A. Zander: Moscow City

Cohen scrubbed the small window with his sleeve as they crawled slowly along the Moscow runway in the middle of the night. He managed to get a slightly better view, but there wasn’t much to see. A few orange lights flashed in the distance, but mostly it just looked like a white desert as far as the eye could see. He thought of Harper just a few hours behind them. Time was a priority, but it would have been seriously dense for them all to be on the same plane. He turned to look at Russell, who was still dozing in the seat next to him. Cohen elbowed him lightly in the ribs and he opened his eyes.

“We’re here,” said Cohen.

“Hallelujah,” said Russell. “I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

The plane approached the terminal building and parked in a spot away from the other aircraft. The eager passengers jumped to their feet and began yanking their bags and coats out of the overhead lockers. Cohen glanced over his shoulder at the three more junior members of his team. There was a translator and two less experienced detectives with experience in finance cases. None of them looked happy about being on the trip. Cohen and Russell let the other passengers file out before they stood up and reached for their hand luggage. A few rows in front, one passenger was still seated. Cohen could only see the back of his head, which stayed perfectly still. The man looked towards the window as the five officers filed past him and towards the exit at the front of the plane.

“Jesus wept, it’s Baltic,” said Russell as they stepped out onto the top of the steps.

“Funny that,” said Cohen.

As they reached the runway, Cohen felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see the man from the plane standing next to him. He was wearing a cheap business suit and carrying a brown briefcase. His face was grey and devoid of any distinguishing features.

“You and your group will wait please Detective Sergeant Cohen.”

“And who are you?” said Russell, turning around and facing him.

“You will wait please,” he repeated.

The group stood and looked at each other for a few seconds, unsure of what their next move should be. Just as Russell was about to speak, several overlapping wails filled the air and a small fleet of police cars emerged from the edge of the terminal building.

“I really don’t see why they have to be so dramatic about the welcome party,” said Russell. “If they’re looking to scare us, they should just threaten to send us to dinner with Captain Charisma here.”

Harper took a seat at the back of the minivan and pulled up his hood. He watched the other teachers, all fresh-faced and enthusiastic, file in and sit down. The gruff driver did a final headcount and pulled off onto the motorway. Heat was blasting out of a vent at the front, offset by streams of cold air coming from rusted gaps in the chassis. The conversation died down and sleep took hold as they sped along the road towards central Moscow. Harper replayed the meeting with Bailey and details of the case started to fly around his mind. The driver picked up speed and Harper tried to ignore the sweat gathering on the back of his head and running down his neck. The road swept past in front and either side of him, every light and sound demanding his attention as they raced along. He looked around at the confines of the minivan and the walls started to move slowly inwards, tightening around him. Images of Cavendish and the others, bound and bloody, raced towards him out of the darkness up ahead. He squeezed his eyes closed and searched for the calm, but it was too late.

“Stop.”

The driver looked round and a few people raised their head from the slumber.

“Can you stop please,” Harper repeated. “I’m gonna puke.”

The driver lurched over to the right. A girl with short hair near the middle slipped forward and hit her head on the seat in front. In a few seconds, they were stationary at the side of the road. Harper bundled his way to the front and slid the door open. He rushed forward into the long grass and bent his head, mimicking a retching motion. The open air washed over him and the panic began to fade. He took some deep breaths and wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. He stood for a few seconds, with his hands on his knees, letting the grass brush against his fingers. As he turned to walk back, the concerned faces stared out of the window. He stepped back into the van with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry folks. Just a bit of car sickness.”

Everyone smiled sympathetically as Harper walked back to his place and sat down. The driver slammed the door shut and pulled off back onto the highway. Harper closed his eyes, but stayed awake as the rest of the passengers drifted back off to sleep. He let the slow hum of the engine vibrate through his body until the van juddered to a halt in a dark street. The snow lit up the area slightly, but it still looked grim and dilapidated. A drunk was sprawled on a bench next to the van. He stirred as the engine chugged next to him, but rather than leave, he just turned onto his side and ignored the disturbance. There was a crisp layer of snow on top of him, but he didn’t seem to care. The driver pulled open the door on the side of the van. He stood there with a clipboard, his breath freezing on the air as he looked at the list.

“Sarah and Jennifer,” he said. “Come here please.”

Harper watched as two spindly girls started to move towards the front and stepped down onto the icy pavement. They looked up at the building in front of them. The grey structure was smattered with filthy stains and a collection of rusted car parts sat around the entrance. They huddled closer together as the drunk let out a gurgling sound and punched out into thin air. The driver handed them a key each.

“You are on third floor. Apartment 304. Door code is 0000. I will be here in the morning. 9am.”

He turned to walk away and one of the girls let out a slow whine before bursting into tears. The driver turned around and furrowed his brow.

“What, 9am is too early for you?”

“It’s not early,” screeched the second girl, putting her arm round her new friend. “You just can’t leave us in this…this…well, horrible place.”

“Horrible?” said the driver. “Why horrible?”

“Look at it!” she shouted back at him. “It’s dark and disgusting and there’s some crazy man outside.” The tramp suddenly swung his legs round and sat up with a confused look on his face. He looked over at the two girls, one crying and one angry, and contemplated the van full of foreigners for a few seconds. His eyes drifted onto the nearly empty brandy bottle at his feet. He picked it up and waved a hand dismissively at the group before stumbling over to the front door and punching 0000 into the keypad. The door beeped and he disappeared into the gloom.

“Oh great,” said the crying girl, “you mean to tell me he lives there.”

The driver took his hat off and rubbed his head. “Anyone else want to stay here instead?” he asked. The van stayed silent. Harper was just about to volunteer when a young Irishman walked forward with his hand raised.

“Why don’t I stay with them?” he said. “It’d be better with a bloke around.”

“It’s okay for you?” the driver asked the girls.

“Yes please.”

“Okay, he stays here too.” The driver walked round to the back of the van and grabbed three pieces of luggage. He placed them on the pavement, got back inside and wound down the window. “Okay, you have my number. Remember please, 9am.” He pulled off down the street, leaving the group of three looking apprehensively at their new accommodation. Harper turned around and watched them disappear into the building. The girls looked like they were fresh from a few months in Thailand or Australia or one of the many other backpacker-friendly destinations. He wasn’t sure what they had expected to find in Moscow, but he was sure it wasn’t the authentic socialist nightmare they were now getting. They made two more stops, dropping off the remainder of the passengers. They looked mildly more pleased with their lot than the first group, but still seemed shocked it wasn’t the Holiday Inn. The driver sped off back onto the icy highway with just Harper sat in the back.