by Steven Gore
They waited until Razor completed another circuit and walked up the driveway, then Gage signaled for Ninchenko to head toward the rear of the mansion. As Ninchenko crept forward, angling past the western wing and around to the back, Gage set about to create enough chaos to keep Razor away from the house long enough for Ninchenko to slip in and rescue Alla without engaging in bloodshed that would provoke the gang war Slava wanted to avoid.
Gage shoved the gun under the waistband at the small of his back, then slid off his backpack, removed bolt cutters, and worked his way along the front of the pens. In the darkness, he nearly stumbled over a rake. He felt for the lock on the antelope pen, then carefully slipped the jaw around the shackle and pressed the cutter arms together. The cheap Ukrainian metal parted in silence. Gage twisted the lock free, opened the gate, then moved on. He passed on the wild pigs, then opened the peacock and deer pens in turn.
Gage waited for the animals to realize they were free, but they didn’t catch on, so he worked his way back past the antelope pen and retrieved the rake. He felt the length of it. It was heavy like a medieval pike, with a dozen clawlike steel tines. He slipped inside and side-stepped along the fence until he spotted two moonlit eyes fixed on him. A slight breeze disturbed branches above, then moonlight fell on four more eyes and horns pointing skyward. The eyes followed Gage as he tried to sneak behind them, then disappeared into blackness as they turned away from the moon. Gage glimpsed the silhouette of a set of horns, guessed where the rump was, then gave it a whack. The startled antelope led a charge of the four-member herd away from Gage. Using a double-handed grip, he swung the rake in wide arcs until all of them found the open gate.
But the delay had been costly. As Gage followed the charging animals into the gap between the front door and the fountain, he spotted Razor running down the driveway—and Razor spotted him.
The antelopes scattered, leaving Gage without cover and facing Razor, now crouched six feet away with a semiautomatic in his hand. The expression on Razor’s face suggested puzzlement, rather than fear or rage, as if it didn’t make sense to him that the Matson he’d observed had it in him to organize a rescue.
Razor pointed his gun at the rake and then at the ground, signaling Gage to drop it. Gage bent forward as though in submission and slowly lowered it. Razor’s head snapped to his right at the sound of thudding feet in the woods, mistaking the running of panicked animals for more attackers. Gage yanked the rake upward, catching Razor’s wrist with the tines. The gun spun free. Razor neither recoiled nor dived for it. He simply reached under his coat and emerged with a Russian combat knife.
Gage didn’t think he could get to his gun before Razor got to him, so he kept him at bay with the rake. He heard the crash of Ninchenko kicking in the back door, then the rat-tat-tat of an automatic weapon, followed by two gun blasts, then a third.
The war Slava had hoped to avoid had begun.
Razor charged inside the arc of the swinging rake. Gage ducked, then threw an uppercut at the man’s twisted nose. Razor’s hands involuntarily rose to his face. Gage crouched and threw a right cross into the base of his rib cage. Razor grabbed and hugged Gage like a punch-drunk fighter, then gouged at his back with the knife. Gage’s body told him he was being hit, while his mind told him he was being stabbed. He dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms around Razor’s knees, then rolled, twisting him from his feet, his arms flailing as he fell. Razor’s legs kicked and shook but his torso flopped like a rag doll along the ground. Gage heard him grunt, then felt the spasms of his body’s uncontrollable jerking until it finally went limp. Gage yanked Razor’s lifeless left arm behind his back, then saw that his head lay propped at an awkward angle. Gage pushed it to the side and saw the knife handle and half of the blade sticking out of the dead man’s neck.
A window exploded, followed by Alla’s screams.
Maks and Yasha ran up as Gage picked up Razor’s gun. He pointed toward the front of the house, and they followed him inside. He signaled for them to secure the first floor, then he snuck down the long foyer toward the back of the house until he reached a closed door. He pressed himself against the wall beside it, pushed it open, then dropped to a crouch and ducked his head forward into what turned out to be the kitchen. He spotted Ninchenko’s legs to the left and a stocky body curled in a pool of blood on the opposite side of the room, a nearly bloodless bullet hole centered in the man’s forehead.
Gage crawled toward Ninchenko, propped against the stove, eyes closed. Ninchenko struggled to raise his gun hand in response to the sound of Gage’s movement.
“It’s me, amigo,” Gage whispered, then pressed Ninchenko’s hand back down. He saw two holes in Ninchenko’s jacket, one below his left shoulder and one in his lower chest.
Ninchenko opened his eyes a fraction, then tilted his head upward toward Alla’s room. Gage nodded, then pushed himself to his feet.
Gage met Maks and Yasha in the foyer. He waved them toward the kitchen, saying Ninchenko’s name.
Alla screamed again as he ran up the stairs.
He followed the screams up the next flight and toward an open door at the end of a hallway. Gage peeked around the doorjamb. Alla stood on a chair in the far corner, swinging a lamp at a squat woman in a tracksuit who was grabbing at her.
“Nakonec!” Alla yelled, looking across the room at Gage.
An androgynous, slug-shaped woman turned toward the door. Alla swung the lamp high in the air and brought it down on the top of the woman’s head and she crumpled to the carpet.
“Finally!” Alla repeated, this time in English, then jumped down from the chair and kicked the woman in the ribs.
Gage ran over and pulled her away.
Alla struggled against his grip. “Let me go.”
“We don’t have time for you to get even. Ninchenko’s hurt.”
Gage tied the woman’s hands with the lamp cord so she couldn’t get to a phone to warn Gravilov when she regained consciousness, then they dashed down the stairs and to the front of the mansion, where they spotted Yasha easing Ninchenko into the backseat of a car. Maks ran from the direction of the menagerie carrying Gage’s backpack and bolt cutters, and Razor’s knife.
Gage and Alla got in on either side of Ninchenko in the backseat while the others jumped into the front. Gage unbuttoned Ninchenko’s jacket, then reached inside, pressing a palm against each wound.
Maks called ahead to the hospital as they sped through the countryside. By the time they neared the city limits, Ninchenko lay slumped in the seat, motionless, his skin ghostlike in the dashboard lights.
CHAPTER 73
A white-coated doctor waited in the darkness just off the grounds of the Dnepropetrovsk Clinical Hospital. Maks stopped the car and handed a roll of bills to the doctor, who then followed the car to the emergency entrance.
The doctor snapped orders in Russian, then spoke softly to a nurse as he walked into the hospital. Gage and Alla followed behind as orderlies lifted Ninchenko onto a gurney and raced him down a grimy pale green hallway into pre-op. They watched through an open door as his clothes were cut off and he was rolled into the operating room.
“What did the doctor tell the admitting nurse to put in the record?” Gage asked Alla.
“That Ninchenko was in a car accident. Internal bleeding.”
Gage leaned back against the wall as an elderly couple shuffled by, carrying clean sheets and towels and containers of food. Bleary eyes spoke of a long journey on Soviet-era streetcars and of a hospital too poor or too corrupt to meet even the most basic needs of its patients.
“What happened outside of the dacha?” Alla asked.
Gage shrugged, then looked over. “Let’s just say Razor gave his life for the greater good.”
She smirked. “Self-sacrifice didn’t seem to be his game.”
“I think he surprised himself.”
“You surprised me,” Alla said. “I had no idea you were coming until the phone vibrated the second time.”
&nbs
p; Alla fell silent as a nurse passed by, then said, “Stuart wasn’t coming back, was he?”
Gage shook his head. “And we needed to move in before Gravilov figured that out.” He turned away from the wall to face her. “I didn’t tell you before because I was afraid you’d panic and try to take them on yourself.”
Alla stepped forward, pulling Gage’s shoulder farther away from the wall.
“What’s that?” She ran her fingers over red smears on the paint, then showed them to Gage. “This is blood.”
Alla pulled Gage around until his back was to her.
“He slashed you. Can’t you feel it?”
She reached up with both hands and grasped his collar, pulled his coat down, and dropped it to the floor in one motion. Blood on his shirt circled the wounds.
“It just feels bruised,” Gage said, reaching around to probe his back. Alla pulled his hand away.
“Wait here.” She strode down the hallway, returning a minute later with a pouting nurse with a large mole on her cheek, who led them to an examining room. Gage removed his shirt, then the nurse cleaned the wounds.
“How bad is it?” Gage asked.
“They’re about two inches across and about a quarter-inch deep,” Alla said. “It looks like he was stabbing at an angle.”
Alla spoke with the nurse in Russian, then said, “She wants to stitch them.”
Gage reached into his wallet, withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, and held it up. “Tell her I want a new needle, unopened surgical thread, and a course of antibiotics. German.”
Alla translated.
The nurse smiled, accepted the money, and left the room. She returned a few minutes later and laid out the items for Gage’s inspection. Both the needle and thread were sealed in plastic. She opened the box of antibiotic tablets to show they hadn’t been tampered with.
“O-kay?” she asked in English.
Two hours later, the doctor emerged from the operating room wearing a bloodstained smock. He and Alla conversed briefly in Russian near the swinging doors. After he walked away, Alla turned toward Gage with a quick smile and a thumbs-up.
“What did he say?” Gage asked as she approached.
“The first thing was that he wanted to know when he’d get the rest of his money.”
“And?”
“We’ll need to bring in clean sheets and more money for syringes, IVs, and the rest. He’ll give us a list of the food that will have to be brought in.”
Gage glared at the doctor’s office door. “At what point did he mention Ninchenko’s condition?”
“Only after he said that he’ll take care of paying off the nurses and that he’ll be in his office for the next half hour waiting for the cash.”
Gage shook his head in disgust. “At least he’s got his priorities in order.” He looked back at Alla. “How much extra for a private room?”
“It’s included.”
“Why? Is he having a sale today?”
Alla’s tone was even more sarcastic than Gage’s. “I think it must be what you Americans call an early-bird special.”
Maks arrived, and she passed on the doctor’s instructions.
“We can leave,” she told Gage, as he walked away. “Kolya’s waiting outside. Ninchenko’s men will stand guard.”
“What about Gravilov? Has he found out yet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. Maks says that he’s still in his apartment.”
As Kolya drove them through the gray-dawn streets toward the Astoria Hotel, Alla wedged herself into the corner of the backseat and rested her head against the window. Gage watched her drift into a confused, chaotic state in which sleep is imperative, but not possible. She shifted her position and her eyes moved under her lids as if watching a replay of the night. He wondered whether she had slept at all during the last few days.
Gage escorted her to the dining room and turned on the radio. He poured her a cup of coffee and inspected her face as she sipped. Her eyes were dark and her cheeks seemed to sag. The adrenaline surge that had carried her through the morning had subsided like an outgoing tide, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.
“I need you to do something,” Gage finally said. “Call Matson. Tell him that you’ve escaped and how grateful you are that he was trying to rescue you.”
Alla blinked away the glaze that clouded her eyes. “And I’m supposed to do that without laughing?”
“It has to be done. I don’t want him wondering whether you sold him out and cut a deal with Gravilov.” Gage thought for a moment. “And tell him that you’ll be hiding out with relatives in the mountains for a few weeks.”
“Then what?”
“That’s up to you. You have money?”
“Stuart set up an account in my name at Barclays in London. There’s about a hundred thousand pounds in it. But now that I know where he got it…”
“You earned it, and more. And I’ll make sure no one ever gives you trouble about it.” He sipped his coffee. “But what will you do after that’s gone?”
“I’m eligible for the Skilled Migrant Program in the UK. I’ll stay if I can find a job.”
“What about Gravilov?”
She paused, then shrugged. “That’s a bridge I’m not sure how I’ll cross.”
“How about coming to the States for a while?”
She shook her head. “I can’t get a visa.”
“What if I could get you in?”
She forced a smile. “You have some magical powers you’ve been hiding from me?”
“I can get you what’s called an S visa. It’s for witnesses who may be willing to testify about a criminal organization.”
Her smile died. “I know you want to help your friend, but there’s no way I can do that. Gravilov and his people would never forget. Never. They’d hunt me down. Even your Witness Protection Program wouldn’t be safe. There’s no escape.”
Gage reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know. The key word is ‘may.’ You’ll just change your mind once you get to the States.”
“Would I get in trouble? I mean, here if you—”
“No. The head of the Criminal Division of the Justice Department will feel pretty bad he didn’t help me out a few weeks ago, so he’ll let me handle this the way I want to.”
Alla looked away and shook her head slowly. Gage knew she was imagining the carnage at the dacha. She finally looked back. “How long would it take?”
Gage walked Alla to his room, where he let her shower and nap in his bed. He then sent an e-mail to Washington, D.C., constructed to extort a visa, but without disclosing too much of what he knew.
When he leaned back in his desk chair, he felt for the first time the bite of the slashes and stitches in his back. He realized that he had another e-mail to send. He and Faith trusted each other too much for him to conceal from her that he’d been injured. He wrote her what he always did when his middle-aged body got battered around: “I’ll need a little chicken soup.”
CHAPTER 74
Gage and Alla returned to the hospital in early afternoon. Ninchenko was in a third floor, private, two-room suite, the best in the hospital, but looking to Gage like a skid-row hotel room. He was propped up in bed and being fed clear broth as they entered. The nurse wiped Ninchenko’s chin, then stepped back. Ninchenko’s guard escorted her from the room.
“How do you feel, amigo?” Gage asked, leaning close. Alla stood next to him. Both looking down at the pale, hollow-eyed face.
Ninchenko worked up a little smile. “Like an elephant is standing on my chest,” he answered in a hoarse whisper, his throat still raw from the anesthetic used during surgery.
“What happened?”
“He came running into the kitchen just as I kicked the door.” Ninchenko’s voice strengthened. “He got off three shots before I caught my balance. He knew he hit me so he stopped firing.”
“Big mistake.”
“He picked the wrong line of work. He didn’t finish me off.”
Gage
thought back on the dead man curled up in the kitchen. The man’s heart had stopped before Ninchenko fired his last shot.
Ninchenko licked his lips. Alla poured water from a pitcher into a clear plastic glass and brought it to his lips. He took two sips, then shook his head.
“What about you?” Ninchenko asked.
“Let’s just say Razor lived by the sword.”
Ninchenko offered up another weak smile. “Aristotle was right.”
Alla’s mouth gaped open at Ninchenko. “What? Aristotle? You’re lying in a hospital with two fucking bullet holes and you’re talking Greek philosophy?”
“What he means is that things tend toward their natural end,” Gage said.
Alla shook her head. “It’s still weird.” She set down the glass and looked fondly at Ninchenko. “I thought you were just some ex–State Security thug out to make a buck. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad your natural end wasn’t to die last night saving me. I’ll never forget what you did.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
“We were both wrong,” Ninchenko answered. “I hope you’ll come back one day.”
Alla shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
Three hours into their drive back to Kiev, Gage heard the name Gravilov spoken on the car radio. He poked at Alla, waking her up.
“What are they saying?”
Alla rubbed her eyes. The announcer spoke the name again. She listened for a minute, then smiled.
“It sounds like Ninchenko’s people tricked the government into believing that nationalist terrorists attacked Gravilov’s mansion. There was a note stuck to the front door that the police think was left by the paramilitary arm of the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists, demanding that all Russians leave Ukraine, starting with him.”
Alla listened for another few moments, then laughed. “They’re demanding a ransom for my return. Apparently I’m Gravilov’s girlfriend.”
She looked hard at the radio, then gasped. “The police found Razor in the hyena pen, chewed into pieces.”
