of his eyes. Tentatively, he wiggled his toes and flexed his calf muscles. All fine there. He realized he must have taken the brunt of the force of the accident on his left side, breaking his arm, perhaps dislocating his shoulder and gashing that side of his head. Unlike the other two detectives, he had not been strapped in at the time as he was attempting to reach his leather grip with the weapons in it. He remembered holding on to a handle set into the side of the limousine. That probably prevented him from being hurled around the interior but resulted in the useless arm. Things could be worse. Or could they? He was pretty sure they were in the hands of experts and that the entire scene with the girls had been staged in order to make their kidnapping… or murder… easier. No, not murder; they would have killed them in situ if they had wanted them dead. Whoever it was wanted them alive. He surmised the DVDs had something to do with that.
Next to him, he sensed more movement. The moaning increased as Archie’s slumped body, held in place by his seatbelt, began to come back to life. Khitarov wondered what had happened to Burgess. Had he died in the crash? Had they left him back in the limousine? He already knew their friendly driver would not be greeting his family that evening and felt a pang of guilt mixed with sadness. Everything had been going so well. They were in the middle of celebrating their good fortune and sheer cleverness when everything had gone so horribly wrong. Would they end up dead from a bullet through the head after all their efforts? His profound sense of depression engulfed him as he realized how naïve had been embroiling these good detectives in something they were none of them equipped to handle. It was entirely his fault. For once, he should have gone through the regular channels. He had behaved like a cowboy and now look where it had landed them.
Suddenly, he heard a wheezing gasp for breath. Was that Burgess? He realized that he must be seated diagonally across from him. Was he having a heart attack? Was that his death rattle? He heard Archie stir and, in a weak voice, say, “Asthma.”
Khitarov shouted the word in Russian as loud as he could. He was startled by a movement directly in front of him. His captor had evidently been sitting quietly in a seat opposit
e. It spooked Khitarov.
“Asthma attack,” he repeated more composedly. “He has a pump in his pocket.”
Khitarov heard his captor’s movements and assumed he was searching for the inhaler. Burgess’s struggle for breath was disquieting to the Russian detective, who had never heard such respiratory distress. Burgess, for his part, was panicking. The sack over his head had provoked the attack. He felt it lift momentarily and glimpsed his inhaler in the hand of his kidnapper. Adrenaline surged through his body as he saw the tattoos on the fingers and back of that hand. He noticed a large ring embossed with a cross on the index finger. For some reason, this had a viscerally alarming effect on him but he was unable to fathom why. His hands were tied in front of him and, grasping the pump as best he could, he placed it into his mouth and squirted, inhaling its medication greedily. As his breathing became calmer and his brain began to function more clearly, he realized that while someone had strapped him in with the seatbelt and tied his hands, his feet were unfettered. The real evidence that he was a captive was the hood over his head. Was that so he could not recognize his kidnappers? If he saw their faces, would they then have to kill him? The effort of the past few moments had been too much for him in his weakened state. Gradually, he drifted back into unconsciousness and his head and upper body slumped forward. His captor double checked to ensure he was still alive and then resumed his silent vigil.
Never to Dead to Talk (Detective Inspector Burgess Series) Page 19
