‘You new?’
‘Sveta,’ Viktoriya introduced herself.
‘Well, don’t hog the loo. There’s only one between all of us girls,’ she said, and pushed past.
Viktoriya nodded, suitably chastened. Up ahead she could hear women’s voices and what sounded like an argument. Music from the club above throbbed through the ceiling. Heart pounding, she took the staircase to the basement and the narrow corridor to Kostya’s door. A single guard looked her up and down. His eyes travelled down her bare arms and legs, and back to her gown, which hung provocatively open, revealing her corset and G-string.
‘Konstantin sent for me,’ she said in explanation. The guard bent forward to hear her above the din of the club immediately above the corridor and attempted to slide his arm inside her gown. Viktoriya jumped back and felt the automatic shift in her belt.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ She reached up to his face and stroked his cheek. ‘Maybe later. What’s your name?’ she asked him.
‘Taras,’ he answered. He had large hands and a round face that glowed orange in the subdued light.
‘Okay… Taras… Kostya doesn’t like to be kept waiting, you know what he’s like.’ Her hands went to her G-string. She adjusted the elastic lower on her hips.
Taras pushed open the familiar door to Kostya’s office and closed it behind her.
Kostya looked up from his desk. He was pouring over some list or other with Bazhukov. They both seemed more bemused than irritated, no doubt wondering why one of the club girls had suddenly appeared uninvited. Bazhukov started to say something, but it was Kostya who reconfigured her appearance first. He looked startled.
‘Vika!’ he exclaimed.
Bazhukov went for the gun in his shoulder holster but he was slow. Viktoriya already had her hand on the Markov; she slid it out from under her belt and pointed it in his direction. Bazhukov took a step back and raised his hands.
‘Kostya, keep your hands on the table where I can see them,’ she said more calmly than she felt, ‘and Bazhukov, you keep them up… I have to say I don’t think much of your security.’
‘So what is it you want?’ Kostya asked coolly.
Viktoriya raised the barrel a fraction and squeezed the trigger. Bazhukov made a pouf sound and tumbled over the chair behind him.
‘You’ll need a new head of security now. That’s for my father.’
Kostya’s hands shifted down the desk a fraction.
‘That’s far enough,’ she warned, and pointed the gun squarely at him. ‘So explain.’
‘Explain, ah… well it’s nothing personal.’
‘It never is with you, Kostya.’
‘Somebody wants your friend dead… somebody high up. Until now it’s only been me that has stopped them… but it’s imperative now, you see. I have no idea why… you know, if it wasn’t me, it would only be someone else.’
‘And who is somebody?’
‘The question I ask myself… KGB… the military… the new government.’
‘And me… did that figure in their equation or yours? I thought we trusted each other… but then I should have known better. We are all means to your ends, aren’t we, Kostya – every one of us, dispensable.
‘Are you going to pull that trigger?’ he said, staring at the barrel.
‘I’m considering it.’ She took first pressure.
Konstantin tensed.
‘Kill me and our friend dies.’
‘Isn’t it the other way round? Why is he suddenly our friend now?’
‘You’ve made your point,’ Konstantin said, looking at Bazhukov’s body and the large red stain spreading over his shirt. ‘Look, if you kill me they will just give the contract to someone else. They are not going to stop. Maybe it will be Vdovin and his merry men. He’s not going to worry about losing a few soldiers taking Morskaya. Look… if the coup succeeds, the best you can do is get out of the country. If it fails – and these guys are crazies – maybe, just maybe, it will all stop. I can keep them satisfied for now, tell them Misha’s in a coma and not going anywhere. Kill me and you’ve signed Misha’s death warrant. Besides, did you think I had given up? You know me, Vika.’
Konstantin lifted his hands off the table and sat back in the chair.
There was a knock at the door.
‘Call him in.’ She hoped there’d be only one.
The guard who had tried to grab her walked in to deliver a message he had in his hand. She pointed the gun at him and waved him over to Konstantin’s side.
‘Quite a party now,’ said Kostya, smiling.
‘One last thing, and this is going to hurt, Kostya… Misha thought you might try something like this. That money you sent us – the last batch, all eighty-five million of it – it’s sitting in an intermediary account in the Cayman’s… I might just recall or divert it somewhere more useful.’
It was the second time in the last ten minutes that Kostya had looked shocked.
‘Whatever happened to my word is my bond?’
‘The same thing that happened to friendship… So here’s the trade,’ she said, waving the automatic at him. ‘You stop whatever devious plan you have in train, your men remain strictly hands off Morskaya and Misha, and you escort me nicely out of the club.’
‘And my money?’
‘Let’s see if you can behave first.’
Kostya nodded, picked up the phone and dialled RUI on Morskaya. Viktoriya heard Alina’s voice answer.
‘Alina, this is Kostya. Tell the nurses to throw away all the injectables and ensure you get a fresh supply. Have your doctor check it over.’ He replaced the receiver.
‘It’s a shame, Kostya, you could have been anything. Now both of you remove your guns and drop them on the floor. Use the tips of your fingers.’
Kostya nodded to the guard and the pair of them removed their automatics.
‘Now, we’re going to just walk out the way I came in.’
The corridor was empty. With Kostya directly in front, she walked her two captives steadily up the stairs.
‘Get my bag, Taras.’ She pointed at the toilet door. ‘And now the back. Tell your man to down his gun.’
‘You’ll need to put your coat on, Vika.’ She could hear the faint tone of amusement in Kostya’s voice. ‘And if you ever want a job…’
‘Don’t tempt me, Kostya.’ She nudged him in the back with the silencer.
The man who had let her in backed away from the door as they exited onto the alley. Viktoriya thought how the scene might look to a passer-by: three men – and a woman, barely clothed, holding a gun.
She waved them back inside, kicked off her shoes and sprinted up to the main street. A black Volga screeched to a halt in front of her. Ivan threw open the door.
‘Okay, the station. I need to catch that late train.’
Viktoriya cast one last look down the passageway at the lonely figure of Kostya staring back towards her.
Chapter 59
MOSCOW
Colonel Ilya Terentev gazed out the café window to the food queue across the street that had formed in front of a pop-up stall. Children tugged at their mothers’ hands while the elderly stood patiently, inured to a crumbling system. All day, state television had broadcast pictures of the general mobilisation in response to so-called Western provocation. Was it going to be 1956 all over again? Thousands had died in Hungary. Yuri was right that things had to move on. But where had that landed his friend? Locked up in Lubyanka for anti-Soviet activity and, if the coup prevailed, it would get much worse. He gulped a mouthful of lukewarm coffee and grimaced at its bitterness.