Rasputin's Shadow

  Talaoc took a second, then his voice came back. “Copy that.”

  As I replaced the handset, Aparo shook his head. “Why do I feel real lucky to still be alive?”

  I scowled into the night. At least I’d finally seen our shooter’s face, and I knew a bit more about what we were dealing with. It helped to see him. It helped demystify him and change him from a mythical monster into just another psychopath who enjoyed killing people. But I sensed something else.

  “I think this could be our last chance to get him,” I told Aparo. “He gets the van and disappears, that’s it. He’s gone.”

  “Let’s make sure we get him then,” Aparo said.

  I just said “Yeah” and left it at that.

  46

  Koschey turned into the lot.

  Aside from a long box hedge facing the entrance to the rink, it was completely surrounded by trees. You couldn’t even see Prospect Park Lake, which was only a couple of hundred yards southwest of the deserted expanse of concrete.

  The Yukon came to a stop in the very center of the lot, then he killed the engine. It was deathly quiet, except for the intermittent calls of geese.

  It wasn’t long before he saw the van. It drove into the lot and crawled toward his SUV. He could just distinguish two figures inside. It stopped about fifty yards away, with the engine still running.

  Two guys climbed out. The thinner one was obviously Jonny, whom he recognized from the docks. The other guy was at least six feet tall and built like a shot-putter. He had to assume that Jonny hadn’t found the time to enlist any additional help, but regardless, he was careful to watch his lines of sight as he exited the car and dragged Ae-Cha out of the passenger seat.

  His gun was aimed at her head.

  Koschey felt a familiar rush, the rush that came with the culmination of a difficult assignment. The rush of victory.

  In a matter of minutes he’d have the van and what it contained—technology that had so far eluded the CIA, the U.S. military, and the entire apparatus of the Soviet state. And once he had it, there was no limit to what he could—and would—do with it.

  “The Deathless” would leave his indelible mark on an unsuspecting, and helpless, world.

  ***

  JONNY SENSED BON’S HAND inching toward the Beretta 9mm tucked into the back of his belt and placed a restraining hand on his arm before the big man could draw the weapon.

  He spoke so only Bon could hear him. “Wait till Ae-Cha’s with us. And don’t trust anything he says. I’ve been here before.”

  “He’s alone,” Bon whispered. “We can take him.”

  Jonny raised his hands palms-out and flicked his head for Bon to do the same. After the sound of air sucked between teeth, Bon complied.

  Jonny took a couple of steps toward the Russian. “How do we do this?”

  “Simple. I want the van,” Koschey yelled across the empty lot. “So we just swap cars. And don’t even think of hitting that switch.”

  Jonny stiffened. As he expected, the bastard knew what the van could do.

  Poor Mr. Soko. He wondered if the crazy genius was still alive.

  Jonny took another step forward. “What about Ae-Cha?”

  ***

  KALUTA KILLED THE CRUISER’S lights and coasted in silence right up to the edge of a low wall that ran alongside the approach to the lot.

  He and Talaoc got out and crept alongside the wall, keeping low, their sidearms drawn, their comms turned down.

  They paused at the edge of the wall and surveyed the scene beyond the trees.

  “Reilly,” Talaoc murmured into his mike. “They’re in the lot by the ice rink. The van’s here, and an SUV too. How far out are you?”

  ***

  APARO SPUN THE WHEEL and rocketed us into the park. I couldn’t say for sure, but I’d swear we were on two wheels.

  “We’re in the park. What do you see?”

  Talaoc said, “Two guys by the van, Asians. One of them’s big. A guy and a girl by the SUV.”

  “She’s the hostage,” I told him. “Just stay where—”

  ***

  “BOTH OF YOU WALK toward me,” Koschey ordered them. “I’ll let her go when we meet. But first the big guy loses the gun.”

  Jonny turned to Bon.

  Bon didn’t move. Didn’t take out his gun and toss it aside, as ordered.

  The Russian didn’t make a big deal out of it.

  He just casually lowered his gun to the ground and pulled the trigger, drilling a hole into Ae-Cha’s foot.

  ***

  “FUCK, HE SHOT HER,” Talaoc’s voice burst through the speaker. “The guy by the SUV just shot the girl in the foot.”

  I turned to Aparo. “Floor it.”

  47

  Even through the tape covering Ae-Cha’s mouth, the scream was loud enough to rip through the park. Her knees buckled, but the Russian had a firm grip on her arm and kept her upright.

  “I don’t ask twice!” he yelled out.

  Jonny felt a flood of acid rush up his throat.

  He knew the Russian would kill them all no matter what went down. He also knew the only way for any of them to leave the park alive was for them to take the initiative. He guessed Bon would react to the Russian’s provocation—especially in his coke-fueled state—which gave him a split second to act himself.

  Bon managed to draw his weapon, but Jonny had already pulled his own gun and fired a shot at the Russian. Both were too late. Bon’s head flapped back and he collapsed to the ground, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. And Jonny’s shot had missed its mark.

  The Russian let go of Ae-Cha and loosed two quick shots as Jonny ran for cover. The first shot sheared a slice off the side of Jonny’s head, ear included. The second hit him in the back. Jonny staggered for a moment, trying to stay on his feet, willing his body to turn around and his arm to raise the gun so he could shoot back, but his body refused to comply. He fell forward and smashed his jaw against the concrete as he landed.

  For a moment it felt like the deepest winter. He saw Ae-Cha lying on the ground, the Russian walking toward her for the kill shot. Then there was nothing but darkness.

  WE HURTLED THROUGH THE TREES, beelining at the cruiser and, beyond, the empty lot. An instant later, the lurking silhouettes of the van and the SUV took shape.

  “Go, go, go,” I spurred Aparo, whose shoe was almost going through the footwell.

  We were almost level with the cruiser when I saw muzzle flashes lighting up the night ahead, then I saw one of the figures drop and another start running.

  “Keep going,” I blurted as we rocketed past the cruiser before bouncing onto the lot, heading straight at the two vehicles and a lone figure walking toward a lump on the ground a few yards in front of him.

  “He’s gonna kill her. Take him out!” I yelled as I drew my gun and chambered a round. Not that I needed to say it. Aparo had the same idea and had aimed the car right at our target without taking his foot off the gas.

  As we closed in on him, Ivan spun and started firing at us.

  We both slid down in our seats as bullets punched through the front windshield, Aparo barely poking his head over the steering wheel, me keeping my head down while I stuck my gun out the window looking for a shot. I saw him bolting away a second before we plowed into him and watched him slam onto the hood of the car, crunch into the windshield before bouncing over the roof and hitting the ground behind us just as Aparo stepped on the brakes and slowed the car to a stop next to the Russian’s SUV.

  I shot a quick glance at Aparo. “You okay?”

  “Fuck yeah,” he said, already shoving his door open and drawing his gun.

  We both scrambled out of the car with our weapons leveled at the shooter.

  The bastard wasn’t out of it. He was moving, righting himself, pushing himself to his feet. He didn’t look like he had anything broken and was no more shaken than a gymnast who’d just hit the mat after a couple of flips on a pommel horse.

  ??
?Christ,” Aparo blurted, “this guy really is the fucking Terminator?”

  I rushed right up to him and kicked his feet out from under him, causing him to spin on himself and fall flat on the asphalt. “Don’t move,” I ordered him. “Hands where I can see them.”

  I put a knee on his back and patted him down. I pulled a knife and sheath from his belt and a Glock 26 from an ankle holster, both of which I threw behind me.

  “You’re ours now, comrade,” I told him as I pushed my gun into the back of his neck.

  He turned his head to face me and gave me the thinnest, coldest smile I’ve ever seen, but he said nothing.

  “I’ll check the girl,” Aparo said.

  He headed over to her, and as I was moving to cuff Ivan, I heard Aparo say, “We’ve got company.”

  I looked up. He was right.

  Another dark SUV was approaching through the trees, coming straight for us.

  48

  I pulled Ivan to his feet as the dark Mercedes SUV drove onto the lot and came to a stop behind our two vehicles.

  Four men climbed out.

  One of them was Mirminsky. The other three consisted of a tall blond guy with a dark scar across his cheek and two crew-cut soldiers. All three were armed with machine pistols.

  The muscle covered us while Mirminsky stood front and center. There was about twenty yards between them and us.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked him, my Browning leveled at his head.

  Aparo had his gun drawn too.

  “Relieving you of a headache,” he said, glaring at Ivan. “Now, put your guns down, both of you. There’s no need for this. Besides, there are too many of us for you to handle.”

  “He’s not a headache. He’s what I get paid to do. So how about you put the toys away, get back in your pimpmobile, and get the hell out of here so we can get the girl looked after,” I said as I gestured at Ae-Cha, who was still where she’d fallen. “And if you’re lucky and I’m feeling generous, maybe we can all forget this ever happened. Either way, I can tell you one thing: this asshole’s not walking away from this.”

  The Sledgehammer smiled and shook his head. “You think I’m here to help him go free?”

  I’d missed the nuance of his body language before then, but I wasn’t missing it now. Mirminsky was out for blood.

  “He’s ours, Yuri.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked. “You know what it means?” he continued, without giving me a chance to answer. “It means he’ll sit in some comfortable room while a bunch of guys in suits ask him a lot of questions, and given what he knows and who he is, he’ll end up making a deal. He’ll either get traded back to Moscow, where he’ll live like a king, or he’ll get a nice condo on Miami Beach and a big fat bank account in the Cayman Islands for telling you and your friends at Langley all kinds of fascinating things that will make you think you have an advantage in the pointless games you all play.”

  “He’s not going to walk,” I insisted.

  “Oh, please. You’re smarter than that, Reilly. You know how these things play out.”

  I had to admit, he wasn’t spouting nonsense. Deep down, something within me squirmed with revulsion at the thought that what he described might actually happen. The idea was so repugnant to me, especially now, in the middle of the night, in this deserted lot, knowing everything the bastard had done. But I didn’t fully trust Mirminsky, and either way, there wasn’t much I could do about it, short of putting a bullet through the psycho’s head myself.

  “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s coming with us,” I said flatly.

  Mirminsky stared at me for a moment, then his expression soured, like he was really disappointed. He turned to the blond guy with the scar and tilted his head while murmuring something inaudible. Then, calmly, the blond swung his gun away from me and fired a short burst into the front tire of Aparo’s car, shredding it to ribbons. Then he pivoted around to face Ivan’s SUV and did the same.

  The Sledgehammer meant business.

  He gave me a bleak smile. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The soldiers continued to cover us while the blond walked out toward the van, no doubt to cripple it, too.

  I swung my gun up so it was squarely aimed at Mirminsky’s head.

  “We’ll take your car then,” I said. “Move aside.”

  The blond stopped and turned as Mirminsky raised his hands. “Or what? You’re going to shoot me, an unarmed civilian? You’re going to shoot us all? Come on. Stop being stupid. Give him to me and walk away. Let me do to him what you know you can’t do.”

  We were cornered. With seriously limited options.

  Then Ivan finally spoke up.

  He hissed something in Russian at Mirminsky, and though I couldn’t understand any of it, it sounded nasty and ominous. Mirminsky spat something back at him, uncowed.

  The thought that maybe I should just let the Sledgehammer have Ivan and walk away crossed my mind. But I couldn’t do it.

  “Yuri, think about what you’re doing. We’ll make your life hell.”

  Mirminsky smiled. “Well, this last week hasn’t exactly been one big party for me, has it? And I have some very expensive lawyers who are really worth every penny.” His smile morphed into a dead-serious glare. “Okay, enough of this. What’s it going to be?”

  Crunch time.

  I studied their relative positions, then glanced over at Ivan. He was standing stock-still, his face expressionless.

  Aparo looked over at me. We knew each other well enough to know what the other thought. We should out-bluff them, wait for backup, and take them all in. We had two cops huddled close by, probably unsure about what was going on and debating what move to make and when to make it. Backup had to be very close by now. But until they got here and gave us an undeniable advantage, I wasn’t keen on triggering a shoot-out. I didn’t want to lose more lives over that scumbag.

  Mirminsky read me and nodded at the blond, who sauntered over to where I was holding Ivan. He stared down at Ivan haughtily. Then just as he reached us, three shots came out of nowhere and tore through the night.

  I don’t know where two of them ended up, but the blond was hit from behind and folded to the ground, pulling Ivan down with him.

  All eyes turned to the source of the shots, which was an indistinct shape a hundred yards away, up on its knees, handgun in a two-handed grip.

  Jonny.

  Teetering at the very edge of life.

  The next minute was over in seconds.

  One of Mirminsky’s soldiers fired two bursts at the young Korean, cutting him down—and the patrol car chose that exact moment to charge onto the lot.

  Aparo and I both hit the ground, Aparo taking down the closest of Mirminsky’s goons as he rolled.

  The cops exited the squad car, guns out, yelling at the other shooter to lie on the ground. He ignored them and unleashed furious bursts in their direction, hitting one of them in the shoulder. The cops dived for cover behind their vehicle as they fired back.

  I looked over to where Ivan had been just a couple of seconds earlier, but he’d vanished.

  I fired several shots at the second goon as he ducked for cover behind the Mercedes. None of them found their mark. Within seconds he popped out from behind the big SUV and unloaded most of a clip, first at me, then at the cruiser, peppering its grille with multiple hits and punching out its headlights.

  Still pinned behind Aparo’s car, I heard the van’s engine churn to life. I glanced out to see the vehicle lurching forward.

  Ivan. Had to be.

  Mirminsky turned and fired several rounds into the van, but none hit the driver—and with the surviving goon still pinning us down under carefully timed bursts of fire, I could only watch as the van charged forward, headed straight for Mirminsky.

  It hit him full force and swallowed him up under its front wheels like a vacuum cleaner. After about ten yards, the body broke loose and the van’s rear wheels bumped over it with a sickenin
g squelch.

  I aimed at the rear tires and emptied my clip to no avail as the van careened out of the lot and disappeared between the trees.

  I couldn’t let him escape like that, but we were still taking heat from the fourth shooter.

  “Go after the van, we’ll cover you” I shouted to the cops.

  And with a big “Go!” I rose from behind my cover and unloaded a clip at the SUV, with Aparo doing the same—only for us to be gutted by the sound of a starter motor in severe distress.

  The cruiser’s engine had taken one hit too many.

  “Call backup,” I hollered, roiling with frustration. “Get them to seal off the park.”

  Then I turned toward the shooter who was still huddled behind the Mercedes. I was desperate to get my hands on the SUV. As far as I could tell, it still looked operational, and it was the only way I could go after the van.

  “Game’s over!” I yelled out to him. “It’s all over. You understand me? Throw down your weapon and come out with your hands up.”

  It took him a tense minute to do so. A minute that felt like forever. Because by the time he finally chucked his weapon aside and came out with his arms up, it was pointless to go after the van.

  We’d lost him.

  Again.

  And this time, we’d let him take exactly what he came for.

  49

  Koschey checked outside the warehouse, made sure all was quiet, and locked the door.

  He wandered across the large space, headed for the small office, deep in thought.

  He knew he’d almost lost it all during his excursion to recover the van, but the thought didn’t bother him. It was a risk he always carried. Especially on assignments like this one, where uncertainties couldn’t be avoided and he had to make quick decisions without the benefit of advance planning. But that was part of what had made his legend: the fact that he could improvise better than most, and that somehow, he always came out ahead. This night had been a major test of that skill, a test he’d come through again with no more than a bruise or two. He’d learn from it, add it to the large repertoire of experience he’d inevitably draw from at some point in the future. More important, he now had everything he needed: Sokolov—Shislenko—and the van.