Vendetta

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  There was no way he was going to find her now. The plane had been a confined space, but now they were back in the open, she could be anywhere. But he wasn’t giving up. Clicking his body onto autopilot, he jogged away from the pumping station and soon found himself going down a lane that was bordered by council blocks, betting and pawn shops towards a bridge. Crossing the bridge was a distinctive red, white and blue Docklands Light Railway train. He was surprised the trains were still running, but remembered that the new mayor of London was piloting a three-month overnight service to meet public demand.

  If you’re lost, follow railways, they always lead somewhere. Mac remembered the instructions from his undercover training.

  He went under the bridge and turned left, following a road that bordered the railway. Abruptly stopped when he saw something on the ground. He reached for it. Green paramedic’s top. He threw it back and started power-running. Reached the open-air Docklands Light Railway train station. He leapfrogged the gate that had no night staff to man it. Walked up the steps to the platform for trains into the city.

  Passengers were gathered by the fence, curiously peering at the flames and smoke in the distant sky. All except one, a hooded figure sitting on her own at the dark, shadowy end of the platform. He moved towards her. At the same time the figure lifted her head. She watched as Mac drew closer and seemed to be becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he bore down on her.

  Mac stood over her, slightly nervous that she’d made no attempt to flee and remembering she was armed.

  ‘Had enough of running, Katia?’

  ‘Sod off, you perv, or I’ll call the cops.’

  This wasn’t Katia. A sound caught his attention, coming from the platform on the other side. He saw a hooded figure leaping up at a high wall, missing and slamming back down. A man jumped onto the track. The waiting passengers gasped as they watched him but he only had eyes for Katia. He scrambled up the platform as Katia sprang high against the wall again. This time her fingers gripped the edge. As Mac belted forwards, her legs began to frantically climb. He reached the bottom of the wall. Grabbed one of her legs. Dragged her down. She fell. Landed, her front hitting the wall.

  ‘Nowhere left, Katia,’ Mac threw high above the blast of cold wind. ‘Just me and you.’

  Finally she turned her face to him. Lifted her chin, clearing it of any shadows. Mac saw her face for the first time. Stumbled back.

  ‘Elena?’

  ninety-eight

  2:40 a.m.

  ‘Elena.’ Stunned, he said her name again. This time it wasn’t a question.

  Even though the mingled platform light and shadows illuminated the grace of her nose, the breath beating out of her partially opened mouth, the blood rushing under and heating up the skin on her face, he still wouldn’t believe what he was seeing. Any more than Bolshoi had done before he was gunned down, he now realised. His whole day flashed before him – the woman in the bath, the pursuit of Reuben, Sergei and Bolshoi, the car wash, Milos, Stevie . . .

  ‘You set fire to your flat?’ The words came out of him stuttering and confused, like he couldn’t believe what he was asking her. ‘You tried to kill me . . .’

  He reached out to touch her, her bracelet dangling against his wrist. She flinched. Her movement broke the spell. The horror of what he’d been going through all day caught up with him. The power of the emotion overwhelmed him. He raised his hand and slapped her across the face. Her head snapped back. She held the pose, but only for a few seconds, then slowly moved her head dead centre, with defiance hot in her eyes.

  ‘You set me up,’ he said simply. ‘Why? Was your life ever really in danger? Was this fucked-up day all your idea to get me to take out Bolshoi?’

  Elena twisted her lips together like she wasn’t going to answer him. Then she unlocked her lips and spoke. ‘You’re an undercover cop. No matter how many people you killed, your people would always make sure you’d never go down for it. Bolshoi was the ultimate professional. I knew it would take a special professional to kill him.’

  ‘How could you be so sure I would do it?’

  ‘Because I left all the information you would need on my mobile phone. The texts that were signed Bolshoi but written by me. I left the simplest password on the phone for you to unlock it – 1,2,3,4. Once you had the information, you were meant to sit tight and just wait for Bolshoi to appear at eleven tonight. Of course I only realised later today that he was working with your government.’

  So if Calum had given him the information from Elena’s phone this morning, he’d probably have ended up killing Bolshoi. He hated to think he had something else to be thankful to Calum for, but he did.

  ‘And I gave you a motive,’ she carried on. ‘I gave you a reason to live. And you needed one, didn’t you? You felt helpless about what happened to your son. You weren’t ever going to let yourself feel helpless again. So there was no way you were going to let anyone get away with killing me.’

  ‘How did you find out I was a cop?’

  ‘You were just too good to be true. I managed to get into your phone one night while you were sleeping . . .’

  ‘Who was in the bath?’ Then he remembered there was only one other person with a tattoo and he answered his own question before she could. ‘Katia.’

  Elena’s breathing grew stronger.

  ‘But the DNA?’ he persisted.

  She finally spoke. ‘DNA that could only be traced back through our mother . . .’ She drew in a ragged breath that left a streak of irritation across her face. ‘I couldn’t have made it any easier for you, Mac. How hard could it have been? I left those messages on my phone, you knew Bolshoi was coming to town. All you had to do was kill him to avenge my death for me . . .’

  ‘But why? He was your guardian, protector, like a father to you . . .’

  ‘He killed my father.’ The fury of her words backhanded him across the face. ‘He had to die . . .’

  ‘So I was the instrument of your revenge?’ The singed photograph he’d found in Elena’s fireplace of the two men smiling flashed through his mind.

  But it was like she didn’t hear him, her voice continuing in a soft, faraway tone.

  ‘My father was a captain who always turned down promotion because he wanted to be in the field with his comrades. His commanding officer was Major Andreas Ryatin . . .’

  ‘Bolshoi?’

  She gave a sharp nod. ‘Their unit was ambushed and Andreas tried to save my father, but he was killed.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘I believed that for years – and then two nights ago at the reception at the embassy to celebrate with the other former comrades of my father, I found out different. The drink was flowing too freely and, just as I was ready to leave, one of the old timers grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.’

  Elena took another breath. ‘He started cursing and saying how all of this was bullshit. How bad the war was, how messed-up everything was. That if the commanders-in-chief had really cared about the foot soldiers, what happened in the Valley of Death in August ’88 would never have happened. I knew he was talking about my father so I let him speak. Can you understand what I felt when he told me that Major Ryatin was no hero, but had been treating the war as a business opportunity – stealing from the stores, organising desperate local girls into prostitution rings for scared soldiers; there were even rumours that he was doing deals with the enemy over guns and drugs. I told the vet to shut up, that he was wrong . . .’

  The wind grew stronger around them, another sudden rush of noise in the distance gathering momentum.

  Tears glittered in the bottom of Elena’s eyes. ‘But he wouldn’t. That night in the valley, no one could find Ryatin, so my father, being the honourable man that he was, assumed command. It was turning into a bloodbath, so Father went looking for the major.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘And found him drunk, singing some peasant song about wine and women, hiding in a truck. They quarrelled and Ryatin shot him dead. Shot him like a dog. My father.
They gave Bolshoi a fucking medal? For killing my father . . .’

  ‘How could you have killed your sister . . . ?’

  ‘But Katia wasn’t my full blood, was she? After we left the embassy, we came back to my home and called our mother to find out if she knew about what Bolshoi had done.’ She swallowed. ‘She said she’d heard the rumours, but we shouldn’t believe them. He was a good man. She was talking so much . . . you know, wildly . . .’ Elena shook her head. ‘It just came out that Katia was his daughter. How my mother had betrayed my wonderful father.’

  Her nostrils flared. ‘She said that she’d made a mistake.’ The words wrenched from her with such passion that Mac thought she was going to double over in pain. ‘Katia cried when she learned the truth, but I didn’t care, she was still my little sister. I told her that we had to kill him, but she wouldn’t do it. We quarrelled and she said she was going to call him . . .’ She drew in another deep breath. ‘I couldn’t allow her to live because she knew what I was going to do. So I called you first to set up our meeting at the hotel. Then I told Katia that we needed to talk more, so I persuaded her to come to the hotel . . .’

  ‘But you weren’t on the hotel’s security footage . . .’

  “Because I used the fire exit round the back to get us in and picked the lock of the room. I had a change of clothing in my rucksack.’ The tone of her words changed as if she felt genuine pain at murdering her sister. ‘I gave her a drink laced with one of those date rape drugs . . . Dragged her to the bath. Put my clothes and bracelet on her and left my phone. Then I waited outside for you to come . . .’

  “Knocked me out and killed her with my gun,’ Mac finished.

  Seeing the look of horror on Mac’s face, Elena screamed, ‘She was his daughter and she proved it morally when the crunch came . . .’ She shoved out her arm, displaying the red star tattoo. ‘“To live with wolves you have to howl like a wolf.”’ She repeated the words proudly. ‘She had a choice. To be my sister – or his daughter. She made her choice. And I made mine.’

  ‘And what about all the other people you killed? The doctor? Sergei?’

  Elena’s face hardened. ‘I took her to my doctor to confirm her pregnancy, so I needed to get rid of any evidence that I’d been one of his patients and the only way to make sure that happened was to shut up the doctor for good. And she might have told that maniac Sergei something. It wasn’t me that marked him for death, but her.’

  ‘How could you have killed her baby?’

  Her answer was defiant. ‘It was Bolshoi’s blood, don’t you understand? That baby would’ve become just another player. They were all players; they knew the risks. With the right kind of money, it was easy to hire the right type of men at such short notice to make sure the doctor and Sergei remained silent for ever. I was going to put them on Bolshoi’s trail as well, but when I spoke to one of them I knew they’d fucked up, so I had to get rid of any traces of them as well.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘I could have killed you any time I liked . . .The fire at my home was just to keep you on your toes . . .’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself Elena. The fire was to keep me angry to find your ‘‘killer’’ You were just using me to carry out your dirty work . . .’

  ‘You were doing the same thing Mac, just using me to carry out your dirty work. That’s what undercover cops do – pretend to be someone they’re not and wriggle and lie their way into another person’s life.’

  It was Mac’s turn to sound bitter. ‘If you’re expecting me to get down on my knees and kiss your feet for keeping me alive?’

  ‘Not me.’ Her voice softened like the movement of the wind around them. ‘Our baby.’

  That shook him up. ‘There is no baby. Katia was the one who was pregnant . . .’

  ‘Are you sure about that? That’s why Bolshoi had to die, so he couldn’t hurt our baby as—’

  ‘You’re lying. You’re a taker of life, not a giver . . .’

  Suddenly the wind kicked up around them. A roaring sound gathered pace behind Mac. He half turned just as Elena’s gaze intensified over his shoulder. A train coming in to the platform. Before Mac could react it had stopped and the doors opened. Mac instinctively went for the Glock, but he never made it because Elena started yelling and shrieking.

  ‘Help! This man is attacking me. Help!’

  Passengers streamed onto the platform.

  ‘For God’s sake, help me.’

  Faces turned towards them, including a group of three young men. Elena backed up. And screamed. That galvanised the men into action. They moved towards Mac as Elena backed off some more.

  ‘What’s your game, pal?’ one shouted at Mac.

  ‘I’m a police—’ But he didn’t have time to finish the sentence before he caught a punch across the face. He toppled onto his back. They closed in around him to finish the job. He pulled out the Glock.

  ‘Back the fuck way off,’ he warned.

  The men scattered. Mac jumped to his feet. Elena was gone. His gaze darted in the half-light.

  Shit.

  He couldn’t see her. He looked right. Left. Looked . . . He found her, a running shadow heading for the footbridge that crossed to the other platform. The doors to the train closed as Mac ran the length of the platform. Heart pounding, he picked up pace as he leapt up the steps. Elena had reached the top. He sounded like a horse nearing the finishing line as he racked his speed to the next level. Mac reached the top as the Docklands train below began to shunt forwards. He didn’t miss a beat as Elena climbed onto the parapet of the bridge. Elena braced herself. Let go.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Mac cursed as he leaned over to see her land on the roof of one of the carriages. Slipping and sliding, he was sure she was going to fall off. But Elena regained her balance and clung to the roof as the train picked up speed.

  ninety-nine

  The audience on the platforms below who’d been watching Elena’s escape screamed, scattered and dived for cover as Mac began shooting wildly at anything that might possibly bring the departing train to a halt. He shot at junction boxes, signals and pylons until the magazine was empty. But the train rolled on.

  He had one card left to play. Attached to his belt was the hand grenade that he’d threatened Bolshoi with earlier. He ran down to the now deserted platform. Pulled the pin and threw it onto the middle of the railway track. It rolled along the stones and came to rest. He watched, and only when it flashed did he remember that he was supposed to dive to the ground. The explosion threw him onto his back and sucked the air out of his lungs. The silent station reverberated to the sound of arcing electricity, falling stones and other debris. The track flashed and sparked in whites, blues and yellows with the hypnotic effect of a fireworks display.

  When he recovered his wits, he looked down in the direction the train had gone. Fifty yards away, dark and silent, it had ground to a halt.

  Like the train itself, his body and soul was at the end of the journey. He crawled on his hands and knees down the platform. Jumped up and ran the distance to where the train had stopped. The lights of the neighbouring towers lit up the roof of the train, but he could see no sign of Elena. He pressed on down the rails towards a bridge that carried the railway over a lock in the docks. Until he was tripped by a sack lying beside the tracks.

  Only when the sack groaned with pain did Mac realise it was a body.

  Elena.

  He sat down and put his arm out to cradle her shoulder.

  She stared back at him with an expression that reminded him of the woman he had once dared to dream of loving.

  ‘I fell off,’ she said hoarsely.

  He used his shirt to wipe the cuts and scratches. Then began to fish around in his pocket for his phone.

  She smiled at him in the half-light. ‘You’re not going to turn me in, are you?’

  His thumb hovered over the phone, but he didn’t press any buttons. ‘Right now, you need an ambulance. We’ll worry about the other things later.’

  He called an ambul
ance. He realised how vulnerable he was, cradling this woman protectively. Because he knew how easily this other Elena could manipulate him. ‘Can you get up?’

  ‘I don’t know. My ankle . . . Hurts.’

  He pulled her to her feet anyway, ankle or no ankle. She slumped against him and he held her against his body.

  ‘Help me escape, Mac. I haven’t harmed anyone who didn’t need harming. Even killing Katia – she was Bolshoi’s daughter, as evil as he was. As for Reuben, Sergei and their gang, they would have all ended up dead anyway. I had to kill Bolshoi. It was no different to you setting out to kill the person who killed me. Remember what you said – anyone who harms me, you’ll kill them. Help me get abroad and then we can meet again later. I was going to get in touch with you. I promise. I knew you wouldn’t come to any harm. You’re my Mac . . . We could get a home in Europe. Me, you and the baby . . .’

  ‘Shut up, Elena . . .’

  But she wouldn’t. ‘Find somewhere quiet. I’ve got money. Loads of it from Katia. Bolshoi gave her lots of money, that’s why she lived in that smart house. We could adopt Milos . . .’

  Mac pushed her away. She fell to the ground as her ankle gave away.

  ‘And you were doing so well. Fancy reminding me of Milos . . .’

  He turned his back on her. Made one more phone call. ‘Rio, listen. I’ve caught your killer. You might be a bit surprised at the perp, I’m afraid the DNA led you astray. I’m with her now. I’m taking her to hospital but it’s nothing serious. When we’re there, I’ll call again and you can get some people sent over . . . I’m not worried about Phil Delaney. He’ll look after me.’

  Mac rang off and turned back to Elena. But she was gone.

  She was sitting on the parapet of the railway bridge, looking down at the cold inky water of the once busy but now ornamental docks.