Stroika

Chapter 43

^MOSCOW

Yuri boarded the military transport by the cargo ramp and made his way up to the cockpit. Four faces looked up at him as he entered.

‘General,’ said the captain. He introduced himself as Captain Yevgeny Derevenko. ‘We’ll be pushing off in fifteen minutes, now that you are on board. There’s a seat up here in the cockpit, if you’d prefer.’

Yuri nodded and buckled himself in in the seat behind the co-pilot. Opening his attaché case, he pulled out his brief for the weapon’s test scheduled for that afternoon in Archangel – a new anti-aircraft shoulder missile – and sat there staring at it, struggling to concentrate. Misha had assured him Viktoriya would soon be released and that Konstantin had it all in hand, but the fact was that she hadn’t been, not yet. His first instinct, when Misha had told him, was to hop on a plane to Leningrad, but Misha had convinced him against it and persuaded him he would be more use to her in Moscow with his contacts there if there was no progress. He had reassured himself he could be back in Moscow that evening if necessary but still a big part of him felt he was deserting her.

‘Coffee, General?’ The engineer handed him a welcome shot of caffeine. He looked at his watch: seven thirty.

Ten minutes later they were airborne. Yuri marked familiar landmarks as they cleared Moscow on a perfect October morning. There was nothing he could do now. He would ring Misha when he landed at Archangel and decide whether to return that afternoon.

Yuri looked around the crew, each intent on some task or other. Hardly anyone spoke. He wondered if they would be more talkative if he weren’t riding up front but was grateful for the quiet after everything that had been going on. He picked up his brief again, ready to read, when a loud thud reverberated down the fuselage. The aircraft shuddered like a fatally wounded bird.

‘We’ve lost all fuel pressure on the port engine,’ said the co-pilot, reading off the control panel. The aircraft lurched to the left. Derevenko threw his coffee into the bin, reached forward and switched off the autopilot.

Warning lights flashed red. An alarm sounded. Yuri leaned forward and looked back at the high octane fuel that trailed the aircraft.

‘Pyotr,’ said the captain to the flight engineer, ‘cut the fuel supply to the port engine.’

Derevenko took a firm hold of the stick to correct the yaw. The aircraft steadied momentarily.

‘Send out a Mayday, Anatoly,’ the captain said calmly. ‘Let’s do a position check.’

The navigator checked the computer navigation system and a foldout map indicating surrounding airfields.

‘The nearest airport is Cherepovets, 100 kilometres to the south-east’ said the navigator, reading out the bearing. He handed the map to the captain.

‘Anatoly, give them our position and airspeed.’

‘We don’t want to bring her in over the city,’ he said, studying the map. ‘We need to swing in over the mountains to the north.’

‘We can jettison fuel here,’ said the navigator. He indicated a position twenty kilometres south of Cherepovets.

Anatoly switched to Mayday frequency.

‘Air traffic control Cherepovets, this is Flight 236, we have an emergency… do you read?’

There was a pause and then the reply: ‘We read you, Flight 236. We have you on radar.’

Yuri looked over Derevenko’s shoulder at the map; a mountain still stood between them and the runway… if they made it that far. It was hardly the easiest approach, even on full power. Yuri guessed their chances at less than even.

Derevenko tacked the aircraft through a slow turn eastwards. The co-pilot looked rattled but busy, checking instruments and gauges. The flight engineer and navigator had their heads down concentrating on the flight displays and mapping systems.

‘We just follow the book, all of us. It’s not going to be easy but we can bring her in. Is there any coffee left in the thermos, Anatoly?’ asked the captain, trying to bring some normalcy to the situation.

Anatoly reached for the thermos and poured his friend a cup of hot strong coffee, his hand shaking.

‘General?’

Yuri held out his cup for a top-up.

Cloud had settled in over the mountains ahead. If there was any error they would have little or no time to adjust their inbound course. With only one engine and no fuel they would have insufficient lift or time to circle the airport a second time and the descent from the mountain to the forest canopy in front of the runway would be almost vertical.

The minutes ticked by painfully slowly.

‘We’ll only have one chance at this, boys,’ said Derevenko.

‘This is air traffic, Flight 236 adjust your bearing five degrees to south. This will put you into the wind when you approach the mountain.’

‘Roger that, control tower. That will help’ said Derevenko, turning around to face Yuri. ‘It will give us some natural lift.’

The mountain loomed on the radar. It would not be long now, just minutes. The captain banked the plane using the rudder to counteract the effect of the dead engine and began a one hundred and fifty knot turn before tipping the yoke forward to begin their descent.

The aircraft yawed as the plane picked up speed and the flight engineer started to dump fuel. The captain stared alternately at the radar and out the cockpit window. They were descending rapidly now through thick cloud. Air traffic had told them this would break at about five thousand feet, which was no great height above the mountain top. Eight thousand feet… seven thousand feet… Yuri watched the LED clock their descent. Derevenko had already switched the warning systems to silent. Every one would be flashing or buzzing right now.

The cloud broke. They had come in too low. The mountain rose up in front of them, a flat wall of stone. Derevenko reached for the throttle. He had only seconds to correct the Antonov’s height before they flew into the cliff face. Pulling back on the yoke, he throttled the engine to full power and applied left rudder with his foot to prevent the aircraft turning round on itself. A fraction’s delay and the engine kicked in. The nose of the aircraft lifted, hauling its load upwards, the noise deafening. Loose objects clattered to the deck. Slowly at first, but with gathering momentum, the aircraft began to rise.

Too slow… too slow! thought Yuri. Like a siren, the mountain beckoned them forward.

Seconds later, it was upon them. The screeching and rending of metal seemed to go on forever. Yuri imagined rock ripping undercarriage panels and lights.

‘Air traffic control,’ said the captain, ‘we’re over. We’ve incurred damage. We are beginning our final descent.’

Final descent, Yuri said to himself.

Derevenko made one final check. ‘Everyone strapped in? General?’

Yuri fastened his seat belt as tight as it would go.

‘Flaps half down, Anatoly.’

Derevenko tipped the controls forward and throttled back. The aircraft nosed down towards the forest that stretched for a mile directly in front of the runway.

‘Eighty-five knots,’ Derevenko read from the airspeed dial. ‘Wheels down,’ he said calmly.

Anatoly pulled the lever to lower the landing gear, but nothing happened – the undercarriage display flashed fault. It must have been damaged in the scrape.

‘Air traffic control, we have no landing gear. I’m going to crash-land. Brace to my order.’

Nineteen kilotons of metal hurtled earthward. Yuri could see the forest immediately below and then, in front, the runway welcoming the Antonov to her final resting place.

Derevenko lifted her nose a fraction. She was parallel with the surface now. Eighty-five knots and they crossed the runway’s edge.

‘Brace!’ he shouted, and plunged the controls forward. Anatoly, on cue, cut all power to the engine.

All that was aeronautical flight vanished in that instant. The stricken aircraft lost all lift and collapsed onto the runway. Torn by gravitational force and mortally wounded, she began to disintegrate as she hurtled, sparks flying, along the landing strip, a half-dozen emergency vehicles in pursuit. There was nothing they could do now until the aircraft came to a halt, exploded, or both… except pray.

Finally unable to bear the stresses pulling her in every direction, the Antonov snapped. The starboard wing tore free of the fuselage as the Antonov abandoned its preordained route and ploughed off the runway into the mud and quite suddenly stopped.

Silence replaced the ear-splitting sound of rending metal. Frozen for seconds that seemed like minutes, Yuri’s hearing adjusted to the sound of burning and fire engines. The engineer was only semi-conscious and bleeding from a cut to the face. Yuri hit the release of his safety belt and wrestled him from his seat. How long they had before the whole aircraft went up could only be seconds. The captain and co-pilot opened the emergency exit and helped lower the engineer to the ground, Yuri followed, and the captain jumped last. Four firemen rushed up and pointed towards the fire trucks. They staggered thirty feet before the fuel tank ruptured and the explosion blew them off their feet. A hand pounding his back told Yuri he was still alive. He looked up at Derevenko’s mud-covered face.

‘Still with us, General,’ he said, laughing and crying at the same time, no doubt in disbelief that they were here, alive, in one piece.

Chapter 44

^LENINGRAD

Viktoriya sat on the edge of her bed in the windowless cell. She had slept fitfully on the hard horsehair mattress, randomly disturbed by cell checks and the incomprehensible shouts of inmates.

The noise of door hatches being opened and shut again and the rumbling of a trolley alerted her to the sound of breakfast. She had not had anything to eat since the night before and realised now how hungry she was. Her hatch slid open and a steaming bowl and a mug of something were placed wordlessly on the inside shelf. Viktoriya picked them up and carried them to a narrow shelf table. She was surprised how good oatmeal porridge and stewed tea could taste.

A half-hour later, the sound of the lock turning in the door brought her to her feet. The sergeant from the previous afternoon led her back to the interview room where the other officer sat with his now familiar brown file.

This time he produced a police photograph of the girl she had seen that last time in Kostya’s office.

‘Do you know this woman?’ he asked.

‘Know is probably not the operative word. I have seen her once or twice at a friend’s club. I have never spoken with her.’

‘And is this friend Konstantin Stolin?’

Viktoriya couldn’t see how she could avoid a straightforward answer and told him that was the case.

‘This woman has confessed to falsely implicating you in the murder of Pavel Antyuhin… All the same I find it all very convenient, as is the disappearance of your old flatmate.’

The sergeant sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand and looked at her belligerently.

‘If it wasn’t for pressure from on high, I wouldn’t be releasing you.’

‘So you are letting me go?’

‘Yes, you are free to go, once you have signed your release papers.’

He got up and left the room.

‘You’d better watch out if you don’t want to land up back here,’ the sergeant whispered, clearly aggrieved that she would not be staying longer.

‘I don’t like being intimidated,’ said Viktoriya, ‘Sergeant…?’

‘Sergeant Bobrika,’ she replied looking slightly rattled.

The sergeant led her resentfully up to the reception hall. On the other side of the glass partition she saw Misha talking with Ivan. He caught sight of her and signalled.

‘Just sign here,’ said the sergeant aggressively.

Viktoriya gave the form a cursory review and added her signature.

Misha greeted her with a much-needed hug.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

‘I certainly don’t want to be visiting here again anytime soon,’ Viktoriya replied, staring at the sergeant through the glass.

‘I had a call from Kostya, an hour ago. Some girl that works for him fitted you up. She’s been taken into custody.’

‘I’ve been told.’ Viktoriya wondered what Kostya had done to force a confession. ‘Can you please take me home? I need a shower and a change of clothes. Have you heard from Yuri?’ she asked, half expecting him to be there.

‘Constantly, it took all my persuasion to stop him getting on a plane to Leningrad. I told him he would be more use in Moscow if we could not secure your release. He’s on some mission out east, top secret and all that. He’s been calling me every few hours asking about you, although he seems to have gone silent this morning. Maybe he’s lost interest… you two clearly hit it off in Smolensk,’ Misha said, smirking.

Viktoriya felt unexpectedly relieved, as if a niggling doubt she had been unaware of until then had been suddenly exorcised.

Outside, Ivan waited with the security detail. Viktoriya took in the scene: two men at the bottom of the steps; a half-dozen more across the street, their backs to the iron railings of the square, Kalashnikovs idled at waist height, three cars, engines running, tight against the kerb. A guard threw away his cigarette while another pushed himself off the railings. Eyes turned in every direction. A passing motorist slowed, curious, and was waved quickly on.

‘Twitchy?’ said Viktoriya.

‘I’ve capital flight, you, and Yuri sending up distress flares. Yes, you could say so.’

She knew he was right; hadn’t she been telling him for weeks to up his protection?

Ivan kissed her on both cheeks without taking his eyes off the road and indicated the middle car, flanked by four security men, parked only a few feet away. Viktoriya slid in first, Misha next.

The first and last cars filled quickly. Waved on by a bodyguard, the convoy pulled out into the road, crossed Suvorovskiy and ran a red light into Rozhdestvenskiy Square.

Viktoriya reached for Misha’s hand and squeezed it, nuzzling her face against his black leather jacket, pleased to be free and in the company of her best friend.

He turned to say something, when the car in front disintegrated in a ball of fire. Deafened by the explosion, Viktoriya instinctively covered her ears. Wreckage fell like rain, heavily at first and then light, drifting in the smoke that pushed its way past them. There could be no survivors. The blazing carcass of the stricken Volga blocked the north exit.

‘South exit! Flat down! South exit!’ Ivan bellowed to the driver, who was already flooring the accelerator.

Black smoke rose from the spinning tyres and the car lurched forward, dodging debris. The windscreen shattered. Splintered glass stung her face as bullets thudded into the car. Twenty metres on, the fusillade stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The car behind moved into a blocking space. Ivan leant forward and smashed out what remained of the front windscreen.

Misha slumped forward in his seat, unconscious. Viktoriya grabbed him. Her hands came away wet and sticky with blood.

‘He’s been shot!’ she shouted, but where? It was then, in all the chaos, she saw the bullet wound to his head. She felt for his pulse. He was still alive.

‘Hospital!’ she shouted. Ivan nodded, but they had to survive the square first.

Intuition comes sometimes with divine clarity. Viktoriya knew beyond any doubt that the southern exit to the square was a death sentence. Whoever had planned this attack would expect them to take it.

‘Hard left!’ she screamed over the pounding of the car engine. ‘Hard left, into the square!’ They had to regain the initiative if they were to come out alive.

The driver swung the car through ninety degrees up onto the kerb. Wrenching the gateposts free of their moorings, the half-ton battering ram careered down a wide footpath to the small mountain of boulders that excused itself for a decorative feature. Once covered in alpine flowers, it was now a canvas for anti-police graffiti.

‘Behind that!’ she shouted. ‘We can take cover here. Ivan, the south exit, they’re going to be waiting there.’ She knew they only had seconds before their attackers figured out they had turned off the square.

Ivan jumped out of the car and signalled two men – Iosif and Vladek – from the car behind to follow as Vladimir and Roman shinnied up the rock, Kalashnikovs strapped to their back.

The three ran full tilt out of the square towards the south exit. A grenade whooshed passed Ivan to his left and exploded against the railings as he dived for cover behind a line of parked cars. Iosif ran in behind him, quickly followed by Vladek.

‘Did you see how many?’

Both of them shook their heads.

Ivan counted to three. Vlad and Iosif leapt to their feet and fired of a clip of shells. Ivan clocked the muzzle flash from two guns and a third man on the corner holding a GP-25 grenade launcher.

Using parked cars for cover, Ivan quickly worked his way to within twenty feet of his attackers. He shot the first as he swung an AK towards him, Vladek killed the second. Ivan watched the man with the grenade launcher raise it to his shoulder and Iosif run forward from behind, raise his gun and fire. The rocket grenade man froze and slowly toppled forward onto the pavement. Whether it was the force of the fall or the dead man’s final twitch on the trigger, the percussion cap detonated, sending shards of shrapnel in every direction. Iosif took a chunk in his shoulder and fell to the ground as a fourth man emerged from nowhere. Vladek took advantage of his blind side and loosed a burst from his Kalashnikov. The perpetrator, dead on his feet, smashed into a gate behind him and slid to the pavement.

Iosif stood up, clutching his shoulder, and gave the thumbs-up.

‘Vladek, let’s go… the square… we’ll be back for Iosif.’

Ivan paused at the mangled entrance to the square. Fifty metres to his front he caught sight of the limp figure of Roman dangling precariously from a high boulder he had seen him climb only minutes before. His Kalashnikov hung around his neck like a tourniquet pulling him downward. Blood trickled from his open mouth and his eyes stared unblinking.

Vladek touched Ivan on the shoulder and pointed at the dead body of one of their assailants, lying in the open to the side of a tree. Two others, using the same trees for cover, worked their way forward trying to get behind Vladimir, who was crouched behind a rock only a couple of metres from the dead Roman.

Ivan and Vladek were directly behind them. Neither of the two antagonists noticed their approach. When they were less than ten metres distant, Ivan and Vladek opened up with their automatics and kept firing until the two lay still on the wet grass.

Ivan looked up to the sound of spinning tyres. Two Volgas broke cover from behind the rock and raced forward. Ivan jumped into the first and Iosif and Vladek the second.

‘Vladimir… the Mariinsky!’ Ivan shouted at the second car, as his, with its critically wounded passenger, pulled forward and exited the killing field.

Chapter 45

^CHEREPOVETS

A blanket over his shoulders, wet through and covered in mud, Yuri sat with a mug of hot coffee squeezed between his palms in the officers’ mess at Cherepovets airport. Derevenko sat across the table, making notes while the crash was fresh in his mind.

‘What do you think happened?’ asked Yuri.

‘Fuel line, I guess, never happened before… ruptured, loose? Odd, though, it was inspected this morning. I saw the mechanic on the wing, making an inspection.’ The captain frowned.

‘And…?’

‘He wasn’t one of the usual ground crew. I know them all pretty well, see them every day. This guy was new.’

The double door swung open and a major marched into the room with two soldiers and snapped to attention.

‘General, Captain,’ he addressed the two seated officers.

‘General,’ the major looked awkward, ‘I have a warrant for your detention.’ The two soldiers stepped forward, fingers resting on the trigger guard and safety catch in the fire position. ‘Please hand over your firearm and come with me.’

Yuri rose to his feet, furious.

‘On what charge, Major?’

‘It doesn’t say, General.’

‘This is ridiculous!’ exploded Yuri. ‘Who is it signed by?’

‘Comrade Dubnikov, the minister of defence.’

Yuri inspected the fax now held out to him by the major.

‘Military police are flying out from Moscow later this afternoon to take you back to Moscow.’

‘I want to speak directly to the colonel general, General Ghukov, at the GSHQ.’ He would surely sort this out.

‘General, I have been trying to reach his office for confirmation but he is unavailable. I’m sorry.’

Yuri looked from the major to the two soldiers and shook his head.

‘Give me the fax again.’ He looked at the date and time of the warrant and up at the clock. It had only been issued half an hour ago, a good hour after the crash. Was this their fallback position?

‘Please, this way. I have prepared an office for you, General, rather than the detention cells. You will be under guard, but I hope your stay will be as comfortable as possible given the circumstances.’

The major led him across an expanse of tarmac to the edge of the airfield where a small group of buildings hugged the main gate. The office was on the second floor, thirty feet above ground, its window facing inward to the runway. In the corner a gas heater glowed next to a low armchair, opposite a desk and chair on which was perched a neat pile of clothes: jeans, T-shirt and a heavy sweater.

‘General, I took the liberty of organising you some clean clothes. I think we are pretty much the same size. If you hand your uniform to my men I will have it bagged and returned with you.’

‘Thank you, Major… don’t I recognise you from the military academy… 1986?’

‘Yes, sir, we were on the same course, Organisational Theory and the Army. I remember how your views used to wind up the senior officers.’

‘They still do, Major. I suspect that is why I am here.’

The major looked embarrassed and took his leave, promising to return in an hour or so to check on him. Two soldiers were posted guard in the outside corridor.

Yuri stripped off and changed into dry clothes. They were a good fit. He could almost have been off duty at home. He slumped down in the armchair and rotated his left arm above his head: whiplash, he was beginning to ache, he rubbed his neck. What was going on? he asked himself for the tenth time. And why was Ghukov unresponsive? None of it made sense. There was a knock on the door and the major entered. He looked perplexed. Yuri wondered what had brought him back so quickly; he had been gone for less than half an hour.

‘Have you managed to get hold of the GSHQ, and spoke with General Ghukov?’

‘General Marov… Colonel General Ghukov has been replaced.’

‘By whom?’

‘… General Volkov.’

‘Volkov!’ Yuri was stunned. He could see the major had something further to say. ‘And…?

‘The general secretary has been taken ill in his dacha outside Moscow and the deputy general secretary has temporarily assumed his responsibility… and there’s more, sir… the Western Army has been put on combat-ready alert.’

‘Major, if this is not a coup, I’m my uncle’s aunt. The air crash and now my arrest are just part of this. God knows what has befallen Ghukov. I’ll warrant there are detentions going on all over the Soviet Union as we speak. If the Western Army starts putting down the uprising in East Germany, I don’t think NATO or the Americans will stand by this time… Major, do you want to be on the wrong or right side of history?’

Chapter 46

^LENINGRAD

Viktoriya felt completely numb. Seconds before, the medical team had rushed Misha into the operating theatre, and only the gently flapping doors marked his departure. In the faces around her she read failure and defeat: five men dead, one injured and the man they were paid to protect critical. They had been exposed as weak and unprepared. She had no doubt about who was responsible; it had Kostya’s hallmark. A liability inside a police cell, she was a target outside. And hadn’t he already threatened Misha? Besides, nothing happened in Leningrad without Kostya’s sanction.

Ivan reappeared, white and shaken. Viktoriya wiped the tears off her face.

‘I need to get a grip,’ she said to Ivan but really to herself. She had to bottle up her desperation and the feeling of helplessness. This was not the time nor place for either, not here.

‘How many men can you call on?’

‘Twenty, at most. Most of our men are covering Roslavi and the route to the border, and we have to cover the vault.’

‘Well I suggest you call them in now. We need to secure this hospital.’ A hundred would hardly do it, she thought. The Mariinsky was one gigantic warren of doors and corridors.

‘I blame myself for this. We should never have been so exposed,’ Ivan said, his voice cracking.

‘Misha knew the risks too. We all did. We all do.’

‘Still, it was my job…’

‘It still is, and Misha is still with us. You can’t turn back the clock, but you can stop them finishing the job.’

Ivan looked at her more calmly. ‘You know whose work this is?’

‘I do and he is going to pay for it… now go!’

A cough made her turn. A uniformed police officer introduced himself as Lieutenant Lagunov.

‘I’m sorry,’ he started, ‘this must be very difficult.’ He was mid-forties, with greying brown hair and a neat moustache. ‘Was Mikhail Dimitrivich your partner?’

‘Friend and business partner, yes.’

‘I need to take your statement and then I will leave you in peace.’

The fact that she was surrounded by armed bodyguards did not seem to concern him at all. Shootings had become commonplace. The last place law enforcement officers wanted to be was between two rival factions, particularly if Konstantin were involved. As far as they were concerned, money bought protection and the more money you had, the more protection you needed, which was why she was doubly surprised when he offered to leave two of his men on guard outside his wardroom.

Physically and emotionally exhausted and suffering from lack of sleep, Viktoriya lifted two metal tubular chairs from a stack she found in the waiting room, put her feet up and closed her eyes, opening them occasionally to check on the clock. As hard as she might she found it impossible to nod off; her mind would not stop racing. A gentle hand on her shoulder made her sit up. The surgeon stood over her, his mask pushed down around his neck and his blue theatre gown spotted with blood.

‘He’s still with us,’ the doctor smiled weakly. ‘He took a bullet to the lung and there has been trauma to the brain. We’ve removed all the shrapnel and stopped the bleeding. I’ve given a dose of barbiturates to reduce the intracranial pressure; he’ll be unconscious for some time. We’re just going to have to wait now.’

‘What are his chances, doctor?’ Viktoriya said, almost too afraid to ask.

‘Hard to say. He’s young. The body is a marvellous thing.’

There was a pause.

‘We are not mafia, doctor, if that’s what you’re thinking. The mafia is the reason my friend is here.’

‘I see this every day. Our new-found freedom comes at a price.’ The doctor wrote down his number on a pad he pulled from his white coat. ‘This is my telephone number. If you need to speak with me at any time, just call. They are moving him to a private ward. Someone will come and find you and let you know where. You can see him then.’

Twenty minutes later she followed a nurse to the fourth floor and a private room normally reserved for Communist Party members. Hooked up to an IV and monitor, Misha lay there serene in a clean white gown and fresh head bandage. Viktoriya gently squeezed his warm hand and lowered herself into the leatherette armchair by his bed. What should she do now? The one man she would have naturally turned to for the answer was fighting for his life. And where was Yuri? No one had heard from him. She had to come up with the answer herself. Through the open door, Viktoriya took stock of two of Ivan’s men, heavily armed, standing next to two police officers. She relaxed a little. Ivan brought her a bowl of goulash from the hospital kitchen.

‘I’ve just heard the radio,’ he said, ‘it may explain Yuri’s silence. The general secretary has been taken ill and Gerashchenko has temporarily stepped into the role.’

‘I wonder how many people are buying into that?’ she said. Did this spell the end of perestroika? Would they all soon be fleeing the country? She looked back down again at the face of her helpless friend and fought off the urge to cry.

‘Come on, eat. You haven’t eaten all day.’

Ivan was right. She was hungrier than she thought. After devouring the goulash, she pulled a spare blanket over her and fell instantly asleep.

Viktoriya woke with a start. At first she wondered where she was. Disorientated, it all came flooding back to her. She turned to look at Misha, unconscious in the hospital bed beside her. She got up and stretched her stiff limbs, rubbing her aching back and neck from sleeping awkwardly. Her watch said two in the morning. She walked to the open door.

‘Would you like me to get you a coffee, Vika,’ one of the two bodyguards asked.

‘No, thank you,’ she responded in a cracked voice, ‘a glass of water would be good though.’

The guard disappeared down the corridor towards the small ward kitchen. It was then, with only one man left, she noticed they were missing.

‘Where are the police?’ Viktoriya asked anxiously. ‘Weren’t they supposed to have been on duty?’

‘They left about fifteen minutes ago. They said their replacements would be here shortly,’ the bodyguard replied, sensing that he had missed something.

‘Where’s Ivan?’ Viktoriya demanded.

‘Out in front of the hospital with the others.’

With a rising sense of alarm, she grabbed him by the arm. ‘Go and find him.’

The second bodyguard came back with the glass of water. She took a long gulp knowing that it might be her last for a while.

‘Vladimir, Kostya’s men are coming.’

Viktoriya did not question her intuition. The police had abandoned them, and they weren’t going to be there when Kostya’s men returned and the shooting started.

One guard here and around seven between the ward and exit, she thought; enough to put up a resistance but not to overcome a determined attack. There were too many exits, and there was no way they could cover them all.

Ivan appeared, breathless, gun in hand.

‘We’ve got to get Misha out of this room!’

More bodyguards appeared. Moving Misha might kill him, but staying was certain death.

‘Okay, Vladimir, we need to move Misha to another floor. Disconnect the monitors; be careful not to touch the IV.’

Vladimir waved at a colleague. Carefully they began disconnecting the monitor. A third man quickly arrived as a nurse responding to the flat monitor signal ran into the room.

‘What are you doing? He’s in no state to be moved!’

‘The people who tried to kill him this morning are coming back for him now. They’ll be here any minute,’ said Viktoriya, grabbing hold of one corner of the bed and flipping the wheel locks with her foot.

The nurse looked terrified.

‘We need your help,’ said Viktoriya. ‘We’ve got to get him off this floor, hide him.’

‘There’s an empty ward two floors down. I can show you,’ she said, pulling herself together and checking the IV was properly in place.

‘Thank you,’ said Viktoriya. ‘I’m going to ask you another huge favour,’ she pleaded. ‘We’re not staying in this hospital; it’s too difficult to defend. I need you to come with us.’

‘But I have a ward to look after… this is totally irregular… I am not a doctor. Where are you taking him?’ she protested, no doubt frightened to be caught up in a street killing.

‘There are other nurses on duty tonight. You are not on your own. I’m afraid I can’t give you a choice in this but you will be well rewarded.’ Viktoriya mentioned a number greater than her annual salary.

‘Let me tell the other duty nurse. I’ll need to get medical supplies to take with us. Where are you taking him?’ she asked a second time.

‘I’ll fill you in on the details when we are on our way but you will need enough medical supplies for the night and tomorrow at least.’

Viktoriya turned to Vladimir. ‘Go with her!’ And to the nurse, ‘Don’t give your colleague any details. If the ward needs cover you can have them call one of the off-duty nurses. I’ll make it well worth their while too.’

‘Take him down to floor two, ward six. I’ll be down there in a minute.’ The nurse pointed down the corridor to the service lift.

The security men wheeled the bed out of the room while Vladimir and the nurse headed to the nurses’ room.

Viktoriya walked back into the office and picked up the receiver and dialled. Come on, come on. The phone rang for a minute before it was wrenched out of its cradle. A breathless voice answered.

‘Grigory, I haven’t time to explain. Get yourself over to Morskaya.’ She hung up without giving him the opportunity to respond, and dashed out the room.

The two men’s transit passed unnoticed as they made their way up from the underground staff car park. Moving from floor to floor, gripping automatics concealed underneath green hospital orderly overalls, they headed for the fourth floor. It had not been difficult to find out on which ward Mikhail Revnik had been placed; one call to a police contact had quickly resolved that.

It took them less than five minutes to reach the lift and take it to the fourth floor. Overalls hanging loose and unfastened, fingers tightly round the trigger guards of their automatics, they exited the lift. It was empty; the hallway was deserted.

‘Fourth floor, right?’

The other nodded and pointed at the room number.

The abandoned cardiac monitor stood there flatlining, making its singular high-pitched monotone.

‘Somebody left in a hurry.’

Dashing back into the corridor, they almost bowled over a nurse.

‘Where is Mikhail Revnik?’ the first man asked threateningly. He edged out the barrel of his gun from under his gown. Her eyes travelled up to the lift floor indicator. It rested on two.

‘We haven’t got time, lady.’ He raised the gun and put it to her head. ‘Now where is he?’

She hesitated.

‘I’m going to count to three and then pull the trigger.’

‘It’s probably the second floor… second floor, ward six,’ she stammered.

Ignoring the lift, they took the staircase down to the second floor and listened for the sound of movement. A motorbike zipped by on the road below; a flashing blue light strobed the length of the hallway. Holding their automatics in front of them, they eased out onto the empty, wide, green-lino-covered walkway. Above them a faulty fluorescent light flickered on and off. Flattening themselves against the walls, one on each side, they edged forward, moving door to door, alert to any sound or movement. Two-thirds of the way along, they froze. A chair scraped against the floor. Silently, one of the men pointed to a ward door, three down on the left, very slightly ajar. It was marked with the number six. His partner a few feet ahead of him crept forward and squinted through the narrow aperture. The room was dimly lit. He could make out the edge of a hospital bed and the slim figure of a blonde woman leaning forward, plumping up the patient’s pillow.

Where were the guards? His partner pointed to the swing doors further down. She must have stationed her guards on the other side. Their best escape would be back up the stairway. He held up two fingers indicating the number of people in the room, braced himself and kicked open the door.

A bullet hit him full in the chest, sending him cartwheeling backwards towards the door. Viktoriya was already on her feet by the time the second man rushed into the room; against the back light of the doorway he was a perfect target. Viktoriya squared the barrel of the Makarov to the silhouette and loosed off two shots in rapid succession. Still standing, a look of shock horror on his face, he raised his gun to exact his dying revenge on the woman he knew had killed him. The patient rose from his bed and shot him at almost point-blank range.

A bullet exploded from the chamber of the dead man’s gun. Viktoriya felt a searing pain in her leg.

‘You’ve been hit!’ shouted Ivan, jumping out of the bed.

‘It’s all right, it’s only a scratch… I can have this attended to later.’

They were still half deafened by the close proximity of gunfire. The whole episode could not have lasted more than thirty seconds.

‘There’ll be more from where they came from, and others outside. We’ve got to get Misha out of here quickly,’ Viktoriya said, as two of their own men appeared from the corridor.

‘We need an ambulance.’

Two doors down, a nurse attended Misha guarded by two security men.

‘Where is the ambulance bay?’ she asked urgently of the nurse who was clearly terrified by the thunderous exchange. ‘Look, we are all going to get out of here,’ Viktoriya reassured her, ‘but you’ve got to focus now,’ she said calmly.

‘On the east side of the hospital.’ The nurse clicked the ward phone disconnect bar up and down and was quickly put through to the ambulance bay. A voice she recognised answered. ‘Albert, we have an emergency. We need to transfer a patient to the Aleksandrovskaya Hospital.’

‘Okay, Ivan, let’s clear the men to a less obvious distance for the ambulance crew and lock the other room. We don’t need any more complications right now.’

Chapter 47

^CHEREPOVETS

Yuri stood looking out of the window towards the runway and the fire crews still pouring water on the smouldering wreckage. Repair gangs cleared debris from the runway, filling gashes with steaming asphalt. A small crane manoeuvred itself into position and lifted a piece of wing that lay diagonally across the edge of the runway. A man waved it forward onto the muddy grass verge where it summarily deposited its load. There clearly wasn’t going to be any investigation, not of any meaning. How long would it take before they had the airstrip operational, Yuri thought, before the military police arrived? At most an hour or two at the rate they were progressing. And when they did arrive, how would he be sure they were who they said they were and had not been despatched by one of the clandestine services?

The crash and his arrest were not a coincidence, of that he was certain, and if they had tried to kill him once, wouldn’t they just finish the job? That would be much tidier than having a three-star general locked up in some prison or reinvented gulag. He had to escape, but how? He checked the window. Only a flimsy plastic downpipe, hanging off loose guttering, provided any means of descent to the concrete surface thirty feet below. And that was only if he could open the badly corroded window that had been glued into its frame with grey gloss paint. No, that would be fatal. The downpipe looked ready to detach itself from the wall without any help from him.

The sound of the door opening made him turn.

‘Captain?’

Derevenko stood in the doorway, a parka jacket in his hand.

‘Put this on, General.’ Yuri caught it and quickly pulled it on. ‘The major has given us a twenty minute start before he raises the alarm.’

There was no time to ask questions. Yuri flipped up his hood and followed Derevenko out the door. Save for a military jeep, the large open area between the building and the gatehouse was deserted, the guards gone. Fifty metres ahead, the security barrier stood raised and the sentry box abandoned.

For a moment Yuri wondered if it was a trap. Was it all part of an elaborate ruse? Shot while trying to escape. It would make life much simpler for whoever wanted him out the way. He looked over at Derevenko, who waved a set of car keys in the air.

‘Courtesy of the major, General,’ said Derevenko smiling.

‘You do not have to do this, Captain; you don’t have to get involved. You saved me once today already.’

‘I think I am, General. They didn’t mind killing me and my crew to get to you. That is what that was about?’

Yuri nodded. ‘As sure as I can be.’

Yuri jumped into the passenger seat as Derevenko gunned the engine. Seconds later they were through the gate headed towards Cherepovets.

‘So we can go any number of ways: Moscow, Leningrad, or east to Yekaterinburg. Russia is your oyster.’

‘Derevenko handed Yuri a map from the side pocket.

‘The MPs land in about an hour according to the major. They are going to be close on our heels.’

‘I have a bad feeling about them.’

Yev pointed to the front compartment.

Yuri reached forward and flipped open the lid, picked up his automatic and released the magazine clip. It was fully loaded. The major had not let him down after all. Which way to go? Leningrad and Moscow were a similar distance, maybe five hundred kilometres, he guessed. North-west to Leningrad, Viktoriya and a boat to Finland, or due south to Moscow, and whatever awaited him there. Leningrad and perpetual exile; the capital, arrest or the chance to clear his name. There was no real choice.

‘Moscow, it has to be, Yev.’

Derevenko nodded. ‘Offence is the best defence. You can’t play dead with these boys.’

Yuri opened the road map; west or east of the reservoir and Sheksna River? West was a little longer but took them out of the conurbation that much quicker, and if they had to beat a retreat they would be on the right side of the globe to head north to Leningrad.

‘A114, then south, Ustyuzhna…’

‘Kalinin, Klin…’

‘You’ve got it,’ said Yuri. He looked at his watch: it was nearly ten. ‘We can switch driving after an hour or so. We don’t want to be falling asleep at the wheel after what we’ve both been through.’

Snow began to fall.

‘They said there was early snow on the way,’ said Derevenko.

‘Let’s see how far we get?’

Chapter 48

Viktoriya watched the nurse and ambulance crew gently slide their hands under Misha and lift him delicately onto the hospital trolley. He had shown no sign of regaining consciousness. The nurse reassured her that this was intentional – a barbiturate-induced coma, she called it. The brain needed time to heal. All the same, she worried that her best friend might be a different person when and if he did eventually resurface. She bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Ivan, we need to split up, or they are going to spot us. You can lend me Vladek and take the rest of the men downstairs to the cars.’

Ivan extracted an automatic from his holster and handed it to her.

‘I know you know how to use this. I’ll see you downstairs by the ambulance exit ramp.’

Viktoriya donned a nurse’s uniform and tucked her hair securely under a white cap. The nurse adjusted her apron.

‘Perfect,’ she said, smoothing the fabric over Viktoriya’s shoulders. She handed her a mask and told her to hook it over her ears and pull it down so it partially obstructed her face.

Viktoriya saw Vladek on the brink of making some wisecrack.

‘And no smart comments from you,’ she said, smiling for the first time she could remember that day.

Vladek handed her gun back. She lifted her apron and secured it firmly under her belt and prayed she wouldn’t have to use it for the second time that night.

‘Are we all set?’

The nurse and two ambulance men nodded. Squeezed between a rock and a generous bonus, the two ambulance men had fallen quickly into line. Viktoriya would deal with the driver when they were safely on board.

The hospital was a maze of intersecting corridors. It was easy to become quickly disorientated. Viktoriya looked for a reassuring sign and began to worry that the nurse might have tipped off the police.

‘Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine… just get me back here tomorrow,’ said the nurse, clearly sensing her anxiety.

Viktoriya guessed she was more used to dealing with critical situations than most.

Five more minutes of twisting and turning and they came out unopposed on the pick-up bay. An ambulance slipped the rank and stopped next to the trolley. Viktoriya warned the nurse not to say anything to the driver; their destination was the Aleksandrovskaya. Up at the exit, two armed men she didn’t recognise had stopped an ambulance and were peering in.

‘A lot going on… don’t know what it’s all about. The duty chief called the police but that was an hour ago,’ said the driver.

The nurse slid in next to the driver and Viktoriya next to her by the window. Vladek jumped into the back with Misha and the two paramedics. The driver frowned, no doubt irritated by the number of passengers, switched on the blue flashing light, and drove up to the exit.

An armed guard stepped off the kerb in front of the ambulance. He was stocky, and Viktoriya estimated late twenties, with a shaved head and wearing a metal-studded black biker jacket. The driver wound down the window.

‘We’re in a hurry,’ the driver complained. ‘Get out of my way, you’ve no business here.’

The other guard came round to the driver’s window and waved his gun at the cab.

‘Not so fast, old man. Who have you got on board?’

The nurse leaned forward and gave a name, not Misha’s. ‘This is an emergency. We need to get our patient to the Aleksandrovskaya Hospital urgently.’

Close up, Viktoriya recognised the gunman who had come round to her side as one of Kostya’s men from the club. He clearly hadn’t recognised her, but she didn’t think it would be long before he saw through the disguise. She covered the side of her face closest to him with her hand and picked up a clipboard from the open glove compartment and studied it.

‘Artem, go and check in the back.’

The man in front walked round towards the rear of the vehicle. Viktoriya rested the clipboard on her lap and felt for the handle of the automatic, flicking the safety catch to fire. Her left hand fell and gently pushed the nurse back an inch or two when the gunman looked back towards Artem.

The ambulance sank a fraction on its suspension as the second gunman clambered into the back. From the front, she heard him ask for the patient’s card. Viktoriya tensed. He shouted the name out the back. It was the same name the nurse had given a minute before. The gunman stepped back a foot or so as his partner jumped down from the back and slammed the rear door closed. Viktoriya relaxed a little. He was going to let them through.

The driver reached for the handbrake as the gunman looked Viktoriya straight in the eye. A flicker of recognition crossed his face and he opened his mouth to shout. Viktoriya yanked the gun from her belt, leaned across the nurse and driver and shot him square in the chest as he struggled to turn his Kalashnikov in her direction.

‘Let’s get out of here!’ she yelled.

The driver, needing no encouragement, floored the accelerator.

Kostya’s man had virtually no time to react. Viktoriya watched as Ivan and two of his men appeared at the top of the ramp and cut him down.

They cleared the hospital, took the next corner and slowed to a gentler pace. Ivan’s second car tucked in behind.

‘Why so slow?’ cried Viktoriya.

‘You want a dead-on-arrival, or not? Where are we going then? I guess it’s not the Aleksandrovskaya Hospital.’

Chapter 49

^{NEAR KALININ}

Yuri pulled up two hours out of Kalinin The snow that had been falling steadily until then had gathered pace in the last ten minutes. Twice they had nearly left the road, visibility reduced to a few metres. White powdery drifts leaned against the forest edge.

‘What do you think?’ asked Yuri. ‘You’re the pilot.’

‘I thought you were the tank commander… this is pretty wild. Maybe we should pull up until first light. At least they won’t be sending up helicopters after us in this weather.’

A dirt track led off the road into the forest. Yuri took it and steered the jeep through the thickening snow until he reached a second fork. Left or right? He plumped for right. No wonder this vehicle was called the goat, Yuri thought, as the tyres negotiated the thick snow and ice.

Surrounded by dense wood, three hundred metres in, Yuri found what he was looking for – a small log cabin, probably used by local loggers or trappers.

‘Had to be something up here,’ said Yuri.

Yuri climbed out of the jeep and flipped up his collar against the intruding snow. The cabin looked abandoned, but this late it was difficult to tell. He sniffed the air; there was no telltale smell of burning wood, no glow from inside. Derevenko got out the other side and shrugged his shoulders.

The pair trudged the final twenty metres to the raised porch.

‘See anything?’

Yev rubbed off the ice etched onto the window and shone the torch inside. He shook his head. Walking back to the jeep, Yuri rummaged around the boot until he found the puncture repair kit, extracted a tyre lever and forced open the cabin door.

Inside, it was dry, if not spartan. A bunk, a gas cooker with no cylinder, and a small wooden table, covered in candle wax, with four heavily repaired chairs were the sum total of its contents. An old oil can, cut into two, sat on the dusty hearth of an open fireplace and served as a box for kindling. Yuri picked up a small brittle branch and snapped it in two.

Yuri shrugged. ‘Probably better than the car. There’s firewood under the porch outside. I think we’re safe to light up.’

In less than ten minutes a roaring fire burned in the hearth. Yuri and Derevenko sat facing the heat, tucking into the piroshky pastries provided courtesy of the major. For the first time since the morning, Yuri relaxed. Maybe he could sit out the winter here, live the simple life, fish in the ice-covered river, hunt deer.

‘Do you have a dacha, General?’

‘No, but my grandparents and parents did outside Yekaterinburg, where I was born. It has gone now, but it brings back good memories.’ Yuri thought of the lake and golden autumnal forest that rose from its edge and rolled back over soft undulating hills.

‘Some history there.’

‘My grandmother saw the Tsarina shortly before they were all murdered. She worked as a maid in a neighbouring house and heard the gunfire that night. Odd when you think of it. It wasn’t that long ago, generationally.’

‘And now, Moscow… where do you think we will go from here – politically, I mean?’ the captain asked.

‘I’ve been thinking the same question… the general secretary is the revolutionary now. He understands things have to change if the country is to move forward. And the communists? The smart ones – they understand he is their nemesis. They can’t both survive. Have you been to Western Europe, Captain?’

The captain shook his head.

‘Well, it’s a revelation.’ Yuri thought of his visits to Switzerland during the Afghan pull-out negotiations and the journey from there to Milan and RUI’s office. ‘The average citizen does not struggle for the bare necessities of life. More than that… the choice… the freedom… go where you want… buy what you want… of course, if you have the money.’

‘And you, General, how are you caught up in all this?’

‘I’m a revolutionary.’ And he laughed, not quite having put it like that before. ‘I’m not alone.’

‘But one of the more… influential.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Would you consider going into politics, General?’

‘I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.’

The captain passed Yuri the bottle of vodka. They were silent for a moment. Yuri took a swig as he leaned forward and threw another log on the fire.

‘We could just sit this, whatever-it-is, out, General. Wait until the dust settles. You could make a decision then… stay or go. Rumour has it you have money… according to the major anyway… you could leave the country… but I suspect that is not what you are going to do.’

‘True, Yev.’

He was not going to be an exile. He had to get back to Moscow, figure out what was going on.

Chapter 50

^LENINGRAD

‘No Adriana?’ said Vdovin, clearly disappointed not to have seen her on his way down to Konstantin’s office.

‘She’s doing penance, courtesy of the GUVD.’ Konstantin decided not to elaborate. She was finished one way or another as far as he was concerned.

Vdovin shrugged and pulled a long face. ‘Well it was good while it lasted, still—’

‘So what’s the state of play?’ Konstantin interrupted.

‘The general secretary is under house arrest at his dacha outside Moscow… and refuses to sign his letter of resignation… Ghukov has been replaced by Volkov, and the Americans have been told not to interfere in our European sphere. The deputy secretary is going to speak to the nation and give them the sad news that our general secretary is in a critical condition, which of course is true.’ Vdovin laughed at his own joke.

‘And General Marov?’

‘On the run. The KGB is going to take care of that upstart.’ Konstantin saw the look of distaste on the general’s face. ‘Speaking of which, Misha Revnik is still alive.’

‘Barely. I don’t think he will be causing anyone any trouble soon.’

‘Well, my friend is not happy.’

‘You can tell your friend that everyone else on that list is taken care of. I have four people in a warehouse by Pulkova. They have no idea what is going on. I’ll need to know what to do with them. They can’t stay there forever.’

Vdovin nodded. ‘You need help with Revnik?’

Konstantin did not want the military involved. There was money at Morskaya Prospect, tons of it. They’d sack the place.

‘No, I’ll deal with Revnik.’ And Viktoriya, he thought. She had certainly given him a run for his money, proved more resourceful and lethal than he had anticipated. When she, her half-dead friend and general were gone, RUI would be his. It was more or less going to plan.