Gray Salvation

by Alan McDermott

  Zhabin had considered this scenario many times: what to do if faced with the choice of pushing a bad position or slipping away. The right thing to do would be to shoot them all and run. Get the next plane out of the country and chalk this one down to bad luck. If he did that, though, he could kiss his reputation goodbye. No-one was going to hire a killer who backed down at the first hint of trouble, no matter how good a shot he was.

  Ultimately, he’d decided that reputations could be salvaged, and it would be hard to do that if he were incarcerated or dead.

  As the elevator doors closed, Zhabin drew the gun and shouted, ‘Hey!’ at the cop, who looked up at him in surprise.

  With the man’s chest exposed, Zhabin put a bullet through his heart. Before his body had time to fall to the floor, Zhabin turned and pushed Erica out of the way so that he could get the other one in his sights. The target was reaching inside his jacket but never stood a chance.

  Erica froze, mouth gaping in shock. Her eyes slowly went from the downed cop to Zhabin, who had the barrel pointing at her forehead.

  ‘Do as I say and you can walk away from this.’

  He stepped to the elevator and hit the button, then told Erica to grab one of the dead cops and drag him to the doors.

  The woman looked horrified at the suggestion, but as soon as the gun was thrust in her face again, she found the courage. She wasn’t the biggest female he’d come across, but was deceptively strong. She completed her task just as Zhabin pulled the other cop over and laid him next to his partner. As he’d expected, the chest shots with the low-velocity rounds had lodged internally, so there were no exit wounds or mess to leave behind.

  As he waited for the elevator to arrive, he threw his clothes back into the case and zipped it up, all the while keeping a close eye on Erica.

  The elevator doors opened with a ping!, and Zhabin told Erica to pull the bodies inside. Again, he had to use his gun to convince her to do as she was told. Once she’d completed the task, he reached in and hit the button for the top floor. Erica stood at the back of the car, shaking, tears running down her face.

  Zhabin was aware that there were CCTV cameras operating in the lobby, meaning any description Erica gave wouldn’t aid the police in their search for the murderer, but there was a chance that she might hit the button to stop at a lower floor and raise the alarm, and he needed time to clear the area.

  ‘Sorry,’ Zhabin said as the doors began closing. He raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger, then stepped back as the three bodies disappeared from sight and began the climb to the penthouse suite.

  Anyone finding the bodies would immediately call the police, but it would take them precious minutes to review the cameras to see what had happened and identify a suspect. By that time, he would be well clear of the area. His immediate goal was simple: get back to the apartment Bessonov had provided him with and lay low for a couple of days until the swelling on his face receded. He could then ditch the disguise and make his way out of the country.

  He watched the numbers above the elevator doors slowly climb, then wheeled the suitcase towards the exit. As he pulled the door open, a woman ran inside, rain dripping from her hair. She offered a quick thank-you, then walked around the corner to the elevators.

  Zhabin stepped out into the cold night and saw that the earlier drizzle had turned into a downpour. He made sure his collar was still turned up and headed for the taxi rank, where a queue had already formed. He saw eight people ahead of him in the line and half a dozen cars waiting patiently to take them to their destinations. Zhabin hoped some of them were travelling together, otherwise he would be forced to wait for more cars to arrive, and with every passing second grew the chance of someone discovering his handiwork.

  He was relieved to see the first four people in the queue get into the same cab, and risked a glance back at the building as it neared his turn.

  ‘That guy matches your description pretty well,’ Gray said, indicating the man in the black overcoat and fedora pulling a suitcase along behind him as he left the middle building.

  ‘He certainly does,’ Ellis said, ‘but they must have cleared him.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Gray said. ‘I watched him meet a woman outside a few minutes ago, and I was expecting someone to come out to check his DNA.’

  ‘Maybe they did and you missed it,’ Harvey said.

  ‘No way. He pinged my radar when I first saw him, and I was just waiting to see how the guy reacted after he did the test.’

  Ellis turned to look at Gray in the back seat. ‘How sure are you?’

  ‘One hundred per cent.’

  ‘Then I’ll check it out. Keep an eye on him while I’m gone.’

  Ellis climbed out from behind the wheel and ran to the second building, using her jacket to protect herself from the rain. When she disappeared inside, Gray turned his attention to the suspect, who was nearing the front of the taxi queue.

  ‘If he gets in a cab, we’ll lose him,’ Gray said. ‘I’m gonna stall him.’

  Before Harvey could object, Gray opened the rear door and removed his wallet from his pocket, then jogged over to the suspect, who had his hand on the door of a taxi.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Gray shouted.

  The man looked round at him, and Gray saw something in his eyes. Not quite panic, but he could sense the man was on edge. He held up his wallet. ‘I think you dropped this.’

  He watched the man pat himself down, then shake his head. ‘Not mine,’ he said, as he opened the cab door. He put his suitcase inside, giving Gray time to cover the ground between them.

  ‘Say, don’t I know you?’ Gray asked, and clamped his hand on the guy’s arm.

  The man spun, this time with anger in his eyes.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Sure I do. You’re Professor Higson, from Oxford University. You were my chemistry tutor.’

  Gray felt powerful fingers dig into the pressure points in his wrist, and he was forced to release his grip.

  ‘You’re mistaken.’

  Gray had run out of ways to keep the man occupied, but a shout from behind him told him he’d done enough.

  ‘Tom!’ Ellis shouted. ‘It’s him!’

  The sniper’s eyes went wide, then constricted as his knee came up, trying to make contact with Gray’s groin. Gray managed to arch his back and avoid the blow, but received a punch to the side of his head that rattled his teeth. By the time he’d shaken it off, the man was running.

  Gray chased after him and saw the sniper run into heavy traffic, narrowly avoiding a collision with a speeding bus. Gray waited for a gap and sprinted after him, horns blaring as he made the same mad dash to the tree-lined pavement on the other side of the road.

  The sniper lost his hat as he ran past a row of shops, his overcoat flapping in his wake like a superhero’s cape. People scattered as the figure hurtled towards them. Gray was having a hard time keeping up. Despite running at least three times a week, he was built for endurance, not speed.

  The sniper was thirty yards ahead of him. Gray saw him glance backwards a couple of times, and just before he reached the next junction he stopped and turned.

  When the sniper’s arm came up, Gray knew what was coming. He threw himself behind a tree just as a bullet thumped into it. He waited a second and stuck his head out, and saw the sniper disappearing around the corner.

  Gray set off again, stopping at the junction and poking his head around the corner to check for his target.

  Nothing.

  The street was almost empty, few souls braving the cold, wet night. A bus was pulling away, and through the rear window Gray saw a black-clad figure climbing to the upper deck. He set off in pursuit, but the vehicle sped effortlessly away from him, heading towards a set of traffic lights. Gray prayed for them to turn red and slow the bus’s progress as his legs pumped frantically, but the lights remained green and it took a right turn, disappearing round the corner.

  Gray continued after it, knowing the sn
iper could get off at any stop and melt into the night.

  The lights eventually changed, and as traffic drew to a halt he took the opportunity to cross the road and round the corner, where he saw the sniper’s conveyance waiting at a bus stop. It was more than a hundred yards away, a sprint of roughly twenty seconds. Gray went for it.

  Traffic was lighter here, and he managed to get across the road safely, then put everything he had into covering the ground.

  Fifty yards out, he saw the flashing ambers turn off. The driver indicated to pull out. Gray started waving his arms as he ran, hoping to get the bus driver’s attention, but when he got to within twenty yards the vehicle took off once more.

  Gray stopped, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He knew it was pointless to continue, so he pulled his phone from his pocket to look up Ellis’s number. As he did so, a car screeched to a stop next to him.

  ‘Tom, get in!’

  Gray threw himself into the saloon and Ellis gunned the engine.

  ‘He’s on the number seven bus,’ Gray gasped, ‘and he’s armed.’

  Ellis tossed her phone to Harvey in the back seat. ‘Call it in, get as many units here as you can.’

  While Harvey made the call, Gray told Ellis to reduce her speed. ‘We don’t want to let him know we’re on his tail,’ he said hoarsely, still winded. ‘Just stay behind him until the police arrive.’

  Ellis settled in two cars behind the bus.

  ‘What did you see back there?’ Gray asked.

  ‘He killed three people,’ Ellis said. ‘Two police officers and the woman he was with. I arrived just as the elevator opened.’

  ‘Then let’s hope we can stop him before anyone else gets hurt.’

  ‘The police are on their way in unmarked cars,’ Harvey said from the rear seat. ‘I told them to wait for him to get off the bus before they make their move, otherwise it could turn into a hostage situation.’

  Up ahead, the bus indicated to pull over at another stop, and Ellis stopped a dozen yards behind it. Gray opened the window and stuck his head out to see who was getting off.

  ‘He’s still on board,’ he said as the bus pulled back into traffic.

  Ellis followed, keeping her distance until it stopped once more outside a shopping centre.

  ‘That’s him!’ Gray said, flinging open the car door.

  The sniper was scanning the area and saw Gray climb out; instantly he broke into a run, pushing past late-night shoppers and into the shopping centre.

  Gray heard Ellis shouting for him to stop, but he wasn’t about to let the man out of his sights. Ellis could call in their location, but he wanted to make sure the sniper didn’t sneak out a side entrance and disappear.

  He reached the entrance to the shopping centre and saw his foe bounding up an escalator, pushing past a mother and her two young children and almost knocking the eldest one over the side. Gray followed, skirting round the family and arriving at the top of the moving stairs just as a bullet flew past his head.

  The sniper turned and ran again, disappearing into a gap between two shops. Gray approached cautiously, sticking his head round the corner for a split second before pulling it back, wary of the man’s weapon. He saw a fire exit slowly closing, and rushed towards it. He held the door slightly ajar and heard feet pounding on the stairs, and he stepped inside to determine if they were going up or down. They sounded like they were heading back towards the ground floor, the suspect clearly looking for a way out of the building.

  He took out his phone and called Ellis’s number, updating her on the situation as he took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the bottom a chill hit him as the cold night air blew in through a set of double doors. Gray ran through them and out into the loading area, which was deserted except for a shadowy figure splashing through the puddles and out of the exit gate.

  Gray looked around for a weapon and found a thick cardboard tube that was as sturdy as a metal pole, then set off after his quarry.

  ‘He’s heading down Dixon Street towards Lancashire Road,’ Gray told Ellis as he sped down the rain-lashed street.

  ‘Ostanovit’ sdelku! Ostanovit’ sdelku!’

  Richard Notley had no idea what they were chanting, but he’d managed to get to the front of the throng and was pressed up against the security barriers, jiggling his home-made placard along with the rest of the protestors.

  As he’d expected, some of them had tried to engage him in conversation, but he’d made a few hand signs and pointed to his ears, indicating that he was deaf. That had been received with a few shrugs and pats on the back, and he was accepted as one of the crowd.

  Since then it had been a tense hour, watching the security being stepped up as the time for the dignitaries to arrive approached. Initially, there had been just four policemen watching the crowd, but that number had been joined by six suited security men, and though Notley was unable to determine if they were armed, he had to assume they were.

  Half a dozen business leaders had already arrived, with three more limousines queued up to disgorge their passengers. The security detail had gone from passive to alert since the first of the guests had walked up the stairs to the hotel, and Notley was concerned that he wouldn’t have a chance to get close enough to his target to manage an effective strike.

  The nearest guard was about three yards to Notley’s left, and when he turned away, Notley lowered his placard so that it covered his waist, then dug into his pocket and eased out the small bolt cutters he’d brought along. His earlier reconnaissance of the scene had shown that the security gates were fastened together with plastic ties, and he’d managed to position himself right in front of one of the joins. The two barriers were connected at the top and bottom, and Notley bent down and quickly snipped the lower one. When he stood up again, no-one seemed to have taken any notice of his actions, but his pulse still raced along.

  Another vehicle pulled up at the bottom of the stairs. The hotel doorman performed his duty and revealed an elderly man and woman, who climbed out before the limo gracefully made way for the next in the queue. Notley had no idea what car his target was going to be travelling in, so it was a case of waiting until he recognised the health secretary, Oliver King.

  When he saw him, he would only have seconds to strike.

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  The next car stopped in the customary spot and when the door was opened, King emerged and smiled at the gallery of press photographers gathered near the top of the stairs. He took a couple of steps, and then Notley’s plan began to fall apart.

  He used the bolt cutters to snip the last remaining tie holding the barriers together just as the entire security team seemed to tense up and begin scanning the crowd. One set of eyes seemed to rest on him, and he began to panic, imagining that somehow they’d discovered his plan at the last minute.

  The health secretary was forced back into his car by two security agents and the driver told to go.

  This can’t be happening!

  Notley kicked the barrier aside and ran towards the nearest agent, who thrust an arm inside his jacket. Notley knew he must be going for a gun, and he threw the placard towards him. As the agent put a hand out to prevent it from hitting his head, Notley ran past and rammed him with his shoulder, knocking the man off his feet.

  King’s car was just a couple of yards away; time slowed as Notley’s fingers danced over the buttons of the phone in his pocket with practised ease. One to wake it up, one to select the contacts list, one to highlight the top entry, and the last one to make the call.

  He was running only a yard from the car when the device secured around his abdomen received the signal, level with the rear door. He could see King’s face, a mask of confusion, and Notley felt a pang of sadness at not being able to confront the man face-to-face, to explain his actions, but the time for regret was long gone.

  As the bomb around his waist exploded, Notley’s last thought was an image of Marian’s face.

&nb
sp; She was smiling.

  Zhabin began to feel the pressure as he emerged from the side street onto a busier road.

  He’d no idea who was following him, but was certain it wasn’t the police or security services. They would have approached with weapons drawn rather than concoct a feeble story about recognising him.

  He’d have time to figure that out later. For now, getting out of the area was the only thing on his mind. He glanced back and saw that the man was still behind him, and this time he was carrying something. He was also on the phone, and Zhabin guessed he was calling in his position.

  Traffic was too heavy to try to commandeer a car, but the perfect conveyance was fast approaching: a motorcycle courier. Zhabin raised his pistol when the bike was ten yards away and squeezed the trigger. The bike slewed to the left and the rider was thrown off, landing in a heap on the pavement. A few people immediately ran over to tend to the injured rider, giving Zhabin the opportunity to mount the vehicle and roar away.

  He would clear the immediate area and dump the bike, then call Dimitri to pick him up and take him back to the apartment, where he could hide out for a couple of days. Dimitri could arrange a new disguise, and Zhabin had a contact in Argentina who could provide him with a new passport. All he needed to do was to change his appearance, email a photograph of his new likeness to Buenos Aires and the document would be couriered over within a few days. As Bessonov was the one that had brought him to England, it was in both of their interests that he get out of the country as soon as possible.

  But that only worked if he could escape this part of town, and his pursuer was still chasing him, barely ten yards away now as Zhabin righted the motorcycle.

  He raised his pistol, aimed at the man’s chest, and fired. But balancing the bike had made him send the round wide. The slide of the handgun locked open, indicating an empty magazine.

  No time to reload. He dropped the weapon and gunned the bike. The stranger made one last effort to stop him by throwing what looked like a stick at him, but it bounced short and off target.