Steven Gore - Final Target

Alla gave Matson a light kiss on the cheek, then walked toward the far left rear corner of the dining room and disappeared down a hallway leading to the restrooms. Matson left the table and followed the same route. A minute later Alla reappeared. She glanced toward the empty booth as she walked toward the coatroom. She retrieved a black, fur-collared overcoat, then walked toward the entrance.

Gage lost sight of her when she passed on the opposite side of the reception station, then spotted her again as she descended the concrete front steps. She looked toward Razor and the Mercedes, but Ninchenko’s men blocked her view. She then walked behind a large fountain near the entrance.

“Tell your men to stand by until Matson comes outside,” Gage said. “And get them out of here fast. We don’t want Razor thinking there’s anything left to fight over.”

Ninchenko gave the order as Gage looked toward the restaurant window. Matson had not yet returned from the restroom. A slight motion caught Gage’s eyes.

“She’s running! She’s running!” Gage yelled at their driver and pointed at Alla fleeing across Artema, and then said to Ninchenko, “Razor hasn’t noticed yet. Have your men keep him diverted.”

Gage fixed his eyes on Alla as their driver pulled away from the curb.

“What should we do about Matson?” Ninchenko asked.

“Nothing yet,” Gage said. He pointed at Ninchenko’s phone. “Keep your guy on the line and reporting what Matson does.”

They followed Alla as she cut south, then slipped into a small residential street running southeast. Gage lost sight of her until their driver looped around the block to cut her off, but she was already beyond them.

Ninchenko held his phone tight to his ear, then said, “Matson is back at the table, waiting for his credit card receipt.” He then pointed at Alla. “She’s fast.”

“One of our surveillance people in London said she was a jogger,” Gage said. “But how the devil did she know we were here?”

Gage felt anger rise within as he turned toward Ninchenko. “Did one of your people sell us out?”

“I don’t know-but we will know in a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t want her hurt. Leave it up to me.”

Alla slowed as she approached a group of theatergoers strolling toward the Zoloti Vorota Theatre, mixing into the crowd to conceal herself and catch her breath. The driver pulled over until she separated and began scampering farther south.

Ninchenko raised his hand as he listened on the phone. “Matson is walking toward the coatrack.” He looked at Gage. “What should we do?”

“Have someone go in pretending to be a friend of Alla’s from her hometown. Say she walked down to his apartment to say hello to his wife. She’ll be back in ten minutes. Have him buy Matson a drink in the bar.”

Ninchenko passed on the order as Alla cut onto a side street angling northeast.

“She’s heading back toward Artema,” Ninchenko said. “Lots of places to escape into. Apartments, stores, even embassies.”

“We better get her now.”

The driver sped up until he was ten yards beyond her, then cut into a blind alley to block her way. Gage and Ninchenko leaped out and grabbed her just as her feet slipped from under her when she tried to stop on the icy sidewalk.

Alla struggled against them, squirming, kicking, trying to shake free by wiggling out of her coat. She then went limp. Ninchenko smiled at Gage, but instead of loosening his grip, held her even more firmly, turning her coat into a straitjacket.

“Let me go!” she yelled in Ukrainian. “Let me go.”

Ninchenko covered her mouth. Gage pointed down the shadowed alley, and Ninchenko dragged her to the end. The driver backed in and then walked around to the rear of the van to tie her hands. They lowered the tailgate and sat her down.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Ninchenko said. “If we were, you’d be gagged and hooded. We just want you to answer some questions about Stuart Matson.”

Alla’s eyes flashed, then she nodded and he removed his hand.

“Who are you running from?”

“Everyone.”

“Who’s everyone?” Gage asked.

“Shit,” Alla spat out, her face red not only from exertion, but now from anger. “Another fucking American.”

“That’s not an answer. You were just kissing an American ten minutes ago.”

“That’s nothing. I would’ve gone down on a toad to get that bastard.”

Gage glanced toward Ninchenko. “I think I made a mistake about her.”

Alla kicked at Gage, who skipped back a step. “You bet you did. Wait until my father gets ahold of you.”

“From what I hear Petrov Tarasov doesn’t have a daughter anymore.”

“Who are you?”

“Graham Gage. I’m a private investigator from San Francisco.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Not Matson’s,” Gage said. “He’s trying to frame a friend of mine and I’m here to stop him. Where were you heading?”

“The U.S. embassy.”

“A little late in the day.”

“So what. They’ll open the door for me.”

Gage shook his head. “Not over a lovers’ quarrel.”

“It’s worse than that,” she said.

“How much worse?”

Alla shrugged. “How do I know you won’t send me back?”

“You can trust me on that. I’m not letting you go at all. Tomorrow you’ll be on a slow boat to Istanbul.”

Gage tensed, expecting her to kick at him again, or push off against the tailgate in a final attempt to flee. Instead she asked, “What about Stuart?”

“He’s next. I’ve already got him, he just doesn’t know it. He has something other people want and I need to stop him from turning it over.”

Alla laughed with frustration and disgust. “You’re about six months too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I get?”

“What do you want?”

“The whole truth and to see that son of a bitch hung by his heels in Shevchenko Park.”

Gage glanced over at Ninchenko to see whether his picture of Alla had also turned inside out.

Ninchenko raised an eyebrow in response, then asked Alla in English, “What was your fight about the other day?”

Alla’s eyes widened. “It was…” She hesitated and looked back and forth between Gage and Ninchenko. “Why should I trust you two?”

Gage pointed back toward the street. “You notice anybody out there that wants to stop him besides us?”

“How do I know you don’t want to steal it?”

“Because I could’ve done that in California.”

“The fight?” Ninchenko asked again.

“It was…” Alla looked back and forth between them. “It was about what he’s really doing here. Before we came, he said he wanted to make an investment. But that’s not the truth, or at least not the whole truth. The investment had already been made.”

“Is that what the meetings in London with Gravilov were about?”

She drew back, then smiled as if Gage had walked in on her in the shower. “Have you been living in my flat and I somehow missed it?”

“No, just close by.”

“I wish I knew you were there.” Her smile faded. “This would all be over by now.”

“Unfortunately, your background suggested that you were carrying on the family business, or at least working for Gravilov.”

“He tried to recruit me to spy on Stuart. One Ukrainian to another. I didn’t want his money…that fucking gangster.”

“Does Gravilov know who your father is?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t want to get caught in a crossfire between him and my father’s people so I used my ex-husband’s last name when he came by.” Alla looked down and sighed. “How did I get into this mess? All this time I thought Stuart was different, but he turned into the same kind of predator I was trying to escape from.”