Stephen Leather - True Colours

Shepherd opened the door to the stairwell and looked inside. The light spilled in and he could see the first half-dozen stairs but everything was dark beyond that. He touched his earpiece. ‘Dmitry, how’s it going?’

‘We’re trying to get our phones out of the lockers.’ Shepherd heard Tarasov curse as he bumped into something. Shepherd realised that the gym would be a nightmare to navigate in the pitch dark.

‘I’m going down to the security centre,’ said Shepherd. ‘Ivan’s heading to Grechko. Konstantin, how are you getting on with torches?’

‘I can’t find any,’ said Serov. ‘I’ve got matches. I’m looking for candles.’

‘Quick as you can,’ said Shepherd. He took his phone out and switched it on. There wasn’t much light but he figured it was better than nothing. He stepped into the stairwell and let the door close behind him. The light from the phone cast a faint glow, barely enough to illuminate the first three stairs.

He moved as quickly as he could down the steps to Basement One. There was a faint diffuse light coming from the keyboard next to the thumb sensor. Clearly it still had power. That made sense because if the power had been cut to the locks there’d be no way of opening them. He pressed his thumb against the sensor, tapped out his four-digit code and pushed open the door.

‘Who is it? Is someone there?’ Shepherd heard a voice, coming over from his left.

‘Who’s that?’ he shouted. ‘This is Tony Ryan.’

‘It’s Yulian, Yulian Chayka.’

One of the drivers, Shepherd realised. He must be standing at the door to the driver’s room. ‘Yulian, do you have a flashlight?’

‘No,’ shouted the driver. ‘What’s happening?’

‘The power’s off. What about the cars? Are their flashlights in the cars?’

‘I don’t think so. What do we do?’

‘Stay where you are,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’ll hurt yourself if you move around in the dark.’ Shepherd moved his phone around but the light was so weak that it barely illuminated the floor. He took a deep breath and went into his memory. He’d walked around the parking area and the security centre many times, so he knew the layout. The fact that it was pitch black shouldn’t make any difference to his mental picture of his surroundings. He headed towards the gym, walking confidently even though he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.

Koshechkin continued to move down the stairs. Tap, step, step. Tap, step, step. He reached the turn and shuffled across to the next flight of steps, keeping his left hand against the wall.

Monotok looked up and smiled. Koshechkin’s suit was a greenish black in the night vision goggles, his face a pale, almost fluorescent, green, and there was a flash of bright green at the top of his shoes whenever his white socks were exposed. His tongue was sticking out between his teeth.

There was just eight steps between Koshechkin and the knife in Monotok’s hand. It was a big knife, the stainless steel blade a full eight inches long, one edge wickedly sharp, the other serrated, with a thick groove along the blade so that the blood would flow out and negate any suction effect. Tap, step, step. A tap with the right foot, the right foot on the step, then the left. Tap, step, step. Six steps left. Tap, step, step.

Koshechkin stopped and cocked his head on one side. Monotok froze and held his breath. Koshechkin licked his lips and then moved his head from side to side, listening intently. For a moment Monotok thought that Koshechkin was going to turn and run back up the stairs but eventually the bodyguard recommenced his descent. Tap, step, step. Tap, step, step. Tap, step, step.

Monotok pulled back the knife and there was the faintest rustle from his sleeve. Koshechkin stopped and cocked his head again, deep furrows across his brow, his right foot poised in midair.

Monotok moved quickly, stepping up and thrusting the knife into Koshechkin’s chest, between the fifth and sixth rib, aiming for the heart. He plunged the knife in as far as it would go, then pulled it out and just as quickly stabbed Koshechkin again, slightly to the right of the first wound. Then again. And again. The massive damage to his heart and lungs meant that he bled out in seconds and Monotok moved back down the stairs to give the man room to fall. Koshechkin died without making a sound, a look of confusion on his face.

Monotok turned and went back down the stairs to the door to Basement Three. He took the severed thumb from his pocket, held it against the scanner and then tapped in the four-digit code. The door clicked open and Monotok grinned. It wouldn’t be long now until Grechko was dead.

Shepherd saw the faint outline of the keypad to the gym, almost as if it was floating in midair. It was disorienting but he knew it was just his mind playing tricks as it tried to make sense out of the blackness around him. He focused on walking, a strange experience when he couldn’t see where he was placing his feet. As he got closer the pale glow from his phone illuminated part of the door. He pressed his thumb against the scanner and tapped in his code. The lock clicked and he pushed the door open.

‘Dmitry, over here,’ said Shepherd, waving his mobile around. ‘Can you see the light?’

‘I can see it,’ replied Popov.

‘Head towards me. Where’s Leo?’

There was a loud bang and Tarasov cursed in Russian. ‘I don’t know where the fuck I am,’ he said.

‘Can you see the light from my phone, Leo?’ asked Shepherd, waving his mobile around again.

‘No, I can’t see anything. Wait. Yes. I see it.’ A few seconds later there was a crash and another loud curse. ‘Who the hell leaves weights on the ground?’ shouted Tarasov.

Shepherd continued to wave the phone around and after a minute or so he heard a footfall ahead of him and then Popov appeared in the faint glow. Shepherd put a hand on his chest. ‘Hang on for Leo,’ he said.

It took Leo another thirty seconds to reach them, and he bumped into Popov.

‘OK, this is what we’re going to do,’ said Shepherd. ‘Dmitry, keep a hand on my shoulder, Leo you hold on to Dmitry. I’ll lead us to the security centre.’

The two men did as they were told and as a group they began to walk to the security centre. The feeble light from the phone was barely any help in illuminating their way.

‘How can you see?’ asked Tarasov. ‘It’s pitch black.’

‘I’ve got a good memory, I can recall the layout, pretty much,’ said Shepherd. He was moving at a slow walk in what he knew was the direction of the door to the security centre. It was difficult because he couldn’t see where he was placing his feet and his brain kept playing tricks on him, persuading him that at every step he was going to put his foot in a deep hole. It was a relief each time his foot hit the hard surface.

Tarasov kept misjudging the pace and banging into Popov, making both men curse.

Eventually Shepherd saw the outline of the thumb scanner and keypad ahead of them, apparently floating in the air. He became disoriented and almost stumbled but he fought to focus and after three more steps he was at the door. He pressed his thumb against the scanner and put in his code. The door lock clicked and he pushed it open.

‘OK, guys, we’re entering the security centre. Don’t move around until we know what the story is,’ said Shepherd. The three men slowly filed into the room. Shepherd’s right foot touched something and he told them to stop. He bent down and there was enough light from his phone to see Podolski, lying face down on the floor. ‘It’s Alina,’ he said. He transferred the phone to his left hand and felt for a pulse with his right. He knew as soon as he touched her neck that he was wasting his time. His heart lurched. He checked both Podolski’s ears. Her Bluetooth earpiece was missing. He patted her down and confirmed that her transceiver was missing. ‘She’s dead,’ he said, straightening up.