Chapter Twenty Seven
Laurie
twisted round. Petrica had jolted bolt upright and was staring at
the new arrival, his fist gone slack round the gun, a hollow
vacancy opening up in his eyes as if even he, the maker of ghosts,
could have his blood curdled to stillness by this spectre from the
past. The candle-flames fluttered in the new breeze from the door,
and Sasha, still clinging to Laurie, saw shadow-birds dance up and
down on the walls. The woman in the doorway could have been a
jogger who’d got lost in the Birchwood dusk, or a casually dressed
office worker, except for the gun in her hands. Except that she was
making Sasha think of learning to swim in cool water...
She
trained the gun on Petrica. She spared Laurie and Sasha a glance,
then looked away sharply, as if she couldn’t bear more. “I
delivered your package,” she said. “The CEO was there, just on his
way out—I put it right into his hands. You shouldn’t have left me
behind, Laurie.”
No.
Laurie knew that. She’d been on the run from Petrica for years.
Even better than Sasha, she’d have known the woodland paths to
take, the sounds which meant danger, the song of owls in the wrong
season. He couldn’t speak. Sasha was open-mouthed in his arms. “Who
is she, Laurie?”
There
might come a time when Laurie could tell him, if he didn’t work it
out for himself. Had Sasha even known his mother’s name? There
might be a time, in the aftermath of this confrontation, when the
balance of life and death had been settled, when Sasha could no
longer tip the scales in a reflex of shock or love... “Hush,”
Laurie whispered to him. Elizabeth was covering the whole
room—Petrica, Gunari, Nico—with her double-handed grip on the gun,
but already Petrica was getting over his paralysis, and her control
couldn’t last. Her eyes were wide and lost, a small tremor
twitching one arm.
Stefan
chuckled. “You still have that pop-gun I gave you, my
dear?”
“It’s big enough to pop your head off, you son of a bitch. Shut
up.”
The
shadow man stepped forward. “Elizabeth,” he said again. “Stay
calm.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“My name’s John Kucharski. I’m an Interpol agent, and I’ve been
looking for you for a long time.” Stefan gave a kind of choked roar
and tried to swing round, but Elizabeth jerked the gun’s snout at
him. “Keep still, Stefan,” Kucharski went on. “I’m almost sorry, if
you can believe that. I know you trusted me, but... Listen,
Elizabeth. I need to come over there and take over from
you.”
“Don’t move. Don’t think about touching me.”
“There’s too much involved for you here. Let me
help.”
She
shook her head once, dark hair flying. “No. He’s not yours to kill.
How can he be anyone’s but mine?”
“I’m not going to kill him. You heard what he said about the
guns for Tajikistan, the stuff he’s got buried somewhere here right
now. That’s the evidence I came here to find. Either one of those
would put him away—properly this time. For life.”
“But life never really means life, does it? And even if it
did...” Her voice scraped. She returned her attention for one
burning instant to Sasha. “Even if it did, it’s not enough. Yes, I
heard about the guns. I heard what the boy said too. Alexandru?
Will you to do something for me—one last thing?”
Sasha
was watching her quietly now. His eyes were brilliant, every muscle
tensed where Laurie was holding him. He nodded.
“Take the gun from Stefan. No, Kucharski—keep still. The boy’s
in a better position to do this. Stefan, hand it over, or I swear
I’ll put a bullet through your skull right now.”
Sasha
moved without hesitation. He carefully let Laurie go and reached
for the weapon in Petrica’s fist.
Just for
a second, Laurie thought it would work. Petrica was expressionless,
not a ripple on his surface to show how he felt about being held at
gunpoint by his wife and disarmed by his child. Just for a
second... Maybe even that vicious, dried-up heart could wish he’d
kept them on his side.
Then he grinned. His free hand shot out and locked into
Sasha’s coat. The gun muzzle jerked up—seeking the hostage-taker’s
target, the soft place at Sasha’s temple. Laurie lurched forward.
If the game was up, Petrica could take him too: would have to.
There was nothing left of Laurie that could exist without Sasha.
Laurie was quick. If all he had left was his flesh, he could be a
human shield. It was such a corny line, and he didn’t have breath
for it anyway: you’ll have to shoot
through me...
Sudden
vast movement behind him. Somebody else shifting air aside, making
the candlelight jump. “No, Stefan! No more. This bad work stops
here.”
Gunari.
Laurie had time to register his harsh face. Gunari thrust a fist
down between Stefan and Sasha—Laurie got the time to see that too,
to understand that Gunari had shoved Sasha aside. Just a little
way. Enough. Then Stefan opened fire.
Luca had
used a silencer on his gun. Laurie’s memories were patchy of that
day but he recalled the spitting pop the weapon had made when Sasha
had saved both their lives. In here, the two raw-throated pistols
roared like unleashed hell. Time twisted and broke—snapped into two
distinct strands. Event and echo. Something flashed beside Laurie’s
skull, bright enough to blind him. Something thumped into his
shoulder. He fell, caught up in the avalanche of someone else’s
fall. He landed on top, and that was it for events—beyond it was
only reverberant silence.
Echo.
There had been three shots in the flash and the fall. They were
done now. Laurie could count them. The echo strand of time was
detailed, slow. Two guns had spoken. Stefan had fired twice, and
then...
“Gunari!” Laurie shoved himself upright. Tried to, anyway—one
of his arms was weak and numb and he could barely see for blood.
That had been the avalanche: Gunari going down like rocks off a
mountain. Laurie jerked round, trying to find Sasha through the
crimson haze.
But
Sasha was already with him. His arms were round Laurie from behind,
closing tight. “Loz! Your face...”
Laurie
couldn’t see that his own face was a problem. Stefan Petrica’s was
different, though. All of its lights—poetry, bloodthirst, hate—had
been doused. There was a hole in its brow. Laurie consulted the
slow-flowing echo time again and found that he knew what had
happened. It was easy: Stefan had shot Gunari down, and Elizabeth
had fired back. Done a beautiful job of it too. He wanted to look
round, to find her and thank her for Sasha’s life and his own, but
Sasha’s grip was fierce, holding him still. Laurie stroked his arm.
“I’m all right.”
“Are you? All this blood...”
“Not mine, I don’t think.”
“Some of it is. A bullet must have nicked you. Yes, right
here.” Sasha put cold fingertips to Laurie’s jaw and turned his
head. “Fuck. Missed your eye by an inch. Kucharski! Laurie’s
hurt.”
Two men down, your mother about to drop from the shock of
what she’s done, and it’s a scratch on my face that’s bothering
you. Laurie wanted to laugh, or to kiss
him. “Just a minute,” Kucharski said, with the air of a man
distracted by trifles at a very wrong time. Nico was still on his
feet, his pistol wavering wildly as he tried to cover the whole
room and take in the change in his fortunes. Kucharski came round
behind Elizabeth, gently disarmed her. “Okay. You’re done here. I
should have bloody known, shouldn’t I—three months here undercover,
drinking Stefan’s rotgut and listening to his bloody poems, and you
blaze in and execute the bastard.”
“He was mine to kill!” Elizabeth swayed, and would have fallen
if not for the arm he put around her. “Only mine.”
“All right. I suppose he was. Nico, you’re the last man
standing, aren’t you—let’s keep it that way.” Levelling Elizabeth’s
pistol, Kucharski returned him a steady aim. “Come on. You know who
I am. I can take you in now that Stefan’s gone, cut you a
deal.”
Nico’s
reply was no more than a furious rasp. Laurie couldn’t listen any
more. What had he decided, in the ringing aftermath of those three
shots? Two men down, yes. But not two men dead. Gunari’s chest was
still lifting with the effort to breath. “Sasha... Gunari’s
alive.”
Not for long. Laurie didn’t need Sasha to tell him, though
their eyes met on the message as Sasha let him go. Laurie scrambled
round to lift Gunari’s shoulders off the ground. Movement was
difficult, tight pain hampering his breathing on his left side, but
he didn’t have time to think about it. Something Sasha had asked
him a few weeks or a million years ago was coming back, clattering
round in his head. Do you know how many
people end up getting shot with their own guns? The Makarov had gone the long way round to find its owner
again. Sasha pulled back the edge of Gunari’s jacket. He took as
close a look as the candlelight allowed, then folded the garment
back into place. He smiled at Gunari—spoke to him in Roma, sounds
Laurie recognised. Comfort and reassurance. You’ll be all right, sweet and firm
as if it were true.
Gunari
stirred. Laurie helped him sit up a little, and he too took in the
ongoing standoff, Kucharski trying to stare Nico down. “In
English,” Gunari said weakly, “so polone can listen too. Nico will
kill if he can.”
“It’s okay. Kucharski’s got him.”
“Yes, but others come.”
“Kucharski, are you hearing this?”
Kucharski nodded grimly. “Yeah. Half a dozen of them went off
into East Hill earlier tonight. We need to be out of here. Believe
me, I’d just shoot this bastard if I didn’t need to pick his
brains. I’m sorry Stefan dragged you into this, Gunari. What else
do you want to tell me?”
“Nothing.” Gunari’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Words now only
for Sandru and polone. Is bad for men like me to settle.
Restaurants and caravans in garden... No. Mama Luna knew this. She
lived free all her long life, never sold freedom to monsters like
Stefan. A long, free life, polone—do you understand?”
Laurie
didn’t. “It was my fault she died. I’m so sorry,