66 Metres (38 page)

‘The transfer,' he said flat, to Cheng Yi.

She watched the exchange, and then she understood the final touch to the plan. ‘He's already paid you,' she said. ‘The money's in your Swiss account.'

Kadinsky leaned forward, his head flushed, his features all bunched up. Cheng Yi sat there, smug. ‘Continue,' he said, addressing Nadia.

‘I only just worked it out.' She wished Jake was here. Or maybe his MI6 handler. ‘Nuclear submarines have their targets pre-coded. Even the Rose can't just dial in and give any nuclear sub a fresh set of coordinates. So, you need a sub that has London in its targeting database. A Russian submarine, for example.'

Again she watched Cheng Yi's eyes. But this time she was off track. She reminded herself that he wasn't the client, he was the buyer. The client wasn't a government, but was someone secret, with significant resources… who would go to extraordinary lengths to remain anonymous. Perhaps a person who held a grudge against Britain for some reason. If a Russian sub attacked the UK, the UK would respond, inevitably abetted by America. It could lead to all out nuclear war. Cheng Yi didn't look the insane type, or someone who would work for a reckless maniac bent on world destruction. She turned it around in her head.

‘Oh my God,' she said. ‘A UK sub. You're going to get a UK sub to attack Russia!'

Now she had Kadinsky's attention. He butted in. ‘Why?'

‘Because then Russia will retaliate. In the heat of the moment, no one will aid Britain because they'll be seen as the aggressor.' Brilliant. Ruthless. And totally unacceptable. She couldn't let it happen. Her and Katya's lives weren't worth this!

Dammit, Jake had been right all along.

Cheng Yi did a slow, theatrical clap, spilling more ash. ‘If circumstances were different, I would offer you a job. Professor Laney, the Rose's architect, was as brilliant as he was arrogant. The Rose only works for certain on British submarines. How could he test it on any others?'

Cheng Yi was right. But she saw what was coming. She turned to Kadinsky. ‘You're going to be the fall guy for all of this. That's why he's already paid you. Pyotr Aleksandrovich Kadinsky will go down in history as the man who unleashed nuclear war in Europe.'

For the first time ever, she read uncertainty in Kadinsky's features. He was fiddling with his Rolex. And then she recalled that Kadinsky loved his gadgets. It's not just a watch. He's communicating with his men. Because he, too, now realises that none of us are getting off this ship except as fish food.

Cheng Yi took one last inhale, and then held the cigarette out to his left, poised above the floor. She knew what it was. The signal. Telling the sniper to get ready. Who? All of them? But who first? With her right hand, she tapped Lazarus' giant thigh twice. His hands stayed where they were, but only with the lightest contact.

‘Well, this has all been very interesting,' Cheng Yi said. ‘And my client thanks you for your services. But our business is now concluded.'

She did a quick assessment. Could she make it to the blind spot in time? She glanced at the Rose. And the table. Glass. Reflections. Cover. But she was out of time. They all were.

Cheng Yi let the cigarette fall from his fingers.

‘Now!' she shouted, and dived below the table, scooping up the Rose as she hit the deck.

Kadinsky shot up out of his chair, his right arm flicking upwards as if he had a weapon. But there was a ‘pfft' sound and the tiniest tinkling. A single drop of blood spat from Kadinsky's right temple just as flesh, blood and brain matter erupted from the left one. He fell like a plank, straight onto and through the glass table. It shattered, spewing hail-like glass fragments in every direction. His head ended up close to her face. His angry black eyes stared at her as if still clinging to life, then they glazed over. He rolled onto his back, his mouth slack, emitting a death rattle like a gurgling drain.

Lazarus let out a deafening roar. He leapt upwards using Nadia's chair as a springboard, and briefly sailed through the air. Two more
pffts
, a fast double tap. She caught a glimpse of Cheng Yi's face, its previous imperturbable features morphed into abject terror as Lazarus, possibly already dead from two sniper headshots, fell towards him like a human meteorite. There was a sickening crunch of bones and an agonised cry from Cheng Yi, trapped in his throne, as Lazarus crashed down upon him. Lazarus moved no more, just so much dead weight. But Cheng Yi was still breathing, at least gasping, and he managed to rattle off a single sentence.

‘Kill the girl.'

She was safe as long as she stayed flat on the floor. But the world
wasn't
safe while what she held in her hands still existed. Lazarus had shown the way. She knew what she had to do. Shots and heavy machine-gun fire outside split the ensuing silence. Then a grenade explosion. Another one. Shouts and screams, some Russian, some Chinese. Katya was still out there. But this was no longer about Katya.

She crawled towards the door, but had to manoeuvre through the minefield of glass fragments, behind Lazarus, which might move her back into the sniper's sights. Sure enough, another
pfft,
and pain lanced across her left shoulder-blade, as if someone had just slashed her with a knife. She'd been lucky, just a graze. But if she lifted her head, even for half a second… She hugged the floor, glass shards against her cheek, and took a few jagged breaths. Come on guys, take out the sniper!

More gunfire and shouting outside, and this time a drum-roll of metallic twangs she prayed were ricochets as bullets peppered the sniper's position hidden amongst the containers. She crawled fast, cutting her forearms, hoping the sniper was distracted, and made it to the door, to the blind spot. Carefully, she stood up, and depressed the door handle. The wind outside caught the door and flung it open, inside the room. A bullet exploded on the inside of the metal door, and ricocheted into her abdomen, knocking her backwards, and winding her. Smart fucking bastard! One hell of a sniper. Would have made the Butcher proud. She looked down. A shallow wound, bleeding nicely. She plucked the scalding hot bullet from her flesh, gritting her teeth against the stinging, grinding pain. Through the hatch, the ocean outside beckoned.

You can do this. Destroy the Rose, once and for all.

Heavy gunfire again, more metallic twangs. Cover. Ignoring the blood oozing out of her, she darted through the door and raised her arm ready to hurl the Rose into the ocean. Where it belonged. But in amongst the rat-a-tat-tat streaming of a single Russian sub-machine gun she heard one deeper crack, like close thunder. Her left shoulder exploded, the momentum of the bullet spinning her around. She'd aimed the Rose at the water, but heard it hit something metallic, and plummet to the deck below, clanging twice more before it landed with a dull thud. She lay on her back on the metal gantry outside the aquarium, panting, hurting in too many places to move. She waited for the kill-shot.

It didn't come.

Turning her head sideways, in the distance she saw two dark blobs above the horizon, beneath the cloud layer. Helicopters. Probably MI6. A bit bloody late. But it grew quiet down below. No more gunfire, no more shouting. And then a voice. A woman's, calling her name. Nadia tried to move, regretted it immediately, carried on anyway, and rolled onto her stomach so she could see. Down below, between the mast and the containers, only two people were left standing. Katya and Slick. Slick faced a dozen or so Chinese sailors. They weren't armed, just crew. He had them on their knees, hands behind their heads. Katya was suddenly on her knees too, next to him. He held her by the hair with one hand, as he waved an Uzi at the crew, bellowing at them in Russian, not that they would understand, not that he would care.

No, you sick bastard, don't you dare
. She pushed up, tried to call to him, to distract him, but barely a croak came out, and then she closed her eyes as the Uzi sang its sorry tune one more time. When she opened her eyes again, Katya was screaming until he smacked her chin with the butt of the weapon.

All the crew were dead.

It hurt more than she'd thought possible, but there were two more things she needed to do. Somehow, she got up.

Staggering back into the aquarium, she knelt over Lazarus. Amazingly, Cheng Yi was still alive, struggling to breathe, his eyes a fusion of anger and pain. But he wasn't going anywhere. She searched Kadinsky's corpse, and found what she was looking for. A small derringer, complete with a spring-loaded gadget attached to his right arm that would spit it into his right hand in a split second. Katya had told her about it, seen him use it once. Why he always wore baggy suits. Everyone always thought he was unarmed and relied on his men. Apparently he was a dead-shot. With these little guns you had to be. But the sniper had killed him before he'd had a chance to fire it. In a way, by trying to kill Cheng Yi and therefore giving the sniper a clear priority, Kadinsky had saved her life. Talk about irony.

She released the derringer and its rapid delivery mechanism, strapped it to her own arm, adjusted it, then puffed out her jacket sleeve. The Butcher had taught her how to use one three years ago. About to leave, she stopped, bent over Kadinsky and closed his eyes. That was when she noticed Lazarus' face. She didn't know if it was pain or rictus, but he looked like he was smiling, despite two neat holes in the centre of his forehead.

She made her way down the steps, each one sending a spike of pain through her shoulder and down her back, each one squeezing a little more blood from her abdomen. She was headed towards the Rose. Stealth wasn't an option, and in any case the helicopters were getting closer, the staccato jack-hammering of their blades carried forward by the wind. She paused to catch her breath, and peered over the side. The motor yacht had been strafed by gunfire, the pilot's body lying on the deck at such a twisted angle he had to be dead. She counted eight bodies lying on the ship's deck. By the time she reached the deck, Slick was waiting for her, Katya in front of him, the muzzle of his Glock hard against her temple, the Rose by his boot. His shirt and jacket were torn, riddled by bullets, revealing a black Kevlar vest underneath.

Nadia made a loose fist, ready to flex her forearm to trigger the spring.

‘Let her go,' she said. ‘It's over.' She nodded to the two helicopters swooping towards them. ‘MI6.'

He leered at her. She wondered if he'd been born with that face. ‘I can barter with this,' he said, nudging the Rose with his boot.

She straightened her right arm, her muscles lightly tensed. ‘What I don't get,' she said, ‘is why my sister is still alive. Are you afraid of me, or Lazarus?'

His leer turned into a frown, then a grimace, then all the way back to a leer. He shoved Katya aside. ‘I'm not afraid of you, Nadia. You're just another little cu –'

It took half a second. She flexed her forearm. The derringer propelled into her open hand as she swung up her arm and fired. The left eye. The black fluid inside splashed outwards, painting his face like a grotesque clown. He swayed a moment, then dropped vertically, like a rope coiling onto the deck. His Glock clattered to the metal deck and bounced out of sight.

She stared at his corpse. ‘That's just it, Slick. I'm not just another little cunt.'

Suddenly, she was wrapped in Katya's arms. Which was just as well, as she felt ready to pass out. The noise from the chopper ramped up, became deafening. The down-draft flailed Katya's hair, whipping Nadia's face. She didn't care. And the noise didn't bother her. She and Katya had never needed words. A loud-speaker told them to stand still.

As if they were going anywhere.

The nearest helicopter hovered close to their position. Lines fell; armed, helmeted commandos rappelled fast. She thought of her father, knew what was coming, and disengaged from Katya. She touched her bleeding shoulder, and mouthed two words to her sister.

Still alive
.

Then she picked up the Rose, staggered to the ship's edge, and held it above open water. The commandos approached, weapons levelled.

She shouted above the din as loud as she could. ‘You shoot, it drops.'

They stopped. One of them touched an earpiece. They waited. The second helicopter landed near the containers, while the other moved away, but remained aloft, patrolling the length of the ship, its large-bore machine gun jutting out from the side hatch.

A woman who looked like she didn't belong in combat fatigues arrived. The woman from the photo. Harsher in the flesh. Two commandos trailed her. Jake was behind them, white as a ghost, his arm in a sling, not too steady on his feet.

‘Hi,' Nadia said, ignoring everyone else.

‘Christ Almighty,' he replied, seeing the state of her. They let him through.

She shrugged, which wasn't a good idea, but she was too tired to wince from the pain. ‘Been busy.' Then she added, giving him a crooked smile. ‘Have
you
looked in the mirror lately? Shouldn't you be in a decompression chamber?'

‘Surviving so far. Pure oxygen for the last two hours helped, along with some fresh blood, or whatever it was they stuck in my veins.'

Smart.
‘That's cheating,' she said. ‘A new one for the diver rescue manual.'

The woman stepped forward, raised a hand, and spoke. Crisp, light, as if she was shopping. ‘Hand me the Rose, Nadia.'

‘My sister goes free,' Nadia said.

‘How about you hand it over and we don't shoot you where you stand?'

Nadia shook her head. ‘I've lost a lot of blood. It's heavier than it looks. The ocean is deep here, a kilometre, maybe more, lots of currents between the surface and the bottom, which is most likely soft sludge a metre deep. I drop it, it's history.' She glanced at it. ‘Oh, and its battery is dead.'

The woman flared, her true colours flashing to the surface, her eyes flattening, pupils suddenly hard as stones, her lips taut. ‘You drop that, my girl, and I swear –'