“Turn around.”
I froze. The madman was behind me. My gun was tucked in my belt. Even without looking, I knew where his gun was — aimed right at my back.
I turned slowly, and there he was, pointing a semiautomatic Marakov PM at my chest.
His eyes were on fire, and I could hear the asthmatic rattle in his lungs as he breathed. I knew what was coming next — the diatribe, the rant, the blistering harangue cataloging every injustice I had inflicted on him, followed by threats of retribution he would bring down on me and everyone connected to me. And then, one last negotiation. He still wanted the diamonds, and even though I had duped him on the exchange, he still believed I had them.
Scream at me all you want, I thought. I need as much time as I can get to figure a way out of this.
But I was wrong. He didn’t utter a word. He just aimed the gun at my heart and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet slammed into the shock plate of my body armor and blew me backward off the platform onto the tracks. The pain was unbearable, but once again the vest under my sweater had saved my life.
But only for a few seconds. Chukov stepped up to the edge of the platform and pointed the Marakov at my head.
“Do svidaniya, modderfocker,” he said.
Chapter 92
BULLETPROOF VESTS SAVE lives, but they don’t do much for bones. I have twenty-four ribs, and it felt like every one of them was broken.
Chukov aimed at my head. Every ounce of my training told me to roll before he pulled the trigger, but I could barely breathe, much less dodge a bullet.
I was a dead man.
I heard the gunshot and saw the muzzle flash, but I wasn’t dead. The tile wall behind me shattered and a mighty bellow from Chukov echoed through the tunnel as his body flew off the platform.
Someone had hurtled down the stairs and slammed into Chukov from behind, sending the bullet wide and pitching his fat Russian ass onto the tracks.
It wasn’t a miracle. God bless Adam, Zach, and Ty, I thought. I sat up to see which one had saved my skin. But it wasn’t any of them.
“Matthew, get his gun, get his gun!” It was Katherine.
Chukov’s gun had skittered along one of the rails when he landed. My adrenaline surged. I managed to get to my knees and dig for my own gun. Chukov was already up. He swung his foot into my jaw. That hurt. Plus, it raised hell with the hole in my shoulder.
I went sprawling, and Chukov grabbed for the gun in my hand. He dug his fingers into my face with one hand and yanked at the weapon with the other.
The pain was blinding. I almost lost consciousness. I did lose the gun.
“You stupid piece of shit,” he screamed, pointing the muzzle at my face.
I was out of strength. And I knew that as soon as Chukov finished me off, he would shoot Katherine. I had to get her to run. I looked up at the platform.
And there she was, hoisting a New York City Transit Authority trash can high over her head with a strength that must have been born of fear and red-hot anger. She hurled it at Chukov.
It hit him square in the face and knocked him off balance. The wire mesh left a bloody grid on his cheek.
Totally enraged, he pressed his palm into my shoulder, pushing himself up and once again sending waves of agony through my body.
And then I heard it. The number 6 train.
Chukov heard it, too. After a darting glance between me and the platform, he decided to save his own ass and let the train take care of me.
With my gun still in his hand, he leaped toward the platform like an overweight mountain lion.
Katherine screamed.
Chukov threw his right leg onto the platform and screamed back at her. “I’ll kill you, you goddamn bitch.”
I lunged and clawed at his left foot. I jerked hard, and we both toppled backward onto the tracks. I rolled as we fell, so that by the time we got our bearings, I was straddling his chest.
I grabbed his head and whacked it against the rail. I leaned forward to pry the gun from his grasp, but Chukov slammed his oversize forehead into my face. I felt my nose break.
Down the track, the headlights of the Bronx-bound subway were bearing down on us fast. The whistle screamed.
I bet the motorman screamed, too. He of all people would know that no matter how hard he applied his brakes, he wouldn’t be able to stop in time.
I heard the squeal of metal on metal as the train’s wheels skidded along the track.
Chukov and I had been engaged in a battle to the death. In a matter of seconds, the battle would be over.
Chapter 93
CHUKOV AND I had our hands wrapped around the gun. The way we were going, there could only be one winner: the number 6 train.
I knew I was out of time. So I let go of the gun. I threw my good shoulder back and drove my right elbow into his left eye. I think I heard bone crack as I drilled down into the socket. Then I jumped up. Kicked the gun out of his hand. Planted the other foot on his throat.
Katherine leaned over the platform. She peered down the tunnel at the oncoming train. “Matthew,” she yelled, “get off the tracks now!”
I looked into the darkness. The train’s headlights, which had been pin dots only seconds ago, were brighter and looming larger.
Chukov struggled to get up, but I had weight and leverage on my side.
“Matthew, please — he’s not worth it,” she begged. “Please, please run.”
I couldn’t. If I took my foot off Chukov’s throat, he’d still have enough time to vault the platform. I had to finish this.
And then I remembered. I pictured Chukov sitting in the steam room with the bronchodilator on his lap. Chukov the asthmatic.
I lifted my foot off his throat and slammed it down on his chest. The compression was more than his lungs could take. He began gasping for air.
I reached down and scooped up a fistful of the black dirt and subway soot that lay between the ties. And just as Chukov inhaled deeply, struggling to breathe, I flung it in his face.
He sucked it all in.
I grabbed another handful of the powdery filth and threw it at his nose and mouth. He was now in a full-blown asthma attack — choking, spitting, screaming half-gurgled Russian. His eyes bulged with fear.
I leaned in close to his face. “What’s the matter, Vadim? You look like you’ve seen a Ghost.”
Chukov’s eyes grew even wider as the truth sank in and he realized whom he had been up against all along.
I took one final look into the face of evil and drove both fists into his failing lungs.
“Do svidaniya, modderfocker,” I said.
I started to run. Chukov didn’t follow.
“Matthew, hurry!” Katherine yelled. “The train is coming.”
As if I needed a reminder.
The whistle screamed and screamed and screamed. I turned as best as I could. I could see sparks flying off the wheels as they scraped the metal rails. I could even make out the outline of the motorman in the front cab. I could only imagine the sheer horror in his eyes.
The front of the station was maybe five hundred feet away. I’d never make it. I couldn’t get out of this. I was going to die.
Chapter 94
I RAN FOR my life anyway.
Katherine ran right alongside me on the platform.
“Take my hand,” she screamed down. “I’ll pull you up, Matthew.”