Филип Керр - Dead Meat

We heard the siren on the GAI patrol car before we saw anything. Then the roar of the big Foden trucks as they started to slow down. The sky between the trees was suddenly filled with the black, rectangular shapes of the first three trucks as they pulled into the side of the road and finally drew to a halt a long way further up the lay-by, with a loud hiss of their hydraulic brakes. Behind these three, almost immediately opposite our coach, we saw the blue flashing light of the GAI car as it drew to a halt in front of the fourth Anglo-Soyuzatom truck.

Grushko’s teams were running for the back of the truck even before it had quite stopped moving. This was the weakest part of his plan, for he was gambling that the eyes of the driver and his mate would be looking at the patrol car in front of them instead of what was happening in their wing-mirrors.

Minutes passed and just as I was beginning to think that something must have gone wrong, I heard the sound of the patrol-car doors closing and then saw the blue light extinguished. As the GAI car sped away, the trucks began to re-start their engines and slowly the convoy started to move again. Seconds later I heard Grushko’s voice on the walkie-talkie.

‘Passengers on board,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m going to leave this channel open for a while,’ he added, ‘so you can hear what’s going on.’

‘It’s lucky we’ve got these armoured louvres on the windscreen,’ he said to Nikolai. ‘If there’s any shooting we might be very glad of them.’

A loud bang against the side of our coach announced the return of the OMON squad men with their two prisoners. As they shoved them on to the coach I noticed that one of the crew had a bloody nose. I raised my eyebrows at Lieutenant Khlobuyev. He shrugged and said as if by way of explaining the man’s injury, ‘I just thought it might be useful to find out if they were carrying beef on board.’

‘And are they?’

He nodded and pushed his man roughly down the centre aisle to the back of the coach. I called Grushko to let him know.

‘See if you can persuade them to tell you where we’re going,’ he said.

I went down to the back of the coach where both men were already handcuffed to the handrails of the seats in front. Neither of them said anything. Sunk in gloom, each man leaned forwards and buried his face against his manacled forearms. I relayed Grushko’s message and then walked back up the aisle to the driver.

‘Right, let’s get going,’ I told him. ‘Just stay on the main road until I say different.’

He nodded, lit a cigarette and then started the engine. Having gunned the motor a couple of times he steered us slowly off the track and on to the M20. I sat down in my seat and looked at Andrei.

‘I’ve been on one of these before,’ he said. ‘We went on a sightseeing tour.’

‘It takes all sorts to make a world,’ I murmured and, when Andrei went to help question the truck’s two crewmen, I turned my attention back to Grushko’s own travel commentary.

‘We’re just passing the airport,’ he announced.

‘This is a nice truck,’ said Nikolai. ‘I hardly felt that pothole. And this seat — it’s better than my old armchair. All it needs is a few cigarette burns and I’d be right at home. Light me one, will you?’

Hearing a slap and a loud yell from the back of the coach I turned round. Lieutenant Khlobuyev had one of the crewmen by the hair and, filmed by Dmitri, he started to bang the man’s head against the coach window. The driver paid no attention. It wasn’t his coach, after all.

‘There you go,’ said Grushko.

‘One thing I still don’t understand,’ said Nikolai. ‘Tolya gives Milyukin a sample of contaminated meat. Milyukin hands it over to Dr Sobchak for analysis.’

‘Right.’

‘But the meat that was stolen from the flat... that belonged to the Poliakovs?’

‘Yes. But of course the two Ukrainians had no idea that Milyukin had already taken the meat to Sobchak. They opened the Poliakovs’ fridge and found a piece of beef. They weren’t to know it wasn’t the right one. Beef is beef and, after all, it wasn’t as if there was any other meat in the fridge.’

‘So the Poliakovs just bought it in the local market?’

I heard Grushko swear violently.

‘Sasha?’ he said urgently. ‘Sasha, are you there?’

‘Where are you, sir?’

‘Never mind that now. Look, call Lieutenant Khodyrev and get her to send someone round to my flat straight away. I reckon my wife’s bought some of that contaminated meat from a cooperative food market. She’s probably serving it up as we speak.’ He swore again. ‘Look, I don’t care how she does it, but on no account must anyone eat that beef. Have you got that, Sasha?’

‘Yes sir. I’ll call you as soon as we hear anything.’

‘Do that. And for Christ’s sake, hurry.’

Grushko said nothing for several minutes. Then Andrei came back up the aisle and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

‘We’ve got a rough location out of our friends,’ he said.

I handed him the walkie-talkie.

‘There’s a warehouse in Kirovsky Region,’ he told Grushko. ‘Somewhere off Stacek Prospekt. The two crewmen are not exactly sure where, because they usually just follow the truck in front of them. Anyway, there’s this cold store that used to belong to the State Fish Board, until the Mafia paid someone hard currency for the place. They reckon it’s pretty well protected too: about thirty or forty armed men on average.’

Grushko grunted. Andrei shrugged and handed me back the handset.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ he murmured.

‘He’s worried his wife might have bought some of that contaminated meat,’ I explained. ‘And that right now his family might be sitting down to eat it.’

‘Home cooking,’ sniffed Andrei. ‘It’ll be the death of us all.’ And so saying he returned to the back of the coach and sat down.

Ten minutes passed and Grushko radioed that the convoy had reached the outer suburbs of the city on Moskovsky Prospekt. Nikolai was doing his best to distract Grushko from troubled thoughts.

‘There’s this old priest, right?’ he said. ‘He’s been out shopping all day and he’s tired, so he stops for a minute to lean against a wall and closes his eyes. After a few minutes he opens them again and by now a queue of about fifty people has formed up behind him. A couple more minutes pass and then the Ivan standing right behind the old priest asks him what they’re queuing for. And the priest explains that he’d just stopped to have a rest. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” says the man. And the priest says, “It’s not every day that you find yourself standing at the head of the queue.”’

Nikolai laughed enthusiastically.

Grushko was losing his patience.

‘Talk to me, Sasha,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘What the hell is happening?’

‘Just a minute, sir,’ said Sasha. ‘I’m speaking to Olga now.’

There was a long, long pause during which I imagined Grushko’s family seated around their dining table watching Lena carve the precious joint of meat. A loud knock summons Tanya to the door where she finds herself confronted by several men wearing radiation suits and carrying a radiometer before them like some small ark of the convenant. The guests jump up with horror as the men make their entrance and then they yell with outrage as the contaminated meat — their dinner — is thrown into a plastic bag. I almost wished I could have been there to see it myself.

‘Someone’s been to your house, sir,’ said Sasha finally. ‘Everything’s all right. Nobody ate a thing.’

‘Just like any other Russian meal, then,’ said Nikolai.

Grushko breathed an audible sigh of relief.