No Kiss For The Devil

46

Riley’s felt a stab of despair. Was this as far as she went? She had almost made it! Life really wasn’t fair.

Vasiliyev looked indomitable, balanced evenly on the balls of his feet, like a fighter waiting for an opponent to attack. But there was a subtle difference. He seemed thinner, less sleek, somehow, and his clothes, once so elegant, had lost their sheen. Or was it simply the man wearing them, she thought, his bearing now diminished in her eyes?

‘I didn’t want any of this, Riley,’ he said softly. Now, for the first time, Riley thought she could detect the faintest trace of another accent in his voice. Or maybe knowing his origins, and who he was — what he was — had begun to play tricks with her imagination.

‘You didn’t do much to stop it,’ she pointed out accusingly. Her breathing was laboured and she coughed as she stooped to put her shoes on. She winced as the pain in her feet and ankle blossomed to join the other hurts. It probably didn’t matter anymore whether she wore the shoes or not, but she was damned if she was going to stand here barefoot. As for using them as a weapon, it was a non-starter; this man was built like a tree. ‘What do you do now — finish me off and then vanish back to your mafiya pals?’ Her voice dripped with contempt, and she wondered how she could have been taken in by him. Then she realised that maybe she hadn’t; that deep down, there had always been something about him that had held her back. ‘Is this the end of the game — Vasiliyev? Or is that also a false name?’

A flicker of something touched his eyes. It might have been regret, she thought. Or surprise. Could men like him ever experience much in the way of emotion?

‘It’s Radko.’ He brushed a weary hand across his face. ‘Radko Vasiliyev. None of this was supposed to happen, Riley. I thought I had it all under control. It was… ’ He shrugged and gave the faintest of smiles. ‘Meeting you, I guess I forgot for a while just who I was dealing with. I doubt they’ll let me make that mistake again.’ He sounded genuinely sorry.

A door banged overhead, the noise echoing down the stairs. It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. The newcomer was shouting something unintelligible. Riley guessed it must be Russian.

She looked towards the main doors, then at Vasiliyev. She wanted to suggest something — anything — that might offer a way out. To tell him to run, perhaps, to say he could give himself up or simply disappear into the night. But something wouldn’t let her. If he was going to do anything, he had to decide for himself.

The footsteps came closer. Another voice called from higher up. Whoever the runner was, it wasn’t Frank Palmer. He’d have moved a lot more quietly.

Then Vasiliyev shook his head, and a look of something approaching pain touched his face, as if he had reached an impossibly difficult decision.

He stood aside and gestured at the open door.

‘Go,’ he said quietly. ‘Go quickly. Whatever you do, don’t look back. Run for the lights — anywhere bright. The man coming after you won’t stop at holding you. Go!’ He waved her away with a fierce gesture of his arm, the snap in his voice jerking her into motion.

Riley ran past him and out into the night. Behind her, she heard the fire door smack back on its hinges as somebody burst out from the emergency stairway.

Vasiliyev waited calmly for Riley’s pursuer. After hearing his given name on Riley’s lips, he thought he was experiencing something like an identity crisis. The Varley persona had lasted longer than most he had used, and had meant more than merely a temporary name; it had, against his expectations, brought something of a revised outlook… and, thinking of Riley, even a new optimism, impossible though that now seemed.

He breathed deeply and forced himself to relax. It was too late for regrets. But it was good to be free of the pretence at last. The Varley existence had been a job, that was all. An act. But it was now over; it was foolish to pretend otherwise.

He had always known, ever since first meeting Fedorov and recognising him for what he was, that a day like this would come eventually. For men in their line of work, a cosy retirement and a villa in the sun did not figure high on the list of happy endings. Like moths to a flame, he thought wryly. After what had happened in the last couple of days, he knew that even if Fedorov didn’t get away, orders would have already gone out to other associates, in Europe and further afield. Vasiliyev had made too many mistakes, and the loss of the Batnev bid, which he guessed was now inevitable, was the result.

For Fedorov, there would be no return to Russia with his future intact, no guaranteed place in his homeland. It would be his greatest humiliation. And somebody would have to pay.

He stood in front of the entrance and listened to Riley’s footsteps fading across the parking area. He held the image of her face in his mind for a moment, and silently wished her well.

Olek appeared, breathing heavily.

Vasiliyev stayed where he was, blocking the doorway.

‘Out of my way!’ Olek grunted, and charged, his shoulder bunched like a rugby player. At over six feet tall and 250 pounds, with a history of military service and years in the gangs, Olek was a formidable person to take on. He was also utterly loyal to Fedorov, like a pit-bull to its master.

Vasiliyev was taller, with a longer reach, although not so heavy. But he was quicker on his feet. He swayed to one side just as the man’s shoulder was about to make contact. Reaching out, he grasped at his opponent’s jacket with a powerful hand and tugged viciously. As he did so, he spun on his feet, presenting his hip and using Olek’s momentum against him.

It was too late for the other man to stop himself. He flipped off his feet and through the air, landing half on his back with a loud cry of dismay. The impact made a pot plant tremble over by the window. But Olek was strong and resilient, schooled in a hard arena of combat. He sprang to his feet and turned, eyes burning with pain and aggression. He stepped in fast and threw a wicked punch at Vasiliyev’s head. But it was a feint; with frightening speed, he followed it with a spinning back kick, catching Vasiliyev full in the ribs.

Vasiliyev tried to curve his body away in a desperate attempt to lessen the damage, but it wasn’t enough. The impact spread through his torso in a fierce wave and something cracked close to his heart.

He struggled to breathe, stunned by the power of the kick. All he could think of was to stop the man from getting through the door and going after Riley. As he edged around his opponent, his vision fading, he glanced towards the open door to see if Riley had disappeared into the dark. It was only for a split second.

But it was a fatal mistake.

Olek lunged in with frightening speed, his arm rigid. This time, he wasn’t using his hands or feet. A glint of metal reflected off the overhead lights. He was holding a short commando dagger.

Vasiliyev, caught by surprise and paralysed by the increasing pain in his chest, felt a hollow drag of despair, and waited with knowing acceptance.

This was a fight he could not win.

Riley kicked off both shoes and sprinted across the car park. She swerved round the barrier, spilling tears of frustration and anger, and stumbled across the pavement. She ignored the pain in her feet, imagining the breath of a pursuer on her neck every step of the way and certain that Vasiliyev would have stepped aside to let his colleague do his job.

Then a tall shape rose up out of the darkness and wrapped strong arms around her, lifting her clean off her feet.

Riley screamed and struggled with rage, frustration and pain, and they both fell over in a tangle of arms and legs. Without thinking, she lashed upwards with her knee and felt the satisfying squish of full contact with something soft.

‘Fuck’s sake, woman — I’m tryin’ to help you — ow!’

Ray Szulu rolled away clutching his groin and gagging. He coughed and spat as he struggled to his knees, hissing, ‘Dammit, Riley Gavin — why you always tryin’ to hurt me?’

‘You!’ Riley jumped up, realising who it was. She turned and looked towards the building she had just fled. There was no sign of Vasiliyev, but another man had just emerged from the doorway, and was standing there looking around wildly.

‘Where are the others?’ Szulu grunted, getting to his feet, one hand clutching his groin.

‘What others?’ Riley was confused. ‘There’s only Palmer.’

‘Three guys with guns. They went in earlier. You must’ve seen them.’

‘No, I-’

‘Never mind. Come on!’ Szulu grabbed her arm. ‘I ain’t built for this hero shit. I want to live.’ He dragged her back into the darkness as fast as he could, and she stumbled after him, too tired to argue.