Rasputin's Shadow

31

Sokolov froze at the sight of the bearded man’s gun, its sight lined up with Daphne’s back.

But the man didn’t fire.

Instead, he called out to Sokolov, in Russian. “Don’t think of double-crossing me, you sooka. Just keep walking.”

Somehow, Sokolov managed to get his legs to cooperate. He started moving again, picking up his pace gradually, fear still rippling through him.

As he drew level with Daphne, they both stopped. He reached out and pulled her in, and she nestled her head in his shoulder for a brief moment. He stroked her hair, burying his nose in it, finding solace in its familiar feel and smell. Then she pulled back and stared at him with eyes that were filled with such anguish and confusion that Sokolov felt all the life drain out of him.

“Leo…?” she muttered.

He reached out and cupped her cheeks. “It’s going to be fine, laposhka. Just keep walking and do as Jonny says.”

“But-”

He pulled her in and gave her a brief kiss. “You must go. Please.”

Her eyes welled up as she nodded, then she took a couple of steps back before turning and continuing on toward Jonny.

“I love you,” he called out after her.

Sokolov felt an icy bleakness engulf his heart, and with absolute clarity he knew that he would never touch his wife again. He tried to console himself by thinking that at least he had seen her one last time. At least he had said good-bye.

He was still rooted to the spot.

“Keep walking, old man,” the Russian barked.

Sokolov glared at him. The man impassively waved him over with his free hand, the other still holding the gun, still aimed at Daphne.

Sokolov reached into his pocket, pulled out Yakovlev’s gun, and pressed it against his own chin.

“She leaves here alive or I blow my own brains out,” he yelled out. “You hear me? She leaves here safe or you never get what you want.”

KOSCHEY’S LIPS CURLED INTO the faintest smile.

Of course he had no intention of letting anyone leave the clearing alive, other than himself and the scientist. And of course, the old man would know this was the case. The traitor had as cunning a mind as any, as evidenced by the fact that long ago, Sokolov-or Shislenko, as he was known back then-had managed to outwit some of the most capable operatives of his generation, on both sides of the Iron Curtain.

This caused a curious thought to spring to life inside Koschey’s mind.

Did Sokolov actually build it? And if so, had he brought it with him? Did he have a way to use it? Even here, out in the open?

He shook his head.

Possible, he thought. Koschey knew that very few things were impossible, and that most of those came down to the laws of science rather than human will.

Possible, but unlikely.

No, what Koschey was after was tucked away in the folds of the man’s prodigious brain. And Koschey needed to ensure Sokolov’s brain was unscathed if it was going to unveil its secrets.

He opened his arms out welcomingly, so the gun wasn’t threatening Daphne anymore.

“Just keep walking,” he ordered Sokolov. “Keep walking and she’ll be just fine.”

WE’D BEEN PLAYED.

They suckered us here with these bozos while the real meet was taking place somewhere else. At that very moment. While we were standing around like morons.

As if to pile-drive that infuriating thought home, I heard Mirminsky’s name in my ear.

“Say again about Mirminsky?” I hissed into my mike.

A voice crackled in my ear. “This is Grell. We’re still at the club, but the bastard’s given us the slip. There must be another way out of here, one we weren’t covering.”

“Great. That’s just great,” I fumed. Aparo and I would ream him out later. In private. And at great length.

“This isn’t happening,” Aparo said.

“The heavies must have called it in and told Mirminsky that they’re standing around with their thumbs up their butts and whoever it is they’re waiting for is a no-show,” I told him. “The Sledgehammer realizes he’s burnt and decides to duck out until he can figure things out and regroup.”

“Well we know how rattled Sister Sledge was by the guy who set up the meet. The last thing he’d want is for us to lean on him to get him to reveal who his mystery caller was. He’d be signing his own death warrant whether he told us anything or not.”

Aparo was right. I was more alarmed that the real meet was probably taking place right then and we’d missed it. The only option left for us at the moment was to grab the four guys in the big Escalade for illegal possession of automatic weapons and see if we could squeeze anything out of any of them.

“No one’s coming,” I said into my mike. “Let’s take these clowns and wrap it up.”

Infantino gave the command and we all moved in.

I glimpsed Kubert and Kanigher up ahead, snaking around the containers, big bold letters on their backs, weapons drawn.

I moved out from behind the small office hut in a low crouch and went up their other flank, looking for a better angle on the Russian. Aparo was right behind me.

Kubert was closest to the SUV, about thirty yards away.

He huddled behind a container. He looked back and checked to see that we were all in position. I saw Kanigher nod to him, then I gave him the go signal too.

He leaned out from his cover, holding out his creds. “FBI!” he hollered. “Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head now.”

The two heavies by the car went rigid and took a step back, looking left and right as they scanned their perimeter, pulling their weapons in tighter.

“Drop the guns now!” Kubert yelled out.

The bratki inched back some more, then they seemed to relax and their arms spread out, away from their bodies, with the guns no longer aimed threateningly.

And then Kubert made his mistake.

He leaned out a bit more, exposing more of himself, thinking they were giving themselves up. And that was when a burst of bullets shot out from the Escalade and punched right into him.

ABOUT THREE MILES SOUTHWEST of Reilly’s position, in the old docks across the parkway from Owl’s Head Park, Daphne reached Jonny. He was standing by the van with his gun in his hand. She collapsed into his arms.

“Come on, Mrs. Soko, let’s get you inside,” he said as he shepherded her toward the passenger door.

She hung on to him and started to weep. She had forced herself over to him, but now that she was safe, all the bottled-up pain, exhaustion, and fear just flooded out of her. Jonny had to take her entire weight while trying to keep his gun firmly in his grip.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “It’s gonna be okay.”

And as he guided her toward the van’s open door, his eyes caught sight of the ear protectors on the bench, and he smiled.

SOKOLOV TWISTED HIS HEAD to see Daphne join Jonny.

He was almost at the SUV. Its headlights were stronger up close, assaulting his eyes as they lit up the silhouettes of the man in the baseball cap and his henchmen from behind.

He’d already slipped the second earplug into his hand, and as surreptitiously as he could, he slipped it into his other ear and jammed it in tight. It wouldn’t provide him full protection, of course. He knew that. But it would dampen the effect a little, giving him a bit of an advantage over those who had no protection.

He kept moving, slowly, waiting for it. Waiting for Jonny to hit the button. Waiting for the tables to be turned. But before he’d even reached the Escalade, the bearded man took two lighting-fast strides up to him and wrenched the gun out of his hand while landing a savage punch across his cheek.

Sokolov faltered, his knees buckling from the force of the blow. Before he could fall, his adversary grabbed hold of his jacket and shoved him toward the open car door.

Through unfocused, concussed eyes, Sokolov glimpsed the man tuck Yakovlev’s handgun into the back of his belt before raising his free hand to give his henchmen a signal.

In response, the shaved-headed bratok next to him reached into the vehicle and pulled out a fearsome-looking machine gun. And it wasn’t an ordinary machine gun. It had a big cylinder under its barrel, like a fat black flashlight-which Sokolov knew to be a grenade launcher.

Sokolov let out a silent scream as he saw the man aim it at Jonny and Daphne and pull the trigger.