An Autumn Hunting

Chapter 53

We walked back through the park, not talking, feet kicking through the swathes of leaves that had fallen from the branches overhead. It felt like walking through a church crumbling through neglect, through lack of love.

We came out onto Frunze, just by the football stadium. I knew we’d be able to catch a taxi from outside the maternity hospital on Logvinyenko, with its endless supply of young women clutching infants bundled up in coats, blankets and scarves.

I turned to Aliyev, held out my hand. To my surprise, I realised I didn’t entirely dislike the man. His chosen path was against everything I believed in, but I also knew he wasn’t the kind of pakhan who believed in slaughter, drive-by shootings, humiliation and rape. Unless they were necessary, of course.

I think he was as surprised to see my outstretched hand as I was in offering it. We shook hands, briefly, and I kept my left hand buried in my pocket.

‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow,’ I said.

‘Don’t try and play every side against each other, Akyl,’ he said. ‘Try and ride more than one horse and you’re sure to get thrown, maybe even trampled.’

He gave Saltanat the barest of nods – not risking shaking her hand – and turned, walking back the way we’d come, never looking back. If I had been going to shoot him, a bullet in the back would have told the world I was a coward.

I turned to Saltanat, felt my heart turn over at the sight of the line of her jaw, her full mouth, her eyes the colour of mountain slate, that saw everything and gave nothing away.

‘I don’t think going back to your apartment is a great idea,’ she said.

I waved at a couple of taxis that drove past, then watched as Saltanat raised an arm and a black Audi screeched to a halt. I guess taxi drivers are men after all, despite behaving like bad-tempered bastards.

She hadn’t booked the Presidential Suite at the Hyatt Regency, but it was still several notches above my pay grade. She gave the bedazzled man at the concierge desk strict instructions we weren’t to be disturbed, then led the way to the lifts.

‘Why didn’t you shoot Aliyev and take our chances?’ Saltanat asked as we sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘It might have been a little difficult,’ I said, and took my left hand out of my jacket pocket, the first two fingers stretched out, the way children imitate guns when they’re playing cops and robbers.

‘Bang!’ I said.

‘What a very good idea,’ Saltanat said, and pushed me backwards onto the bed.

Afterwards, we lay in the delicious drifting half-sleep that follows making love. I knew I had to talk to Saltanat, knew she’d object, but I couldn’t see any way out of it. I made us tea, putting off the awkward conversation, joined her back in bed.

‘You think I should have killed Aliyev earlier?’ I asked.

‘You had a gun in your other pocket, didn’t you?’

‘I wouldn’t have had time to draw it and aim before one of his boys shot me,’ I said. It was the simple truth, unadorned by any pretence at being a tough guy.

‘So he gets to kill you instead?’

I sat up in bed and turned to face her.

‘The day I joined the force, I knew I could be killed. But I’ve survived so far. Dying isn’t what worries me.’

Saltanat sipped at her tea, her eyes never moving from my face. I paused, hunting for the words the way a crow scours the ground for food.

‘Go on.’

‘I’m worried about the collateral damage.’

‘You mean me, I suppose.’

I nodded. ‘And not just you.’

She took another sip of her tea, delicate and poised. She paused, as if unsure how to reply.

‘I haven’t decided whether to keep it or not, you know.’

‘For what it’s worth, and if my opinion matters, I think you should keep it.’

‘A state assassin for a mother, a late and much unmourned cop as a father? Talk about giving a child a great start in life.’

‘OK, I’m looking at the wrong end of a gun barrel,’ I said, ‘but don’t you think you’re pushing your luck as well?’

‘Retire and take up gardening, that’s what you have in mind for me?’

Her tone was light, but I could tell she didn’t find the conversation amusing.

‘There are worse things than roses,’ I said, ‘and some of them have sharper thorns.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘I think you should get on the train to Moscow tomorrow morning. Aliyev’s men are bound to be watching the airport, but there shouldn’t be a problem with the train.’

‘You want me to sit on a train for forty-eight hours, while you turn into Clint Eastwood?’

‘Travel first class, a sleeper to yourself. I’d like to do that myself, but I have to sort this stuff out first.’

‘With Aliyev?’ she asked.

‘And with Tynaliev. It was him who threw me into this shit in the first place. If I don’t deal with him, I might as well glue rear-view mirrors to my forehead. And then he’ll attack from the front.’

I put my empty cup down, took hers, held her hand.

‘The fake assassination for a start.’

She nodded.

‘It had to be fake. I knew you were a bad shot, but even you couldn’t have missed a fat bastard like that at point-blank range.’

‘So then I’m on the run, top of the Most Wanted charts, a smash hit. Shooting Tynaliev was the only way I could get into Aliyev’s team and win his trust. Since every one of his men has to take off their shoes to count past ten, that wasn’t too difficult.’

‘He didn’t suspect?’ Saltanat asked.

‘Of course, that’s why he sent me off to Bangkok. If I managed to draw Quang out of his regular activities, Aliyev could set him up, let the Russians know who was poisoning their children. Then all he had to do was stand back and let the Spetsnaz go to work. With Quang sidelined, Aliyev could own the spice routes into Russia. Big-time money.’

‘While Quang prepared to sideline Aliyev.’

‘You’ve been paying attention,’ I said, ‘I like that,’ and I kissed her to prove I meant it.

‘So Aliyev and Quang commit mutually assured destruction. And the resulting vacuum is filled by none other than the Minister of State Security,’ Saltanat said.

‘You have a very devious mind, even for a woman,’ I said, dodging the blow I knew would follow.

‘I’m still not going to Moscow,’ she said, jaw set in that ‘argument is futile’ mode.

‘I’ve got tickets for both of us,’ I said, and reached into my jacket inside pocket to show her. ‘You go tomorrow, I follow two days later, meet you outside Lenin’s mausoleum, then we go into the GUM luxury store for the world’s most expensive cup of coffee.’

‘And then?’

‘Then we decide where we’re going to live, when we’re going to get married, what names we’re going to give our children.’

I patted her stomach. Too early to feel life, but I knew it was there, preparing to emerge on an unsuspecting world.

‘What makes you think I want to marry you? Or marry anyone?’

‘After everything we did an hour ago? How can you resist?’ I said, with my most winning smile.

Saltanat looked suspicious, perhaps even a little sad; I couldn’t say I blamed her.

‘Why do you want to marry me?’ she said. ‘It can’t be because of this,’ as she pointed to her stomach.

I felt scared, no, terrified. Terrified of exposing my inner self, or being rejected, of being left alone again, with no one and nothing to live for. I looked at her, and she could sense my fear, watched me struggle to overcome it.

‘Because I love you,’ I said, my voice hoarse, my throat choked, my words stumbling over each other as if drunk.

Saltanat simply stared at me. I had no clue as to what she was thinking. Finally, she spoke.

‘I know.’

And the way she said it splintered my heart.