Ganglands: Russia: Russia (12 page)

‘Hey!’ Alexei shouted.
‘Someone help me!’

Maybe his voice was muffled by the ski mask, but no one stepped forward to aid him.
The roars of the Eagles were still echoing loudly around the level.

A pellet bit into the pillar millimetres above his head.
Alexei didn’t care about the duel now – all he wanted to do was to put the flames out.
His fatigues had been consumed by fire, and his skin was screaming in protest. Dropping his gun, Alexei began rolling around on the floor, but the flames were now too fierce to be smothered.
Alexei cried out in panic, but still no one came to his aid.

Staggering to his feet, Alexei ran over to the pool of snowmelt and dived headlong into the icy water.
There was a loud sizzling sound, and a cloud of steam rose up from the pool.
As he lay beneath the surface, soaking his singed skin, all Alexei could hear was the scornful laughter of the Moscow Eagles.

From his vantage point on a low roof to the east of the complex, Alexei stretched out stiffly and watched as two small figures abseiled down the main wall of the hospital.
The skin on his back was still tender from where the fire had taken hold, and the stench of smoke lingered on his clothes and in his nostrils.

He was grateful to be on his own – in particular, that Viktor and Pavel were somewhere down among the Japanese knotweed, overseeing the abseiling. Following the duel, the Eagles’ leader had graciously suggested that Alexei sit out the afternoon’s activities.
Alexei agreed only too readily, not caring any more what the gang thought of him.
If he had hoped that taking part in such a dangerous duel would have gained him credibility, he had been sorely mistaken.
The rest of the Eagles seemed to find the incident funny – Alexei had a sneaking suspicion that humiliating him had been the whole point of the duel.
Only Nadia showed any concern, gravely handing Alexei a couple of icepacks as he walked gingerly back up to the roof. She left the complex soon afterwards, parting with a final enigmatic glance in Alexei’s direction.

Slow footsteps sounded behind Alexei; a hipflask was thrust under his nose.
Medved was standing over him.
Alexei waited for a triumphant or nasty remark, but instead the large man waved the flask under his nose again. Cautiously, Alexei took a swig, and felt burning liquid drip down his throat.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the flask back.

‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘How’s the ankle?’

Medved shrugged.
‘I’ve had worse.’ He opened a pack of cigarettes.
‘Smoke?’

‘After today?’ replied Alexei.
‘I think I’ll pass.’

The burly man nodded, then lit a strong-smelling cigarette.
Alexei pointed at the abseilers as they continued to inch their way down the side of the hospital.

‘I figured you’d be up with them,’ he said.

Medved snorted.
‘What the hell would I do on a rope?’ He paused, taking a deep drag from his cigarette.
‘Anyway, I don’t like heights.’

‘Piss off!’ laughed Alexei.

‘It’s true.’ Medved shot him a sideways glance. ‘Tell anyone and I’ll beat the shit out of you.’

Alexei held up his hands.
‘Your secret’s safe with me. Can’t pretend I fancy it either.
It’s dangerous enough jogging round here, let alone hanging off the side of a building.
This place is a dump.’

‘Of course it’s a dump,’ said Medved. ‘That’s the whole point.’

‘What do you mean?’ Alexei asked cautiously.

‘Say a hospital needs building, and a certain construction firm wins the contract to build it.
Say this firm takes some shortcuts during construction – maybe the concrete isn’t so good, so things start falling apart pretty quickly,
and you end up with a half-built ruin like this.
Still, the money the firm’s saved gets shared around, and so nobody ends up complaining.’ Medved flicked his cigarette end off the roof.
‘It’s a classic Construktko tactic,’ he concluded.

‘Construktko?’ Alexei said, with a frown.
‘The same guys whose site you raided last year?’

Medved nodded.
‘Mr Lebedev – the owner – lets us use this place.
Long as we don’t advertise it, of course.
Viktor says that –’

‘Medved!’

The burly skinhead whirled round to see Viktor Orlov standing in the doorway behind him.
The Eagles’ leader briskly beckoned him away.
Pretending to be engrossed in the abseiling, out of the corner of his eye Alexei watched as the two men engaged in a hushed conference on the other side of the roof.
Viktor was angrily jabbing his finger at Medved, who received the tirade with surprising meekness.
Eventually Viktor pushed the skinhead back towards the doorway and they went downstairs without saying another word to Alexei.

The sky was turning pink with the onset of evening before the training was completed.
As the Eagles packed up their gear and headed back to the vans, Alexei saw that the day had had an impact on the gang members.
At the beginning, the skinheads had been a mistrustful, surly group – now, bonded by the physical challenges, they patted each other on the back and helped one another with their gear.
In one day, Viktor and Pavel had bred comradeship among their men.

Not that Alexei felt part of their gang.
All day the Eagles had been playing games with him – whether to test him, or just humiliate him, Alexei couldn’t be sure.
He had had the last laugh, though.
Clearly Medved had told him something he shouldn’t.
As Alexei sat in the back of the van as it rumbled back to Moscow, one question occupied his mind.
Given that the Eagles had run riot through a site owned by Construktko, what on earth was its owner doing letting them train on his buildings?

15. Blood Rift

The next morning, Alexei woke up to find his uncle’s apartment empty, and his clothes from the day before in a smoky pile in the corner of his room.
He checked his mobile phone, and was relieved to find that there were no messages waiting for him.
For the time being, he needed a break from the Moscow Eagles.

After a long shower, Alexei wrapped a towel around his waist and padded barefoot out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.
He scanned the sparse contents of the fridge, pulled out a bottle of orange juice and took a deep swig.
As he drank, a key rattled in the apartment’s front door and Stepan shuffled into the kitchen, laden down with shopping bags.

‘You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had in the supermarket,’ he began, placing the bags down on the table.
‘The bloody woman at the checkout –’

He looked across at Alexei and stopped, his face paling.

‘What the hell is that?’ he whispered, pointing a trembling finger at his nephew’s chest.
Alexei looked down, and saw the swastika tattoo on his glistening skin.

‘Wait!’ he said urgently.
‘It’s not what it looks like …’

‘It’s a bloody swastika, Alexei!’ yelled Stepan. ‘It’s
exactly what it looks like!
What in God’s name were you thinking?
What do you think your mother and father would say if they saw that? What do you think
Lena
would say, Alexei?
Have you even visited her recently?’

‘You don’t understand,’ Alexei shot back.
‘I did this for Lena!’

Stepan laughed incredulously.
‘What kind of nonsense is that?
You shave your hair off, you tattoo filth on your chest, and all this is for your girlfriend?
What the hell is going on?’

Alexei’s explanation died in his throat.
How could he begin to explain what was going on?

‘I can’t tell you,’ he said finally.
‘I’m sorry.’

Stepan looked at his nephew for a long time, then shook his head sadly. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Pack your bags.
You’ve been acting strangely ever since this “course” of yours started.
I don’t know what in hell is going on, but I can’t allow it to take place under my roof. If you’ve got any sense remaining, you’ll go back to Volgograd.
If you won’t talk to me, you’ll have to talk to your parents.’

‘You can’t tell them, uncle!’ pleaded Alexei. ‘Give me a week at least!’

‘You ask too much of me.’

‘Just one week!
Everything will be sorted by then, I promise!’

‘How am I supposed to trust you if you won’t tell me what’s going on?’

Alexei clutched his arm.
‘Because you know me.
You know I wouldn’t do something like this unless it was important.
Lena would support me, I know she would;
can’t you, too?
Kick me out if you have to, but at least give me a week before you tell my parents.
Please.’

His uncle looked away out of the kitchen window – then quickly nodded his head.

‘One week,’ he said.
‘But don’t even think about coming back here until that thing on your chest is gone.’

Stepan retreated to his room and closed the door, leaving Alexei to throw his clothes into a bag and walk out of the flat without even a goodbye.
Alexei’s head was light with disbelief – he couldn’t quite believe his uncle had thrown him out.
Where was he supposed to go?
There only seemed to be one option.

Alexei made a forlorn journey across Moscow to the Taganka district.
He was climbing up the hill towards Trojan’s monastery when his phone began to ring. He pressed the answer button.

‘Hello?’

‘Alexei?’ It was Richard Madison.
‘What’s going on, mate?’

‘I’m coming up to the monastery.
My uncle saw my Nazi tattoo and kicked me out.
I need a place to stay.’

‘Really sorry to hear that.
I’m sure you’ll be able to patch things up after your mission ends.
But you need to walk past the monastery. You’re in deep cover now.
The less contact you have with us the better.’

‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.
I’m coming in.’

‘Listen to me, Alexei.’ Madison’s voice was urgent. ‘They’re following you.’

Alexei stopped in his tracks.
‘What did you say?’

‘There’s a couple of goons in a red Lexus keeping an
eye on you.
If you start hanging out in a deserted monastery you can be sure that’s going to get back to Viktor.’

Alexei had to force himself not to turn round and look for the car.
How long had the Eagles been following him?
Had they seen him visit Lena?
‘Wait a second.’ He frowned.
‘How do you know this?’

‘Because we’re following you too.
We’ve just had a little bit more practice than them.
How do you think I knew you were coming to the monastery?’

Alexei rubbed his eyes wearily.
‘So let me get this straight: my girlfriend’s in the hospital, my uncle’s thrown me out, I’m being followed, and now you guys won’t help me.
What do I do now – go and sleep on a park bench?
Who the hell am I supposed to stay with?’

Madison told him.

‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,’ Alexei said sourly.

He continued past the monastery’s driveway without glancing at the building, plagued by dark thoughts.
At that moment, it felt like the whole world was against him.
Alexei was tempted to jump on a train and go back to Volgograd and the cosy familiarity of his parents’ house, leaving Moscow and Trojan Industries and skinhead gangs far behind him.
Only the thought of Lena – and the promise he had made at her bedside – kept him going.

As he waited at a busy crossing, Alexei glanced behind him and caught a sight of the Lexus parked on the other side of the road.
A burly man was sat at the wheel, pretending not to watch him.
There was no sign of anyone from Trojan.
The fact that they were also
watching him didn’t comfort Alexei in quite the way it should have done.

Tired of walking, he climbed on to a crowded bus that was heading to the manufacturing district of Krasnoselsky.
It was mid-afternoon by the time he reached his goal: a rundown apartment block next to an industrial estate.
A gang of teenagers had gathered in the car park in front of the building, accompanied by a large Rottweiler. They stared at Alexei as he walked past them, while the dog snarled and strained at its leash.

On the second floor, he walked along the corridor and banged on a door halfway down it.
The door opened, and Marat peered out suspiciously from behind it.
He was bare-chested, revealing an array of white power tattoos.
At the sight of Alexei, his face brightened.

‘Alexei!
What are you doing here?’

‘Had a fight with my girlfriend,’ Alexei replied dully. ‘She kicked me out.
Can I stay here for a bit?’

‘Women,’ said Marat, shaking his head.
‘They’re all bitches.
Come in, my friend.’

He opened the door wide, and Alexei walked reluctantly into the skinhead’s apartment.

It was worse when she was awake.

Rozalina Petrova had no idea where she was, or how long she had been held captive.
She barely knew her own name.
Her captors had drowned her system with drugs to keep her docile – not that she could have escaped even if she had been thinking clearly.

Her senses had been numbed to the point of
unconsciousness, but she was still aware of certain things: the cold stone floor on her bare legs, the handcuffs biting into her wrist, the radiator digging into her back, the heavy metal music that pounded through the walls.
In the brief interludes when the drugs wore off, as Rozalina peered around the dark surroundings, pangs of terror assailed her and she struggled to breathe.
In some ways, it was a relief when they returned to inject her again.

Now she was dimly aware of bolts being slid back outside her cell door, and a masked man entering the room.
All the gang members wore balaclavas when they were around her.
The man pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning forward to inspect Rozalina so closely that she could smell the alcohol on his breath.
He held her by the chin; sluggishly, she shied away.

The man laughed, then sat back and pulled up his balaclava.
Even in her dazed state, Rozalina recognized him – it was Oleg, the man who had pretended to be a journalist.
There was still something naggingly familiar about his face, even as it twisted into a hateful grin.

‘Comfortable?’

She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind.
‘Let … me … go,’ she said slowly, making a great effort to frame the words.

‘Aren’t you having fun here?’ the man asked mockingly.