Rasputin's Shadow (25 page)

T
he van fisht
ailed as it turned left out of Brightwater onto Coney Island Avenue and headed north. Bon ran a stop sign, then jumped two sets of lights, but the traffic was so sparse at this time of night that it barely made a difference.

Next to him, Jonny had his head stuck out the open window, his eyes focused behind them, trying to see if they were being followed.

“Jen jang,”
he cursed.
Dammit
. He pulled back into the van. “There’s a cop car tailing us. Can’t this piece of shit go any faster?” His pupils were the size of quarters, his blood hosting an escalating concentration of adrenaline and endorphins.

The van lurched forward as Bon floored the gas and ran another set of lights. This time they made it over the intersection a split second before a short line of cars filled the cross street.

Bon turned right onto a side street, then immediately took a left.

Jonny peered out the window. He waited until they’d done a few more turns before facing forward and taking a deep breath.

“I think we’ve lost them,” he told Bon. He slapped him on the arm three times. “Good job, Pulgasari
.
”

He stared ahead. It was past two in the morning, and the roads were empty. He tried to keep a lid on his emotions and concentrate on reaching the ice rink, but he knew he’d gone too far this time. He knew there was no deceit or manipulation or charm that could extricate him from the spiraling violence in which he found himself trapped.

Ae-Cha had never wanted to be part of his world, but once she’d fallen for Jachin—it was Jonny who had introduced them—it was only a matter of time before she was dragged into their wake.

Jonny felt a surge of fury that was coupled with a parallel burst of sadness, and for the first time, he began to wonder if his brother and Shin had perhaps made the right decision after all.

***

K
OSCHEY WAS ALREADY OVER
the Manhattan Bridge and heading down Flatbush Avenue toward Prospect Park.

Major cities were easy for him. In between assignments, he often spent weeks in solitary lockdown, most recently in a rented villa just outside the tiny village of Mougins on the French Riviera, usually with no more than an encrypted satellite Internet connection for company. He used that time wisely, to prepare, to explore, to compile useful lists—including lists of discreet locations to stay at, or to meet in. Even though the entire apparatus of the Russian intelligence service was at his disposal, he preferred to work alone, and for no one—not even his direct superior—to know anything more than what they told him. It was safer that way, both for him and for them.

He’d previously identified the lot next to the ice rink in Prospect Park as one of a handful of suitable locations for a meeting away from prying eyes, something that wasn’t especially easy in a place as crowded as New York City. While most of the city was increasingly covered by CCTV, the park itself had minimal coverage, and he knew where the cameras were and where they pointed.

A pained grunt came from the seat next to him. Ae-Cha was struggling against the plastic strip that bound her wrists together, but had only succeeded in gouging a layer of skin from one wrist. A trickle of blood had stained the seat beneath it.

It didn’t matter. The car wasn’t long for this world.

Neither was its passenger.

***

C
HEWING GUM VIGOROUSLY LIKE
a coach watching a final, the Sledgehammer sat in the cushy backseat of the Mercedes GL450 and checked his Desert Eagle as the black SUV pulled away into the night.

His lieutenant Petr—a thin man with a tailored suit, cowboy boots, and a mop of blond hair that failed to conceal a vivid scar running horizontally across one cheek—was behind the wheel. Two indistinguishable thugs in leather jackets were riding with them. None of the heavies sported the usual tattoos of the lower-rung
bratki
. They were Mirminsky’s personal entourage, all ex–Russian Army Spetsnaz, specifically veterans of some of the most brutal Special Forces incursions into Chechnya. All three of them now earned more from him in a week, and with much better perks, than they’d received from the Russian state in a year.

Mirminsky’s cell rang.

It was Ditko.

“Prospect Park,” the cop informed him. “The lot by the skating rink.”

The Sledgehammer grunted. “Keep me posted.” Then he clicked off.

He’d make sure the cop got something extra for his trouble. Mirminsky always rewarded those who helped him. It was one of the reasons he had risen so quickly. He believed in the old saying:
knut i pryanik
—“the whip and the gingerbread.” Only, his whip had barbs.

He directed Petr where to go, then ran his fingers over his Desert Eagle, a savage impatience rising through him.

***

A
PARO HUNG A LEFT
as I grabbed the radio handset and squawked for comms.

“Do you still have them?”

After a moment, Talaoc’s crackly voice replied. “We do. We lost them for a few blocks, but we’ve caught up with them again. We’re on Ocean, still heading north.”

I glanced at Aparo and pictured a map of the city in my mind’s eye.

He asked, “Where are they going?”

“Ivan must have told them to head someplace where they can do the trade. Ae-Cha for the van. Somewhere quiet. But at this hour—could be anywhere.”

I lifted the handset back to my mouth. “All right, just hang back, but don’t lose them again. We’re about ten minutes out. Backup’s on the way too. Be advised the van might be hooking up with our shooter. Might be a hostage-exchange situation. This guy is armed and extremely dangerous.”

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.

K
oschey 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.

***

J
ONNY SENSED
B
ON’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?”

***

K
ALUTA 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?”

***

A
PARO 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—”

***

“B
OTH 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.

***

“F
UCK, 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.”

E
ven 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.

W
E 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.