I looked at him. Then I turned to the Cop. I’m not sure that the Frenchman had understood what we were saying. He was silent, gazing straight ahead as if he was outraged, as if we had no right to be here.
“You want me to kill him,” I said in Russian.
“Yes. With this.”
He held out a knife. He had brought it with him and I stared at it with complete horror. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The knife was razor-sharp. There could be no doubt of that. I had never seen anything quite so evil. But it was tiny. The blade was more like an old-fashioned safety razor. It couldn’t have been more than four or five centimetres long.
“That’s crazy,” I said. I was clinging to the thought that perhaps this was some sort of joke, although there was no chance of that. Hunter was deadly serious. “Give me a gun. I’ll shoot him.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, Yassen. This is meant to be a punishment killing. I want you to use the knife.”
He had named me in front of the victim. Even though he was speaking in Russian, there was no going back.
“Why?”
“Why are you arguing? You know how we work. Do as you’re told.”
He pressed the knife into my hand. It was terribly light, barely more than a sliver of sharpened metal in a plastic handle. And at that moment I understood the point of all this. If I killed Vosque with this weapon, it would be slow and it would be painful. I would feel every cut that I made. And it might take several cuts. This wasn’t going to be just a quick stab to the heart. However I did it, I would end up drenched in the man’s blood.
A punishment killing. For both of us.
Something deep inside me rose to the surface. I was shocked, disgusted that he could behave this way. We’d just had five amazing days in Paris. In a way, they’d wiped out everything bad that had happened to me before. He’d been almost like a brother to me. Certainly, he had been my friend. And now, suddenly, he was utterly cold. From the way he was standing there, I could see that I meant nothing to him. And he was asking me to do something unspeakable.
Butchery.
And yet he was right. At the end of the day, it was a lesson I had to learn… if I was going to do this work. Not every assassination would take place from the top of a building or the other side of a perimeter fence. I had to get my hands dirty.
I examined the Cop. He was struggling again, his stomach heaving underneath his vest, jerking the chair from side to side, whimpering. His whole face had gone red. He had seen the knife. I balanced it in my hand, once again feeling the flimsy weight. Where was I to start? I supposed the only answer was to cut his throat. Gordon Ross had even given us a demonstration once, but he had used a plastic dummy.
“You need to get on with it, Yassen,” Hunter said. “We haven’t got all day.”
“I can’t.”
I had spoken the words without realizing it. They had simply slipped out of my mouth.
“Why can’t you?”
“Because…”
I didn’t want to answer. I couldn’t explain. Vosque might not be a good man. He was corrupt. He took bribes. But he was a man nonetheless. Not a paper target. He was right here, in front of me, terrified. I could see the sweat on his forehead and I could smell him. I just didn’t have it in me to take his life… and certainly not with this hideous, pathetic knife.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“All right. Go outside. Wait for me there.”
This time I did what I was told without questioning. If I had stayed there a minute longer, I’d have been sick. As I opened the front door I heard the soft thud of a bullet fired from a silenced pistol and knew that Hunter had taken care of matters himself. I was still holding the knife. I couldn’t leave it behind. It was covered in forensic evidence that might lead the police to me. I carefully slid it into the top pocket of my jacket where it nestled, the blade over my heart.
Hunter came out. “Let’s go,” he said. He didn’t seem angry. He showed no emotion at all.
Walking back across the city, I told him my decision.
“I’m taking your advice,” I said. “I don’t want to be an assassin. I’m leaving Paris. I’m not coming back to Rome. I’m going to disappear.”
“I didn’t give you that advice,” Hunter said. “But I think it’s a good idea.”
“Scorpia will find me.”
“Go back to Russia, Yassen. It’s a huge country. Russian is your first language and now you have skills. Find somewhere to hide. Start again.”
“Yes.” I felt a sense of sadness and had to express it. “I let you down,” I said.
“No, you didn’t. I’m glad it worked out this way. The moment I first saw you, I had a feeling that you weren’t suited to this sort of work and I’m pleased you’ve proved me right. Don’t be like me, Yassen. Have a life. Start a family. Keep away from the shadows. Forget all this ever happened.”
We came to a bridge. I took out the knife and dropped it into the Seine. Then we walked on together, making our way back to the hotel.
МОЩНОСТЬ ПЛЮС – POWER PLUS
We went to the airport, sitting together in the back of a taxi with our luggage in the boot. Hunter was flying to Rome and then to Venice, to report to Julia Rothman. I was heading for Berlin. It would have been madness to take a plane to Moscow or anywhere in Russia. That have provided Scorpia with a giant arrow pointing in the right direction to come after me. Berlin was at the hub of Europe and gave me a host of different options… I could head west to the Netherlands or east to Poland. I would be only a few hours from the Czech Republic. I could travel by train or by bus. I could buy a car. I could even go on foot. There were dozens of border crossing points where I could pass myself off as a student and where they probably wouldn’t even bother to check my ID. It was Hunter who had suggested it. There was no better place from which to disappear.
I was aware of all sorts of different feelings fighting inside me as we drove out through the shabby and depressing suburbs to the north of Paris. I still felt that I had let Hunter down, although he had assured me otherwise. He had been friendly but business-like when we met for breakfast that morning, keen to be on his way. He called me Yassen all the time, as if I had been stripped of my code name, but I was still using his. And that morning he had run by himself. Alone in my room, I had really missed our sprint around the city and felt excluded. It reminded me of the time when I’d broken my leg, when I was twelve, and had been forced out of a trip with the Young Pioneers.
I wondered if I would miss all this luxury: the five-star hotels, the international travel, buying clothes in high-class boutiques. It was very unlikely that I would be visiting Paris again and if I did, it certainly wouldn’t have the pleasure and the excitement of the last week. I had thought that I was becoming something, turning into something special. But now it was all over.
I had already begun to consider my future and had even come to a decision. There were still parts of my training that I could put to good use. I had learned languages. My English was excellent. The Countess had shown me how to hold my own with people much wealthier than me. And even Sharkovsky, in his own way, had been helpful. I knew how to iron shirts, polish shoes, make beds. The answer was obvious. I would find work in a hotel just like the George V. New hotels were being built all over Russia and I was certain I’d be able to get a job in one, starting as a bellboy or washing dishes in the kitchen and then working my way up. Moscow was too dangerous for me. It would have to be St Petersburg or somewhere further afield. But I would be able to support myself. I had no doubt of it.
I did not tell Hunter this. I would have been too ashamed. Anyway, we had already agreed that we would not discuss my plans. It was better for both of us if he didn’t know.