Private Beijing

Chapter 98

Alekseyev yelled something in Russian, and the knifeman stepped away from West and started toward me.

“Lie down,” the SVR director instructed me. “Flat on your belly.”

I locked eyes with West, who looked disappointed and shook his head slowly.

I watched the knifeman carefully as he approached. He had a Makarov MP-71 pistol in a holster at his hip and was reaching into his pocket for something. He produced a coil of high-tensile cable.

“Hands behind your back,” Alekseyev said. “He will tie you like your friend.”

My hands were beneath me. I shifted to free them, and as I did so the knifeman crouched to reach me. I grabbed my tactical blade, rolled toward him and drove it into his neck. Before he moved, I took his Makarov pistol from its holster, flipped onto my back and shot the gunman in the chest. He fell to his knees clutching the wound, while the knifeman made horrific gasping sounds and toppled onto his back.

“Don’t move,” Alekseyev said.

I glanced round to see him grab an SR-2 Veresk submachine gun from beside the armchair and aim it at West.

“Drop it or I will shoot your friend,” he commanded. “Drop it!”

I wavered. He was going to kill us both anyway. I might as well take a shot.

“Don’t be stupid, Mr. Morgan. Your friend’s life is in your hands.”

I looked at West and saw him nod almost imperceptibly. He was telling me to take the shot.

“Put down the gun, Mr. Morgan,” Alekseyev said. “You don’t want to be responsible for another death.”

I was on my side with the gun pointed at the space above West. I would have to roll onto my back and adjust my aim significantly to target Alekseyev. He would have ample time to shoot West.

I lowered the pistol and put it on the floor beside me.

“People like you never have what it takes,” Alekseyev told me. “This is for my brother.”

He swung his gun toward me, but before the barrel completed its arc, his chair and the floor around him splintered under gunfire. The volley sounded like thunder breaking.

Alekseyev yelled in pain. He’d been hit in the lower leg, but like a wounded wild animal, he could still run. He managed to get through the hole in the wall and escape into the night.

I looked behind me and saw the source of the gunfire.

Dinara Orlova stood in the doorway, the barrel of her machine gun smoking.

“You might not have what it takes to be a psychotic killer, but at least you have friends,” she said.

I smiled. “Shouldn’t you be with Feo and Anna?”

“I thought you could use some help,” she replied. “Besides, Feo has rallied. He’s helping Anna outside.”

“Cut West loose and get him to safety with the others,” I said, grabbing the pistol and getting to my feet.

Dinara nodded. “Be careful, Jack. He’s wounded and that’s going to make him even more dangerous.”

As she hurried over to West, I ran through the hole in the wall, following Alekseyev into darkness.