The three men spun towards Connor as he charged at Mr Grey. The assassin neatly side-stepped Connor’s attack, tripped him up and sent him crashing to the floor. Connor instinctively rolled back to his feet and turned to confront the assassin, but Mr Grey already had his gun trained on him.
‘Connor, what is the meaning of this?’ Viktor demanded, putting down his drink and glaring at him.
Mr Grey had his finger on the trigger but had yet to fire. Connor raised his hands in surrender. If he could just get close enough, he still had a chance of disarming him. ‘Mr Malkov, I realize you think you know this man, but you don’t.’
Viktor narrowed his eyes. ‘Explain yourself.’
‘I’ve met Mr Grey on previous operations in Somalia and in Burundi. He’s no bodyguard. He’s an assassin!’
Mr Grey’s trigger finger twitched, but his glacial eyes still gave nothing away.
‘He’s been sent to kill you,’ Connor went on, readying himself to lunge at the assassin.
Mr Grey’s thin lips curled into a vampire’s smile – soulless and sinister. ‘I’m not the assassin here, Connor,’ he said. ‘Dmitry Smirnov is.’
He turned his weapon on Viktor’s adviser. Confronted by the barrel of a gun, Dmitry’s already pale face went ashen. ‘W-w-what are you talking about?’
‘Let’s not play games, Dmitry,’ said Mr Grey. ‘The FSB released you on one condition: that you kill Viktor.’
The billionaire stared at his friend in shock. ‘Is this true?’
Connor was equally stunned by the revelation, but Dmitry shook his head vehemently. ‘No, of course not.’
With his gun still aimed at the adviser, Mr Grey took Viktor’s shot glass from the table and presented it to Dmitry. ‘Then you won’t mind drinking his vodka.’
Dmitry held up a hand in polite refusal. ‘I have my own, thank you,’ he said.
‘Drink this one.’
When the adviser refused to take the glass, Mr Grey pressed the hard snub of his gun against Dmitry’s temple. ‘Drink!’
Dmitry began to tremble. His eyes glassy and wide, he looked to the billionaire. ‘Viktor, listen to the boy! This Mr Grey is a mad man. He’s feeding you lies. He’s trying to –’
Mr Grey now forced the glass to Dmitry’s lips. ‘Drink!’
With Mr Grey distracted, Connor lunged for his gun. But Viktor grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him back. ‘Keep out of it! This is none of your business, Connor.’
Mr Grey began to pour the vodka into Dmitry’s mouth.
‘No! No! Stop!’ spluttered Dmitry, turning his head away. Then he began to weep. ‘Viktor … I’m sorry. It’s true … the FSB gave me the poison …’ He turned to the billionaire with pleading eyes. ‘You must understand. They were going to torture Natasha … and … my little Tanya.’
Viktor stared back, pitiless and unmoved. ‘You back-stabbing snake in the grass!’
Dmitry dropped to his knees, sobbing. ‘No, no. Please understand … I had no choice!’
Viktor sighed. ‘And neither do I.’
He gave Mr Grey a nod. Connor watched in horror as Mr Grey yanked back Dmitry’s head and poured in the remainder of the vodka. Clamping his hand over the man’s mouth, he waited until Dmitry had swallowed it all. Then he let the adviser go and Dmitry collapsed on the carpet beside the fire. For several long seconds, he just lay there, looking up at Viktor like a loyal but scolded dog.
Then Dmitry gasped and began clawing at his throat. As he fought for breath, his face turned purple and the veins in his neck became distended. He writhed on the carpet, eyes bulging, breathing ragged. All of a sudden he stiffened, then fell still.
‘Is there no one I can trust?’ said Viktor, spitting on Dmitry’s dead body.
‘Viktor ordered Mr Grey to kill his friend,’ Connor whispered, his gaze flicking towards the bedroom door, half-expecting the assassin to burst in at any moment. ‘They murdered him right in front of me.’
Connor perched on the end of Jason’s bed, his face as ghostly pale as the silver moonlight seeping through the curtains. Bleary-eyed and his hair in knots, Jason propped himself up against his pillows. He frowned, looking as if he didn’t quite believe Connor.
‘You said Dmitry tried to poison Viktor first. So isn’t it sort of justified?’
‘How can you even think that, Jason? His family had been threatened!’ exclaimed Connor, struggling to keep his voice low. ‘Dmitry was pleading for his life. It wasn’t as if there was even a trial!’
Jason ran a hand through his tangled hair. ‘Remember what Charley said, it’s Russia – normal rules don’t apply.’
Connor gave a derisive snort. ‘Yeah, Viktor explained that it was Russian justice. That Dmitry had been caught in the act and admitted his guilt. That the appropriate punishment had been served. And that I should simply forget about it. But how can I?’
He got up and paced the room. The image of Dmitry clawing at his throat while the poison ate away at his insides was seared into Connor’s memory. ‘Malkov claims he’s fighting for democracy and freedom, but what I just witnessed surely goes against all that? Then there’s his connection to Mr Grey.’
‘What about him?’ said Jason, rubbing his eyes.
Connor stopped pacing. ‘He’s an assassin, for heaven’s sake! A trained killer. What’s he doing protecting Viktor Malkov?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Are you sure you’re not confusing this Mr Grey with someone else? I mean, it sounds a bit far-fetched to me that this supposed assassin hypnotized you. Perhaps the knock to your head scrambled your mind? Jumbled up your memories?’
‘No! If anything, the knock straightened them out.’ Connor sat down on the bed again. ‘Remember my assignment protecting the Sterling sisters? The doctor said Emily had been brainwashed and that subliminal suggestions had been planted in her mind, hypnotism being the most likely method. I know it was Mr Grey I saw on that tanker. And I believe he was responsible for Emily’s brainwashing. I think that he wiped my mind to protect his identity. He promised that if we ever met again, it wouldn’t end well for me. Now he knows that I remember him, I’ll be next on his hit list.’
‘OK, if you’re that worried, contact the colonel,’ Jason suggested, stifling a yawn.
‘I intend to,’ said Connor. ‘Charley was right – there’s something very wrong about this assignment. The colonel needs to withdraw us immediately.’
‘Seriously?’ said Jason, giving Connor a dubious look. ‘Aren’t you overreacting? Colonel Black would have vetted Mr Malkov before agreeing to take him on as a client. And Mr Malkov obviously trusts Mr Grey – he’s put him in charge of security.’
‘True, but should we be trusting Viktor?’
‘Come on, Connor – he’s a billionaire and politician, not some mass murderer –’
There was a creak outside on the landing and Connor’s eyes shot to the door. Putting a finger to his lips to warn Jason to be quiet, he slipped off the bed and silently crossed the room. Hearing another faint creak of floorboards, he eased the XT torch from his pocket and extended the baton. Last time Mr Grey had got the better of him. This time he intended to strike first and fast.
Grasping the handle, he yanked the door open –
Anastasia almost fell into the room and Connor had to stop himself mid-strike.
‘What are you doing out there?’ he exclaimed, his baton still raised.
Her eyes wide with alarm, she responded with a nervous smile. ‘I … couldn’t sleep. Then I heard you talking and wondered if everything was all right?’
Jason shot her a reassuring grin and jumped out of bed. ‘Yeah, everything’s fine, Ana.’ He pushed past Connor. ‘Put the baton down, Connor.’
Jason guided a rather startled Anastasia over to a wicker chair by the window. As she settled on the cushion, she asked, ‘Why’s he got a baton?’
Connor sheepishly pocketed the weapon.
Pulling over another chair, Jason sat down opposite Anastasia. ‘I think it
’s time we let you into a little secret,’ he said.
Connor stepped forward and interrupted him. ‘Before that, I’ve got a couple of questions for her.’
Now that he’d revealed his hand and Jason had decided to broach the subject of Buddyguard, Connor thought they might as well go the whole distance and try to recruit her. But first there were a few blanks that needed to be filled in.
Anastasia shifted in her chair, a sudden anxious look on her face. ‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No,’ said Connor. ‘But I am interested in why you’re so skilled at martial arts? The way you took down Feliks’s kidnappers at the ice rink and dealt with Gleb in the boiler room suggests you’ve had formal training – and we’re not talking school judo sessions either.’
Anastasia held his interrogating gaze. ‘In Russia, sadly, girls are often harassed and attacked by Bratva gangs. My parents wanted me to be able to handle myself, especially as they’re away so much. So I learnt the Russian martial art of Systema.’
Connor nodded, pleased at her answer. ‘Talking of your parents, Viktor’s had trouble contacting them. We’ve also had difficulty getting in touch. Why is that?’
Anastasia stiffened. ‘Why are you trying to contact my parents? As I said before, they’re in the Arctic with no signal. Their oil job demands secrecy.’
‘Fine, but we haven’t been able to verify other things about you. For instance, we couldn’t find your birth certificate at the Moscow registry office. The only one under your name is for a girl who died two years ago.’
Now Anastasia looked very alarmed. ‘That’s because I wasn’t born in Moscow!’ She stood up, a thunderous expression on her pale face. ‘Why have you been looking into my life? You’ve no right –’
Jason took her hand and tried to calm her. ‘Please, just hear us out.’
He gestured to the chair. She reluctantly sat back down.
‘We’re not Feliks’s cousins,’ Jason explained. ‘We’re his bodyguards.’
Anastasia’s eyes flicked between Jason and Connor, waiting to see if they were playing a joke on her, then she smiled. ‘I suspected as much.’ She turned to Jason. ‘No wonder you’re so good at saving my life! But why are you telling me this?’
Connor replied, ‘Because we think you’d make an excellent buddyguard.’
Anastasia laughed. ‘Buddyguard?’
‘Yes, we work for a covert protection agency that specializes in young bodyguards,’ explained Jason. ‘And we’re always on the lookout for good recruits. That’s why we’ve been investigating your background.’
Anastasia fell silent, her expression unreadable.
‘So what do you say?’ asked Connor.
She chewed on her lower lip, seeming to consider their offer seriously.
‘It’s very flattering that you think I could be a bodyguard,’ she eventually replied. ‘But that’s not where I see my life heading.’
Connor’s shoulders slumped a little, unable to hide his disappointment. Then again, he’d taken some convincing before he’d agreed to such a life-changing decision. ‘That’s perfectly understandable. But think about it. If you change your mind, let us know. And obviously keep all this to yourself.’
‘Of course,’ Anastasia replied, rising from the chair. ‘Well then … I’ll leave you boys to your bodyguarding. See you in a few hours for Viktor’s hunt.’
Withdrawing from Jason’s bedroom, she headed across the landing for the staircase. On her way she picked up her violin case that she’d left outside Jason’s door.
‘You had your violin with you?’ asked Connor, curious since it was the middle of the night.
Anastasia shrugged as if this was normal. ‘As I said, I couldn’t sleep. I was going to find a quiet room to practise for tomorrow.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t go downstairs if I were you,’ said Connor.
‘Why not?’ she asked, her brow wrinkling in puzzlement.
‘The new security guards are a little on edge,’ he explained, thinking of Dmitry’s dead body in the study. ‘I wouldn’t want them mistaking you for an assassin or anything!’
Anastasia laughed and pointed to her pink pyjamas. ‘Little chance of that!’
Roman Gurov balled his hands into fists. He wanted to drive his knuckles through the wall. Smash the mahogany coffee table to pieces. Snap the marble chessboard in half. But it wouldn’t do to wreck the stateroom of Moscow’s most exclusive private members’ club or to display his rage in front of his chess opponent. Instead he channelled all his fury into the grainy surveillance photo of a middle-aged yet trim man with short hair, a pale complexion and plain looks that were disturbing in their very ordinariness.
Nika stood at a prudent arm’s length from her boss. ‘According to our source, this man neutralized our Trojan horse,’ she informed him.
Through clenched teeth, Roman asked, ‘Who is he?’
Nika laid a single sheet of paper on the coffee table – a pro forma, most of the boxes blank.
Roman cast his eye over it. ‘Is this all the intelligence you’ve gathered on him?’
Nika nodded. ‘He exists off-grid. Doesn’t register on any databases. All online records of him have been erased. Our agents went back over two decades and only gleaned a few facts. What we do know is that the man is an assassin for hire. A top-level one, likely government-trained. We may even have hired him ourselves in the past!’
Roman exchanged a thunderstruck look with his chess opponent.
‘He’s known on the circuit only as Mr Grey and is presumed to travel under various pseudonyms – none of which we know. But we did find evidence of links to several major criminal organizations, including the Sinaloa cartel, the Yamaguchi yakuza and the Camorra mafia. And our source reports he has ties with something called Equilibrium. We also suspect he’s –’
‘Equilibrium?’ interrupted Roman’s chess opponent.
Nika nodded. The man’s face darkened. Roman swallowed as if something sharp was stuck in his throat, then cursed viciously under his breath.
‘That changes everything,’ said his opponent.
‘How so?’ asked Nika.
‘If Equilibrium is involved, then the Malkov problem goes beyond these borders.’
Roman stared at the fire blazing in the stateroom’s hearth, his dark eyes reflecting the flames. ‘This explains why the Black King has been virtually untouchable,’ he snarled.
Nika looked in confusion at the two men. ‘But … what is Equilibrium?’
In an almost reverential tone, Roman’s opponent explained, ‘Equilibrium is a shadow organization. Maybe even a myth. But definitely a threat.’
‘An American threat?’ asked Nika.
‘Not as far as we know. Equilibrium is rumoured to have its base in China, although its core council may well be international.’
Roman turned to his comrade. ‘But why is Equilibrium backing the Black King?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said his opponent. ‘To overthrow this government and take power through him.’
He picked up the namesake’s chesspiece from the board and studied it in the flickering firelight. ‘Their involvement with the Black King is tantamount to war. The game is over, Roman. You need to end this and end it now. Not only for your sake but for Russia’s.’
Roman Gurov stood and buttoned his jacket. ‘I’ll personally assemble an elite force of FSB agents.’
‘No, keep the government out of it. This’ll be a dirty job and I want our hands clean. Wear your other hat, Roman. As the Bratva, send in your krysha enforcers.’ His opponent tossed the wooden king into the fire and watched as the chesspiece was consumed by the flames. ‘Burn the Black King and his castle to the ground!’
Connor crouched behind the trunk of a tree, his breath misting in the frigid air. Rays from the dawn sun penetrated the forest like splinters of ice, but the ground remained in semi-darkness. Jason and Anastasia lay silhouetted against the crisp white snow, neither daring to move. Feliks was stretched ou
t beside them, perfectly still, his eye to the scope of his rifle.
They’d left the dacha two hours before sunrise, riding on snowmobiles, their headlights cutting a path through the blackness. Viktor, Mr Grey and a four-man unit of security guards had led the way, with Feliks and Connor following on one snowmobile and Jason and Anastasia on another.
Once deep in the forest, they’d all dismounted and spread out in a line to begin a slow advance in their hunt for prey. At first the forest appeared like a frozen wasteland and it was difficult to spot any animal tracks or signs of life. But, as dawn approached, evidence of fresh droppings and the imprints of small hooves became visible.
Following the tracks, they’d been about to enter a small clearing when an unsuspecting grouse crossed Feliks’s path. The bird pecked at the frozen ground, rooting out any food it could find.
With a final adjustment to his line of fire, Feliks steadied his breathing, then squeezed the trigger. The gunshot shattered the silence of the forest, echoing off the trees until it faded into the distance.
‘Got it!’ Feliks cried, leaping to his feet and hurrying over to the kill. He picked up the dead grouse by its feathered legs. The bird hung limp from his hand, blood dripping in red beads on to the snow.
‘Good shooting, Feliks,’ praised his father, raising a gloved fist in the air. ‘First kill of the morning.’
Not true, thought Connor, unable to suppress the image of Dmitry writhing on the carpet in Viktor’s drawing room.
‘I shot it straight through the heart!’ Feliks exclaimed as he closely examined the bloody hole in the bird’s chest. His skill with the rifle was testament to the time spent hunting with his father, but Connor was deeply unsettled at his Principal’s macabre delight in killing the creature.
Connor had no love of hunting. He could understand it in the context of survival or as a source of food. But for sport? It seemed barbaric and cruelly unfair. Surely the opponent should be given an equal chance? Yet he didn’t see the grouse wielding a Remington bolt-action rifle!
From the sickened look on Anastasia’s face, he could tell she didn’t approve either. Jason, however, clearly had more of the hunter spirit in him, patting Feliks on the back in congratulations. Clasped under his arm was the rifle Viktor had loaned him and, judging from the way he was checking the sights and confirming a bullet was chambered, Jason was itching to notch up a grouse of his own.
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