by Saul Herzog
“There’s no need for sarcasm.”
He grabbed the handle and very slowly pulled the door open an inch. He smelled cigarette smoke and opened the door the rest of the way in a single motion. Before it was fully open, he’d fired two bullets and two more guards were dead.
There were two more men in the room and Lance rushed in before they could get any shots fired. He tackled the first around the waist, knocking him back against a table and smashing a Bohemian crystal vase on the floor. The second pulled his sidearm and was about to fire when Laurel put a bullet in the back of his head.
Lance turned to the soldier he’d tackled.
“Don’t make a sound,” he said in Russian.
The guard nodded.
“Where’s Davidov?”
The guard looked like he was going to answer, but then reached for a knife in a holster at his waist. Lance put his forearm on the man’s neck and pressed down, crushing it.
“Ugh,” Laurel said.
“I bet someone heard that vase,” Lance said.
She nodded. Across the anteroom was another set of doors and they burst through them.
They were presented with the sight of a frail old man in his seventies, five foot tall at most, with a face that looked like it had been through a meat grinder. He waved an ornately decorated cane at them, a silver blade on its end.
Lance grabbed the cane and pulled it from the man’s hand.
“What is the meaning of this?” the man yelled.
“Remember me?” Laurel said. “Or would it help if I were in a little cage.”
The man’s eyes widened.
"You two know each other?” Lance said.
“We met at the airport,” Laurel said.
“You looked better on your knees,” Davidov spat.
Lance and Laurel had their guns trained on him, but he didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed by the fact.
“Woof, woof,” Davidov said, taunting Laurel.
Lance stepped forward and smacked him across the face. The old man flew sideways and hit the wall.
“Lance,” Laurel gasped.
Lance looked at her then back at Davidov. “You say another word to her, I’ll rip your heart out of your chest, old man. I swear to God.”
Davidov stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re still sore over what happened last time.”
“I mean it, Davidov. You shut the fuck up or I’ll make you beg for mercy. I’ll pluck your eyeballs out of your skull and feed them to you.”
“Lance,” Laurel said again. “He’s stalling for time.”
“She’s right,” Davidov said, grinning. “But really, you’re already too late.”
“What does that mean?”
“Did you really think I’d be stupid enough to just wait here for you?”
“Where’s the vial?” Lance said. “You tell us where it is or I’ll…”.
“You’ll what?” Davidov said. “Pluck my eyeballs out? You already said that.”
“I’ll do it,” Lance said.
“Go ahead.”
“Lance,” Laurel cried. “We don’t have time for this.”
“Listen to the bitch,” Davidov said and Lance leaned forward and smacked him across the mouth with the butt of his gun.
“You’re going to tell me where that vial is right now,” Lance said.
They heard voices back out in the main corridor and Lance shoved the barrel of his gun into Davidov’s mouth to stop him from calling for help.
“Go watch the hallway,” he said to Laurel.
She went and Lance turned to Davidov, jamming the gun so far down his throat the old man gagged.
“Tell me where the vial is or I’m going to take you with us.”
“You’ll never get me out of here alive,” Davidov said.
“Then I’ll take your corpse.”
Davidov smiled at him. “Anything happens to me, and that virus will be all over the planet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It will be all over the globe within twenty-four hours. A pandora’s box you’ll never be able to control.”
Laurel appeared at the door. “Lance, we’ve got to get out of here.”
Lance pressed the gun against Davidov’s forehead. “You better start talking sense, right now.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Davidov said.
Lance knew he was out of time. “If you don’t tell me, you die.”
Davidov just kept giving him that same, evil grin. “I die,” he said. “Everyone dies. That’s what a dead hand is.”
“Well, let’s put that to the test,” Lance said, putting his gun to Davidov’s head.
“Go ahead,” Davidov said. “But you pull that trigger, and the virus is everywhere. Global. You’re smart enough to know what that means.”
“Lance,” Laurel called from the anteroom, “we’ve got company.”
“We’re not leaving without this asshole,” Lance said.
“Anything happens to me,” Davidov said again, “and you’ll have unleashed a plague of biblical proportions.”
77
Lance dragged Davidov to his feet, slammed him against the wall, and pulled him into the anteroom.
“How do we look, Laurel?”
“Six soldiers,” she said. “They’re calling for back up. They’ll be surrounding the building.”
“All right, let’s go.”
“Out there?”
“We’ve got this prick as a shield.”
“What?” Davidov said.
“Not so smug now, are you?”
“Where do you think you’re taking me?”
“You’re our ticket out of here, asshole.”
“You’re crazy. You take me out of here, they’ll shoot me.”
“I can live with that,” Lance said.
“But I already told you, anything happens to me, the virus goes global.”
“Well then, I guess we better hope your men understand that.”
Lance pushed Davidov toward the door, then, holding him very tight, his gun pressed against Davidov’s temple, they walked out into the corridor.
“Stop right there,” a soldier yelled. “Stop or we shoot.”
Lance held Davidov in front of him as a shield. “Tell your men to put down their weapons.”
“What?”
“Do it or you’re a dead man.”
Davidov hesitated. The soldiers had their carbines trained on them, bayonets extended.
“Tell them to drop their guns,” Lance said again.
“Lower your weapons, men,” Davidov said. “Do it.”
The soldiers looked to their commanding officer.
“On the authority of the president of the Russian Federation,” Davidov said, “lower your weapons.”
The officer was the first to put down his gun. The others followed.
“Now,” Lance said, “where’s your helicopter?”
“What helicopter?”
Lance twisted his arm behind his back and Davidov said, “Ivanovskaya, right outside. The square in front of the building.”
“Which way?”
Davidov resisted again and this time Lance lost his patience. He twisted Davidov’s arm back so far his wrist snapped like a branch.
Davidov screamed in pain and said, “Behind us. Behind us.”
Lance beckoned for Laurel to come out to the corridor.
“Check the route,” he said to her.
She came out and checked the path toward the exit.
“Tell those men to stay put,” Lance said to Davidov.
The men didn’t need to be told. They stood their ground and watched as Lance and Laurel backed down the corridor. When they reached the door, Lance pushed Davidov out first.
Davidov waved his uninjured arm wildly in the air, desperately signaling any soldiers out there not to fire.
Lance held him by the door and peered out. The chopper was where he’d said it would be, out on the cobbled sq
uare between the senate and the Patriarch’s Palace.
He turned to Laurel. “You go first. Tell the pilot to get ready for takeoff.”
“What about you?”
“We’ll follow when you’re on board.”
Laurel ran the hundred yards to the chopper and got inside.
Across the square was the enormous Tsar Cannon, a forty ton, bronze behemoth capable of firing one ton projectiles. Soldiers were taking up position behind it but had been ordered to hold back.
It wouldn’t be long before they got presidential authorization to open fire, regardless of Davidov’s safety.
“Get those men to stay back,” Lance said.
Davidov yelled at them but his voice was lost under the noise of the chopper as it fired up.
Behind him in the corridor, Lance could see the six soldiers approaching cautiously.
“Come on,” he said, pushing Davidov out ahead of him. They began to cross the cobbled square, Lance eyeing the assembled soldiers on the far side, their guns pointed out in front of them like a firing squad.
He knew it the elite Kremlin security force was on its way. With their ultra-modern weaponry and tactics, they would alter the situation dramatically. And then there was the sniper threat. He could already see soldiers filing along the walkway on top of the perimeter wall. Once in position, they’d have a clear line of sight across the square. There was activity on the surrounding roofs also.
“Come on,” he said to Davidov, hurrying him forward.
Behind him, Lance saw that the soldiers from inside had reached the door, where they had a clear view of his back. He fired some shots at the door, shattering the glass and keeping them at bay for a few extra seconds.
“They’re never going to let me get on that chopper alive,” Davidov said. “I’m too valuable.”
Lance knew it was true. Any second, a sniper would be given the green light to take the shot.
The elite force, dressed in kevlar armor and armed with modified AK-12 assault rifles, was beginning to arrive, taking up position behind the cannon, their red-dot lasers dancing all over it.
Snipers were also getting in position at multiple locations.
“This is it,” Lance said. “They’re going to open fire any second.”
“You’ll be killed with me,” Davidov said.
“Do the right thing, Davidov.”
“You can’t believe I’m simply going to give it to you.”
“You’re a dead man anyway. Do this and prevent a war. Prevent a plague, for God’s sake.”
“What do I care about a plague?”
“Do it because it’s the right thing to do. Because millions of lives will be lost if you don’t.” His time was up. “Please, Davidov,” he said, giving it one last shot, “tell me where to find the vial.”
The elite force by the cannon was beginning to advance toward the chopper. The order had come through. Davidov’s value as a shield was finished.
“Tell them to get back,” Lance said.
“Get back,” Davidov called at them desperately, but they kept approaching.
“This is it,” Lance said. “Are you really going to take this to your grave?”
“That’s the whole point of it,” Davidov said. “What do you think a dead hand is?”
Lance knew there was no way he was going to change a lifetime of training. Davidov had spent his life building systems that would guarantee annihilation to anyone who struck at him first. This was exactly what he’d prepared for.
“Davidov, where’s the last vial?” Lance said, one final, desperate time.
Davidov turned to him. For a brief second, Lance actually thought he was going to tell him where it was. He leaned in closer to hear.
And then, Davidov spat in his face.
Time was up. Lance could see it on the approaching soldier’s faces. He looked back at the building and saw the soldiers behind him streaming out.
He could see Laurel in the chopper, holding a gun to the pilot’s head.
“Take off,” he said into his mouthpiece.
That was it.
The chopper’s lift off was the signal the snipers had been waiting for.
Lance felt the impact before he heard it. A high-powered sniper bullet struck Davidov’s head from the direction of the palace. Lance held up Davidov’s dead body and fired his pistol at the elite force. They scattered but the men behind him opened fire with their carbines.
Lance held Davidov’s dead body up for cover and continuously fired at the tactical team as he ran the final steps to the chopper. Sniper bullets continued to pelt Davidov.
When he was six feet from the chopper, he dropped Davidov’s corpse and leapt.
Laurel was firing at the elite force, keeping them at bay, and Lance landed in the back of the chopper as a hail of carbine bullets clanged all around him.
The chopper jerked upward rapidly, gaining altitude as the pilot pulled back on the controls, realizing he would be the logical next target for the snipers.
“Get down,” Lance yelled to Laurel.
They both lay on the ground as the snipers continued to take shots at them. The chopper’s windshield shattered. It was a military-grade craft and had been reinforced, but it wouldn’t stand up to much more of this punishment.
When one of the snipers damaged the back propellor, the chopper veered dangerously to the right and Laurel had to hang on so as not to be thrown out the side.
More bullets rained in on them.
“The pilot’s been hit,” she yelled.
Lance got to the driver’s seat and pulled against the controls, struggling to get the craft back under control.
He managed to stabilize their altitude but as more bullets struck the tail and undercarriage, they began to veer again. They were dangerously close to going into a spin.
“I’m losing control,” Lance said.
They’d drifted over the Moskva River and were finally out of range of the snipers, but as they continued to careen wildly, Lance knew there was nothing he could do.
He turned to Laurel. “You’re not going to like this.”
“Like what?”
“We’re above the river,” he said.
She looked at him and realized what he was saying. She looked down. They were dizzyingly high. The water of the Moskva looked so cold and dark beneath them. She pictured herself landing on the rooftop of one of the buildings by the shore.
“You want me to jump?”
The chopper veered to the side again and it took everything Lance had to get it back out over the water.
Laurel looked at him. “This is it, Lance. If I jump, we may never see each other again.”
He nodded.
“Did Davidov say anything?”
He shook his head. In that moment, none of it mattered, not the virus, not Roth, not the Russians. Not even a plague and a war.
“Laurel,” he said, as she moved to the edge of the chopper.
She stepped out onto the landing skid and was ready to jump. She looked back at him.
“There’s something I never told you,” he said.
“What?”
The chopper jerked and he struggled to stabilize it.
“This is it, Lance.”
“You have to jump now,” he said.
“What did you never tell me, Lance?”
He was focused on the controls.
She looked down again.
She said, “Can’t you get any lower?”
“This thing’s going to go into a spin any second.”
She looked at him a final time, their eyes locked, and then she jumped.
As she fell, she looked up and saw the chopper fall into a tailspin from which there could be no recovery. It was going down, she knew it, and there was no way he was getting out.
78
Tatyana felt very strange, passing through customs at Sheremetyevo airport with a Swiss passport Roth had given her. She kept expecting one of the guards to take her a
side and lead her to an interrogation room.
“Purpose of your visit?” the guard said to her at passport control.
“Visiting an old friend,” she said, speaking Russian like a foreigner.
The guard looked at her. She’d altered her appearance, Roth had known exactly what was needed to trick the Russian facial recognition system, and her pulse sped when the guard leaned closer.
“Male or female?” the guard said.
“Excuse me?”
“Your friend.”
“Oh,” she said. “Male.”
“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, your friend is a very lucky man.”
Tatyana smiled. “Not so lucky,” she said as he waved her through.
The airport was north of Moscow and she rented a sleek Mercedes from one of the desks in the arrival hall. In Moscow, it never hurt to have a car that made you look important.
From the airport, she drove directly to the address Roth had given her. It was for a cheap hotel north of the city center. She parked outside, went through the lobby straight to the room number he’d given her, and knocked on the door.
79
Sofia sat by the window and gazed out. Mist gathered around the streetlights and gave the night a dull, depressing air. A blood red Mercedes pulled up beneath one of the lights and she admired the woman who stepped out. She reminded her of Audrey Hepburn, with her stylish coat and an Hermes silk scarf in her hair.
The hotel was in a poor neighborhood, an area for bootleggers and black marketeers. If you wanted a fake Gucci purse, or DVDs of old Sylvester Stallone movies, it was the place.
The room itself was functional, clean enough, with two twin beds and a bathroom with shower, but Sofia and Olga were beginning to get restless.
“What are you looking for?” Olga said. “He’s abandoned us. He’s not coming back.”
“He’ll come back,” Sofia said.
“He might not even be alive.”
“Of course he’s alive.”
“You saw the news, Sofia. The gunfire at the Kremlin. The helicopter crash.”
“He’s alive, Olga,” Sofia said, getting more emotional than she intended. “I have to believe that.”
Olga sighed. She came over to Sofia and put her hand on her shoulder. “Sofia, you don’t even know this man.”
