Kissing The Enemy

by Helena Newbury

  “Forward,” snapped Vasiliy. “He knows we’re here. We have to do this fast. Two men go forward, the rest will cover them. Luka, take Yuri—”

  He broke off, catching himself.

  Shit.

  Vasiliy didn’t look at me. He was very studiously avoiding looking at me, but I could see his powerful shoulders shaking with rage. If he looked at me, he’d likely shoot me. Luka, meanwhile, was looking right at me, his knuckles white where he gripped his gun. He was only held back by his father’s word, and then only barely.

  I stepped forward. “I’ll do it. I’ll go in with Luka.”

  Vasiliy spun and glared at me...then nodded. Luka grunted in displeasure but readied himself.

  Then we were running for the house, Vasiliy and the other men covering us. Bullets hissed through the air all around us, but we made it to the cover of the house and I kicked in the door and ran inside.

  It was some sort of games room with a huge pool table and a bar. The room rose the full height of the mansion, with a wooden gallery stretching across it high above, the sort of place minstrels sat playing lutes in old King Arthur movies. At the other end of the room, through a hallway, I could see an ornate wooden staircase leading upwards. That’s where we need to be. I was guessing Mikhail would have Irina upstairs.

  Before we could move, the guards inside the house opened up with automatic weapons. Fluttering tufts of green fluff and lethal shards of pool ball filled the air as gunfire chewed up the baize. We fired back, but there were too many of them: we were forced to take cover behind the pool table. For a second, we sat side by side, our backs pressed against the wood, as we reloaded. Pool balls rolled off the table and hit the floor between us. Shit! Vasiliy and his men were still outside, so we were on our own.

  I was still reloading when one of Mikhail’s men raced around the corner of the table and pointed his gun at me. I scrambled to rise but there was no way I could get out of the way in time—

  There was a shot and the guy staggered backward. Next to me, Luka lowered his smoking gun.

  “Thanks,” I said, finally getting my own gun loaded.

  Luka frowned and grunted. “He would have shot me next.”

  The guy he’d shot staggered back another step and fell right into one of the huge, open fires Mikhail seemed to like so much. Flaming logs went rolling across the wooden floor, a few of them hitting the drapes. Flames licked hungrily at the fabric, quickly spreading up it. Shit! I told myself it didn’t matter, that we’d be out of there long before the fire really took hold. But half the place seemed to be made of wood and we were still pinned down. Vasiliy’s men seemed to be more experienced and better trained but Mikhail had the advantage of numbers.

  What if Mikhail was escaping with Irina right this moment?

  53

  Irina

  My eyes flew open. Mikhail had let go of the free end of the handcuffs and was turning, open-mouthed in shock, trying to determine the direction of the explosion. Then he stalked towards the door. “Stay there!” he ordered.

  My mind spun. Was this a rescue? Had Angelo somehow found me, all the way out here in the wilds of Russia?

  I heard Mikhail yelling orders to his guards and my heart sank when I saw men grabbing machine guns and running downstairs. This wasn’t like the mansion back in New York. This was Mikhail’s personal fortress. If Angelo had come, he’d be killed.

  Mikhail ran back into the room, pulling his gun.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

  He glared at me. “It’s Vasiliy. Come here!”

  Vasiliy?! That made no sense. As far as Vasiliy knew, I was here of my own free will. Unless....had Vasiliy somehow found out about the blackmail? About Yuri? If that was true then Angelo was dead. No! Please no!

  When I just stood there, too shocked to move, Mikhail grabbed the free end of the handcuffs and jerked me towards him, making me stagger. “Let me put my clothes on,” I said desperately. I was trying to assemble a plan in my head: get a gun or a knife, get away from him and run. But I couldn’t run out into a Russian winter in a bra and panties.

  “You don’t need clothes,” he spat. He stared at the handcuffs for a moment, then locked the free end around one of his wrists so that we were bound together.

  Chyort! I looked down at the metal chain in horror. “Vasiliy must know what you’ve done,” I croaked. “You can’t marry me now. It’s over. You don’t need me.”

  “Vasiliy will hunt me down and kill me...but he won’t shoot at his niece. If my men can’t hold them, you’re my way out of here.” His eyes gleamed. “There are plenty of places I can take you, far from Russia. And Vasiliy has enough enemies around the world who’d love to play with you, just to get to him. I’m sure I can sell you, once I get tired of you.”

  He dragged me out into the hallway and then started making his way towards the stairs. I didn’t have a choice: when I hung back, he simply jerked on the handcuffs and the metal cut into my skin.

  Our progress was slow: whenever he heard gunfire ahead, Mikhail would backtrack and find another route through the huge building. Even with me as a hostage, he preferred to take the coward’s way out and slip away from the fight rather than face Vasiliy. The mansion was big enough that he might just be able to pull it off. What if Vasiliy didn’t find us in time? I had no doubt Mikhail could make good on his threat: with his Swiss bank accounts and homes around the world, he could take me almost anywhere. No one would ever find us.

  I staggered onward, my wrist already scraped and bruised from the cuff, my shoulder aching from the constant jerking. I looked around for something I could grab with my free hand to hit Mikhail with, but there was nothing. And however much I tried to stay calm and efficient, as Vasiliy had taught me, my eyes still blurred with tears. Angelo. Angelo is dead.

  The air started to grow hazy with white smoke: it was rising up the staircases, filling the upper floors. It got worse as we descended through the mansion and I could hear the roar of flames below. The house is on fire!

  By the time we reached the next landing, the heat was ferocious and the smoke seemed to fill every square inch of space, even low to the ground. I could barely breathe and I was sweating, even in my underwear.

  We reached the next door and Mikhail swung it open, then quickly slammed it: the next room was engulfed in orange flame. “This way!” he snapped, pulling me back towards the stairs. I could barely see and I was having to fight for every breath of air. Mikhail pulled out his phone and called someone, muttering orders I couldn’t hear.

  “We have to find a way downstairs!” I told him. I heard timber creaking and giving way beneath us. “Mikhail, the whole place is going to come down!”

  But he shook his head and jerked on the handcuffs again, leading me back upstairs instead. Whatever his plan was, it was going to get us both killed.

  54

  Angelo

  We’d made it up to the top floor and were going room-to-room. The fighting had died down: two of Vasiliy’s men had been injured but overall we seemed to be winning. The problem was that progress was painfully slow. There was still no sign of Mikhail or Irina and the fire was turning the mansion into a smoke-filled, blazing death trap. “This is no good!” I told the Russians. “We need to move faster!”

  Luka muttered something to Vasiliy in Russian and he nodded. Then, for my benefit, he grudgingly repeated it in English. “We split up,” he said. “Two groups. Find her quicker.” He nodded to the remaining one of Vasiliy’s men—the other two were still downstairs, mopping up the defenders. “He and I will go together. You and Vasiliy go together.”

  Vasiliy and I glared at each other. I’ve never been a soldier, but I’ve been in fights often enough to know that you need someone to watch your back. He trusted me about as much as I trusted him. In the smoke-filled hallways, with no witnesses, he could easily kill me and then tell Irina whatever story he wanted. He’d been reluctant to kill me himself, but if he could blame it on one o
f Mikhail’s men….

  It didn’t matter. I didn’t have a choice and there was no time to argue anyway, not if I wanted to save Irina. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll go in front.” And I led the way into the smoke, already feeling Vasiliy’s gun on my back.

  Visibility was down to a few feet. I could only see faint outlines and the glow of flames. Several times, a wall loomed up out of nowhere and I barely stopped before I ran into it. Goddammit! I could feel the sweat pouring down my face. How the hell did I wind up here? Thousands of miles from home, my mortal enemy right behind me with a gun aimed at my back—

  Irina. That’s how. And she was worth it.

  I forged on, the heat growing even more intense. We were moving closer and closer to the fire, now: we must be close to the games room where it had first started. I could hear breaking glass and explosions and remembered the bar: all the whiskey and vodka must be going up. Then there was an enormous crash that shook the whole house. As we passed through the next door, all I could see was billowing white smoke, lit up orange by the flames. I took another step and—

  The carpet beneath me dipped under my weight, turning into a ramp. What the fuck?! I fell onto my back, sliding, grabbing for anything that would stop me—

  My hand found the edge of the carpet and I clung to it, my feet kicking in space. Where the fuck is the floor?!

  There was the sound of shattering glass below. The fire must have gotten hot enough to break the windows in the games room and a freezing winter wind blew through the room, snowflakes hissing as they hit the flames. The smoke cleared for a second and my stomach lurched when I saw what had happened.

  There was no floor.

  The “room” we’d been about to walk through had once been the wooden gallery that looked down on the games room. The entire middle section had collapsed, leaving a few feet of carpet sticking out into space. That’s what I’d stepped on. Now I was hanging twenty feet above an inferno, the flames singing my legs. I twisted around to look for Vasiliy.

  He’d backed up a few feet and was looking down at me. So many emotions played across his face: rage, hatred, jealousy...and something else.

  I saw his hand lift, as if he was going to grab me. I reached for him—

  Vasily’s hand dropped back to his side. Indecision played across his face. His hand rose again—

  There was a splintering, cracking sound and the remainder of the gallery came away from the wall. Both of us cursed as it slumped sideways, tilted at a crazy angle. Vasiliy hit what was left of the handrail but his muscled body was too big and the rail was too weak. He went smashing through it and fell. He would have fallen straight down to the floor far below, but his fingers caught the edge and clung. Now we were both dangling, and in another few minutes the whole gallery would collapse into the fire.

  The smoke was curling down into my chest, making me cough and rasp. Every gulp of red-hot air I took in scorched my lungs. I tried to use the carpet to haul myself up but, as soon as I pulled, I heard the distant sound of ripping. It was only held in place by carpet tacks and my struggles were tearing it free. Shit! I started climbing, hand over hand, but the edge of a carpet isn’t the easiest thing to hang onto. I heaved myself inch by inch back onto the gallery, but I could feel the tacks letting go: pop, pop, pop—

  The whole carpet suddenly slid with me still on it. I was just high enough to make a grab for one of the handrail supports and it creaked...but held. Beneath me, the carpet hissed past, carried by its momentum, and fell into the fire.

  I crawled on hands and knees towards Vasiliy. He was a tough old guy but his strength was fading. One hand slipped from the wood. Shit. I tried to crawl faster.

  He looked up as he saw me. A wry smile crept onto his face.

  I wasn’t going to reach him in time. “No,” I gasped.

  “Tell Irina—” he panted.

  I forced my limbs to move faster. “No! Hang on, you stupid Russian bastard!”

  His fingers squeaked as they lost their grip and slid along the wood. “Tell Irina I love her.”

  I lunged for him. “No!”

  55

  Angelo

  Pain.

  First a hard, ringing pain as my head hit the wooden floor of the gallery. Then, as my head cleared, a tearing, burning pain in my shoulder. It came in waves, as if a giant was standing on my shoulder and rocking back and forth. I looked down.

  Vasiliy was dangling from my hand, his fingers just barely hooked in mine.

  The gallery creaked beneath us. “Climb, you asshole!” I yelled.

  Vasiliy heaved and swung himself up, grabbing my arm with his other hand. It felt as though he was going to tear the damn thing off. Then he got hold of my back and the edge of the gallery and finally he could pull himself up. He hauled me to my feet and we staggered together through the door we’d first come through and back down the hallway. No more than thirty seconds later, we heard the remains of the gallery crash down into the fire.

  Vasiliy turned and looked at me. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know how.

  He was saved by Luka, who ran up out of the smoke. “She’s not that way,” he panted, pointing behind him.

  The games room and the minstrel’s gallery were the back of the building—there was nothing else in that direction. “Then she’s not on this floor,” I said.

  “She must be,” said Vasiliy. “We’ve searched every room below. This is the top floor.”

  There was a sickening groan as the timbers that supported the house began to give up their fight. Flames were breaking through the floor in several places. The whole place was coming down. We looked at each other. “The bastard slipped past us,” said Luka. “He got past us and took a car. He could be miles away!”

  He started to run for the stairs but I grabbed his jacket. “Wait!” I snapped.

  “What?” He shook free of me. “We have to go! They’re getting away!”

  “Listen!”

  He glared at me but listened. And then he heard it: the dull whump of helicopter blades.

  “They didn’t get past us,” I said. “They’re on the roof!”

  56

  Irina

  The roof of the mansion was a good facsimile of hell.

  Mikhail and I were standing on a narrow stone walkway formed by the top of the walls. It ran all the way around the building and it was the only stable part left: the whole center of the roof was rapidly collapsing, the timbers and sagging as they gave, every one of the ancient slate tiles edged with cherry-red light as the fire broke through from below.

  A bitter wind was blasting snow almost horizontally across us. It would have been freezing even in clothes: I was in my underwear. While one side of our bodies froze, the other roasted in the flames that were erupting through the roof. All of the smoke that had choked us inside was pouring up into the sky in a pillar so thick it almost looked solid: when the wind whipped it towards us, we couldn’t see.

  And the walkway had no walls. It was only a few feet wide, with a sheer drop to one side of us and an inferno to the other.

  I heard the helicopter before I saw it. Then I scanned the sky, squinting against the wind, and finally made out its lights in the distance. It was coming straight towards us, fighting the side winds. If it could hover above us, we might just be able to climb aboard to safety….

  Safety and a life as Mikhail’s prisoner. And all for nothing. Angelo is dead.

  I looked at the edge of the roof. Even death was better than what Mikhail had planned for me. He’d taken the only man I’d ever loved from me. If I did it right, I could take him with me when I died. I was a lot lighter than Mikhail but, if I threw myself suddenly enough, just as he was off balance, I should be able to pull him with me off the roof.

  I glanced across at him. His eyes were fixed on the helicopter. I sidled a little closer to him, so that the handcuff chain went slack. I didn’t want it to hold me back. I wanted it to snap taut with as much energy as possible. I too
k a deep breath. Bent my knees. I love you, Angelo.

  There was a clang as the metal hatch that led onto the roof flew open. My head whipped around...and my jaw dropped. The hatch was almost halfway around the mansion from the walkway where we now stood, but I would have recognized him from a mile away. “Angelo!” I screamed in delight.

  Mikhail cursed and raised his gun, narrowing his eyes and squinting as the wind whipped snow and smoke into his face. I grabbed for his gun hand, but I was on the wrong side and there was no room on the narrow walkway to step around him. I looked at Angelo. He was heaving himself up onto the roof, but that meant both hands were occupied: he couldn’t shoot back. He was a sitting duck.

  There was only one thing to do.

  I jumped off the roof.

  57

  Angelo

  I saw Mikhail take aim at me. Shit! I couldn’t go back: Luka was behind me on the ladder. I’d hoped to climb up silently and take the bastard by surprise, but the wind had whipped the hatch cover out of my hands. All I could do was heave myself up onto the roof as fast as possible and hope he missed...but even at this distance, it was an easy shot.

  Then I saw Irina tense her legs. I realized what she was going to do a split second before she did it. “No!” I screamed.

  She jumped. Hung there in that magical, weightless way she had, as graceful as if she was on stage. Her hair fanned out around her, rising and then sinking in slow motion….

  And then she fell. Down, down, down, her head disappearing below the roof.

  Mikhail cried out and jerked as the handcuffs went taut and he was pulled off his feet. His shot went high and he fell back towards the edge….

  My heart stopped. I forgot how to breathe.