‘I’ve spent my whole life planning for every last detail. It’s about time I was spontaneous.’
‘What will you do with your company?’
Kasakov shrugged. ‘Tomasz and Yuliya can handle things without me. I’ll still own it, of course, but they can run it. I’ve got a horrible feeling they could do a better job than me anyway.’
‘You really mean this, don’t you?’
He nodded. ‘It’s taken a long time, but I’ve come to understand that some things really are more important than money or power. I never want to lose you, Izzy.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘You’re not going to lose me.’ She didn’t look at him when she said, ‘Why would you even say that?’
He gently stroked her cheek. ‘I’m not a fool, my love. I know I haven’t been the husband you deserve. I’ve allowed things to come between us. My company, Illarion’s death, our problem.’ He swallowed heavily and she squeezed his hand. ‘Things have happened recently that have altered my perspective somewhat. I won’t go into the details; all you need to know is that I’ve changed. And, I think it’s about time I acknowledged that our problem is really my problem. These days, doctors can fix anything. And if not, there are other ways to conceive. It’s not too late.’ Kasakov pulled Izolda close to him and held her tightly. ‘I’m so sorry I pushed you away.’
He felt her tears on his shoulder.
Just after nine a.m. Victor watched Izolda Kasakov emerge through the dacha’s back door. She was a vision wearing a patterned silk kimono, wide-brimmed hat, and large sunglasses. Her feet were bare, toenails ruby red. She carried a glass of what looked like iced tea with a slice of lime. She sucked the iced tea through a long straw and approached the swimming pool, disappearing from Victor’s line of sight. He imagined her taking a seat on one of the sun loungers while she finished her tea. No sign of Kasakov.
Victor cracked his neck and sipped some more water. The temperature was in the low seventies by now, even under the shade of the forest canopy. The breeze was still light and helped keep Victor cool. Birds sang overhead. Victor’s ornithology knowledge was basic at best and he had no idea of the species, but he found their chirping especially pleasant and it helped relax him while he continued his long wait.
An hour passed, then two. Izolda Kasakov re-entered Victor’s field of view. This time she was wearing nothing other than a black swimsuit. Her hair was damp and hung past her shoulder blades. She entered the house, closing the back door behind her.
As midday came and went, the temperature continued to rise. Victor wiped the sweat from his eyes with a sleeve. The breeze had picked up, but it was still hot. The heat made him feel tired but he remained focused. At random intervals he grabbed the rifle and centred the reticule over the doorway so when it came to it the movement would be fast and fluid.
At two p.m. Izolda appeared again. She was in her swimsuit still, but now a shawl wrapped around her waist covered her legs. She carried a plate topped with a salad. Again, no Kasakov. Izolda left the back door open. Perhaps for her husband to follow.
Victor hadn’t seen Kasakov since he passed the window hours before. For all he knew, the Ukrainian could have gone out for the day, but guesswork was inherently problematic. Victor had faith in his plan. Whether it took an hour or a week, Kasakov would eventually step out of the dacha’s back door.
Twenty minutes later, Izolda stepped back into view and stood in the open doorway. A bodyguard walked past her, patrolling the grounds, doing circuits of the mansion. He was armed with a compact AK74SU and wearing a level III Kevlar vest over his T-shirt. He spent longer than was tactically prudent checking out Mrs Kasakov as he went by. Victor couldn’t help but smile. Even the best bodyguards money could buy were still only human.
From the way Izolda was leaning against the doorframe and gesticulating, Victor could tell she was talking with someone he took to be her husband. With his spare hand, Victor pulled the sheet off the Dakota and drew the rifle closer.
A silhouette appeared on the far side of Izolda.
Immediately Victor examined the sway of the tree branches on the lawn behind the house, estimating there was a ten mile an hour cross-wind. He knew that with the. 338 calibre round that would equate to around a twenty-five-inch displacement at seven hundred yards. He exchanged the binoculars for the rifle, adjusted the windage dial on the Longbow’s scope to compensate for the displacement, and positioned himself so his right eye was an inch from the eyepiece. He closed his left.
*
The American with the call sign Cowboy Bravo watched as the target readied the rifle, and said into his throat mic, ‘Cowboy Bravo. The target has taken up his weapon. This doesn’t look like a drill. I think he’s getting ready to shoot. Over.’
‘Cowboy Daddy. Roger that, Bravo. Can you confirm that Mr VIP is exposed, Gamma? Over.’
‘This is Cowboy Gamma. Hold on, I lost sight of Mr and Mrs VIP to avoid a gorilla. I’m re-establishing a visual. I can hear them talking. Yes, I can see him in the kitchen near the door. He’s approaching it now. Looks like he’s going to step outside. He’s definitely going to step outside the door. Over.’
‘Copy that, Cowboy Bravo,’ Cowboy Daddy’s gravelly voice answered. ‘When he does, you can bet your bottom dollar our boy is going to drop that son of a bitch with one through the cranium. This is it. Be ready. I’m moving into killing range from the south of the target. Do the same from the north, Cowboy Bravo. Out.’
The American rose from his kneeling position and carefully approached the target, moving in a semicircle to come at him from behind. He released the safety on his MP5 and checked the selector was switched to three-round burst.
The silhouette behind Izolda stepped out of the shadows. Vladimir Kasakov was stripped to the waist and wearing long swimming shorts. His huge torso was covered in hair. His wife blocked a good deal of him, but Victor centred the reticule between Kasakov’s eyebrows and breathed slow and steady. His heart rate fell. He concentrated on its rhythm, timing himself, finger poised to squeeze in the pause between beats, ready for when Izolda had moved out of the way.
Victor watched as she took a glass of iced tea from her husband and then stepped backwards and away from the door to allow Kasakov to exit. The big Ukrainian emerged through the doorway.
The birds stopped singing above Victor.
He squeezed the Longbow’s trigger.
CHAPTER 52
Something whizzed past the right side of Kasakov’s head, followed by a loud thunk, as if a nail had been hammered into the wood. He flinched in surprise, but didn’t understand what any of it meant. He put a hand to his ear and turned on the spot, confused.
‘Are you okay?’ Izolda asked.
‘Yes,’ Kasakov replied. ‘I think a wasp flew past me.’ He stared, confused, at a small hole in the doorframe. The edges were frayed. ‘Has this hole always…?’
A sound like thunder rolled over them.
Kasakov and Izolda looked at each other.
‘What was that?’ she asked, sipping some iced tea and looking skyward.
Kasakov looked too. There were a few clouds, but certainly no storm clouds. What caused the thunder?
‘Maybe it was a plane,’ Izolda suggested.
A window shattered to Kasakov’s left and Izolda let out a surprised yelp. She dropped her glass and it shattered on the paving slabs. Shards of glass and ice cubes scattered across the ground. Iced tea spread out in a puddle.
Brickwork exploded. Kasakov flinched as fragments pelted his arm and back.
A second sound like thunder echoed. Concern spread across Kasakov’s face.
‘ What the hell? ’
One of their bodyguards came running around the side of the dacha.
‘ GET DOWN,’ he yelled, gesturing frantically with both hands, ‘ GET DOWN.’
Izolda screamed. Kasakov cursed himself for being slow to understand and charged in his wife’s direction. He threw her to the ground and lay on top to shield her.