by Ross Kemp
Alexei turned around to see Marat still cowering by the processing table. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he shouted. ‘Move!’
He hared along the gangway and yanked open the door, entering a dingy toilet that flooded his nostrils with the smell of urine. Three cubicles stood side-by-side in front of him, next to a grimy washbasin that was only just managing to cling to the wall. There was no way out.
‘Shit!’ spat Alexei, kicking a bin.
Marat peered back outside through a crack in the door. ‘They’re coming!’ he wailed. ‘What the hell are we going to do now?’
In desperation, Alexei opened the first stall, and then the other. Inside the farthest cubicle, his heart leaped to see a small latched window set into the back wall. He hauled Marat inside the cubicle and locked the door, trying not to gag at the sludgy brown mess stagnating in the toilet bowl. Opening the window, Alexei looked down the three-metre drop to the street below. Marat dubiously followed his gaze.
‘Big drop,’ he said.
‘Fine. You can stay and hang out with them if you want. I’m getting out of here.’
‘All right, all right,’ Marat said hastily. ‘I’ll go first.’
He unzipped his jacket and stuffed it through the window. Then, standing on the toilet, he climbed up to the window and tried to wriggle through it.
‘Tight squeeze,’ he muttered.
There came the sound of footsteps outside, and then the door to the toilets creaked ominously open. Marat’s belt buckle had caught on the windowsill; the blond teenager scrabbled furiously as he tried to free himself.
Alexei could hear the men creeping into the toilet. There was a crash as the first stall door was kicked open.
‘Hurry up!’ Alexei hissed. With a final squirm, Marat slipped out through the window, tumbling down to the pavement below. Alexei dived after him, instantly wedging himself in the window frame.
He heard the second stall door fly open.
Wriggling violently, Alexei felt his skin tearing on the rough wooden frame. He didn’t care any more: all he could think about was getting himself free. As the final stall door exploded open, Alexei wrenched himself through the narrow gap, and plunged headlong to the ground.
It didn’t start to hurt until later. Picking themselves up from the pavement, Alexei and Marat had staggered blindly away from the meat factory, their only thought to put as much distance between themselves and their attackers as possible. Eventually Marat had stopped, wheezing heavily as he pulled out his mobile phone and dialled a number.
As a result of the ensuing conversation, Alexei now found himself standing at a quiet crossroads, digging his hands into his pockets as night fell. He had been waiting for over an hour, and the temperature was rapidly dropping towards freezing. The left side of his body ached from where he had hit the ground, and all he wanted to do was get inside in the warm and lie down, but Marat had insisted that they stay put. Having fallen to pieces in the factory, the blond teenager seemed intent on reasserting his authority.
It wasn’t just the cold Alexei was worried about. He kept checking the intersection for any signs of danger. After all, if the Uzbeks had managed to track them all the way to the CSKA match, there was no reason why they couldn’t pick up the trail again.
Shivering, he turned and gave Marat a reproachful look. The Eagle was perched dejectedly on the back of a bench, his feet resting on the seat.
‘Whatever we’re waiting for, it’d better be worth it,’ griped Alexei. ‘I’m freezing my balls off out here.’
‘I was given an order,’ Marat said stubbornly.
Alexei was about to tell the boy exactly where he could shove his order when a white van hurtled across the crossroads and screeched to a halt alongside them, its engine still running. Marat got down from the bench, jogged over to the back of the van and opened up the rear door. As he climbed inside, Alexei was surprised to see Viktor Orlov sitting calmly in the front passenger seat. Next to him, Medved had one hand on the steering wheel and another holding up his mobile phone, his massive fingers clumsily spelling out a text. As the skinhead pulled away from the side of the road in a cloud of exhaust fumes, the leader of the Eagles swivelled round to look at Alexei.
‘Give me your report,’ he said curtly. ‘Leave nothing out.’
Alexei told him everything that had happened since the football match. Viktor listened intently, his gaze never straying from Alexei’s face. After he had finished, the leader of the 88s thoughtfully pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
‘A close shave,’ he said. ‘The Uzbeks must have been watching you for a while, waiting for the moment to strike. I’m impressed that you managed to escape from the situation unharmed.’
‘That was down to Alexei,’ Marat confessed. ‘If he hadn’t been there, I’d have been screwed.’
‘Really?’ Viktor’s eyes glinted in the darkness. ‘Is that true?’
Alexei shrugged. ‘We got out,’ he said simply. ‘Doesn’t matter how.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Viktor agreed. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. The Eagles are brothers, Alexei – we have to take care of one another. Especially in the face of such a cowardly enemy.’
Medved angrily thumped the steering wheel. ‘Those dirty Uzbek bastards!’ he roared. ‘I’m going to put some men together and end this!’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ Viktor said sharply. ‘Right now this is just a sideshow to other, more important matters. We will hold them to account, Medved, don’t you worry. But not just yet.’
‘So we do nothing?’ the burly skinhead said bitterly. ‘Sit on our asses and twiddle our thumbs?’
‘Just because we choose not to fight tonight, doesn’t mean we have to do nothing,’ said Viktor. ‘Our young friends here have proved the bravery of the white man in the face of greater numbers and a surprise attack. Surely that deserves something of a celebration?’
‘Oh,’ rumbled Medved. ‘You mean Orbit?’
‘Where else?’ Viktor replied, with a smile.
18. Night Lights
The white van rattled down a broad floodlit street, passing a row of casinos drenched in cascades of sparkling lights. Impossibly beautiful faces stared down from giant adverts for films and perfumes. When they had first moved to Moscow, Lena had joked to Alexei that she was going to appear on a billboard in double-quick time, in order to keep an eye on him in the big city and make sure he was behaving himself. When’s your horror film coming out then? he had quipped back, earning a sharp pinch on the arm for his troubles, and five minutes of angular silence until he had apologized.
Despite the fact he hadn’t been here long, even Alexei had heard of Orbit. It was renowned as the most glamorous nightspot in Moscow – no small claim, in a city this hedonistic. Given that only the most well-to-do and fashionable Muscovites were allowed past Orbit’s notoriously brusque bouncers, Alexei wondered exactly how the Eagles were planning to gain entrance. Only Viktor was dressed smartly enough to get in, while Alexei and Marat’s clothes were stained and torn from their encounter in the meat factory.
‘Shouldn’t we go change or something?’ Alexei asked, as Medved parked the van out of sight at the bottom of the street. ‘There’s no way they’re going to let us in looking like this.’
‘Alexei!’ Viktor said chidingly. ‘You’re an Eagle! We can drink wherever we want!’
A queue of young people was snaking hopefully down the street from Orbit’s entrance, forming a glittering landscape of sculpted hairstyles and designer clothes. To their amazement, the Moscow Eagles marched straight past them to the front door, where a well-built man with a shaved head and an earring was standing guard. As Viktor approached, the bouncer lifted up the red rope cordon and gestured for him to pass through. There were shouts of incredulity from the queue – although the wiser clubbers were careful to keep their protests to a mutter. Viktor smiled benignly at the shaven-headed man.
‘Thank you, Dmitri.’
The bouncer nodded re
spectfully. As he replaced the rope cordon, Alexei noticed the number ‘88’ tattooed in blue ink on the web of skin between the bouncer’s right thumb and forefinger. Suddenly, everything became clear. As they swept straight through into the club, Alexei wondered how far Viktor’s contacts stretched. How many doors were opened to him?
Orbit was a honeycomb of dingy rooms drenched in red strobe lights. Alexei passed through an archway into a large hall decked with drapes and baroque decorations. Even though it was early, statuesque women were already dancing to the thumping Eurobeat, their bodies moving sinuously in time with the music. Men watched admiringly from the side of the dance floor.
Viktor slid into a space at the crowded bar and began ordering a round of drinks. As he waited, Alexei’s eyes were drawn to a group sitting on a mezzanine overlooking the dance floor. The men were dressed expensively – in tailored suits with gold chains draped around their thick necks, and bejewelled watches adorning their wrists – and were accompanied by two blonde women in stiletto heels and micro-dresses. The table was cluttered with glasses and ice buckets chilling bottles of champagne. As one of the women stood up, presumably to go to the toilet, her boyfriend gestured curtly for a subordinate to follow her.
Alexei felt a hand press against his elbow.
‘You’d be wise not to stare at those men too closely,’ Viktor said softly, presenting him with a beer. ‘They’re gangsters – not the sort of men who take kindly to being watched.’
‘Oh, right,’ Alexei said hastily. No matter where he looked, the temperature inside Orbit appeared to be rising. Back at the bar, an overweight American man was sat on one of the stools, surrounded by a coterie of beautiful Russian women. As Alexei watched, one of the women stepped forward and inserted a long, slender leg between his, straddling his thigh before lowering herself carefully into the man’s lap. She took the drink from his hand and took a long, meaningful sip from it.
‘Looks like that guy’s going to have a good night,’ Alexei remarked.
‘I hope for his sake he can afford it,’ replied Viktor. ‘Women like that don’t come for free. And their pimps aren’t known for their easy-going nature.’
The leader of the 88s slipped away across the dancefloor, replaced by Medved, a bottle of beer in each hand. ‘Right,’ he growled. ‘I’m going to find myself a woman. I’ll see you later.’ He gave Alexei a warning glance. ‘If Svetlana hears one word about tonight, me and you are going to have words. Clear?’
‘Crystal,’ Alexei replied.
The skinhead grunted, then strode off into the midst of the crowd. Marat hurried after him, pinching a girl’s bottom as he negotiated a way past her. She responded with a look of complete disgust that made the teenager snigger. Alexei lingered at the bar, content to take in some of Orbit’s dirty glamour. He sipped his drink slowly, watching the men and women slowly circle around one another, marking their targets before going in for the kill.
Eventually Viktor reappeared, this time holding the hand of a young woman in a figure-hugging black dress. He smiled at Alexei.
‘You remember Nadia?’
Alexei gaped with surprise. Looking closely, it was indeed Nadia, although this girl in the low-cut dress was a very different creature from the shy student he had met at Moscow State University, or the serious onlooker at the hospital complex.
‘Hello, Alexei,’ she said, with a flickering smile. She was undeniably beautiful. She was also, Alexei had to remind himself, a member of the violent neo-Nazi gang who had put his girlfriend in a coma – and quite possibly Viktor Orlov’s girlfriend. The thought instantly sobered him up.
‘Hi, Nadia,’ he said cordially.
‘I have some business to attend to,’ Viktor said, transferring Nadia’s hand to Alexei. ‘I take it I can trust you to take care of my most precious jewel?’
Viktor gently kissed Nadia’s free hand and then walked away. She watched the man leave with something approaching a look of apprehension. They were the strangest couple Alexei had ever met. For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom what she saw in Viktor, or how the two of them had even met.
Nadia suddenly stumbled, nearly toppling over on her high heels. Alexei had to reach out and catch her.
‘You’re drunk!’ he said.
‘Maybe,’ Nadia replied coquettishly. ‘Can’t a girl have a bit of fun every now and again? Why don’t you come and dance with me?’
Alexei allowed himself to be dragged reluctantly on to the dancefloor. As quick and nimble as he could be in the ring, as soon as music started playing he found himself clumsy and leaden-footed. He let Nadia dance around him, the girl giggling as she twirled to the music. Alexei begged her to stop, laughingly pleading dizziness, and they made for a small table in the corner of the club. She sat purposefully in the chair next to him, close enough for her legs to brush against his.
Nadia glanced conspiratorially around the room, then leaned forward and whispered something to Alexei.
‘What did you say?’ he shouted. ‘I can’t hear you over the music!’
‘You’re different!’ she said, more loudly this time. ‘From the rest of them, I mean.’
‘The Eagles?’
‘Yes, the Eagles. Who else?’ Nadia said bitterly, taking an unsteady sip from her drink. ‘I’ve been around this gang for longer than I can remember. The men – they look the same, they talk the same; they even smell the same. But not you, Alexei. You can act the big tough guy all you want, but you can’t hide the tenderness inside of you. Not from me. Women can sense these things.’
‘What – female intuition?’ Alexei scoffed, hopeful that she wouldn’t catch the desperate edge to his voice. ‘I don’t believe in that rubbish. If you knew me better, you wouldn’t call me soft.’
Nadia coiled her fingers around his, and drew herself closer. Alexei could feel the swell of her breasts as she pushed herself up against him. ‘OK, maybe I get to know you better, then,’ she murmured in his ear. ‘Leave with me. Right now.’
Alexei swallowed nervously. ‘Are you crazy? What about Viktor?’
‘Who cares about Viktor?’ Nadia replied, making a face. ‘I’m not scared of him. Are you? Come back with me, Alexei. I promise you won’t regret it.’
Alexei couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t want to leave the club with Nadia. There was a quiet sorrow about her that made him feel protective towards her. But then there was Lena. There was always Lena.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I can’t. You’re really sweet but –’
Before he could finish his sentence, Nadia untangled herself from him and stormed off into the nightclub. Alexei slumped back in his seat with a sigh. He drank by himself for a time, moodily watching other people enjoying themselves. Whereas earlier Orbit had seemed glamorous and exciting, now it just seemed loud and overcrowded. Unable to spot any of the other Eagles among the throng, Alexei pushed his way outside to get some fresh air.
The club’s doors were now shut to new entrants, and those who had been queuing in vain for admittance had long since drifted off dispiritedly into the night. The street was cold and still. Alexei checked his watch: 0430. He tried to phone Marat, but there was no response. If the teenager was still inside Orbit, there was no way he would hear it.
Alexei was halfway through a text when a woman’s strangled scream rang out. It had come from the alleyway next to the club. Alexei ran over and peered around the corner.
He was shocked to see Nadia lying in a crumpled heap, her dress covered in filth from the alleyway floor and a hunted look in her eyes. Viktor Orlov was standing over her. He was shaking with rage; his calm facade stripped away. As the tattooed Eagle bouncer looked on impassively from the shadows, Viktor picked Nadia up and pushed her up against the wall by her throat. Alexei took an instinctive step forward, then checked himself. His mission would be jeopardized if he got involved – no matter how much he wanted to. Instead he pressed himself against the wall and listened.
‘If I want a dumb bitch’s opinion I’ll find a dog in the street,’ Viktor spat.
‘Please, Viktor,’ sobbed Nadia. ‘You’re hurting me …’
Viktor slammed her against the wall again. ‘If I hurt you,’ he said through clenched teeth, ‘it’s for your own good. You need to learn to keep your mouth shut.’
‘But you’re going to kill her!’ Nadia said miserably. ‘I know what those emails are about. I know what the package is.’
‘You don’t know a thing. Not a goddamn thing,’ Viktor snarled. ‘Remember that whatever happens to Petrova can just as easily happen to you. I’ll do it myself if necessary. Do you understand me?’
Choked, Nadia nodded quickly. Finally Viktor relented, lowering her to the ground. ‘There, there,’ he said softly, placing his arm around the cowering girl. ‘It’s all right. There, there, little sister.’
With that, several things clicked into place for Alexei. Viktor wasn’t Nadia’s boyfriend – he was her brother! Suddenly her role in the Moscow Eagles didn’t seem quite so surprising after all.
Viktor was now making low murmuring noises in Nadia’s ear, trying to calm her down. As the trio left the alleyway and returned inside Orbit, Alexei slipped back into the shadowy recesses of a doorway. He waited outside for twenty minutes, until Marat came reeling out of the club, grumbling about all the stuck-up women that had turned him down. As they headed back to the Eagle’s apartment, Alexei barely listened to his complaints: all he could think about was Viktor Orlov, his hand wrapped mercilessly around his sister’s throat.
19. The Tsar
The men came for them at dawn.
Alexei was fast asleep on Marat’s floor when the front door exploded open. He barely had time to work out where he was before masked men were swarming over him, firm hands pinning him to the carpet. Alexei tried to struggle free, but a swift blow to the side of the head stunned him. He heard Marat cry out in surprise, and then someone rammed a woollen balaclava down over Alexei’s head – back-to-front, so he couldn’t see through the eyeholes. As his hands were roughly bound together, a hand rummaged through his pockets and pulled out his mobile phone, sending it clattering across the room. Now there was no way he could call Trojan for help.
