It took Leo another thirty seconds to reach them, and he bumped into Popov.
‘OK, this is what we’re going to do,’ said Shepherd. ‘Dmitry, keep a hand on my shoulder, Leo you hold on to Dmitry. I’ll lead us to the security centre.’
The two men did as they were told and as a group they began to walk to the security centre. The feeble light from the phone was barely any help in illuminating their way.
‘How can you see?’ asked Tarasov. ‘It’s pitch black.’
‘I’ve got a good memory, I can recall the layout, pretty much,’ said Shepherd. He was moving at a slow walk in what he knew was the direction of the door to the security centre. It was difficult because he couldn’t see where he was placing his feet and his brain kept playing tricks on him, persuading him that at every step he was going to put his foot in a deep hole. It was a relief each time his foot hit the hard surface.
Tarasov kept misjudging the pace and banging into Popov, making both men curse.
Eventually Shepherd saw the outline of the thumb scanner and keypad ahead of them, apparently floating in the air. He became disoriented and almost stumbled but he fought to focus and after three more steps he was at the door. He pressed his thumb against the scanner and put in his code. The door lock clicked and he pushed it open.
‘OK, guys, we’re entering the security centre. Don’t move around until we know what the story is,’ said Shepherd. The three men slowly filed into the room. Shepherd’s right foot touched something and he told them to stop. He bent down and there was enough light from his phone to see Podolski, lying face down on the floor. ‘It’s Alina,’ he said. He transferred the phone to his left hand and felt for a pulse with his right. He knew as soon as he touched her neck that he was wasting his time. His heart lurched. He checked both Podolski’s ears. Her Bluetooth earpiece was missing. He patted her down and confirmed that her transceiver was missing. ‘She’s dead,’ he said, straightening up.
‘Dead?’ repeated Tarasov.
‘The killer’s down here,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s taken Alina’s radio.’ He put his hand up to his earpiece. ‘Ivan, this is Tony. Where are you?’
There was no answer.
‘Ivan. Where are you?’
Popov interrupted and spoke rapidly in Russian. The only word that Shepherd could make out was ‘Ivan’.
‘Dmitry, I think Ivan’s in trouble,’ said Shepherd, though he knew that he was underplaying the situation. Koshechkin was probably already dead. ‘From now on we’re going to watch what we say on the radios, he’s probably listening in.’
‘So what do we do?’
Shepherd went through Podolski’s pockets and found her phone. He switched it on and gave it to Popov. ‘Where are the fuses?’ asked Shepherd. ‘In this room?’
‘In the briefing room.’
‘Find out if he’s just pulled the fuses or cut the wire. Either way do what you can to restore power. I’ll go down to Grechko.’
‘Leo can go with you.’
‘I’ll move faster on my own,’ said Shepherd, taking off his jacket and tossing it on to a chair. ‘My memory’s pretty good, even in the dark. But it’ll slow me down if I have to worry about Leo. But see if you can find another phone for him and send him down after me.’ He stood up and headed for the door.
Monotok walked quickly down the corridor. Ahead of him was the door to the pool room. He took the severed thumb from his pocket, pressed it against the scanner and tapped in the four-digit code.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, the tang of chlorine stinging his nose. Grechko was at the far end of the pool, sitting on a lounger with a towel around him. ‘Is someone there?’ Grechko shouted. ‘Who is it? Dmitry?’ His voice echoed off the walls.
Monotok walked slowly towards him. ‘No, it’s not Dmitry,’ he said. ‘It’s just you and me.’
Grechko drew his legs up against his chest. ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’
‘My name is Kirill Luchenko, does that name mean anything to you?’
Monotok could see Grechko frowning as he peered into the darkness. Monotok stopped next to a lounger. He put down the gun then took off his night vision goggles, blinking in the darkness.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
‘I told you. My name is Kirill Luchenko, but my friends call me Monotok. And I’m here to kill you.’ He took his knife out of his pocket and placed it next to the goggles.
Grechko stood up and the towel fell from his shoulders. Grechko stood there naked, his hands out in front of him as he moved his head from side to side in a futile attempt to improve his vision. ‘You are an assassin, is that it? Someone paid you to kill me and you skulk in the dark like the coward that you are?’ He jutted his chin up, his hands still moving through the air.
Monotok reached into his pocket and took out a small Magnalite torch. ‘No one paid me, Grechko. This isn’t about money.’ He switched on the torch and shone it at Grechko. The light was blinding and Grechko threw up his hands to shield his face. Monotok bent down and picked up the gun. He wasn’t planning to shoot Grechko – he was going to use the knife to end the pig’s life – but he wanted him to know that he had a gun and that he would use it if Grechko came at him. He shone the torch at the gun, and then back to Grechko’s face. ‘If you take one step towards me I’ll shoot you in your shrivelled-up nuts.’
Grechko stayed where he was, squinting into the light. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay you whatever you want. Anything.’
‘You’re not listening to me, are you?’ said Monotok. ‘This isn’t about money. This was never about money.’ He stopped and stared at Grechko. ‘Actually, that’s wrong, isn’t it? This is all about money. It always has been.’
Shepherd hurried down the stairs, two at a time, keeping his left hand against the wall for balance,. The light from the phone was barely enough to see by but his memory stood him in good stead and he knew exactly where he was. He saw the glow of the thumb scanner and keypad at the door to Basement Two but hurried on by.
He put his hand up to his earpiece. ‘How’s it going, Dmitry?’ he asked.
‘I can’t make sense of the wiring,’ said Popov. ‘I’m not an electrician.’
‘We really need lights down here, Dmitry.’
‘I’m doing my best, Tony.’
Shepherd’s foot caught on something and he pitched forward. His left hand slammed against the wall and he twisted as he fell, his right hip slamming against the stairs. The fall knocked the breath out of him and he lay against the wall, gasping for air. He pointed his mobile at whatever had caused him to stumble and winced when he saw Koshechkin’s pale face, his eyes wide and staring. Shepherd panned the light down the bodyguard’s body and winced again at the glistening blood all over the chest. He pushed himself to his feet, then took the last few steps to the door that led to Basement Three.
‘There he is,’ said Harper. ‘There’s the bastard now.’ They had parked the Transit van next to Khan’s CRV behind the supermarket where he worked. Khan had just turned around the corner. He had a carrier bag in each hand and had his head down, deep in thought, as he walked.
‘Get the tape ready, Jock,’ said Jimbo. He was holding a large spanner in his gloved hands. They didn’t want to use the guns in the city, even with suppressors fitted. McIntyre reached for a roll of duct tape and pulled off a piece.
Shortt opened the passenger door and climbed out.
Harper wound down the driver’s-side window as Khan got closer. ‘Hey, mate, you got the time on you?’
Khan looked up as if his mind was elsewhere. ‘What?’
‘The time, mate? What’s the time?’
Khan looked at him, frowned, then twisted his left wrist to get a look at his watch. He opened his mouth to speak but Shortt came up behind him and slammed the spanner just behind his right temple and Khan dropped like a stone. His carrier bags fell to the ground and one burst open, scattering oranges across the tarmac.