‘We’d better wait inside,’ Votrukhin murmured, and walked over to the cottage and kicked open the door. The interior was a ruin, the brick walls bare of plaster, the floor a concrete slab riddled with cracks and littered with old bricks and planks, the roof a mass of holes. But it would do until they could leave.
‘What about the car?’
‘Leave it. People come down here to walk dogs and watch birds. By the time the boat comes it will be almost dark.’ Votrukhin piled two stacks of bricks and placed a plank across, forming a rough bench. He sat down gingerly, then pulled out a packet of mints. He took two and offered the packet to Serkhov, but the sergeant shook his head and sat beside him.
‘I still don’t get how Gorelkin arranged for us to dodge those security people,’ Serkhov murmured. ‘They nearly had us, then suddenly, gone.’
‘Don’t question it,’ Votrukhin replied. ‘We followed instructions, it got us out of a jam. End of subject.’ Even he, however, had been left wondering how their boss had managed it. From having no support whatsoever, they now had someone watching their backs and intercepting a close pursuit. All it had taken was a phone call instructing them to slow right down at a particular set of traffic lights along their route, then take off the moment they saw the other car coming.
All he knew was that it was the best piece of stage-management Gorelkin had ever managed.
They sat in silence after that, neither having much to say. After working together so long, more often than not in dangerous situations, the two men had developed the art of silent companionship, speaking only when necessary.
Through the thin walls came the sound of boats passing in the channel; small work vessels, engines clattering, the occasional fast launch crashing over the water, and heavier vessels seemingly taking an age to go by and making the ancient building shudder with their noise.
After thirty minutes, with the light fading outside, Votrukhin’s phone rang. He answered it and listened, then shut it off.
‘The boat’s on its way in. We wait inside for a signal.’
Serkhov sucked on his teeth and spat across the room. He’d been getting more and more restless, and didn’t think much of the arrangements. Nothing to eat or drink, in danger of some local idiot dog walker seeing them here and reporting them to the police, and neither of them knowing what was going to happen afterwards.
‘Seems a dull way to leave the country,’ he commented. ‘There was a moment when I thought we might go out like that film. . Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, shooting our way out through a bunch of English cops.’
Votrukhin said, ‘You think too much.’
‘No. I’m being realistic. Your trouble is, you believe all the crap they sold you about duty for the country and service, and how being an officer lifts you up the ladder. Me, I stopped listening to that years ago. We’re still at the same shit level we were at ten years back, and it doesn’t look like getting better, after what Gorelkin put us through.’
‘So why are you here, then? You want to die a hero’s death, is that it?’
‘Well, it might be better than wasting away in a foreign prison. Or finding that we’re going to carry the can for Gorelkin’s cock-up and end up in a recycled gulag for a few years.’
‘You’ve really got a thing for him, haven’t you?’
‘You mean you haven’t? This whole trip’s been a mess from start to finish. We did Tobinskiy, which is what we came for. But it’s all been downhill from there. No real planning, no backup, no fall-back plan for when the shit hit the fan, like it seems to have done. And now we’re sneaking out like kids raiding a chicken coop — and after what?’
‘We don’t know if it failed. Gorelkin might have got the Jardine woman some other way. Anyway, when did you ever know an operation go perfectly as planned? It’s why they use us, because we can adapt.’
‘Adapt my arse. .’ Serkhov’s head snapped up at the sound of an engine. It sounded closer and lighter than any before. ‘What’s that?’
‘Probably a tender from the boat to pick us up.’
They both stood up, and it took a moment for both men to realise that the engine noise had come from the rear of the cottage, where they had left their car, not from the sea.
‘Fuck!’ Serkhov swore and pulled out his gun. ‘This doesn’t sound good.’ He stepped across to the window and glanced out. When he turned to Votrukhin, he looked grim. ‘Four men getting out of a car. They’re armed with machine guns.’
SIXTY-ONE
Votrukhin joined Serkhov, pulling out his weapon. He peered out and shook his head. The sergeant wasn’t exaggerating. It was no contest. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and four men with fully automatic weapons. Enough fire power to blow this rotten building off its foundations.
‘Whoever they are, they’re not here to tell us job well done.’ He paused, then did a double-take on the man in the lead, who was signalling his men to spread out, the way a good commander should. ‘Mother of God, I know that man. His name’s Brizsinsky, Breshevsky. . something like that. He was Spetsnaz. I heard he was in V Section.’
Serkhov looked relieved. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? It means we’re going home. Let the British try stopping us now.’ He stepped towards the door, eager to be gone.
But Votrukhin wasn’t moving. He grasped Serkhov’s arm. ‘Wait. You don’t understand. V Section ran special penetration operations. Fast in, fast out. Really high-level stuff. If they’ve been sent here, it’s not to pick us up.’
Serkhov frowned. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I heard V Section was closed down a few years ago, but a few guys were kept on for special duties.’ He nodded towards the outside. ‘Including Brizsinsky or whatever the hell his name is. Nobody knows where they’re based, and they work completely off the books. They’re ghosts.’
‘I never heard that. How come you know about them?’
‘I’m an officer. We hear things.’
‘What sort of special duties?’ Serkhov’s voice had dropped several notches.
‘They’re called cleaners. They make sure bad mistakes get buried.’
Serkhov stared at him for a few seconds as the implication set in. This wasn’t something Votrukhin would joke about. ‘Go fuck a goat. Doesn’t look like there’s going to be a boat after all, does it? Bastards.’ He ejected the magazine, checking the load by feel, then clicked it back into place. ‘Now do you finally believe me? We’ve been stuffed.’
Votrukhin nodded. ‘Yes. I believe you.’ He turned and spat on the floor. ‘God, I hate it when you’re right.’
‘Never mind. I had to be at least once.’ He shook his head and spat on the same spot. ‘You think we’ll be heroes back home among the other guys, for what we did?’
‘For knocking off Tobinskiy, you mean?’ Votrukhin shook his head. ‘No, my friend. Nobody will talk about that, ever. They might pretend to miss us when we don’t turn up. . might even have a dinner at Tinkoff’s in The Arbat with the proceeds of the sale. But that’s about it.’ He was referring to the alleged custom of selling off a fallen comrade’s personal possessions if there was no family to consider. Neither Votrukhin nor Serkov had ever given time to such things as family. Not that either man had much to sell, in any case.
‘I thought that sentimental shit was for officers only.’
‘Not at all. It’s just that the rest of you scum can’t be bothered to celebrate our heroes.’
A few minutes passed, then Serkhov muttered, ‘I would like to have been a hero. So people on the base could point me out to new recruits and say, “There goes Sergeant Leonid Serkhov. He’s got the balls of a bull elephant.” It would have been nice.’
‘Are we talking about courage or size? There’s a difference.’
‘Sergeants can be heroes, too.’
‘I guess. But not often, because they’re mostly useless insubordinate bastards who prefer to get drunk. But it does happen.’