by Ross Kemp
‘But they don’t mind you posting their videos of their “army training” afterwards,’ Alexei shot back, rather more sharply than he had intended.
A shadow crossed Nadia’s face; but before she could reply Viktor appeared at her shoulder. The blonde girl shrank away, returning to her chair and opening her laptop without another word.
‘Well then, my young troublemaker!’ Viktor declared expansively, leading him away from the rest of the gang. ‘How did you find that?’
‘OK,’ Alexei replied cautiously. ‘I was glad to get out of that basement.’
Viktor smiled, gracefully inclining his head. ‘All in all, it was a most impressive display for a first time. But being a soldier is about more than fitness, Alexei. An army does not jog to victory. It fights; it kills.’ He leaned in close, and whispered in Alexei’s ear. ‘When the call to arms sounds, do you think you could press the trigger?’
Goose-pimples broke out across Alexei’s skin like bushfire. ‘I don’t – I don’t know,’ he faltered.
Viktor reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a black semi-automatic pistol. He pressed the weapon into Alexei’s hand. ‘Only one way to find out,’ he said quietly.
14. Burn Unit
The Eagles’ shouts of exertion faded into the background as Alexei stared at the gun.
‘What do you want me to do with this?’ he asked quietly.
‘I want you to fire it at Pavel.’
Alexei looked over at the ex-soldier, who was watching the last of the gang complete the course with a look of disdain on his face. Unlike the rest of them, who were spreadeagled out across the concrete, exhausted, there was barely a bead of sweat on Pavel’s forehead.
‘I don’t understand,’ Alexei said.
Viktor’s face was solemn. ‘What is there to understand? Are you questioning a direct order?’
‘No … I’m not questioning …’ stuttered Alexei. ‘I just … Why do you want me to kill Pavel?’
Viktor gazed at him levelly through his horn-rimmed spectacles, then suddenly erupted into mocking laughter. ‘Fear not, my young soldier,’ he laughed. ‘White Russia will not regain its pre-eminence by turning on its own. I don’t want you to kill Pavel – but I do want you to shoot at him.’
At the sound of his name, the wiry man walked over towards them. Viktor tossed him the weapon. ‘Reassure our skittish young friend that this gun isn’t going to kill anyone.’
‘Frightened of this?’ Pavel said scornfully. ‘It’s a child’s toy.’
Taking aim at one of the large water bottles by the edge of the roof, he fired off several rounds almost negligently. Viktor waited until Pavel had emptied the chamber, then walked over and picked up the bottle, tipping it to one side. Water trickled out through small holes in the plastic where the pellets had penetrated the bottle. Pavel may have dismissed the gas-powered gun as a child’s toy, thought Alexei, but getting hit was still going to hurt.
Viktor waited until the Eagles had caught their breath and collected themselves into a circle, then proclaimed in a ringing voice: ‘Today is an auspicious day indeed, my brothers! To celebrate his entrance into the brotherhood of the 88s, Alexei has agreed to take on Pavel in a duel!’
Amid a murmur of excitement among the skinheads, Nadia gave Alexei a nervous look that did nothing to reassure him. As the entire gang headed down towards a lower level, Alexei could feel his heart thundering against his ribcage. He had never fired a gun in his life, and Pavel had been to war in Chechnya. It wasn’t even going to be a contest.
Viktor brought them to a halt three floors down, in the middle of a vast space broken up by chipped pillars. The floor had bowed at the far end of this dilapidated arena, creating a depression in which a large pool of snowmelt had collected. The Moscow Eagles arranged themselves along one wall while, at Viktor’s insistence, Alexei put on another layer of combat fatigues and strapped a ski mask over his face. The gun felt unfamiliar and heavy in his hand. Pavel had taken up a position directly facing him, a dark, sinewy silhouette against the sunlight pouring in through the window space behind.
‘Ready?’ Alexei said, trying to stop his hands trembling.
Viktor tapped the side of his face with a slender finger. ‘Not quite yet,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s make this a little more interesting. Marat!’
The blond-haired boy stepped forward almost apologetically, carrying a clear plastic water bottle. He began sprinkling liquid over Alexei’s shoes and down his back.
‘Hey!’ Alexei protested. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Stop moving!’ hissed Marat. ‘You don’t want me to get this in the wrong place.’
Alexei caught a sniff of the acrid liquid. It wasn’t water. It was lighter fluid.
‘Are you crazy?’ he yelled at Viktor. ‘You’re not setting me on fire!’
The leader of the Eagles stepped forward, his face serious. ‘What did I tell you before we started? Today isn’t just a test for the body, Alexei. It is also a test for the heart.’ Viktor pressed his hand against Alexei’s chest. ‘For us to trust you, you have to trust us, yes?’
At that moment, surrounded by violent skinheads in a deserted building, Alexei wasn’t sure he had a choice. He nodded, not trusting his voice to hide his fear. Viktor clapped him on the back.
‘Good boy.’
Someone stepped forward with a burning rag. Viktor lit Alexei’s shoes and back, then stepped quickly away. Alexei felt the flames licking hungrily against his clothes.
‘Three!’ began Viktor. ‘Two! One! Fire!’
Diving to one side, Alexei caught a glimpse of Pavel raising his gun and taking aim, sending a shot narrowly over his shoulder. The crowd was roaring – who for, he couldn’t tell. Alexei was moving on instinct, ducking in and out of the pillars, firing wild shots in the direction of his opponent.
He felt a sharp stinging pain in his thigh, and then another: Pavel had found his range. Alexei wanted to shoot back, but the fire was scrambling his senses and he had no idea where his opponent was. Instead Alexei ducked behind a pillar, even as another pellet ricocheted off the edge of the concrete post. The flames were billowing up his combat fatigues.
‘Hey!’ Alexei shouted. ‘Someone help me!’
Maybe his voice was muffled by the ski mask, but no one stepped forward to aid him. The roars of the Eagles were still echoing loudly around the level.
A pellet bit into the pillar millimetres above his head. Alexei didn’t care about the duel now – all he wanted to do was to put the flames out. His fatigues had been consumed by fire, and his skin was screaming in protest. Dropping his gun, Alexei began rolling around on the floor, but the flames were now too fierce to be smothered. Alexei cried out in panic, but still no one came to his aid.
Staggering to his feet, Alexei ran over to the pool of snowmelt and dived headlong into the icy water. There was a loud sizzling sound, and a cloud of steam rose up from the pool. As he lay beneath the surface, soaking his singed skin, all Alexei could hear was the scornful laughter of the Moscow Eagles.
From his vantage point on a low roof to the east of the complex, Alexei stretched out stiffly and watched as two small figures abseiled down the main wall of the hospital. The skin on his back was still tender from where the fire had taken hold, and the stench of smoke lingered on his clothes and in his nostrils.
He was grateful to be on his own – in particular, that Viktor and Pavel were somewhere down among the Japanese knotweed, overseeing the abseiling. Following the duel, the Eagles’ leader had graciously suggested that Alexei sit out the afternoon’s activities. Alexei agreed only too readily, not caring any more what the gang thought of him. If he had hoped that taking part in such a dangerous duel would have gained him credibility, he had been sorely mistaken. The rest of the Eagles seemed to find the incident funny – Alexei had a sneaking suspicion that humiliating him had been the whole point of the duel. Only Nadia showed any concern, gravely handing Alexei a couple of icepacks
as he walked gingerly back up to the roof. She left the complex soon afterwards, parting with a final enigmatic glance in Alexei’s direction.
Slow footsteps sounded behind Alexei; a hipflask was thrust under his nose. Medved was standing over him. Alexei waited for a triumphant or nasty remark, but instead the large man waved the flask under his nose again. Cautiously, Alexei took a swig, and felt burning liquid drip down his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the flask back.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘How’s the ankle?’
Medved shrugged. ‘I’ve had worse.’ He opened a pack of cigarettes. ‘Smoke?’
‘After today?’ replied Alexei. ‘I think I’ll pass.’
The burly man nodded, then lit a strong-smelling cigarette. Alexei pointed at the abseilers as they continued to inch their way down the side of the hospital.
‘I figured you’d be up with them,’ he said.
Medved snorted. ‘What the hell would I do on a rope?’ He paused, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. ‘Anyway, I don’t like heights.’
‘Piss off!’ laughed Alexei.
‘It’s true.’ Medved shot him a sideways glance. ‘Tell anyone and I’ll beat the shit out of you.’
Alexei held up his hands. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. Can’t pretend I fancy it either. It’s dangerous enough jogging round here, let alone hanging off the side of a building. This place is a dump.’
‘Of course it’s a dump,’ said Medved. ‘That’s the whole point.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alexei asked cautiously.
‘Say a hospital needs building, and a certain construction firm wins the contract to build it. Say this firm takes some shortcuts during construction – maybe the concrete isn’t so good, so things start falling apart pretty quickly, and you end up with a half-built ruin like this. Still, the money the firm’s saved gets shared around, and so nobody ends up complaining.’ Medved flicked his cigarette end off the roof. ‘It’s a classic Construktko tactic,’ he concluded.
‘Construktko?’ Alexei said, with a frown. ‘The same guys whose site you raided last year?’
Medved nodded. ‘Mr Lebedev – the owner – lets us use this place. Long as we don’t advertise it, of course. Viktor says that –’
‘Medved!’
The burly skinhead whirled round to see Viktor Orlov standing in the doorway behind him. The Eagles’ leader briskly beckoned him away. Pretending to be engrossed in the abseiling, out of the corner of his eye Alexei watched as the two men engaged in a hushed conference on the other side of the roof. Viktor was angrily jabbing his finger at Medved, who received the tirade with surprising meekness. Eventually Viktor pushed the skinhead back towards the doorway and they went downstairs without saying another word to Alexei.
The sky was turning pink with the onset of evening before the training was completed. As the Eagles packed up their gear and headed back to the vans, Alexei saw that the day had had an impact on the gang members. At the beginning, the skinheads had been a mistrustful, surly group – now, bonded by the physical challenges, they patted each other on the back and helped one another with their gear. In one day, Viktor and Pavel had bred comradeship among their men.
Not that Alexei felt part of their gang. All day the Eagles had been playing games with him – whether to test him, or just humiliate him, Alexei couldn’t be sure. He had had the last laugh, though. Clearly Medved had told him something he shouldn’t. As Alexei sat in the back of the van as it rumbled back to Moscow, one question occupied his mind. Given that the Eagles had run riot through a site owned by Construktko, what on earth was its owner doing letting them train on his buildings?
15. Blood Rift
The next morning, Alexei woke up to find his uncle’s apartment empty, and his clothes from the day before in a smoky pile in the corner of his room. He checked his mobile phone, and was relieved to find that there were no messages waiting for him. For the time being, he needed a break from the Moscow Eagles.
After a long shower, Alexei wrapped a towel around his waist and padded barefoot out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. He scanned the sparse contents of the fridge, pulled out a bottle of orange juice and took a deep swig. As he drank, a key rattled in the apartment’s front door and Stepan shuffled into the kitchen, laden down with shopping bags.
‘You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had in the supermarket,’ he began, placing the bags down on the table. ‘The bloody woman at the checkout –’
He looked across at Alexei and stopped, his face paling.
‘What the hell is that?’ he whispered, pointing a trembling finger at his nephew’s chest. Alexei looked down, and saw the swastika tattoo on his glistening skin.
‘Wait!’ he said urgently. ‘It’s not what it looks like …’
‘It’s a bloody swastika, Alexei!’ yelled Stepan. ‘It’s exactly what it looks like! What in God’s name were you thinking? What do you think your mother and father would say if they saw that? What do you think Lena would say, Alexei? Have you even visited her recently?’
‘You don’t understand,’ Alexei shot back. ‘I did this for Lena!’
Stepan laughed incredulously. ‘What kind of nonsense is that? You shave your hair off, you tattoo filth on your chest, and all this is for your girlfriend? What the hell is going on?’
Alexei’s explanation died in his throat. How could he begin to explain what was going on?
‘I can’t tell you,’ he said finally. ‘I’m sorry.’
Stepan looked at his nephew for a long time, then shook his head sadly. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Pack your bags. You’ve been acting strangely ever since this “course” of yours started. I don’t know what in hell is going on, but I can’t allow it to take place under my roof. If you’ve got any sense remaining, you’ll go back to Volgograd. If you won’t talk to me, you’ll have to talk to your parents.’
‘You can’t tell them, uncle!’ pleaded Alexei. ‘Give me a week at least!’
‘You ask too much of me.’
‘Just one week! Everything will be sorted by then, I promise!’
‘How am I supposed to trust you if you won’t tell me what’s going on?’
Alexei clutched his arm. ‘Because you know me. You know I wouldn’t do something like this unless it was important. Lena would support me, I know she would; can’t you, too? Kick me out if you have to, but at least give me a week before you tell my parents. Please.’
His uncle looked away out of the kitchen window – then quickly nodded his head.
‘One week,’ he said. ‘But don’t even think about coming back here until that thing on your chest is gone.’
Stepan retreated to his room and closed the door, leaving Alexei to throw his clothes into a bag and walk out of the flat without even a goodbye. Alexei’s head was light with disbelief – he couldn’t quite believe his uncle had thrown him out. Where was he supposed to go? There only seemed to be one option.
Alexei made a forlorn journey across Moscow to the Taganka district. He was climbing up the hill towards Trojan’s monastery when his phone began to ring. He pressed the answer button.
‘Hello?’
‘Alexei?’ It was Richard Madison. ‘What’s going on, mate?’
‘I’m coming up to the monastery. My uncle saw my Nazi tattoo and kicked me out. I need a place to stay.’
‘Really sorry to hear that. I’m sure you’ll be able to patch things up after your mission ends. But you need to walk past the monastery. You’re in deep cover now. The less contact you have with us the better.’
‘I’ve got nowhere else to go. I’m coming in.’
‘Listen to me, Alexei.’ Madison’s voice was urgent. ‘They’re following you.’
Alexei stopped in his tracks. ‘What did you say?’
‘There’s a couple of goons in a red Lexus keeping an eye on you. If you start hanging out in a deserted monastery you can be sure that’s going to get back to Viktor.’
Alexei had to force himself not to turn round and look for the car. How long had the Eagles been following him? Had they seen him visit Lena? ‘Wait a second.’ He frowned. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Because we’re following you too. We’ve just had a little bit more practice than them. How do you think I knew you were coming to the monastery?’
Alexei rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘So let me get this straight: my girlfriend’s in the hospital, my uncle’s thrown me out, I’m being followed, and now you guys won’t help me. What do I do now – go and sleep on a park bench? Who the hell am I supposed to stay with?’
Madison told him.
‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,’ Alexei said sourly.
He continued past the monastery’s driveway without glancing at the building, plagued by dark thoughts. At that moment, it felt like the whole world was against him. Alexei was tempted to jump on a train and go back to Volgograd and the cosy familiarity of his parents’ house, leaving Moscow and Trojan Industries and skinhead gangs far behind him. Only the thought of Lena – and the promise he had made at her bedside – kept him going.
As he waited at a busy crossing, Alexei glanced behind him and caught a sight of the Lexus parked on the other side of the road. A burly man was sat at the wheel, pretending not to watch him. There was no sign of anyone from Trojan. The fact that they were also watching him didn’t comfort Alexei in quite the way it should have done.
Tired of walking, he climbed on to a crowded bus that was heading to the manufacturing district of Krasnoselsky. It was mid-afternoon by the time he reached his goal: a rundown apartment block next to an industrial estate. A gang of teenagers had gathered in the car park in front of the building, accompanied by a large Rottweiler. They stared at Alexei as he walked past them, while the dog snarled and strained at its leash.
On the second floor, he walked along the corridor and banged on a door halfway down it. The door opened, and Marat peered out suspiciously from behind it. He was bare-chested, revealing an array of white power tattoos. At the sight of Alexei, his face brightened.
