by Rob Sinclair
‘You lead the way,’ I said to Schuster.
‘To where?’ he said, feigning bemusement.
‘To wherever your planned rendezvous is,’ I said. ‘It’s quite clear that’s what’s happening here. You had your chums to keep you company, keep you safe. Now you’ve got us. Take us to wherever you’re supposed to be and there might still be a chance for you to walk away from this alive.’
‘I’m not going to do that,’ Schuster said.
‘Then you’re not going to get to Grainger, are you?’ I said.
‘How could I trust you to let me go?’ Schuster said. ‘After everything I’ve already told you. How can you even possibly expect me to believe that you’d let me live?’
‘It’s the only chance you’ve got.’
‘And then what?’
‘I haven’t got that far yet.’
‘You might think you can take on the world, Logan. But you’re wrong.’
‘You let me worry about that. Off you go now.’
Mary jabbed the gun again at Schuster.
‘Will you stop doing that!’ he shouted, pulling away from her and turning around. ‘I know you’re both armed. It doesn’t really make a difference if you keep sticking it in me!’
I stood and stared at Schuster. He stared back. I’m not sure what changed in his mind but eventually he relented.
‘Come on, it’s this way,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
He turned and started to march off, a renewed show of strength coming over him. We followed two yards behind him towards the terminal building. I noticed that Mary still held her gun but had folded her arms, placing the weapon just inside her coat to hide it from view. My gun was in my right hand, inside my coat pocket. We had to be ready and alert should things turn bad.
And I knew that inevitably they would.
As we walked through the busy terminal I nervously glanced over to a group of three policemen standing watching the station. Had a search party been organised for me following the multiple incidents in Omsk? I willed them not to look at me, and sighed in relief as we walked out of the station without a single glance in my direction as we passed.
Komsomolskaya Square, which we walked out into, is one of the busiest intersections in Moscow, home to three of Moscow’s nine main railway stations. We bustled past tourists, business people and townsfolk, through the square and into the inner hub of Moscow. As we carried on, none of us speaking, the wide streets and grand buildings soon petered out into narrower, windier alleys with low-rise apartments and offices.
The throngs of people also died down as we walked, and before long the streets around us were more or less deserted. I’d spent time in Moscow before, and although I was sure I could retrace my steps to familiar ground, I didn’t know the grimy back alleys that we were walking down at all. More than once Mary and I glanced at each other, each of us becoming increasingly anxious over where we were being led.
‘Where are we going?’ Mary asked, the nerves in her voice unmistakable.
‘Not far now,’ Schuster said, not turning as he carried on his march.
I looked over and noticed that Mary had taken her gun out from under her coat. She held it down by her side, in open view. She looked up at me and gave me a questioning look, but I didn’t say anything and turned my attention back to Schuster. I didn’t trust him. Not at all. But at least he was taking us somewhere. Possibly straight into an ambush, but at least we were still moving forward.
Decrepit buildings were tightly packed on both sides of us. As we approached an opening on the left, I got myself ready to peer down it. Not just to look for trouble, but to try to find anything to confirm my bearings. But at the last second, Schuster darted to his left and headed into the opening at pace.
Mary and I both instinctively reached up with our weapons. I had to hold my arm out to stop Mary bounding ahead after Schuster. We had to keep our heads.
We rounded the corner slowly, guns drawn. Schuster was standing five yards off from us. He’d stopped and was turned, facing us. His face placid, no sign of emotion. No sign of that devilish grin.
We walked out into a small square. Four exits were arranged in a neat crossroads configuration. But the square was just a cross-section of the back ends of grotty buildings. In front of us the alley carried on into the distance, ending abruptly a good couple of hundred yards away where an apartment tower block stood. Industrial-sized bins lined three of the four sides of the square, their contents over-spilling. The stench of rotten food and chemicals was overpowering even in the sub-zero air.
I glanced around, up and down, left and right, taking in the surroundings. Nothing seemed untoward. Except for the fact that we’d stopped in this place at all.
‘What the hell are you playing at, Schuster?’ Mary said.
He didn’t answer.
‘Is this the place?’ I said.
‘This is it,’ Schuster said.
The smile began to creep up his face.
I heard a thudding sound to my left and I jumped. A small cloud of concrete dust burst in front of me. I heard a distant crack a second later.
I knew immediately what it was.
The bullets of most rifles travel at almost twice the speed of sound. It’s disconcerting to experience being fired upon from distance because the bullet reaches you before you’ve even heard the gun fire. I’d seen this before.
A silent assassin. A sniper.
‘Get back!’ I shouted, pushing into Mary, shoving her backwards, towards the side street we’d just come from. Given the tightly packed buildings on all sides, I could see only one place the sniper could be. The distant tower block. I couldn’t help but notice the look on Schuster’s face before I turned and bundled into Mary. Such a knowing look. He was already spinning on his heels to flee as we neared the corner.
I heard another crack of gunfire.
The way I had to scoop Mary up as I headed for cover told me she hadn’t reacted as quickly as I had. Maybe she hadn’t understood what was happening. I more or less carried her around the corner, my momentum easily pushing her slight body weight.
We landed in a heap on the cold ground.
Only then did I realise there had been no pre-emption to the noise of the second shot. No sign of where the bullet had landed before I’d heard the delayed sound from the muzzle.
I soon realised why.
As I looked down, I saw exactly where the bullet had hit. The soft tissue it had struck had made its impact more or less silent.
Mary had been shot.
She had a gaping wound in her neck. Blood was gushing out of it. She had her hand held up to it and I pressed mine against hers. The look on her face said it all. We both knew what this meant.
Her face was already as white as a ghost as the blood rushed out of her.
‘Mary, stay with me,’ I said. ‘Just keep that hand held up there.’
I knew she was dying but I couldn’t help but try to reassure her.
‘I…I’m sorry,’ she blubbered, blood spilling out of her mouth as she spoke.
I pressed harder onto her hand, squeezing it tightly. A tear escaped from her right eye and rolled down and onto the pool of blood on the ground.
‘You need to go,’ she said, her words slurred. ‘Use the phone…I planted the tracker. It’s not over…yet.’
I didn’t move. I wasn’t going to leave her there on her own.
‘Go!’ she said, louder, more assured, finding an unexpected strength from somewhere.
But I didn’t move. I stayed there. Holding her hand. Looking into her pretty eyes as the life slowly faded from her.
And then she was gone.
Chapter 47
I knew where the sniper had been positioned. Both the trajectory of the bullets and the layout of the streets had been a giveaway. Around the corner from the small square, I was at least in cover, though I guessed the sniper would probably have scarpered already. I saw no point in trying to track him down. Either way I knew
I couldn’t stay in the secluded alleyway for long. Schuster had very deliberately lured us there. I had to assume there were other agents nearby.
Aware that time wasn’t on my side, I quickly went through Mary’s pockets and found two clips of ammo. She also had a handful of roubles bank notes and I took those too, stuffing them into my trouser pockets. I didn’t feel good about looting her body but I knew I might need those supplies further down the line.
I looked once more at Mary’s contorted and lifeless face. I struggled to not feel grief at witnessing the death of someone so young, with so much life still ahead of her. She’d lied to me, or at least not let on the truth, but I felt she’d always been loyal to Mackie and to the agency. With everything else that had been going on around her, I had to admire her for that.
There was no more time for sentiment. I wiped my bloodied hands on her coat and got to my feet. I took the phone out of my pocket and opened up the app that linked with the tracker. It had been cunning of her to have planted the receiver on Schuster. She’d got close to him on multiple occasions, but each time I’d thought she was reacting genuinely to the situation. Instead, she’d been cleverly trying to craft the right moment. I’d not noticed the move at all.
The chip wouldn’t be concealed in a seam like it had been in her coat – there’d been no time. She must have planted it in a pocket or a sleeve or somewhere else where the receiver would stick but without being noticeable. I just had to hope Schuster didn’t find it.
The app finished opening and I felt a wave of relief when I saw the map with the blinking red light. It was moving. My own position was shown on the centre of the map, a solid blue arrow. The map on the phone was orientated north and the red light was above my position, towards the top of the screen. So I knew Schuster had headed north.
I hurried down the alleyway, retracing my steps, looking for any other route that would allow me to head in the direction that Schuster had gone. I didn’t want to follow him up the alley to where the sniper had been.
It wasn’t long before I came across another side street and I turned there. The map gave an indication of the prominence of the streets through the thickness of the lines that represented them. I could see that Schuster had moved onto a main road, and as soon as the opportunity came I too veered onto more well-trodden ground. The back streets we’d been ushered down by Schuster were creepy and dangerous. That had already been proven, and I wanted to be as far away from them as possible.
I couldn’t see him, but from what I could tell on the map Schuster was only a few hundred yards in front of me. He was moving at a steady pace but I kept up easily enough. He was injured after all. Although I was back on the main streets rather than the cramped alleys, the area I walked through was becoming less residential and more industrial.
Soon, following the red dot closely, I turned into a long, straight road that housed several large warehouses, strewn along either side of the road. Each of them was a basic corrugated steel structure with small office blocks either attached or detached from the main unit. They were of various shapes and size. Some of them were clearly empty – the barren car parks and weeds a dead giveaway. Some were shinier, newer.
Then, all of a sudden, the red dot on the phone stopped. And I paused too. I’d closed the gap somewhat and Schuster had stopped only about a hundred yards in front of me, off to the right.
Looking around me for any signs of life, and satisfied there were none, I continued to walk, closing the distance to the building ahead: a small warehouse, one of the more dilapidated. Weeds grew out of the gutters and up from the sides of the structure. The wire fence that ran around the perimeter had fallen down in places and tall weeds on the grounds surrounding the building came straight up out of the pockmarked tarmac.
As I got nearer I noticed that three large four-by-fours were parked in the otherwise empty car park. No sign of any people, but the lights were on in the building – the dirtied green windows were tinged yellow from the light within.
I carried on walking along the opposite side of the road to where Schuster was, heading right past the warehouse. I spotted large sliding doors at the front of the building. They were ajar, the light from inside seeping out. But I couldn’t see what was happening within.
Satisfied from my brief recce that no threats lay on the outside, I hurried across the street and entered the complex through the open security gates. A metal staircase rose up at the side of the building, sweeping up to the very top of the structure to a fire-escape door. I assumed there must have been a mezzanine office level or something to warrant an escape in that position. Given the real risk of walking into a gun fight if I entered through the open main doors, I decided the stairs were the better option. With the dilapidated state of the building, the security up there surely wouldn’t be tight.
I sneaked around the side of the cars, keeping an eye on the main doors of the warehouse for any signs of danger. The sounds of muffled voices came and went but I didn’t see anybody at all. I came to a stop at the side of the building and took a moment to compose myself. My heart was thumping in my chest from the anticipation of what was to come. And I could feel my arms and my legs twitching. Nerves, but also the adrenaline that was coursing through my body but was so far not being utilised.
Taking two big, deep breaths, I began a slow ascent of the staircase. The steps were icy and slippery and more than once I lost my footing and had to grab hold of the frozen handrail to keep my balance. But the staircase was sturdy at least and didn’t creak or crack under my weight. When I reached the top I looked back down to the bottom but still saw no sign of life down there. Hopefully my awkward walk up to the top hadn’t alerted anyone.
The fire-escape door looked to be a simple metal structure. Not reinforced. Not particularly secure. It opened outwards, which meant it would be much too difficult to crash through it. The simple lock embedded on the door knob would be easily blown off by my gun, but I couldn’t afford to make that much noise. I reached out and tried the knob, just to be sure. Locked. Just as I’d expected it would be.
Other than trying to pick the lock, for which I had no tools, I couldn’t think of a way to open the door that wouldn’t make noise. Breaking the lock was my only option. I just had to hope that whoever was inside the warehouse wasn’t up at this level. If they were at the bottom then the distance alone would, hopefully, give me some cover. If not then I’d simply have to be ready for whatever came.
I took the barrel of the Glock in my right hand and thrust the butt down onto the door knob. A loud crack sounded out at contact and a shower of frost and ice flew into the air. But the knob hadn’t budged. Probably because I’d been too cautious, not wanting to make too much sound. If anything, I’d probably made it worse, as having to strike it again would only increase the chance of being heard.
I had little choice, though.
I swung the gun up and crashed it down onto the knob again, this time with more venom. The knob snapped off and dropped to the ground. The noise from the impact and the breaking was one thing, but I cursed my bad luck when the severed knob began to clank and clunk down the metal stairs, all the way to the bottom. I cringed and readied myself for an onslaught. But after a few moments, I realised it wasn’t coming. Perhaps I’d got away with it after all.
The door had come ajar, creaking open on its rusty hinges, no longer secured by the now failed lock. I edged it further open and stepped inside. The room I walked into was an office space, dusty, dank – and, to my relief, empty. It was only about fifteen feet wide, twenty long. Along one side windows looked out onto the warehouse below. A closed door stood at the far end. I couldn’t see what lay beyond that but guessed either another, similar, room or a corridor. Luckily for me, the fact that I’d entered a closed room was probably the reason they hadn’t heard me breaking the lock – at least I hoped they hadn’t heard.
I crouched low, crept up to the windows and peeked over the top. The main warehouse below was similarly sparse of
fixtures, save for some simple metal shelving that lay strewn around the floor. And amid the metal, a meeting, the participants clustered in the centre of the warehouse floor.
Schuster was in the middle, facing towards me, flanked by two other smartly dressed men. They were standing opposite four other people, their backs to me. I couldn’t see their faces but I could tell from their physiques and clothes that three of them were men. The fourth was a woman. She was tall and slender, with silky dark hair. She had on flat knee-length boots over tight trousers and a bomber jacket on top. Even from behind, confidence emanated from her. I didn’t need to see her face to know who it was.
Lena.
Chapter 48
The two men flanking the Russian group were holding large automatic weapons, strapped across their shoulders. No-one else was brandishing a weapon but I knew everyone would be armed.
The two groups were standing about ten feet from each other. Schuster’s men were scouring the room, on the lookout for anything untoward.
The conversation between the two groups was barely audible and I wasn’t able to make out any of the words. Schuster was looking his confident self again, no signs of the pain he must have been in from the beating. His right hand was down at his side, his stricken finger not bandaged. He was a resilient old fox.
As they were scanning the room, one of Schuster’s men looked up in my direction. I froze. He quickly looked away again, his eyes still scanning. Somehow, he hadn’t spotted me – maybe glare from the warehouse lighting on the office window had kept me hidden. But I didn’t want to give him another chance.
I sank lower and moved towards the internal door. This one was unlocked and I turned the handle slowly, then inched the door open until the gap was wide enough to peer out. The door opened out onto a narrow corridor. Off to the right was a toilet. Opposite was another door that led, I presumed, to another office space. To the left the corridor led to a metal walkway that ran along the front of the office level.
