The Carnival Master

5.

Maria had realised, in those cold, dark, isolated hours, that she needed a sharp cutting edge to succeed in any attack. She had planned to sharpen the spoon, but that had been taken away along with, for a while, all hope. Then she had realised that, of course, she did have a sharp-edged weapon. It was just that using it had taken her to a place that was beyond human.

The grey-white walls were splashed with arcs of arterial blood. Sarapenko now reached out to Maria, desperate to touch another human being as she died. The spurts from her neck weakened: the outstretched hand dropped onto the grubby floor. Shakily, Maria dragged herself to her feet and wiped the blood from her mouth and face with the back of her sleeve. She took the automatic from its holster on Sarapenko’s body, trying not to look at the face stripped of its beauty. The face that she had ravaged. But Maria felt no horror. Again, it was as if she were unreal; simply watching herself. She staggered out into the main part of the unit, swinging Sarapenko’s automatic wildly around. There was no one. No Nose. Maria saw where the row of surveillance monitors still sat: now blank dark eyes. She ripped drawers from their runners, tore open cabinets until she found three more clips for the automatic, plus the two guns they had taken from her. There was a wastebasket in the corner and she frantically tossed its contents out onto the floor. She found a half-eaten roll, sodden with discarded coffee, with a shred of meat left inside. She stuffed it into her mouth and swallowed it half chewed, its stale flavour mingling with the lingering taste of Sarapenko’s blood in her mouth.

The Nose came in through the main door at the end of the unit, carrying a large box. The instant he saw Maria he dropped the box and reached into his leather jacket. Maria walked deliberately and unhurriedly towards him. She heard several gunshots and felt Sarapenko’s gun kick in her outstretched grasp. The Nose sank to his knees, hit in his chest and left flank. His hand cleared his jacket and Maria fired twice more into his body. His gun clattered to the floor. Maria kicked the automatic out of his reach. He looked up at her, his breath coming in short gasps. Maria knew that he was seriously wounded and would die if he didn’t get hospital treatment immediately. She guessed he knew that as well. He tried to stand up but Maria shoved him back onto the floor with her boot.

‘Where’s the swap supposed to take place?’ she asked.

‘What swap?’ he said between laboured breaths.

Maria lowered her aim and fired again. He screamed as his right kneecap shattered, his jeans turning black-red as the blood soaked into them.

‘I’m supposed to be swapped for something,’ said Maria, still calm. ‘My guess is the Vitrenko Dossier. Where’s the meet and who with?’

‘Fuck you…’

‘No,’ Maria said wearily. ‘Fuck you.’ She leaned forward and aimed the muzzle at his forehead.

‘Near the cathedral,’ said The Nose. ‘On the corner of Komodienstrasse and Tunisstrasse. With Fabel.’

‘Jan Fabel?’

‘He’s supposed to hand over a copy of the dossier in exchange for you.’

‘When?’

‘Rose Monday. When the procession is passing.’

‘Thank you,’ said Maria. ‘You’ll die if you don’t get help. Do you have a cellphone?’

‘In my pocket.’

Maria shoved the gun’s muzzle into his cheek while she dug into his leather jacket with the other hand, retrieved the phone and put it into her own pocket. Then, with all her remaining strength and ignoring his screams of agony, she dragged The Nose by the collar of his jacket across the floor and into the storeroom. She dumped him next to the body of Olga Sarapenko and left him there.

‘Like I said…’ Maria regarded the Ukrainian coldly as she slid the cold-store door shut. ‘Fuck you.’