Moskva

56 Voices

He should have fucking known. First no Alex and now no bullets in Kyukov’s pistol. Tom was slotting the magazine back into place when he heard the low chop of a copter and ducked from instinct, peering through a window at the darkening sky. Crows, high and circling. Low clouds, with even lower ones scudding beneath.

No bullets, no Alex, no idea where his enemy was.

When Tom listened again, the copter was gone.

No flashbacks, he told himself. Not now.

In the silence, he heard what sounded like fire catching wood. The thud of a helicopter… the crackle of flames: he was back where he didn’t want to be. The tightness in his throat said his body didn’t want to be there either.

Fox, I know you can hear me.

The voice came from a drab green speaker bolted to the ceiling above him.

Are you listening? I hope you’re listening…

The static returned for a second and Tom wondered whether General Dennisov was taunting him or simply deciding what to say.

Your little friend would like a word.

Major Fox? Alex sounded terrified. The tightness in her voice matched the tightness in Tom’s throat. I’m sorry, she said. I’m really sorry.

I’ve been telling her all about your daughter. Such a sad story. I have daughters of my own, you know. And I’m a terrible father. So I’m told. But so far neither has felt the need to kill herself.

Trace the wire…

Are you paying attention?

No cameras. Tom had to remind himself of that.

There was no way the general could be watching him.

There was an evil to the factory that was bone cold and implacable. Tom brushed up against it every time he let his focus wander. Tightening his grip on Kyukov’s pistol, he felt foolish. Even if it had had bullets, the Markov could only kill things he could see.

The static came back for a second or two.

Electricity trickling along old wires to metal speakers once used to order the death or disposal of cattle as casually as a maniac like General Dennisov ordered the slaughter of people. Tom imagined Alex, wherever she was, very quiet, very careful. Becca sitting in her Mini hurtling towards a tree. The shriek of metal louder than any feedback whine.

He would find Alex.

General Dennisov wanted him to find her.

How long had he been following the speaker wire?

He lost it for a moment and breathed out only when he realized it had passed through a wall and that what he’d thought a cupboard was a door. Leaving one room, he stepped into it again, finding himself in its ruined mirror.

The complex comprised two abattoirs, back to back. As Tom shut the steel door behind him, he realized that he’d moved between worlds.

I wouldn’t leave it too long to find her…

A jagged intake of breath gave way to Alex crying.

Nothing serious, the general said. A dislocated finger. Not even an important one.

RUN! RUN AWAY!

The girl he’d met at the party would never have shouted that. The man he’d been then wouldn’t have known how to be proud of her.

He won’t run, you know. That’s his problem. Rules limit action.

And rituals don’t? Tom thought darkly.

The treads of the stairwell were stained, the stench of urine so strong that even the cold couldn’t lessen it. A box room off a half-landing held a rotting mattress, a filthy sleeping bag and the embers of an old fire lit directly on the tiles. A military surplus bag stood in one corner, the kind a newly released prisoner might own.

Major Fox… General Dennisov’s voice was hard. The game, or whatever the man imagined it to be, was suddenly suspended. What have you done to my huts?

Tom abandoned the box room for the stairs, reaching a window.

Flames billowed from the first hut he saw, then the next, a hard white burn of phosphorus that softened to a civilian orange as wood and tarpaper caught. Taking the next twist at a run, he stopped at another window. All the rows were in flames. The huts in the first row blazed so fiercely they must be visible for miles.

How long before the authorities arrived?

Above him, Tom heard a door slam, Alex’s protests cut short and steps moving fast and hard along a landing. By the time Tom reached the landing only eddies and echoes remained, a sense of Alex passing through rather than Alex herself. Looking round, Tom saw steeply rising steps.

Instinct drove him up.