Cherub Black Friday (28 page)

It was rare that a CHERUB agent got to see a simple, direct example of the good they did and Ryan felt quite emotional as he watched the first plane take off. Two were heading to Europe where they’d be converted into mobile hospitals, providing medical care and minor surgery in remote regions. The other three faced less glamorous but no less worthy futures ferrying food and medical supplies to disaster zones.

But while Ryan was happy, Natalka looked sour.

‘I bet it’s another trap,’ she sneered, as she stood by the kitchen worktop painting black varnish on her thumbnail. ‘They’ll get screwed over like my mum did.’

Ryan had barely been out of Natalka’s sight in the week since they’d got back together. He was sick of her cigarettes and negative attitude. But while spending so much time together drove him nuts, their time was running out and the prospect of not being with her made him feel even worse.

‘They’ll sort something out,’ Ryan said. ‘Your mum’ll be OK.’

Natalka lobbed a half-eaten pack of biscuits at Ryan’s head. ‘Stop saying dumb shit to make me feel better.’

‘Have you called your aunt yet?’

‘I hate her guts,’ Natalka said. ‘I’m staying here with you.’

Natalka had no idea that demolition crews were arriving to blast the Kremlin to smithereens. Ryan wasn’t sure whether it was better to know that your love affair is doomed like he did, or live in ignorance like Natalka.

‘I’ve got an errand to run for Igor,’ Ryan said. ‘I’ll be an hour. Two at most.’

‘You’re always up to something,’ Natalka said, narrowing her eyes.

Ryan picked up the biscuits and placed them back on the worktop beside Natalka. ‘I’m bringing money in,’ he said, as he hunted the carpet for his Converse. ‘And you’re in a mood. I can’t say anything when you’re like this.’

‘See if they’ve refilled the Marlboros in the ciggie machine,’ Natalka said.

Ryan tutted as he closed Natalka’s door, knowing what she really meant was
buy me a packet of cigarettes
. But all thoughts of Natalka were out of his head by the time he reached his own room. He tucked a small .22 revolver in the waistband of his trousers and pulled a hoodie over his head to hide the bulge.

Igor was down in reception, looking hung over. Ryan didn’t speak to him, he walked past Igor’s armchair in the deserted bar and mouthed,
Five minutes
.

After getting Natalka’s cigarettes from the vending machine, Ryan took the lift up to the fifth floor. Amy had told the two security guards that he was coming. He stepped into Leonid’s old apartment, and breathed a weird stagnant smell, coming off something Tamara had left rotting in a cupboard.

Amy was barefoot in a nightshirt. ‘Morning,’ she said. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Natalka’s miserable,’ Ryan said. ‘Is there really nothing we can do about her mum?’

Amy laughed. ‘Dimitra spent ten years as a pilot in a heavy-duty smuggling ring. We can’t get her out because you’ve got the hots for her daughter.’

‘We fitted her up though.’

‘On that one last mission,’ Amy admitted. ‘But what about all the drugs, guns and weapons she smuggled in the decade before that?’

‘Can’t we at least try—’

Amy cut Ryan dead. ‘You need to focus on Igor,’ she said firmly.

‘I signalled him at the bar,’ Ryan said. ‘He’ll be coming up the back stairs in a minute or two.’

‘Better get going then, hadn’t you?’

The Kremlin’s five floors were all linked by stairs, but the Aramovs had fixed it so that everyone accessed the top floor via a single lift. There were always two armed guards on duty at the fifth-floor lift exit and the armoured stair door could only be opened from inside.

Ryan moved to this door, which was located at the rear of a small room that had once housed Irena Aramov’s nurse. After a couple of minutes squatting on a single bed, he heard Igor’s knuckles tap the outside.

As Ryan yanked the heavy door, Igor pulled a huge pistol fitted with a silencer and scope.

Ryan grinned. ‘Are you sure that’s big enough?’

Igor shrugged. ‘It’ll make a mess of Josef Aramov, that’s for sure.’

‘What about the girl?’

‘Leonid doesn’t give a shit about Amy,’ Igor said. ‘He wants Josef dead for messing with Tamara. But I don’t want her running around screaming her head off until I’m well clear, so if she’s there I’ll kill her too.’

‘Pity,’ Ryan said. ‘Amy’s got fantastic tits.’

Igor stifled a laugh. ‘I really like you, Ryan. It’s a shame about your dad, but you’re a survivor.’

‘Especially with a hundred thousand som in my pocket to get me and Natalka out of here.’

Igor took the hint and pulled a roll of money. ‘You’ll have to trust me, there’s not time to stand around counting it.’

‘When’s your flight?’

‘I’ve got time,’ Igor said, avoiding a direct answer. ‘So how do we get up to the other end without the guards on the elevator seeing us?’

Ryan led Igor out of the nurse’s room and across Irena Aramov’s lounge. The large space was full of ornaments and family pictures that hadn’t changed since she flew to the US for cancer treatment. A sliding glass door threw in a blast of cold as Ryan opened it. When the curtain was pulled back, he revealed three balconies stretching the length of the building, each separated by half-metre gaps.

‘It’s icy,’ Ryan warned. ‘But Andre told me Alex and Boris used to jump them all the time for a dare. The third balcony ends at the entrance to Josef’s apartment. I’ve already crept up there and made sure it’s unlocked.’

‘The guards didn’t notice?’

‘The guards are used to me,’ Ryan explained.

‘You’d best leave,’ Igor said. ‘Once news gets out that this ship has no captain, things could get pretty nasty. Looting, chaos.’

‘I’m already packed,’ Ryan lied. ‘We’re heading for the bus station.’

As Ryan walked back to the nurse’s room, Igor moved out on the first balcony. The gap between the first and second balconies was half a metre. The handsome Russian snapped sheet ice off the rusted railings before hopping across.

Igor took care not to look down until his foot was flat on the springy plastic of a snow-covered garden chair. As he hopped off, he had no idea that Amy had rigged a heat-sensitive detonator to 250 grams of plastic explosive packed into an outdoor light fitting.

The blast hit Igor at shoulder height, blowing a large hole in his neck. As the first mist of blood erupted, the upper half of his body sprawled across the metal railing, then teetered momentarily before the weight of his torso dragged his legs over.

Igor’s end was messy. He was briefly impaled on anti bird spikes before a sheet of snow thrown loose by the blast gave him a final nudge to the ground. Amy had shaped the charge so that the explosion funnelled out and hit Igor like a punch, but the shock wave still shattered several windows and dislodged large quantities of snow on the Kremlin’s roof. The snow sheets piled on top of Igor until only his dead right arm poked out of the mound.

Andre wore jeans and a smart black going-out-to-dinner shirt as he rode a lift from the basement car park to their third-floor apartment. Leonid had a tailored cashmere suit unlike anything he’d ever worn at the Kremlin, while Tamara was in a shoulderless black evening dress which Leonid bought for more money than most Mexicans earn in six months.

‘I’ve left my wallet in the car,’ Andre said, as he patted an empty back pocket.

He’d told Tamara that he’d contacted James and given her a com unit, but she didn’t know what he planned to do now and she instinctively acted like a sensible mum.

‘It’ll still be there tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘You need to go to bed.’

‘But if someone sees a wallet on the car seat,’ Andre said, ‘they might smash the windows.’

Leonid had a bottle of wine in his belly and broke into a jolly laugh. ‘The bullet-proof windows?’

But Tamara had cottoned on and put a persuasive arm around her ex-husband’s neck.

‘Give him the keys, you know he’s a worrier.’

‘Lock it up properly,’ Leonid said, passing Andre the keys to his big Lexus.

Leonid and Tamara stepped out as Andre pressed the button to ride back down to the basement. It was a posh garage, with air conditioning, neat yellow markings and the parking bays covered with green rubber like a school gym. Occasionally you’d even see an elderly cleaning lady down on her knees scrubbing away tyre marks.

Andre pressed a button on the keys to unlock the limousine. The armoured door weighed a quarter tonne, so when he touched the handle, motors whirred to save him the effort. After snatching his wallet off the back seat, Andre clambered between the front seats. He gave the sat-nav screen one touch, then a double touch behind his earlobe to activate the com system.

‘James, can you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear, Andre.’

‘Sweet,’ Andre said. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d get a signal down here. I’m in front of Dad’s sat-nav and I’m scrolling through addresses. Have you got a pen to write stuff down?’

‘I’m recording,’ James said. ‘Just read ’em off.’

Andre read out the sixteen recently used addresses saved in Leonid’s sat-nav. None of them meant anything to James, but Lucinda knew Ciudad Juárez well and hopefully the locations would give clues about what Leonid was up to and who he was working with.

‘Nice job,’ James said, after the last address. ‘But you’ve taken longer than your dad’s expecting. Have you prepared an excuse?’

‘This car park’s a maze,’ Andre said. ‘I’ll say I walked the wrong way and couldn’t find the car. I’ll be going to bed when I get upstairs, so I’ll say goodnight.’

‘Don’t let the bedbugs bite,’ James joked. ‘I’ll leave my com in all night, so don’t be afraid to call if you need me.’

Andre double-tapped to shut off his com, checked the car was locked and headed for the elevator. As he got close he heard footsteps behind. The deserted garage was spooky and he jumped when Boris came around a corner.

‘Baby brother!’ Boris said. Then he got much closer and sounded menacing. ‘Alone at last, eh, titch?’

‘Piss off,’ Andre said, backing away.

Boris plucked Andre off the floor with one massive arm and slammed his back against the lift doors.

‘Painful?’ Boris asked, as Andre groaned.

Boris dropped Andre from a metre and a half and sunk the heel of his huge Nike basketball boot into his gut.

‘Leave off,’ Andre groaned, feeling like his restaurant meal was about to make a reverse trip as Boris ground his heel in.

Andre thought about the weak spots James had taught him, but he was pinned and none was in reach.

‘Don’t think Dad’s forgiven you,’ Boris growled. ‘Once we get to the Caribbean, Dad’ll be back with your slut mum. He’ll
never
forget that you betrayed him and I’ll beat your arse every day to remind you.’

Andre had tears welling. ‘Why are you always such a dick?’ he shouted. ‘I never did anything to you.’

‘I like putting people in pain,’ Boris said. ‘Especially you.’

A chubby security guard had seen something on CCTV and was waddling over, one hand on his holstered gun.

‘Only me, pal!’ Boris shouted, as he stepped off Andre. ‘Messing with my little bro here!’

The guard looked concerned as Andre staggered to his feet, coughing. But Boris was a monster and the guard would be putting his job on the line if he pulled a gun on a tenant.

‘You’re too rough with him,’ the guard said, before tutting and turning back to his booth.

Andre dreaded what would happen when the elevator doors closed, so he started scrambling up the stairs, gasping for air and with tears streaking down his face.

Boris made an echoey shout after him. ‘Run all you like, titch. I’ve got years to catch up with you.’

Andre didn’t want everyone to see he was crying, and he didn’t want James knowing either. He yelled goodnight to his parents and limped straight upstairs. He lay awake for ages, clutching an aching stomach and fantasising painful deaths for Boris.

More than anything, being humiliated by Boris made Andre mad. When he was sure everyone had gone to bed, he went down to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. The light coming out of the doorway lit up the marble-topped counter. His mum’s heels were on the floor, but more disturbingly so were her stockings and the expensive dress.

It didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened. Tamara and Leonid had both been quite drunk when they left the restaurant, but it was less clear if his mum was a willing participant. Leaving the fridge open for the light, Andre checked his mum’s stuff. The dress wasn’t ripped, her bag and two half-drunk glasses of red stood on the countertop. Nothing suggested a struggle, but Leonid was strong and so it was still no certainty.

After dumping the half-drunk bottle in the kitchen bin, Andre held his stomach as he went back upstairs. It was past 1 a.m., but he could hear Boris playing Call of Duty in his room. Instead of heading back to bed, Andre turned right. The room his mum had been using was empty and he moved up to the double doors of the master bedroom.

One was slightly ajar. All the bedclothes were in a mound, there were roses everywhere and candles that had mostly burned out. Leonid and Tamara were entangled on the bed, naked and asleep. There was also a half-drunk bottle of champagne, and Andre realised that his dad had paid someone to come in and set up a whole
flowers-champagne-candles
deal while they’d been at the restaurant.

Seeing his parents in bed together made Andre feel horrible. Part of it was the gross-out thought of them doing it. But he also felt uneasy, because for all Tamara’s protests that she hated Leonid, she’d never tried to leave the Kremlin. She’d done Leonid’s laundry, cooked amazing meals and often ended up in bed with him. Even when Leonid slapped her about, Tamara would say that it was her own fault for winding him up.

Fear accounted for some of what Tamara did, but there also still seemed to be a basic physical attraction and Andre always felt betrayed when he saw a sign of it.

The bedroom scene was a lot to take right after the beating from Boris, and he felt like crying again as he backed up to the door. A hand waggling in the dark gave him a start. He feared Leonid waking up, but it was his mother’s small hand making a come-here gesture in the flickering candlelight.