There was a loud crack and the front of the waiter's face flew off in a fine red spray, his body crumpling back into his seat. Dominique gasped.
A red stiletto tipped the waiter's body out onto the street with a shove to the small of his back. Then a bronzed leg emerged, followed by a hand clutching the still-smoking gun, long diamante-studded nails wrapped around the handle. Finally, an oval face with wild blue eyes framed by long dark hair appeared, and a tanned, full bosom adorned by a flaming red ruby. Tom recognized her immediately as the woman who had winked at him when he brushed against her on his way to the bar.
"Zdrdstvuti, Archie," she said with a smile.
Tom flashed Archie a questioning look, but he was already climbing into the car.
"Zdrdstvuti, Viktor."
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
As soon as they were all inside, the car accelerated away, its powerful engine growling as the revs climbed. Tom was in the front, Archie and Dominique in the backseat with Viktor, while an unsmiling bearded brute who seemed to respond to the name Max was driving, a Kalashnikov propped against the walnut veneer dash in front of him.
"Stop the car," Tom demanded, as soon as he judged they were far enough from the club. "Enough fucking around — what's going on?"
"Tom!" Archie remonstrated, for once the pacifist. "Easy." Tom could read from Archie's face what he meant. They were on Viktor's turf now and needed to watch their step. But Tom was in no mood for diplomacy.
"We nearly got killed tonight, Archie. I don't know about you, but I've had enough surprises. First she invites us to her club" — he tilted his head in Viktor's direction but spoke as if she wasn't there—"then she makes sure we sit at a particular table so that two gunmen can use us for target practice." He nailed Viktor with a stare. "By the way, who was the poor shit you just redecorated the sidewalk with?"
"An employee of mine. A traitor." She spoke with a gently lilting Russian accent, but her face remained impassive as she continued, "I apologize for his betrayal."
"You're telling us you had nothing to do with all that?" Tom snorted disbelievingly.
"Niet." She shook her head, her hair flicking one way, then the other. "I told him to get you a table, that's all. He must have told them which one it was."
"It explains why he insisted we sit at that table," Archie suggested helpfully.
"And probably why they didn't realize that the three people sitting there were not the ones they'd been sent to kill," Dominique added bitterly.
"Who were they?" Tom asked.
"I have never seen them before," said Viktor. "Chechens, most likely. Professionals. They do one job and then disappear. The money buys them weapons for their war."
"But who were they working for?" Archie this time.
"Whoever could afford them. But not me. I have my own people."
"Well, that's comforting," Dominique muttered darkly.
"How did they know where to find us?" Tom demanded. "They even had time to find and bribe that waiter. You were the only person who knew we'd be at the club."
"It was not me," said Viktor. "I put your names on the list, but they were three among a hundred."
"The phone!" Archie snapped his fingers. "The phone must have been tapped." He turned to Viktor. "We discussed all the arrangements then."
"You think it's Renwick?" Dominique quizzed Tom.
"Why would Renwick make a move on me in a crowded nightclub when only a few hours ago he had me on my own?" Tom shook his head. "No, it must be someone else."
"Well, you can't go back to your hotel," said Viktor. "You will stay with me instead. I'll send some people around to collect your luggage."
"No," Tom insisted. "I think we'll be better on our own."
"That wasn't an offer," Viktor replied unsmilingly. "I've got three dead customers and half of the St. Petersburg police crawling over my club. Until I find out what's going on, you're staying with me."
The car began to lose speed as the lead vehicle in their three-car convoy pulled up at a red light. Suddenly there was a blinding flash, followed by a massive boom. The car in front of them lifted seven feet off the ground and smashed down onto its side. The explosion rocked them all in their seats, their car leaping backward in the shock wave.
Through the smoke a figure materialized at the driver's window, slapped something against the glass, then disappeared. Tom recognized the shape at once, despite the distorting effect of the duct tape that secured it to the glass.
"Grenade!" he shouted, sliding into the footwell for shelter.
The grenade detonated with an ugly bang, shards of glass flying like shrapnel across the car's interior despite the windows clearly being armored, fragments embedding themselves in the dashboard and soft leather seats. The figure appeared again, this time opening fire with an automatic weapon. The driver, still dazed from the explosion, didn't stand a chance as the bullets smashed through the now weakened glass, his body jerking in his seat as he was hit in the head and chest.
Grabbing the wheel, Tom leaned across and pressed the driver's lifeless foot to the accelerator. The car sprang forward, careering violently as they clipped the burning wreck of the vehicle in front of them, bullets thumping into the side and rear windows as they accelerated away. As soon as he judged them to be clear, Tom sat up and opened the driver's door, heaving his body out on the street before slipping behind the wheel and stabbing the accelerator down.
"Take this—" He passed the Kalashnikov back over his shoulder. "We're going to need it."
Viktor grabbed it, checked the magazine, then cocked the weapon with familiar ease. Then, kicking her shoes off, she climbed into the passenger seat next to Tom. He saw that she was bleeding from a deep cut on her arm.
"Are you okay?"
"Forget me. What about the others?" she asked. Tom checked his mirror and saw the second escort car lying in a twisted mangle of burning steel and rubber.
"I don't think they made it. Must have been using a shaped charge or tank mines. We're just lucky we didn't drive over one ourselves."
"When I find out who's done this I will make them pay." Viktor's eyes flashed, her chest heaving. "No one will escape."
"Let's get out of here first," Tom reminded her.
"Head south for the river," she ordered.
Tom nodded, making eye contact in the rearview mirror with a grim-faced Archie, then Dominique, who gave him a nervous smile. She was clutching her jaw as if she'd banged it against something.
Suddenly a car surged out from a street to their left, guns blazing out of both windows.
"Hold my legs," Viktor shouted over the noise of the gunfire.
She pressed her window switch and leaned out, her back resting on the sill so that she was almost lying flat. Steering with his left hand, Tom grabbed her ankles with his right hand to stop her falling as she began to fire three-shot bursts at their pursuers.
"Aim for the tires," Tom shouted. She fired again, and sparks began to fly from the car behind them as the left front tire shredded. As the driver lost control, it veered across the icy road, clipped an oncoming vehicle, and spun into a line of parked cars. Tom watched in the rearview mirror as it flipped spectacularly onto its roof, wheels still spinning.
Viktor snapped off the magazine and looked into it with disgust. "I'm out," she said, tossing it out the window. Dominique grabbed the handgun Viktor had left on the backseat, cocked it, and thrust it toward her. "Use this."
Viktor nodded her thanks, the gun strangely incongruous between her sparkling nails.
"Where to?" asked Tom.
"The bridge," Viktor exclaimed, pointing at the road ahead. "Get to the bridge." She checked her watch, a diamond-studded gold Rolex. "There's still time."