Silence. Rykov knew he had to do what he was told. He kicked the gun across the carpet. It came to a halt a few inches away from the dead man.
Karl stepped further into the hall, still holding his gun in both hands. It was aimed at the back of Rykov’s neck. He glanced to the right and saw Josef lying spreadeagled on the stairs. Something flickered across his face and I had no doubt that he was going to shoot down the man who had been responsible for the death of his brother. As he moved forward, his path took him in front of the door where I was standing and suddenly I was behind him.
“One hundred and fifty thousand rubles,” Rykov said. “More money than you will ever see in your life.”
“You have killed my brother.”
Rykov understood. There was no point in arguing. In Russia, blood ties, particularly between brothers, are strong.
Karl was very close to him now and without really thinking about it, I made the decision – probably the most momentous of my life. I slipped through the door and, raising the axe, took three steps into the hall. The bodyguard heard me at the very last moment but it was too late. Using the blunt end, I brought the axe swinging down and hit him on the back of the head. He collapsed in front of me, his arms, his legs, his entire body suddenly limp. The mechanic moved incredibly fast. He didn’t know what had happened but he dived forward, reaching out for the gun he had just kicked away. But I was faster. Before he could grab it, I had dropped the axe and swept up Karl’s gun and already I was aiming it straight at him, doing my best to stop my hand shaking.
Rykov saw me and stared. He was unarmed. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. “You!” he exclaimed.
“Listen to me,” I said. “I could shoot you now. If I fire a single shot, everyone will come. You’ll never get away.”
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I want to get out of here.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can. You have to help me!” I scrabbled for words. “I knew you weren’t really a mechanic. I knew you and Zelin were working together. But I didn’t say anything. It’s thanks to me that you managed to do what you came for.” I nodded at the body of Vladimir Sharkovsky.
“I will give you money…”
“I don’t want money. I want you to take me with you. I never chose to come here. I’m a prisoner. I’m their slave. All I’m asking is for you to take me as far away as you can and then to leave me. I don’t care about you or who you’re working for. I’m glad he’s dead. Do you understand? Is it a deal?”
He pretended to think… but only very briefly. The helicopter was still whining outside and very soon one of the guards might ask what was happening. Arkady Zelin might panic and take off without him. Rykov didn’t have any time. “Let me get my gun,” he said. He stretched out his hand.
“No!” I tightened my grip. “We’ll leave together. It’ll be better for you that way. The guards know me and they’re less likely to ask questions.” He still seemed to be hesitating, so I added, “You do it my way or you never leave.”
He nodded, once. “Very well. Let’s go.”
We left together, back down the corridor, past the room with the dead woman. I was terrified. I was with a man who had just killed three people without even blinking and I knew that he would make me the fourth if I gave him the slightest chance. I made sure I didn’t get too close to him. If he hit out at me or tried to grab me, I would fire the gun. This one wasn’t silenced. The sound of the explosion would act as a general alarm.
Rykov didn’t seem at all concerned. He didn’t speak as we left the house and walked through the half-darkness together, skirting the fountain and making our way across the lawn towards the helicopter. And it had been true, what I had told him. One of the guards saw us but did nothing. The fact that I was walking with him meant that everything had to be OK.
But Zelin was shocked when he saw the two of us together. “What is he doing?” he shouted.
I could barely hear a word he said but the meaning was obvious. I was struggling to keep the gun steady, feeling the wind from the rotors buffeting my arms. I knew that this was the most dangerous part. As we climbed in, the mechanic could wrench the gun away and kill me with it. He could probably kill me with his bare hands. I wasn’t sure if I should go in first or second. What if he had another gun hidden under one of the seats?
I made my decision. “I’m getting in first!” I shouted. “You follow!”
As I climbed into the back seat, I kept the gun pointed at Zelin, not the mechanic. I knew that he couldn’t fly. If he tried anything, I would shoot the pilot and we would both be stuck. I think he understood my strategy. There was actually something close to a smile as he climbed into the seat next to the pilot.
Zelin shouted something else. The mechanic leant forward and shouted back into his ear. Again, it was impossible to hear. For all I knew, he was sentencing me to death. I might have the advantage now but their moment would come while we were flying or perhaps when we landed. I wouldn’t be able to keep them both covered and one of them would get me.
An alarm went off in the house, even louder than the scream of the helicopter. At once, the arc lamps all exploded into life. Two of the guards started running towards us, lifting their weapons. At the same time, a jeep appeared from the gatehouse, its headlamps blazing, tearing across the grass. The mechanic slammed the door and Zelin hit the controls. The muzzles of the automatic machine guns were flashing in the darkness. Machine-gun bullets were strafing past. One of them hit the cockpit but ricocheted away uselessly and I realized that, of course, it must be armoured glass.
The helicopter rose. It turned. It rocked above the lawn as if anchored there, unable to lift off. Bullets filled the air like fireflies.
And then Zelin jerked the cyclic. The helicopter twisted round one last time and, carrying me with it, soared away, over the wall, over the forest and into the darkening sky.
БОЛТИНО – BOLTINO
I had done it. For the first time in three long years I was outside the compound. Even if I hadn’t been sitting in a helicopter, I would have felt as if I was flying.
Sharkovsky was dead. It was nothing less than he deserved and I was glad that he would not be able to come after me. Would I be blamed for his death? The guards had seen me leave with Rykov. They knew I was part of what had happened. But I had not been the one who had invited the mechanic into the house. That had been Zelin. With a bit of luck, Sharkovsky’s people would concentrate on the two of them and they would forget about me.
I was not safe yet. Far from it.
Both Zelin and Rykov had put on headphones and although the blast of the rotors made conversation impossible for me, they were able to talk freely. What were they planning? I knew Zelin had been angry to see me but he was not the one in charge. Everything depended on Rykov. It might well be that he had already radioed ahead. There could be people waiting for me when we landed. I could be dragged out of my seat and shot. I knew already that human life meant nothing to the so-called mechanic. He had killed Nina, Josef and Sharkovsky without batting an eyelid. It would make no difference to him if he added an unknown teenager to the score.
But I didn’t care. I hated myself at the dacha. I was eighteen years old, still cleaning toilets and sweeping corridors, kneeling in front of Ivan to polish his shoes or, worse, performing like a trained monkey at his father’s dinner parties. It had been necessary to do these things to live but what was the point of a life so debased? If I were to die now, at least it would be on my own terms. I had grabbed hold of the opportunity. I had escaped. I had proved to myself that I was not beaten after all.