Execution ht-5

by Adrian Magson

  The Walther sounded horribly loud, the gunshots echoing all around him and battering the air. He wondered how good the local cops were at responding to late-night gunfire. Not great, he hoped; they needed time to get clear and away.

  The Russian was slammed back against the 4X4, dropping his weapon. For a second he hung there, scrabbling with his feet to stay upright. Then the massive shock invaded his system, overpowering his muscles and co-ordination, and he slid sideways and hit the ground.

  Harry turned and ran. He wouldn’t get a better chance. Staying on the grass, he used the trees to give himself cover from the street and the driver of the 4X4, who was shouting for backup. Dodging through the bushes, he kept the street within sight, wondering how far away Katya was now. She was young and fit, and would cover the ground quickly. But the men following, if the 4X4 had been full, would split up, reducing her chances of escape in an area that was wide open with few hiding places on the streets, unless she was lucky enough to find an open door.

  He hit an open space and saw a junction in the street ahead, and fifty yards further on, a bulky figure trotting along, hugging an apartment block. The man was carrying a gun.

  Harry whistled. The man didn’t hear him at first, so he whistled again, and ran for the trees on the far side of the open space. It put him in a shooting gallery, and the man didn’t waste time in responding. He turned and fired twice, then again. But the shots didn’t come near, the man’s aim spoiled by his body twisting.

  Harry hit the trees and carried on through. The gunman would no doubt expect him to stay still, using the cover to wait for pursuit and pick off anyone who followed. But that wasn’t the game plan. He angled towards the street and burst out of the trees, and saw the gunman crouched in the angle of the building, waiting to take a shot. But he was looking slightly off, his gun following his line of sight.

  Harry fired once, aiming low. He didn’t expect to hit the man, but to scare him. It worked. The man shouted and jumped as the wall beside him erupted into fragments with the force of the bullet, then turned and scurried back in the direction he’d come from.

  Katya was running along a wide street, her footsteps echoing off the nearest building, her breathing coming louder as her energy levels diminished. Somehow her instincts had deserted her, and she had made a wrong turn. Now she was in a wide space, almost a boulevard between two large apartment blocks with no obvious cover. If she didn’t get off this street soon, they would catch her. Or simply use her as target practice and shoot her down.

  She saw an opening in the building on her right. It looked like an access way for maintenance vehicles to get into the heart of the building, where rubbish was dumped down chutes for collection. But when she turned into it, she saw it was a tunnel running through the building to the other side. Maybe there was a doorway down there, somewhere she could hide until they gave up and moved on.

  She ran into the gloom. There were only a couple of dim lights on the wall to show the way, and she slowed her pace to avoid obstacles. At the end of the tunnel she could see a boulevard just like the one she had left. It wasn’t much better than where she had come from, but it was a chance; perhaps the only one she had.

  Then, with just twenty yards to go, a man stepped around the corner and into the light.

  It was Bronyev.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Katya gave a cry of despair. This wasn’t supposed to end this way! All that training, all the set-piece exercises at the academy, the live firing, all the scenarios they had gone through over and over again to speed up reactions to events like this.

  She skidded to a halt, bringing up her gun, her breath catching harshly in her throat as she tried to swallow against the dryness. She felt exhausted, as much by fear as by the running, a counter to the adrenalin rush earlier when she had first seen the men arrive.

  She stared at Bronyev, wondering what he was doing here. Deep down, though, she knew there could be only one reason: he knew her better than anyone else, and had been ordered to being her back. She desperately didn’t want to shoot a close colleague, a man who had trained in exactly the same way as her and with the same beliefs; but right now she was faced with no choice. If he tried to stop her, she would have to shoot. There was too much to lose otherwise.

  ‘Wait!’ Bronyev was holding his hands out from his sides, his voice low and urgent. ‘I’m not here to stop you, Katya.’ He looked, in spite of the situation, relaxed and in control, yet wary. And she realised that he hadn’t got his gun out.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked, gulping air. The gun felt slippery with sweat in her hand, its slim shape like a toy. ‘It’s your job. You have to do it.’

  ‘Yours, too. Or had you forgotten?’ He was breathing visibly too, although whether from the chase or nerves, she couldn’t tell.

  ‘Was,’ she replied, and sagged against the nearest wall. ‘The job changed, you know? Things changed.’ That made her sound idiotic. She couldn’t explain and didn’t have time. He probably wouldn’t understand, anyway. He was infinitely more of a product of the system than she was.

  ‘Like the English woman?’

  Katya felt herself go cold. He knew?

  ‘What do you mean?’ An automatic form of denial. It was all she could think of to say.

  ‘Come off it, Katya. Sorry — I suppose I should call you lieutenant. But I’m not a fool. I heard the rumours about your. .’ He paused and waved a vague hand.

  ‘Indiscretion? It’s all right, you can say it.’ She risked a glance over her shoulder. If the other men showed up now, she was dead.

  ‘Yes, that. And that’s all they are for the most part — rumours. Not to me, though. I have a sister who’s gay, you see, so I know. But I couldn’t care less. There are some up the ladder who think you’ll get it out of your system one day and. . well, get your focus back. Daft, I know.’ He shrugged and looked embarrassed at the absurdity of it.

  Katya nearly laughed. God in heaven, what a bunch of dinosaurs! Could they really be that stupid? Did they think she was possessed of a fever? Didn’t they know this was the twenty-first century? That there were actually gays in modern Russia, just like the rest of the world?

  ‘It’s not entirely their fault,’ said Bronyev sympathetically. ‘They actually want to believe we’re all perfect citizens, fitting the world they’ve created for us.’

  ‘There’s no such thing,’ Katya snapped. ‘Any fool knows that. Don’t they ever look around them?’

  ‘Outside the FSO, probably not. You’re right. But they want us to be perfect, that’s my point. Makes them look good.’

  ‘Christ, what are you, Bronyev — a closet sociologist? That’s worse than being gay!’

  He smiled. ‘Just trying to make my way, that’s all. And to help you.’

  ‘So why this chat? Are you telling me you’re sympathetic?’

  ‘Why not? Like I said, my sister’s gay — and she’d never forgive me if I told her I’d stood in your way or tried to bring you in.’ He cleared his throat, and Katya thought he looked a little sad. ‘I love my sister, you see. I look out for her. I know how tough it is for her every day, everywhere she goes. We live in a very unforgiving place, you know that?’ He looked around, checking the space behind him. ‘Thing is, saying that makes me less than perfect, too, in their eyes. Join the club, huh?’

  She stared at him, wondering if he wasn’t simply trying to string her along, to get her to drop her guard. But he merely looked back, waiting. Then she knew he was speaking the truth. And wondered how she’d never realised before. No wonder he had never come onto her, never tried to share down-time with her on assignments when their charges were tucked up safely in their hotels or embassies, or handed over to the care of another team. Not once had he made an improper remark or stepped over the line the way so many other men did, their intentions thinly coated in coarse humour. Somehow she had got used to that, being part of the barrack room system, knowing from early on that to respond in a negative fashion every time wo
uld mark her out for ever more ugly treatment as word got around that she could be easily wound up.

  ‘All because of your sister?’

  ‘Yes. Our parents freaked out when she told them. It was ugly for a while. But they’ve been wonderful ever since.’ He shrugged. ‘Not that they can talk about it much. It’s fine by me, but tough for them, I suppose.’

  She felt as if she were in a dream. First thinking Bronyev was a threat, then finding out he wasn’t. Now realising he’d known all along. And said nothing.

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘We do nothing. You get out of here. I, of course, like a diligent FSO officer, will scour the city for my deviant colleague who I wish wasn’t leaving because. . well, because.’ He sighed and waved a hand. ‘Of course, I won’t find her, and they’ll send another team out to look for you. I’ll get a roasting for not watching you more carefully and realising what a threat you were, but in the end what can they do?’ He looked sad once more. ‘You realise you’ll never be able to come back, don’t you?’

  ‘I know.’ It was something that hadn’t been voiced before; something she hadn’t even thought about. The simple enormity of hearing it now hit her like a sledgehammer. But she knew instantly that it was the right thing — the only thing — to do. Anyway, unlike Bronyev, she had no family. ‘Thank you for the warning, by the way.’

  He grinned. ‘Hey — no biggie, as the Americans would say. See, I knew the numbers would come in useful some day.’

  ‘But not for this.’

  ‘No, not for this. Just you be careful and don’t get brought back in chains. I’d hate to have to stand up in court and speak out against you.’ He nodded at the street behind her. ‘I’m going to walk past you and out the other side. You go the other way.’

  ‘All right. Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll look back when I get to the end.’ He swallowed. ‘Don’t be here when I do.’

  She smiled and felt a flood of emotion, and wanted to throw her arms around him. But she knew that would be fatal. He was telling her to go. Before he changed his mind.

  ‘Will you be OK?’

  ‘Me? Hell, yes, I expect so. Once the fuss is over I’ll probably get promoted.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I never told you who my father is.’

  ‘No. Does it make a difference?’

  ‘His name is Dmitry Alexandrovich Bronyev, General Lieutenant of the Land Army Eastern Command. Only a handful of people know that. And that’s how I’d like to keep it. Now you know, so don’t let me down. He’d be really pissed if this got out.’

  She felt as if her head was in a spin. She’d never made the connection of the names before; in any case, scions of top army officers weren’t supposed to become bodyguards, willing to throw themselves in front of their charges at the first hint of danger. No wonder Bronyev was better than a normal recruit; with a father like his, he’d have been absorbing and absorbed in the military life ever since he was old enough to open his eyes.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  There was nothing more to say. She watched as he approached her, and as he walked by, lifted a hand in a brief salute.

  Then he was gone, and she walked quickly away in the opposite direction, her footsteps echoing his.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Harry jogged back into cover and waited for Katya to appear, squatting to get a view of the ground below the level of the hanging foliage. He was looking for movement where there shouldn’t be any. It was pointless going any further in search of her; she could have gone in any direction and he would have to trust her to get back to the apartment somehow. All he could do was watch for the men to return this way.

  Once he was certain of being alone, he rang Rik.

  ‘Jesus, was that you?’ the younger man said. ‘It sounded like a war zone out there. You could have called me to help.’

  ‘No point. It would have given them another target. But they’re now one down and smarting, so they’ll be back.’

  ‘How do you think they found us?’

  ‘Richoux, is my bet. Them turning up here is no coincidence.’

  ‘Unless Katya’s carrying another tag.’

  ‘If so, they’d have found us earlier. But if she shows up, check her out.’

  ‘Will do. What do we do now?’

  ‘Stay put but be ready to move. There was only one car, but I doubt that will last.’

  ‘Got it. I suppose you didn’t manage to find Starbucks while you were out, did you? I could kill for an Americano.’

  ‘You and me both.’ Harry switched off and took another look around. Very quiet. And not even a police response to the shooting. That could work in their favour if they had to move; being seen out on the streets following a shooting was a sure-fire way of being picked up.

  Then he saw her.

  Katya was moving through the trees, stopping at intervals to scout ahead. She was heading for the apartment building. She didn’t look hurt, so he guessed she must have outrun her pursuers. He followed, angling away so that he could watch her back, until he reached the open space and the pathway leading to the building entrance.

  He followed her in, then waited just inside, eyes on his back trail. No movement, but it didn’t mean they weren’t out there, watching.

  He rang Rik to warn him that he was on his way, then scooted up the stairs and tapped on the door. He found Katya inside, hugging Clare unselfconsciously. They turned as he walked in.

  ‘There was shooting,’ Katya said. She sounded surprised. ‘What happened?’

  He told them in brief detail. Katya said nothing on learning that one of the FSB men had gone down, and agreed to allow Rik to check her clothing when Harry explained about how fast the pursuers had got there.

  ‘I don’t think it’s you,’ he told her. ‘But we need to leave here now, and I don’t want them following us to the airport.’

  ‘Is that wise?’ Katya asked. ‘They will be there already, in case we try to fly out.’

  ‘Do they have enough men?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked sombre. ‘For this they will have called in more. In any case, it is too late now to get a flight.’

  She was right. With everything that had been happening, he’d lost track of time. They had to find another way.

  They left the apartment and found another way down which took them through the basement and up the other side in case the Russians were waiting. Rik went ahead to scout the area leading to the main streets and pick up a taxi.

  On the way, Harry’s phone rang.

  It was Ballatyne.

  ‘What happened to you? Is everyone all right?’

  ‘Fine so far,’ said Harry. ‘But you need a new local asset in Vienna.’

  ‘I heard about Richoux.’ Ballatyne sounded tired. ‘Sorry, I’ve been a bit tied up here. We had a total shutdown and I’ve been fire-fighting most of the day. Richoux left his apartment late this afternoon and nobody’s seen him since. His girlfriend said he emptied his bank account and told her he wouldn’t be back. He didn’t say why.’

  ‘He’s got new friends, that’s why.’

  ‘It figures. We’ve already rolled up the network over there. They’ll be replaced as soon as we can get new faces in place.’

  ‘They know about the safe house, so we’re getting out of here now. I’ll tell you the rest later. But we can’t use the airport at Schwechat; they’ll have it sealed up tight.’

  ‘Hang on.’ There was a muffled silence, then he came back moments later. ‘Right. You need to get to Wiener Neustadt Ost. It’s a civilian airfield forty kilometres south of Vienna. I’ll have to use up some favours but I’ll have a military flight waiting tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Good. Tell them we’ll have one extra.’

  ‘Balenkova?’

  ‘Yes. She needs full entry and protection. She won’t be going home again.’

  ‘You know the powers that be will want a quid pro quo from her?’

  ‘Good luck with that.’r />
  ‘Thanks. Call me when you get in,’ he added curtly. ‘We need a debrief.’

  In London, in the Mayfair office where they had held their first meeting, Sergei Gorelkin was raging. News that Jardine was still at large had been compounded by hearing that Katya Balenkova had defected and the FSB team sent after her was a man down.

  ‘Federal Protective Service officers do not defect, Symenko!’ he shouted down the phone, slamming a fist down on the table. ‘The FSB does not lose personnel!’ He gripped the handset hard enough to crush it, eyes glinting like pieces of ice. ‘This is unacceptable! If you do not find these women and the men helping them, I will have you replaced, do you hear me?’

  Across the table from him, Lieutenant Votrukhin and Sergeant Serkhov stayed very still. To comment now, even to move at the wrong moment, would be to invite disaster. They felt a measure of sympathy for the man Symenko, on the other end of the phone, but only insofar as his being the focus of Gorelkin’s anger meant they, for the time being, were not. They knew, however, that it would not last for long. If Jardine and Balenkova managed to get back to London, their peaceful world would shatter in an instant.

  ‘Fucking idiots!’ Gorelkin slammed the phone down, bouncing it clear across the table so that Serkhov had to retrieve it. ‘You two had better upgrade your efforts, I can tell you. That incompetent donkey Symenko won’t be able to stop them leaving Vienna, which means they will be back here by tomorrow at the latest.’

  ‘Might they decide to go somewhere else instead?’ said Votrukhin hopefully, who was wishing he could get on a plane to Moscow right now. Anything was better than staying with this sinking ship. He was now in full agreement with Serkhov; that Gorelkin was following some kind of secret agenda, and they were trapped like flies in his web until he let them go. Worse, he couldn’t help but feel that Gorelkin had finally lost control of the situation, and he and Serkhov were in danger of being dragged down with him. But getting out was not a luxury they could afford.

  ‘No. They will come back here. You must redouble your efforts to find Jardine.’ He rubbed at the side of his jaw. It was the first sign of nerves that the two men had seen in him, renewing their concern about what this operation had turned into. ‘This cannot be allowed to go any further,’ he muttered. ‘We must end this now.’