Cold Blood (20 page)

Snow looked at his tormentor; the eyes remained cold even when he spoke with passion about his megalomaniacal vision. “That’s not going to happen.”

Bull looked intrigued. “Why? Because a former British soldier thinks that I am someone he has met before?”

“There are others who know who you are.”

“True, the mighty KGB – sorry, SBU – have a picture, my picture; but they need you to identify me. Now I have you. You are a hard man to catch Snow.” His insincere smile widened. “Like your name, you melt away in the hand.” Bull paused. “So now we talk. We talk about the Spetsnaz, yours and mine, yes?” The mouth smiled but the eyes did not.

“You are one sad Russian.” Snow spat the words at Bull.

Bull stood and slammed both fists on the table.

“I am Lithuanian!” His eyes flickered momentarily before he regained his composure. “I hate Russians. For three generations my countrymen, like those of Ukraine, were subjugated by Mother Russia. We were worked the hardest in the fields, were assigned the most dangerous tasks, and used as human shields on the battlefield. We did what was beneath a Russian to do. My own family starved because Russians took their harvest.” His eyes had now grown wide with an uncontrollable anger and a vein on his temple throbbed. “Never call me Russian.”

There were steps behind; Arnaud was pushed into the room. Snow looked at Arnaud and saw the belief in his face, the belief that he would save him. Bull removed his Glock from his shoulder holster and waved it in Arnaud’s direction. “Now I have no use for him.”

“Wait! Let them go.” The words came out of Snow’s mouth, meaningless, he realised.

“
Niet
.” The arm straightened and he took aim.

“No!” Snow tried to move, unseen, the butt of a Kalashnikov impacted with his neck. A shooting pain raced down his spine.

“Not yet.” The arm relaxed. “You can say goodbye first.”

Oleg’s radio cracked and he raised his left hand. “You are certain? OK, ready positions.” He looked at Bull. “ALFA units have arrived.”

Bull aimed the gun at Snow. “You told them you were coming here. That was very foolish, SAS man.”

“I told no one.” How had they found them? Snow’s heart raced in his chest.

There was a burst of gunfire from outside as two men on the roof laid down suppressing rounds at the arriving Ministry of Internal Affairs anti-terrorist troops. One of Bull’s Brigada ran across the room to the window, positioning his rifle just below the shutter as he readied to repel the assault. Dmitro, now conscious, joined him at the second window. They both fired. Arnaud saw his chance; this was it. As fast as he could he sprang at Oleg, his loosened ropes dropping. Oleg batted him away with his Makarov pistol but Arnaud held on to the arm. A shot rang out and the bullet zipped across the room. Bull ducked and Snow threw himself sideways, using the table for cover. Bull fired and the chair back shattered. Snow reached up into the small of his back for Mitch’s Soviet commando knife, swung his arm right arm wildly and plunged the blade into Pashinski’s thigh. Pashinski staggered and moved away, the knife grating against bone. He shot again, this time hitting the table. There were shouts at the windows and an explosion outside.

“Exfiltrate,” Bull shouted above the gunfire. He staggered towards the corridor and the fire exit, sending another round towards Snow. Dmitro left his position and grabbed his commander under the arms, hustling him away. Smoke grenades flew in through the shattered windows, the last soldier manning them cut down by an ALFA bullet.

Snow turned and moved towards Arnaud. Arnaud was hanging onto the huge soldier’s arm and kicking him with his right foot, Oleg’s left hand was pounding against Arnaud’s face. The gun went off and Arnaud dropped. Snow’s fist hit Oleg in the throat and he fell, the gun spilling from his hand. Snow grabbed the Makarov and fired, Oleg squirmed and the round entered his stomach. Automatic gunfire ripped into the carpet around him, Snow rolled into cover behind another table. Oleg scuttled away, helped by two pairs of hands. The firing ceased. Snow grabbed at Arnaud. His chest was covered in blood, his eyes suddenly wide. “I knew you’d come Aid… knew…”

No time for sentiment, no time to grieve; Snow could see his friend was dying. “Where is Larissa? Where is she?”

“Storeroom… down the corrid–” Arnaud tried to sit up as blood seeped from his mouth. “Sorry… I fucked it all…”

“No mate, it was me. You were superb.”

The eyes had glazed over. There was an explosion at the door. Move it. Snow dropped the teacher and ran for the back door. He frantically tried the storeroom door, Larissa cowered in the corner. “We’ve got to go!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the back door.

“No,” she yelled above the gunshots as the ALFA troops entered the restaurant from the main street. “Where is Arnaud? Where is Arnaud?”

“Outside. He’s outside.” No time to waste; have to get out.

There were shots ahead now but the exit was clear. No time to wait. “
Davai Davai
– go, go, quick, this way.”

Holding Larissa’s hand Snow ran down the steps. In his peripheral vision he saw assault troops exchanging fire with Pashinski’s men. Rogue rounds zipped over his head and now from behind. They crashed into the tree line, breaking branches and ripping their skin. Larissa screamed as a limb sprung against her forearm but did not slow. The ground dropped away below them and they hurtled down a slope, losing their footing they started to tumble and slip through the undergrowth. They landed at the bottom in a heap, bruised, battered, but alive.

The acrid smell of smoke and cordite from spent shells hung in the air as Blazhevich stepped into the restaurant. Around him the ALFA troops had secured the building and were now trying to ID the dead kidnappers. In the dining hall he met the gaze of the assault leader, who was crouching over a body; he shook his head.
Blat
! They were too late. Blazhevich moved nearer and nodded. He recognised the body of his fellow Hasher, the young British teacher who had run and drunk with him on several Sundays. “We are too late.”

*

SBU Headquarters
,
Volodymyrska Street
,
Kyiv

Budanov looked up as Dudka entered the cell. “You are now responsible for the death of a young British citizen. I hope you can forgive yourself, because I, for one, cannot.”

Budanov suddenly felt dizzy. “W– what? But... but I gave you the address.”

“We were too late. He was shot.” Dudka looked down at the pathetic man who sat on the metal cot bed. The man who had betrayed both his personal trust and that of the SBU.

“We have Pashinski?” Budanov was anxious.

Dudka sat heavily at the opposite end of the bed. “We? For you, Budanov, there is no ‘we’.” His nostrils flared as tried to regain his composure. “No, ‘we’ do not have him. They were well prepared, they opened fire on the ALFA team and many escaped – including Pashinski.”

Budanov felt himself suddenly age at the realisation of what he had done and what would now happen to him and his family. Tears began to roll down his face and in shame he hung his head.

Dudka looked on, nonplussed. “Where are your wife and child?”

“Cyprus.”

“How convenient.” Dudka grunted.

Budanov desperately raised his head, tears fell from his face. “You must send someone to protect them, Gennady Stepanovich.”

“And why is that?” Dudka could guess.

“Pashinski said that he would kill them if I told you anything.”

“Pray.” Dudka rose and banged on the door. It was opened, and then shut behind him. As he walked away he heard a mixture of sobbing and desperate screams from his former protégé. The fact that Dudka had already sent word to the consulate in Cyprus was something that Budanov need not know about, yet.

*

Borispil Village
,
Kyiv Oblast

The gunfire was loud behind them as they picked themselves up from the muddy ground.

“Where is he? Where is Arnaud?” Larissa had become frantic and suddenly realised that she could not see her boyfriend. Snow held her arms firmly and looked her in the eye. This would be the worst moment of her life so far.

“He’s dead. I’m sorry, I was too late.”

Her mouth started quiver. “No… he can’t be…” Her face froze as the words registered in her brain. She let out a moan and started to thrash her arms in an attempt to break free from her rescuer.

“We have to move.” Snow pulled her forward but she dug her heels into the ground. This was not the place to grieve, that would get them both killed.

“No. I want to see him.” Her words were almost unintelligible through the anguish.

“We have no time.” Snow tugged harder and she toppled over. In amongst the trees they moved forward. Tears fell from Larissa’s eyes. There was shouting behind them, rounds zipped past. Larissa screamed and Snow threw her to the ground at the foot of a tree. He landed on top of her and pushed her into cover. Snow hurriedly removed the Lithuanian’s Makarov from his jacket pocket and took aim. On the crest above, figures followed their path into the woods. They were Bull’s men attempting a retreat, firing controlled bursts back towards the street. The ALFA assault group, however, had not given up and a lot of fire was rained down on them. Rounds flew into the woods, pinging from branches and falling wildly.

Below him Larissa was shaking. Snow held the pistol steadily, if they got too close he would have to use it. A black clad figure ran towards him holding a short AK74. More rounds flew past and one hit the figure. He fell forwards no more than six feet from Snow’s face. His eyes crazed with pain, he saw Snow and scrambled to bring the automatic weapon to bear. Kill or be killed. Snow fired a double tap into his face. The bullets flew into his brain with deadly speed. Snow stayed still and again felt the pressure on his pistol grip. Above, the movement had stopped, but the gunfight had not. Snow rolled and dragged Larissa to her feet. This time she made no attempt to resist and they ran forward. The trees gave way to grassy fields peppered with newly built
dachas
. The first of these was at least 400 yards away, on the edge of a village.

“We have to get to that house.” Snow’s voice was raspy as he fought for air. Larissa did not reply but quickened her pace in line with his. There was no cover and he felt extremely exposed as they took the only escape route possible and dashed towards the end of the field.

Oleg scuffled into the back of the Volga. Dmitro had the wheel and a second man was returning fire at the ALFA in an attempt to keep their heads down.

“GO! GO!” Oleg screamed at the wheel man.

Door still open, they pulled into the street as bullets impacted the bodywork of the Soviet car. Oleg held his stomach and lay down. Blood seeped from beneath his right hand, his left hung onto the back of the front seat as the Volga bucked over potholes. Oleg heard sirens but could do nothing about them. The inside of the car went dark around him as he lost consciousness.

The first
dacha
was unfinished. Snow pushed past this building and made for a tumbledown house that made up part of the village. He gingerly opened the gate and was greeted by a squawking goose. Concealing his pistol he knocked on the green wooden front door. There was no reply; he knocked again, this time with more force. Larissa pushed back her hair and wiped her makeup from under her eyes. A curtain twitched and an elderly face looked at them. Snow smiled. The face disappeared and there was the sound of a bolt being removed from the door. A two inch gap appeared. Snow spoke in his Moscow Russian. “Can you help us please? We need to use your telephone.”

The old lady looked at the face of the smiling young man and the very pretty girl by his side. She opened the door further and put her hand by her ear. Snow repeated his request and they were beckoned inside. The house was dark and smelt of stale cabbage. Larissa had stopped crying and gone into shock.

“We had an accident on the highway.” Snow pointed in the direction of the road and smiled. “Our car was hit by one of those
Jigeets
.”

The old lady looked concerned and beckoned them along the hallway. She took Larissa’s hand. “Are you alright, my dear?”

Larissa nodded and wiped her eyes. Snow replied on her behalf, “It was her first car. She’s a bit shaken.”

“I’ll make some tea. The telephone is just there.” She disappeared into the kitchen leaving Snow and Larissa by the hall phone.

“Can you call your cousin to pick us up? We have to get away from here.”

Larissa nodded and dialled the number. She started to talk in grief stricken Ukrainian; Snow could only make out one word in ten. The tears fell again as she described where they were. The kettle started to boil on the gas ring and the old lady bade them sit at the kitchen table.

“Her cousin will be here in about forty minutes. Is it OK for us to wait?”

The old lady smiled. She had bright eyes and an oval face; even now Snow could see that she was once beautiful. “Of course you can.”

Larissa had started to shake and tears once again welled in her eyes. The old lady took her hand and clasped it between both of hers. “Have you lost someone dear?”