A scowl like a thundercloud descended over Viktor’s expression. ‘The Bratva will pay dearly for this,’ he declared.
Entering the cathedral, Roman Gurov made the sign of the cross and strode towards the imposing iconostasis, the gilded screen of religious icons rising up like an army to the ceiling. With his assistant close on his heels, their footsteps echoed off the tiled floor as they passed between the stone pillars of faith and approached the man who stood silent before the screen’s holy doors. Hands clasped in front of his chest, head bowed in prayer, he remained as stock-still as the icons he paid tribute to. Then he crossed himself and made his way over to a golden urn bristling with candles, their flames flickering like dying souls in the gloom.
The Pakhan and his assistant joined him in selecting a long thin beeswax candle and lighting it in an offering. The delicate scent of sweet honey perfumed the chill air.
‘An assassination attempt in Red Square!’ hissed their comrade in a low harsh whisper. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘It wasn’t our work,’ said Roman stiffly.
The man’s eyes narrowed, the flames of a dozen candles glinting in his dark pupils. ‘You mean … there’s another player in the game?’
Roman nodded.
‘Who?’
‘We’ve yet to find out,’ Roman admitted.
‘Eyes on the ground reported sniper fire,’ Nika replied on her boss’s behalf. ‘So it could be a lone wolf, but the careful planning of the attack suggests otherwise. The assassin had to know timings, locations, vantage points, escape routes and so forth, all in advance. The mark of a professional hit.’
‘But the attempt failed,’ pointed out their comrade.
‘That’s the assumption,’ replied Nika.
A frown creased the man’s smooth forehead. ‘Are you suggesting the boy wasn’t the target?’
Nika gave a non-committal shrug. ‘All evidence suggests the assassin was a highly skilled marksman. The shots were made over a distance of two hundred metres with a fair crosswind. Yet the bodyguard Lazar was hit straight through the neck, then in the heart. Both with pinpoint accuracy.’
Their comrade pursed his thin lips. ‘Surely the bodyguard was protecting the boy. Took the bullets for him.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Roman.
‘And that is a distinct possibility,’ agreed Nika. ‘If so, the boy was extremely fortunate. Interestingly, our operative remarked on Feliks’s two cousins. They could be the real reason the boy is still alive.’
The man looked sideways at the Pakhan’s assistant. ‘Go on.’
‘It may just have been survival instinct, but the two cousins gave body-cover to the boy and extracted him in what was observed to be a professional manner.’
Roman and his comrade exchanged dark looks.
‘This is the second time these cousins have intervened,’ his comrade remarked, the man’s tone taking on the steely edge of a honed blade. ‘You need to find out who they really are.’
‘I’m already on to it,’ assured Roman. ‘I’ve also got men hunting down this rogue sniper. I don’t like loose cannons.’
‘And what about the Black King? How come he’s walked free?’
Roman’s jaw tightened, his reply low and furious. ‘He had a battalion of lawyers and an influential unknown backer. Some strings were pulled, some threatened, some even cut! The Black King isn’t working alone.’
His face half in shadow, the comrade stared up at an ancient fresco of a long-dead martyr. ‘You suspect the Americans?’
Roman shook his head. ‘Not their style to get their hands so dirty. But it has all the signs of foreign intervention.’
The comrade’s eyes burned into Roman. ‘Do I need to worry? Is this situation getting out of hand?’
‘No!’ Roman replied firmly. ‘I intend for our asset to take the Black King out of the game.’
‘I still question whether that’s the best move.’
A cruel smile sliced across Roman’s face. ‘Wasn’t it Stalin who said, Death solves all problems – no man, no problem.’
His comrade conceded the point with the smallest of nods. ‘And what about the boy?’
‘The pawn is still in play,’ he replied. ‘But not for much longer.’
‘I’ve been so worried for you,’ said Anastasia, hurrying over as Connor, Jason and Feliks entered the Year 11 common room.
‘Aww, no need to be,’ said Jason, puffing out his chest. ‘I’m fine.’
Anastasia flashed him a smile in passing, then embraced Feliks. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked him.
Connor tried not to laugh at Jason’s crestfallen look. Feliks nodded, a slight flush rising in his cheeks at her unexpected display of affection.
‘Red Square was shut down when I got there,’ she explained. ‘The place was in total chaos. Police everywhere. They said it was a terrorist attack.’
‘No, it was an assassination attempt,’ Connor corrected her, keeping his voice low. ‘Against Feliks.’
Anastasia put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my –’
‘It’s all good,’ Feliks reassured her. ‘My bodyguard took the bullet for me.’
Anastasia collapsed into a chair. ‘That sounds horrible. Did Lazar die?’
Feliks gave a brief nod as he sat down next to her. ‘He was shot through the neck. Then the heart. Blood spewed everywhere. It was like a horror movie.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Anastasia, resting a hand on Feliks’s arm. ‘You must be devastated.’
Feliks shrugged indifferently. ‘That was his job. He knew the risks.’
Connor exchanged a look of disbelief with Jason. Feliks’s lack of grief was telling: Lazar’s sacrifice was no more than expected service to him. It made Connor question why he was risking his life for someone who obviously valued it so little.
‘So how did you escape?’ Anastasia asked.
‘Connor and Ja–’
‘We were lucky, I guess,’ said Connor, cutting Feliks off before he gave too much away. ‘The other bodyguard, Timur, was close by in his car and we managed to reach it.’
Anastasia sighed. ‘Well, I’m just glad you’re all safe,’ she said, her gaze lingering briefly on Jason. Turning back to Feliks, she let out a faltering laugh. ‘We’re not having much luck with our dates, are we? And it’s such a shame they’ve closed off the festival in Red Square. I was looking forward to seeing the ice sculptures with you.’
Feliks fished out his phone. ‘I think I got a couple of shots of the ice dragon before it was destroyed,’ he said, flicking through his photo album.
Anastasia shifted closer to take a look. ‘Wow! It’s huge,’ she exclaimed.
As she admired the dragon sculpture, Connor felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket. He glanced at the screen. ‘Excuse me,’ he said.
Stepping out into the corridor, Connor found a quiet corner to speak. ‘Hi, Charley, everything OK?’
‘Amir has isolated your suspect from the lens video,’ she replied. ‘I’m sending over the picture to your phone now. Is that him?’
An image downloaded of a lean-faced man with a pale complexion. While his features were otherwise unremarkable, the deadness in his bone-grey eyes was instantly and chillingly familiar.
‘That’s him,’ said Connor. ‘Who is he?’
‘That’s the thing,’ said Charley. ‘We’ve no idea. He doesn’t register on any criminal databases – police, MI5, CIA, Interpol. In fact he doesn’t show up on the grid at all.’
‘How can that be?’
‘Either he is completely clean,’ explained Charley, ‘or he has somehow globally deleted any files referencing him.’
Connor frowned. ‘Is that even possible?’
‘According to Amir, yes. But it would require high-end, government-level resources to achieve. So it’s unlikely. Furthermore, Jason’s video feed sighted a muzzle flash on the roof of the GUM department store, confirming his suspicion there was a sniper.’
C
onnor grimaced; Jason had been right. ‘Then he wasn’t a threat?’ he said, wondering why he still didn’t feel at ease.
There was a pause on the end of the line, then Charley asked, ‘What does your gut instinct say?’
Connor replied without hesitation. ‘He’s dangerous.’
‘Then if you see him again, consider him a threat,’ said Charley, the slight crack in her voice betraying her concern. ‘Amir has uploaded the suspect to your contact lens’s facial recognition software. Let’s hope it doesn’t flash red.’
Signing off, Connor pocketed his phone and returned to the common room. Jason was now settled on a sofa with Anastasia, chatting away. As he approached, she rose to her feet. ‘I was just going for a drink,’ she said, nodding at the vending machine in the corner. ‘Do you want anything?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ he replied vaguely, his mind on the mystery grey man. Something about him tugged at his memory. Then, looking around, he turned to Jason. ‘Where’s Feliks?’
Jason’s gaze followed Anastasia as she headed over to the vending machine. ‘Oh, he’s gone to the toilet,’ he said absently.
‘You didn’t go with him?’ questioned Connor.
Jason gave Connor a weird look. ‘Hey, mate, I may be his bodyguard, but I’m not going to hold it for him!’
Connor glared at his partner. ‘After Red Square we shouldn’t be leaving Feliks alone, even for one second.’
Jason waved off his concern. ‘Chill out, Connor! We’re in school. This is a secure zone.’
Connor fought back the urge to shout at him. He couldn’t believe his partner was prioritizing his chat-up attempts over protecting their Principal. He needed to have serious words with Jason – maybe even report him – but now wasn’t the time. Not if he wanted to ensure their Principal was safe. ‘What about Stas and Vadik?’
Jason pointed out of the window. ‘I saw them outside on the field just a few minutes ago. They’re not anywhere near Feliks.’
The field, knee-deep in snow, was dotted with clusters of students engaged in enthusiastic snowball fights. Connor sighted a couple of Stas’s gang but couldn’t see Stas or Vadik. ‘So where are they now?’
Jason shrugged irritably. ‘I don’t know. Building a snowman? Listen, Feliks will be back in a minute and you’ll have worried over nothing.’
‘You two OK?’ asked Anastasia, handing Jason a bottle of apple juice.
‘Yeah, like two roos in a pouch!’ joked Jason.
Connor rolled his eyes and strode out of the common room. The toilet block was only a few metres down the corridor. As he headed towards the door, Connor just hoped Jason was right – that he was simply being too uptight. He knew there was security on the school gates and, apart from Stas and Vadik, there’d been no evidence of any threats in the school grounds. If their Principal couldn’t even go to the toilet on his own, it meant they studied in a seriously dangerous school.
Entering the boys’ toilets, Connor called out. ‘Feliks?’
His voice echoed off the tiles. No one answered.
He checked every cubicle. All empty.
Had he missed Feliks coming out? If so, where had he gone? Connor cursed Jason for taking his eye off the Principal.
Then as he exited the toilet block, Connor spotted Feliks’s phone on the floor, its screen smashed.
Feliks’s attackers had taken him by surprise, coming up behind as he stood at the urinal. A bag had been thrust over his head, then his face smashed into the wall, stunning him. In moments his wrists and ankles were bound with plastic ties, and he was bundled into a jumbo-sized kitbag. He’d called for help but got a knee in the head for his efforts. His vision swam and stars had blistered in the stifling darkness. Clots of blood from his smashed nose had seeped down the back of his throat, causing him to splutter and gag. Then he’d swung like a pendulum as his attackers had hauled him out of the toilet block and down the corridor. The voices of other pupils passed by tantalizingly close. A set of doors had squeaked open and his straitjacket of a bag was hit by a blast of sub-zero air …
Disorientated, Feliks felt himself and the bag being dragged through the freezing snow. Panic and fury consumed him. Where were Connor and Jason when he needed them? Why weren’t they doing their job? They were supposed to protect him from this sort of thing! Die for him!
Another door grated open. Suddenly the bag was tossed forward and he tumbled down a flight of stone steps. Unable to protect himself, his head, shoulders and back hit the edges hard and he came to rest in a bruised heap at the bottom.
Sick with pain, Feliks heard the long zip of the kitbag open. Then he was heaved out and thrown into a hard wooden chair. His ties were cut, then his hands and feet rebound to the chair’s arms and legs.
Still hooded and blind, he called out, ‘Wh-who are you?’
Silence. But he could hear his attackers moving round him, as well as strange whirrs of machinery.
‘W-w-what do you want?’
Feliks felt the cool press of steel against the back of his left hand. There was a clunk and two sharp spikes penetrated his skin. He cried out in shock and pain.
‘Confess!’ hissed a voice.
‘C-c-confess what?’ cried Feliks.
The steel, now warm with his blood, was pressed against his other hand. His skin was skewered by two more needle-tipped prongs and he let out a shriek.
‘Confess!’
Feliks groaned. Nausea rose in his throat from the pain. He just hoped he wouldn’t throw up in the hood. A sheen of slick sweat coated his brow and he fought for breath. ‘Please … I don’t know what you’re talking ab–’
Another stab of pain, this time piercing his left forearm. Each spike was like the bite of a fanged snake.
‘Confess, traitor!’
Feliks screamed in terror as he felt the stinging steel tear at his bare neck.
Connor stormed back to the common room. ‘Feliks is gone!’
Jason spun round in his seat, shock and disbelief battling it out in his eyes. ‘Are you serious?’
‘I think someone has taken him.’
A doubtful frown crossed Jason’s brow. ‘You’re not overreacting again, are you?’
‘You call this an overreaction?’ said Connor, holding up Feliks’s smashed phone.
The gravity of the situation hit Jason and he leapt to his feet, swearing loudly.
‘Is Feliks all right?’ asked Anastasia, putting aside her can of soda.
‘I honestly don’t know,’ Connor replied, heading for the door with Jason. ‘But we need to find him fast.’
Anastasia tagged along behind. ‘I’ll help,’ she said.
‘It’s all right – we’ve got this,’ said Jason.
Connor knew his partner was trying to maintain the secrecy of their roles, but their priority was to find Feliks. ‘Another pair of eyes would be useful,’ he said.
Jason nodded his agreement.
‘Let’s start at the toilet block,’ Connor instructed.
They did a quick sweep of the boys’ toilets but found no other clues. The windows were too small to escape through and were also locked. The only exit was the main door.
‘OK, Feliks can only have gone in one of two directions,’ said Connor, looking up and down the corridor. Students milled about, and the end-of-lunchtime bell was due to go. ‘Someone must have seen him.’
‘I’ll take the right-hand corridor,’ said Jason. ‘You go left.’
Jason strode off with Anastasia in tow, asking people as they went. Connor headed the other way, back towards the common room. But surely if Feliks had come this way he would have seen him? He’d been in the corridor talking on his phone at the time, but his back had been turned to the toilets. There was a slim chance that –
‘Hey, Connor!’
He spun round. Anastasia was waving to him.
‘You found him?’ he called, running back along the corridor.
Anastasia shook her head. ‘No, but look at this.’
&
nbsp; She pointed to the fire exit, only a short distance from the toilets. The doors weren’t completely shut and fresh snow was melting on the tiled floor. ‘No students are supposed to use the fire exits,’ she said.
‘She’s bloody Sherlock Holmes!’ said Jason as they pushed open the doors.
‘Well spotted,’ said Connor, impressed. Anastasia was once again proving her potential as a buddyguard.
The snow on the other side was trampled down and a mash of footprints headed away from the building. Between them, like the trail of a huge snake, was a deep groove, evidence of something or someone being dragged through the snow.
‘Come on,’ said Connor, not even bothering with a coat as he followed the tracks.
They crossed the now-deserted playing field and Jason said in a shamed whisper, ‘Sorry about this, Connor, I should’ve –’
‘Too late for sorrys,’ said Connor, his breath frosting in the chill air. ‘Let’s just find him.’
‘But what if this trail leads nowhere?’ asked Anastasia. ‘What if I’m wrong?’
‘Then we’ll have to backtrack and search the school,’ replied Connor. ‘Room by room.’
The trail took them in a direct line to the school’s maintenance building. Rounding the corner, they followed the footprints to a rusted metal door. That’s when they heard the tortured scream.
‘Shut him up,’ ordered a gruff voice. ‘We don’t want the whole school hearing.’
The hood was ripped off. Blinking in the gloom, Feliks looked fearfully around. The room was humid and airless, with a heavy stench of burning oil. The walls sweated grease and grime and in the corner an old industrial boiler clunked and kettled. The only window was a sliver of glass at the very top near the ceiling, a weak shaft of sunlight falling upon him.
As he went to cry out for help, an oily rag was stuffed into his mouth.
‘Good. That should stop the crybaby.’
Though Feliks hadn’t yet seen his kidnappers, he had a clear view of the industrial-size staple gun that one of them held. And, piercing his own hands and forearms, glints of metal strips shone like exclamation marks, circled by blood that dripped in lines to the floor.
Bodyguard (Bodyguard 5) Page 15
