Birth of an Assassin Page 23

  He’d be on a front line somewhere, or behind enemy lines doing what he knew best. But if that had happened, he wouldn’t have been reunited with Anna... Hold onto that thought.

  Captain Makovich happened to be in the foyer when they arrived. “Ah, Sergeant Mayakovski,” he said, and greeted Jez like an old friend.

  “Captain, how are you? This is Lieutenant Puchinskaya, my line officer.”

  Anna formally saluted and Jez continued.

  “I’m afraid we have to go through the same routine, Captain, with your permission of course.”

  “It isn’t a problem, come.”

  Makovich instructed the switchboard to contact Petrichov, but this time he handed the phone to Anna before he left.

  “Good morning, General,” she said. “I have Mayakovski with me now and he has cooperated fully over the previous three days… Yes, General, fairly sure… No, not yet, sir, I think we should stay another few days to be certain… but, General… yes, sir… of course, sir… goodbye, General.” Anna clattered the receiver back onto the cradle.

  “He doesn’t think my innocence is probable?” Jez shrugged.

  “Wha – Oh no, nothing like that, it’s just that he wants us to return to Moscow tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” Jez smiled, but felt sad.

  They headed towards the river, searching for food and somewhere to eat it.

  “There isn’t much I can tell you really,” she said. “I wanted to stretch it out for another couple of days, so we would have time together. But he wasn’t having any of it.”

  “Anna,” he said, covering her lips with his index finger, “I love you.” He kissed her softly. “I will get through this, and when I do, I’ll retire. The army hasn’t been as loyal to me as I would have hoped.”

  “Then run,” she said, with a passion that startled him. “Let’s go now. We can head south through the Ukraine and leave our troubles behind. Start again – together.”

  Dumbfounded, he didn’t know how to respond, and just for that moment he wondered if she was testing him. But it wouldn’t make any difference. He’d have to win justice for Viktor at any cost.

  “It’s a wonderful thought,” he told her, “but there are too many issues, too many things that must be laid to rest. No, we have to see this out.”

  Anna gazed intensely into his eyes. Her perpetual defences fell away and a pool of tears formed. “This is one of the things I fell in love with you for – your simple, balanced outlook of right and wrong. Like when you broke the trainer’s arm because of what he had in mind for me. But I’m worried this time it could be the death of you.”

  “You love me…?”

  They lunched. They wandered. Late afternoon came and Anna wanted to bathe and change for dinner. Walking hand in hand, the glow from a fading sun lit up the deciduous trees that lined the river bank. Burnt sienna reflected on bare branches and made them blush like dying embers. A sun without warmth and a temperature dropping fast. Fallen snow crunched underfoot but all around emitted a peaceful radiance.

  Later, in Anna’s bed, they didn’t make love. They lay in quiet embrace, Jez thinking of what lay ahead.

  Chapter 42

  Jez let his mind dwell on the ceiling’s dull paint rather than think about his recent nightmares. But those thoughts wouldn’t stay down: whatever happened, he would achieve justice for Viktor.

  Anna came out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel, turban style. “We still have time to travel south,” she said. He sighed. She looked desperate again. “Please think about it. I promise this isn’t a test. No tricks. I’m telling you what’s in my heart, and I think we should run.”

  Vertical tracks forged between his eyebrows. “We’ve already been through this, Anna. I do trust you, but I’ve made my decision.”

  “But I don’t think you’ve thought it out properly. From what I can see, Mitrokhin has high-ranking contacts everywhere and I don’t think even Petrichov can save you. The captain has the guile of a fox and his cunning outwits us all. Please, Jez,” she implored, “go with me now.”

  He got off the bed and embraced her. “I don’t know why you’ve become so worried. I’d never imagined you like this, but whether what you say is true or not, I won’t run. I must win justice for Viktor – and for me, come to that. Viktor has been murdered and I’ve been set up to look like his killer.”

  Anna wept against his chest, and he couldn’t figure why. Of what he knew about her, it was totally out of character.

  “I want you to remember this,” she sobbed. “And I’m speaking from the heart. No matter what happens, this is what is real and this is the memory I want you to hold onto. I love you, Jez, I love you.”

  Baffled, he realized that having a real relationship with a woman was an enigma. Her declaration seemed distressed rather than tender. The only way he could think of handling this was to let it go straight over his head.

  “And I love you, Anna, but I must go back.”

  *

  Outside the hotel the snow lay thick, and despite the best efforts of a heavy blanket of cloud, the cold had worked its way through.

  “I’m glad I packed the ski jacket. Cold or not, this suitcase has me overheating. I know you’ve put my stuff in with yours, but what a weight.”

  “Just girl things,” she smiled, and stepped out ahead.

  “That’s right, don’t wait for me. Oh…” he said, almost stopping, “I forgot to pay for my lodgings at the hotel.”

  She turned and raised an eyebrow. He grinned.

  “You’re right, all the troubles I’ve got and I should worry about paying for a room. I’ll let the state sort it out.”

  She laughed.

  They trudged through the snow until they came to Railway Station Square – part of Stalin’s rebuild of the city. Anna wore the same azure coat with fur trimmings and fur hat as on the second day of their reunion, and he wondered how such a beautiful woman could really be interested in him.

  “You look like a film star dressed like that, but aren’t you worried someone might be following?”

  She tutted. “You seem to be worrying enough for both of us.”

  She was so avant-garde, maybe she hadn’t carried out as many missions as she’d suggested. “Oh well, nearly there,” he said.

  She smiled sadly.

  He stopped to cross an avenue near a trolley rank. Six or seven people queued closely together, ankle-deep in snow, exhaling frosted breath as they waited for their ride. At last, a lull in the traffic. Anna went ahead. Jez kept a half metre behind, but something jarred his senses. Above the din of the city an explosion rang out. He turned to the direction of the noise and then looked at Anna. A hole had opened and blossomed in the back of her coat. His heart seemed to stop beating. She’d been shot and he couldn’t move. The force of the bullet had arched her back. She spun to face him, stumbled, eyes widened in shock.

  The crowd at the trolley rank scattered in panic and shrill screams pierced his ears. But still, he couldn’t move – Anna.

  Chapter 43

  CRACK! Another shot. Anna hit the ground with a spastic movement and then her face lost expression. He was in shock. He wanted to help, but what could he do? Blood marred the purity of the white snow. She must be dead, but there was no time to check. A third shot ricocheted off the sidewalk. His mind began to work – a Dragunov sniper rifle. It sounded like a Dragunov – but what about Anna? No, be professional, the time for a professional to grieve would come later – MOVE!

  He ran, keeping as close to the buildings as possible, so that it would be difficult for the shooter to get a line on him. He headed towards the block where he believed the shots had come from and turned off into an alley, crossing through to the next main avenue. There were other pedestrians, so he slowed, attempted to blend in. Without planning, he’d kept hold of Anna’s suitcase. Even in panic, he’d had the presence of mind to know that the loaded Tokarev and spare ammunition were in it.

  Ten minutes of walking brought him
to the front of St Mary’s Catholic cathedral. He hadn’t been heading there, but unintentionally returned by the route he and Anna had just walked. If the gunman had followed from the hotel, he might be retracing the same steps. Jez had to come out of this haze and get back to front-line thinking.

  The iron railings perched on the church’s dwarf walling ended at some concrete pillars. A double-gated access between was left unlocked. He pushed it open, drawing quarter-circles in the snow that lay deep and virginal. The heavy door gave way to a push and he went into the church. Empty, but he already knew it would be because of the snow. His boots squelched as he walked down the centre aisle; he passed between pews, and then behind the altar and into a backyard.

  It was a courtyard with a blind alley on the opposite side that led back to the church. He put the suitcase down at the end of the passage, under a stained glass window, and slid down the wall until he sat on the case. With elbows on knees, he wrapped his arms around his head and let a howling moan erupt from his tortured soul. His heart banged miserably against the confines of his chest and he wept convulsively. She’d asked him to make a run for it. Why hadn’t he listened?

  Not moving for several hours, grief broke with a sudden surge of uncontrollable shaking. The trauma kick-started his brain and he knew that if he didn’t stir soon, hypothermia would step in. The ski coat was in the case. He took it out, put it on and rummaged for the Tokarev pistol and ammunition. Another gun, a PB 6P9 pistol, lay alongside his. Why had Anna needed a pistol with a silencer?

  He rummaged further: spare bullets and three throwing knives similar to what he favored in the field. He detached the sound suppresser and put the weapons in various pockets to weight the coat evenly. There could be more useful stuff, so he went through her personal belongings and found a roll of cash, a large roll. He pocketed the money. Without logical thoughts in his head, instinct told him to take anything and everything that might be of use. He resealed the case and left it in front of the altar.

  Because of his earlier oversight, he still had the Glebski alter ego renting the hotel room and he needed somewhere to recover his thoughts. Darkness had fallen around mid-afternoon and the snow reflected a dimmed whiteness that fought alone against the gloomy twilight. He hurried his footsteps, desperately needing a place to lay his head, hide his horror, and calm the panic that disrupted his every thought.

  *

  “Ah, Comrade Glebski,” the receptionist said, greeting him with a bright smile. “The manager has asked me to find out how long you’ll be staying. We have a convention next week and he wants to quantify how many rooms will be available.”

  “Oh, yes.” He hesitated. “Another two nights, I think. Will that be a problem?”

  “Not at all, I’ll make a note of it. Oh no, sorry, let me get your key first.” She turned and stretched her slender body on tiptoe to take the key from the top of the key cupboard. “Did you hear of the commotion in Station Square this morning?”

  “No, I’ve been out in the suburbs. Why, what happened?”

  “Well, apparently a man and woman argued as they approached the square, and for no more reason than that, the man pulled a revolver and shot her.”

  “No!” It came out too loud. The receptionist looked taken aback. He swallowed. “Really, people never fail to shock me.”

  Her surprised expression dissolved. “Yes.”

  “Did he kill her?” he asked with a tinge of hope in his voice.

  “No one knows. After he shot her, a car drove up and took them both away.”

  Hopes faded. “How do you know all this?”

  “The police have virtually swamped the city. They came here looking for someone called Mayakovski, but nobody had heard of him. But them coming here is how I know; one of the policemen told me.”

  “Well, if you got it straight from them, it must be true.”

  Unclear how he’d managed to keep up the charade, his bones rattled from the cold and his very marrow pained him. His legs felt like they would buckle beneath him. Anna had been shot and taken. Mitrokhin would have snatched her body in case she had an incriminating file with her. The thoughts tore him apart, but he had to remain professional. He had to deal with it.

  Wearily, he climbed the stairs, his mind in chaos. Why had the local authorities said he’d got in the car? Why did they say a revolver was used when it was clearly a rifle? In his room, he closed the door and leant wearily against it. Whatever might happen in the future, right now he was exhausted and needed sleep.

  *

  For two days, his thoughts wallowed in fear and grief. Mitrokhin had outsmarted them all. Jez should run. But why? Without Anna, what was there to live for? And she did die at the station, he knew it. To live in hope that Mitrokhin might have kept her alive would cause him to make mistakes – he had to accept she was dead. Much as he wanted to believe otherwise, she was dead.

  Time strengthened his resolve. He would lie low until he was stronger mentally. He’d travel east and get fitter on the way. More importantly, when the time came he would kill Mitrokhin.

  Chapter 44

  Otto gestured wildly as he went towards the Kremlin with Andrei. “What the fuck does the general want now?” He brushed a hand over his flat-top and glowered. “Petrichov’s a pain in the ass. I’m only glad I don’t work for him full time.”

  Andrei made a straight line with his lips, raised his eyebrows and nodded.

  “You wait here, I won’t be too long.” He put a hand on his sergeant’s arm and indicated a chair in the hallway. “I hope,” he said, and shook his head.

  As he sat, Andrei gave a conciliatory smile while Otto knocked and entered without the courtesy of waiting. Petrichov sat behind his desk with a scowl on his face, not anger, more distress. And the bitch wasn’t here. Not that Otto cared what he felt or where the girl was, he just wanted this done.

  “I assume that sending for me means you have news about Kornfeld, General?” There couldn’t be any other reason – could there? Suddenly, his mind clouded as it ran through other possibilities.

  Petrichov drummed his thick, nicotined fingers on the corner of the desk.

  “Yes, it does. A week ago Kornfeld got in touch with me from Minsk. He protested his innocence and went as far as to say he could prove it.”

  Petrichov looked uncomfortable and Otto squirmed. What had the Jew said? Hot under the collar, he wanted to scratch the itch it brought. The Jew had known something after all – something incriminating? The general deliberated forever.

  Ready to make a quick exit, Otto rested a hand on his holster flap. But he had to sweat it out; he couldn’t be sure of anything yet. Why the fuck didn’t Petrichov just get on with it?

  The pause lingered, but eventually Petrichov continued. “I saw no clear reason why he might be lying, so I sent Lieutenant Puchinskaya to debrief him. I couldn’t send you because the so-called proof shifted the blame in your direction.”

  Shit, he clicked the button on the flap.

  “But at the end of three days of interrogation in Minsk, for no clear reason, and before Puchinskaya had a chance to report back to me, Kornfeld shot the lieutenant down and drove off with her body… Clearly, there was no proof.”

  Otto saw the lips move, tried paying attention to what the man had said, but the words refused to make sense. “What?” was all he could muster. He couldn’t believe his ears: the Jew had shot Petrichov’s aide.

  When the words came together, he wanted to laugh. He clicked the gun flap shut. “Was she dead? Why take the body? And if Puchinskaya was sent to debrief him, why on earth would he kill her…?” Then he remembered the report – she’d written it, and it had been damning. “Was there some sort of history between them?” With a straight face, he kept his words monotone, but the news made him the happiest he’d been since he’d lost Adrik.

  “I don’t know if you knew, but Kornfeld is a Jew. Not important in itself, but a couple of years ago his sisters took part in a demonstration demanding rights f
or their kind. Given the task of breaking up the demonstration, he found his family amongst them. But instead of turning them in for interrogation, he smuggled them out of the country.”

  Otto got a kick watching Petrichov wriggle as he told his tale.

  “Lieutenant Puchinskaya had followed him and reported his escapades to me. I had the file stored here in the Kremlin. Somehow, Kornfeld must’ve found out about its existence and who had written it. Already wanted for murder, he knew he was on the road to Hell. The only explanation I can come up with is that he lied about the evidence to set up his revenge.”

  Petrichov took a moment.

  “And as for taking the body, after a three-day debriefing, maybe she was carrying a file that added to his guilt; or maybe she’s still alive and shooting her wasn’t enough for him. Anyway, I haven’t asked you here to listen to what I think. Your orders have changed. I want you to give your full time, and I mean full time, to getting Kornfeld. I don’t care how he comes back, dead or alive. It makes no difference to me.”

  Otto could have yelled out with joy. If he’d been given time to work on it he couldn’t have planned a better outcome. “Of course, General, trust me, I’ll get him.”

  He left the office and almost yanked Andrei from the chair as he moved through the hall. “Have I got news for you,” he said, sounding almost hysterical.

  They left the confines of the Kremlin, and by the time they’d reached Dzerzhinski Square, he’d given Andrei the full story.

  “I suppose that’s good news,” Andrei said, but looked puzzled. “But I thought you agreed not to get too close, and anyway, it still doesn’t put you any nearer to catching Kornfeld.”

  “Ah, but it does give me the authority to go after him without worrying about Petrichov. I did agree to step away from the problem, you’re right, but now we can’t transfer; and Petrichov has given me express orders to track the Jew down. What else can I do?” He held out his hands in innocence. “Look on the bright side. The trafficking investigation has just taken a back seat, and letting us off that hook means we can use everything at our disposal to make sure the job on Kornfeld is done properly this time.”