66 KALUZHSKAYA O BLAST, RUSSIA
The two men had a brief but amicable debate, as if they were quarreling over whose turn it was to pay for lunch. Because it was in Russian, Gabriel could not understand it. Nor could he see their faces. He was still lying on his side, with his abdomen exposed to Arkady Medvedev’s size-eleven loafers.
When the conversation concluded, two pairs of hands lifted him to his feet. It was then he saw the face of the man he knew only as “Sergei. ” He looked much as he had that night in Lubyanka. The same gray suit. The same gray pallor. The same lawyerly eyes behind round spectacles. He was wearing a rather stylish raincoat. His little Lenin beard had recently been groomed.
“I thought I told you not to come back to Russia, Allon.”
“If you had been doing your job, I wouldn’t have had to.”
“And which job is that?”
“Preventing scum like Ivan from flooding the world with weapons and missiles.”
Sergei sighed heavily, as if to say this was the last way he had hoped to spend his evening. Then he took hold of Gabriel’s handcuffs and gave them a sharp jerk. If Gabriel had had any feeling left in his wrists, he was certain it would have hurt like hell.
They crossed the warehouse together, Sergei trailing a step behind, and exited through a door wide enough to accommodate Ivan’s freight trucks. It was raining again; three of Medvedev’s security men were sheltering beneath the eaves, talking quietly in Russian. A few feet away was an official FSB sedan. Sergei inserted Gabriel into the backseat and slammed the door.
He drove with a Makarov in one hand and the radio on. Another speech by the Russian president, of course. What else? It was a small road and it ran through a thick birch forest. Tucked amid the trees were dachas-not palaces like Ivan’s dacha but real Russian dachas. Some were the size of a quaint cottage; others were little more than tool-sheds. All were surrounded by little plots of cultivated land. Gabriel thought of Olga Sukhova, tending to her radishes.
I believe in my Russia, and I want no more acts of evil committed in my name…
He looked into the rearview mirror and saw the eyes of Lenin.
They were searching the road behind them.
“Are we being followed, Sergei?”
“It’s not Sergei. My name is Colonel Grigori Bulganov.”
“How do you do, Colonel Bulganov?”
“I do just fine, Allon. Now shut your mouth.”
Bulganov eased into a turnout and killed the engine. After warning Gabriel not to move, he climbed out and opened the trunk. He rummaged around the interior before coming over to Gabriel’s side of the car. When he opened the door, he was holding the Makarov in one hand and a pair of rusted bolt cutters in the other.
“What are you going to do? Cut me into little pieces?”
Bulganov placed the Makarov on top of the car. “Shut up and get out.”
Gabriel did as he was told. Bulganov spun him around, so that he was facing the car, and took hold of the handcuffs. Gabriel heard a single snap and his hands were free.
“Would you like to tell me what’s going on, Sergei?”
“I told you, Allon-it’s Grigori. Colonel Grigori Bulganov.” He held out the Makarov toward Gabriel. “I assume you know how to use one of these things?”
Gabriel took hold of the gun. “Any chance of getting these cuffs off my wrists?”
“Not without the key. Besides, you’ll need to be wearing them when we walk back into that warehouse. It’s the only way we’ll be able to get Elena out of there alive.” Bulganov treated Gabriel to one of his clever smiles. “You didn’t think I was actually going to let those monsters kill her, did you, Allon?”
“Of course not, Sergei. Why would I think a thing like that?”
“I’m sure you have a few questions.”
“A couple thousand, actually.”
“We’ll have time for that later. Get back in the car and pretend your hands are still cuffed.”
67 KALUZHSKAYA O BLAST, RUSSIA
Gabriel peered out the car window at the dachas in the trees. He did not see them. Instead, he saw a man who looked like Lenin, seated behind an interrogation table at Lubyanka. It was possible Bulganov was playing some sort of game. Possible, thought Gabriel, but not likely. The colonel had just freed his hands and given him a loaded gun-a gun he could use, if he were so inclined, to splatter the colonel’s brains across the windshield.
“What were you and Arkady talking about in Russian?”
“He told me he wanted information from you.”
“Did he tell you what it was?”
“No, he wanted me to take you into the woods and put a gun to your head. I was supposed to give you one more chance to talk before killing you.”
“And you agreed to this?”
“It’s a long story. The point is, we can use it to our advantage. We’ll walk in the same door we just walked out. I’ll tell Arkady you’ve had a change of heart. That you’re willing to tell him anything he wants to know. Then, when we’re close enough, I’ll shoot him.”
"Arkady?”
“Yes, I’ll take care of Arkady. That leaves the two other gorillas. They’re both ex-special forces. They know how to handle guns. I’m just an FSB counterintelligence officer. I watch spies.”
Bulganov glanced into the rearview mirror.
“You can’t walk into the building with the gun in your hand, Allon. You’ll have to hide it somewhere you can get to it quickly. I hear you’re not bad with a gun. Do you think you can get that Makarov out in time to keep those goons from killing us?”
Gabriel inserted the Makarov into the waistband of his trousers and concealed it with his coat. “Keep your gun pointed at me until you’re ready. When I see it move toward Arkady, I’ll take that as my cue.”
“That leaves the three boys outside.”
“They won’t stay outside for long-not when they hear the sound of gunfire inside the warehouse. Whatever you do, don’t offer them a chance to lay down their weapons and surrender. It doesn’t work that way in the real world. Just turn around and start shooting. And don’t miss. We won’t have time to reload.”
“You’ve only got eight rounds in that magazine.”
“If I have to use more than five, we’re in trouble.”
“Can you see well enough?”
“I can see just fine.”
“I have to admit something to you, Allon.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve never shot anyone before.”
“Just remember to pull the trigger, Grigori. The gun works much better when you pull the trigger.”
The three security guards were still milling about the entrance of the warehouse when Gabriel and Bulganov returned. Someone must have found where Ivan kept the beer because all three were drinking from enormous bottles of Baltika. As Gabriel walked toward the guards, he held his right wrist in his left hand to create the illusion his hands were still cuffed. Bulganov walked a half step behind, Makarov pointed at the center of Gabriel’s back. The guards seemed only moderately interested in their reappearance. Obviously, they were used to seeing condemned men being led around at the point of a gun.
It was precisely forty-two paces from the open loading door to the spot where Elena Kharkov sat chained to her metal chair. Gabriel knew this because he counted the steps in his head as he covered the distance now, with Colonel Grigori Bulganov at his side. Colonel Bulganov, who two months earlier had ordered Gabriel to be thrown down two flights of steps in Lubyanka. Colonel Bulganov, who had called himself Sergei that night and said he would kill Gabriel if he ever returned to Russia. Colonel Bulganov, who had never fired a gun in anger before and in whose hands Gabriel’s life now resided.
Arkady Medvedev was standing before Elena in his shirtsleeves and screaming obscenities into her face. As Bulganov and Gabriel approached, he turned to face them, hands on his hips, Stechkin shoved down the front of his trousers. Luka Osipov and the bald giant were standing directly behind Elena, each to one side. It was hardly optimal, Gabriel thought, but because Elena was still handcuffed to the chair, there was no chance of her getting into his line of fire. Bulganov spoke in Russian to Medvedev as they moved into point-blank range. Medvedev smiled and looked at Gabriel.