Resurrection Day (59 page)

Frankie swung left at the Piedmont crossroads, and they passed the Lutheran church. Ronnie was in the van, right behind them, keeping up. A half-mile down the road, Visto said, 'Hang a right.'

Frankie turned on to a forest track, heavily wooded either side. Fifty yards along the track they came to a clearing in the woods, their headlights sweeping across the thick clumps of trees. 'This is it,' Visto said. 'Pull in, switch off, and kill the lights.'

Frankie did as he was told, the engine died, and Ronnie pulled the van up behind them and followed suit, dousing his lights.

Visto stepped out of the car into almost total darkness. He carried a powerful electric torch in his left hand, but kept it switched off. The light wasn't bad, a lunar wash bathing the forest, the night clear, stars bright. Visto lit a cigarette, detected the fresh smell of pine in his nostrils, his ears assaulted by the utter stillness of the woods. 'You hear that, Frankie?'

'What?'

'Nothing. That's my point, man. It's like a fucking graveyard out here.'

He peered over towards the forest. Ricky and Hector were out there somewhere, lying in wait. A self-satisfied look crossed Visto's face as he drew hard on his cigarette. Everything was set up. He had one of the snub-nosed .38s deep in his pocket, and fingered the comfort of its cold, hard metal. Frankie had hidden the Mat underneath his long raincoat, the weapon dangling from a halter round his neck, ready for use, if need be. All Frankie had to do was open the coat, blast away and it was 'Hasta la vista, asshole'.

'It's fucking cold out here, man,' Visto said, pulling up his coat collar, rubbing his hands.

'What time you got?'

Frankie tried to read his watch by the light of the moon. 'Looks to me like ten-thirty on the nail.'

'Someone's coming, Benny,' Ronnie called out.

Visto spun, saw the dipped headlights of a car turn in off the road, enter the forest track, approach the clearing. He tossed away his unfinished cigarette 'It's time to boogie.'

As Karla pulled in beside the van, Gorev said, 'Switch off the ignition, but leave the lights on.'

He went to get out of the car, and Karla worriedly put a hand on his. 'Be careful, Nicolai.'

'I intend to be. Just stay next to the car and be ready for any sign of trouble.'

Karla nodded, climbed out of the driver's seat, and Gorev left her standing there, crossed over to Visto. 'It seems you're right on time.'

'Always like to be prompt with my appointments. How you doing, my man? We all set to close this deal?'

'Whenever you are.'

'You got the rest of the cash?'

Gorev tapped his breast pocket. 'Right here, Mr Visto.'

'That's what I like to hear.' Visto jerked his head towards the van. 'Guess you'll want to take a final eyeball at the goods. Pretty sure you'll be pleased with the paint job.'

'I hope so, Mr Visto.'

'Know so. Then we can finish our business and we'll all be on our way.'

Visto opened the van's rear doors. He shone the torch inside and Gorev saw the suitcases Frankie had produced earlier that day. 'Mind if I take another look?'

'Be my guest.'

Gorev hauled out the cases, flicked them open and checked the uniforms and weapons.

'Everything looks in order, yet again. What about the markings for the van?'

A long cardboard box lay along one side of the van and Visto pulled it towards him and tore open the cardboard flaps, revealing a bunch of stick-on police decals. He picked one up, played the torch on it. 'Told you. You stick these on, the van here looks like the real thing. Happy?'

Gorev examined the rest of the decals. 'I think so.'

Visto replaced the flap on the box, stepped back from the van and shut the doors. Gorev held out his hand. 'The keys to the van, please.'

'Ronnie's got them. Give them here, Ronnie.'

Ronnie came over, handed the keys to Visto. As Gorev moved to take them, Visto held them out of reach, dangling in the air. 'Not so fast, sweetheart. First you and me need to have a little talk.'

'And what kind of talk would that be, Mr Visto?'

'Way I see it, you and me may be able to do some more business together.'

'What kind of business?'

'The kind between one brother in crime and another. See, all that hardware makes me figure maybe you're planning something big. Bank job, payroll heist maybe. Figure you might want the benefit of a business partner. Man like me has got access to all kinds of resources and expertise. Man like me could be a big help. Might be wise to take that help when it's offered. You with me?'

It seemed as if the penny had dropped for Gorev. He noticed Frankie move away from him slightly, fumble with a button on his overcoat. 'Your help won't be necessary.'

'Now why's that?'

'If you or your friends have any ideas in that direction, I'd suggest you quickly forget about them. You're treading on very dangerous ground.'

Visto's face was very white. 'Come again?'

'You might get hurt. If I could offer you some advice, Mr Visto. Take the money I'm about to give you, leave the van, walk away from here, and forget about this conversation. That way, we'll both stay out of trouble.'

Visto gave a low chuckle. 'You know what you can do with your advice? Shove it up your lily-white ass.' The chuckle died, he took a step closer, skewered Gorev with a menacing look. 'Know what you need, mister?'

'What?'

'A lesson in manners. You need putting in place, and I'm just the man to do it.' Visto shook his head, looked back over at Frankie. 'I'll say this much for the dude, he's got some fucking nerve, talking to me like that.'

Frankie grinned. 'Man must be fucking crazy, Benny.'

'Crazy or not, I just hope the fuck he can back it up.' Visto switched his attention back to Gorev. 'Because if not, you and that bitch of yours are in deep shit, mister.' He glanced over at Karla, still waiting by the car. 'Matter of fact, might even take to screwing the bitch myself. Might enjoy that.'

Gorev said quietly, 'You know, there was a moment earlier today when I could have sworn somebody was following us. Still, nothing came of it. But now this business here, it's something much more disturbing.'

'What the fuck you talking about?'

'Your two friends hiding in the woods, waiting to surprise us. They're out cold, and will be for the next few hours. I have a feeling they're both going to need a doctor when they wake up.'

In that single frozen moment, Benny Visto knew he'd just made the biggest mistake in his life. 'Take him, Frankie!' he cried.

Frankie started to move, tearing open his raincoat. Gorev's right hand came up, holding the silenced Beretta. It spat once, hitting Frankie in the left shoulder. He spun with a cry, fell to the ground. Behind him Ronnie began to make a dash for the van but Karla already had him covered, grabbing the Skorpion machine-pistol through the Plymouth's open window, raising it in both her hands. Ronnie saw her aim and froze in his tracks. 'For fuck sake, don't shoot, lady, please. I'm not even armed ... '

Gorev saw Visto wrench out a .38, but it was too late. He shot him once in the right arm. Visto staggered back, dropped the gun. 'Jesus ... '

Gorev kicked away the .38. He glanced back towards Karla, who was covering Ronnie and Frankie with the Skorpion, then moved over to where Frankie lay on the ground, clutching his wound, and tore the Mat submachinegun from around his neck. 'I'll take that.' He removed the magazine, flung it into the woods, and tossed the submachinegun aside. Visto was still lying on the ground, a hand clapped to his bleeding arm. Gorev approached him. Visto said, 'All right, so I made a big fucking mistake.'

'Worse than that, you broke your word, Mr Visto. And where I come from, that's unforgivable.' Gorev raised the Beretta. 'In fact, there's a well-practised punishment for people like you.'

'For God's sake ... '

Visto didn't get any farther because there was a dull thud as Gorev fired again. The bullet splintered Visto's right kneecap, shattering bone, and he screamed.

Gorev tossed him the envelope of money. 'Just so you know that I keep my word. Ten thousand, the final payment. And a word of warning, Mr Visto. You go to the police about this, and you and me will meet again. Only next time, it won't be a kneecap I'll shoot off, but something far more intimate. And that's just for a start. In fact, by the time I'm finished, I'm very sure you'll have need of an undertaker. Do we understand each other?'

'Yeah ... ' Visto clutched his knee in both hands, blood pumping between his fingers as he twisted in pain. 'Yeah ... I understand.'

Frankie shook his head, watched as the van disappeared down the track, the man driving, the woman following right behind in the Plymouth. 'Who the fuck is that guy?'

'Get over here,' Visto cried out.

Frankie did as he was told, his right shoulder ablaze with pain, blood dripping down his fingers. Visto was still clutching his knee, the bleeding worse now, and there was a numbness in his wounded arm that frightened him. 'I don't know and I don't fucking care. Ronnie, get something to stop this bleeding ... Frankie, give him a hand ... '

'I'm fucking bleeding myself.'

'Do it, for fuck sake, before I pass out ... '

'I'll find something, Benny.' Ronnie went to the car and came back with a rope from the trunk. While Frankie held the torch, Ronnie took a penknife from his pocket and cut up the rope, tied a length of it high on Visto's right arm, then another above his knee, examining the wounds with fascinated horror. The 9mm bullets had gone in one side and out the other. The kneecap had fragmented, splinters of white bone protruding through bloodied flesh and cartilage. Frankie's shoulder wasn't as bad — the bullet had barely chipped the bone, it was no more than a flesh wound — and when Ronnie had attended to him, he flashed the torch on Visto's knee again. 'Jeez, it looks bad, Benny. Same with your arm. You'll need a hospital.'

'Like fuck I do.' There was sweat on his face and he was very white. 'You carry me into any hospital with a gunshot wound, they'll scream for the cops. I don't want no cops involved, you hear? Haul me up. Get me out of here.'

'What about Ricky and Hector?'

'Fuck them. Leave them where they are. It's their own fault, letting that dude surprise them. Assholes can walk home.' He swore as Frankie and Ronnie helped carry him to the Chrysler and manoeuvred him on to the back seat. 'Let's get the fuck away from here. Hurry up!'

'Where to, Benny?'

'Back to town. Take me to that private clinic. The one where I got that fucking quack to take care of some of the girls.'

'You mean Rotstein? He's a plastic surgeon, Benny. He does boob jobs.'

'He's a doctor, ain't he?' Visto said. 'Now get the fuck out of here, fast, before I fucking bleed to death.'

Washington, DC 5.15 p.m.

Kursk got out of the cab three blocks from the Hoover building and walked to 10th Street. He'd spent the rest of his afternoon aimlessly wandering around DC, hoping that Suslov would call. He hadn't. When he realised he hadn't eaten in almost eighteen hours, Kursk stopped at a sandwich bar, ate a thick roll with salami and salad, and drank two cups of hot coffee. He couldn't help studying the faces of the people in the streets: mothers and fathers, school kids and teenagers, children in buggies, homeless beggars, cab-drivers, police officers — some of the hundreds of thousands of men, women and children whose lives were still in jeopardy. It felt surreal: he knew the terrible secret being withheld from them, the cruel death that could await them all, and yet he couldn't even warn them. How could Nikolai Gorev be part of such a terrible conspiracy, threaten to kill so many innocents? How?

Kursk combed through his memories, trying to understand, but there was nothing relevant in Gorev's character or distant past that revealed itself.

But one question returned to haunt him. Even if by some miracle he found his quarry again, could he kill Nikolai Gorev?

Kursk entered the busy Hoover building, passing through the tight security checks, his visitor's ID closely scrutinised, and went up to the sixth floor. Neither Collins nor Morgan was in the office, but Murphy was. He looked physically wrecked. 'We've been looking for you, Major. Another half-hour and I was going to put out a bulletin. You mind me asking where the hell you've been?'

'I had something to attend to.'

'Anything I need to know about?'

Kursk felt it was pointless telling Murphy until he found out whether Suslov had come up with anything. 'It was a personal matter.'

'Jack and Lou went to check out a couple of illegals, but I don't expect it to get us anywhere.' Murphy collapsed into a chair, ran a hand over his face, shook his head hopelessly. 'We're still looking at a blank wall, Alexei. We're not going to crack this in time, but I guess that's obvious. You mind me asking, have you got family?'

'A wife and daughter. Why?'

'Look, it's nothing personal. But maybe it's time you thought about getting your ass the hell out of DC

The White House 9.15 p.m.

Six blocks away the same thought would run through the minds of almost every one of the members of the National Security Council.

Like Kursk, they had a choice: they could leave the capital before the deadline and avoid the risk of anything going wrong after the time limit expired. Unlike Kursk, their President didn't have that choice, and it was this question that Mitch Gains brought up a few minutes after the Council took their seats in the situation room.

'What are you saying, Mitch?' the President asked. 'That I should quit Washington?'

'Sir, the Secret Service Director tells me that were the device to be set off, either deliberately or by mistake, between now and the deadline, there's no absolute guarantee that the bunker ventilation system can filter out the nerve gas. And even if they got you fitted out with a biohazard suit and oxygen supply, there's still no guarantee you could be brought out of here safely.'

'What are you proposing?'

'That before the deadline you allow the Secret Service to remove you to a safe place, sir.'

'One of the terms of Abu Hasim's letter was that I remain in the White House.'

'To hell with him. You've pretty much done everything that was asked of you ...'

'But by leaving the White House I may be exposing all of you, and this city, to unwarranted risk. At this stage, that's not on.'

'But how the hell can Abu Hasim know, sir? The Secret Service can spirit you out of here without anyone knowing.'

Charles Rivermount spoke up. 'Mr President, Mitch is right. Nobody would know. I mean, without making too much of it, we all know about a certain ex-President who, with the help of his staff, could smuggle himself out of here without the press ever knowing, and whenever he damned well pleased. The man was being ferried in and out of here day and night, hidden in the back of a Toyota van, with a blanket over him — just so he could meet in secret with a certain young lady.'

The room erupted in nervous laughter, a welcome diversion considering the pent-up tension, but the President barely smiled. Looking at the faces around him, he paid particular attention to the four suspects: Charles Rivermount, Mitch Gains, General Horton, Bob Rapp. Each of them was laughing — Rivermount included — at the wisecrack. With disbelief the President thought: One of you is a traitor.

If it was Charles Rivermount or Mitch Gains, why would they condone him leaving the White House? To test his promise that he would keep his word, and then inform on him? Or for one of them to deflect any suspicion from himself? No matter, he had no intention of leaving the White House; and not because someone might inform on him. This was his place, whether it was a condition of Abu Hasim's demands or not. He wouldn't flee like a coward and leave millions of American citizens to their fate. Another thought struck him: even if he found his traitor, it wouldn't get Washington out of this mess.

'I'm sorry, but until this thing is over, my place is here, and that's final. So if we could move on, we've got some vital matters to discuss ... '

Chesapeake 11.15 p.m.