Garry Abson: Motherland: A Gripping Crime Thriller Set in the Dark Heart of Putin's Russia

Natalya sighed. ‘I think he loved her.’

Zena nodded to herself.

She sent Rogov ahead to block off the view to Volkov’s bedroom while she helped Zena down the stairs. Outside, the rain had stopped and puddles glistened with the sun’s reflection. Apart from the gulls it was still quiet and she wondered if the occupants of the other houses were at the White Nights festivities in the city. It was an ideal time of year for gunshots to go unreported.

‘You two wait here,’ she said to Rogov, not wanting Zena to see the mess Nahodkin had made of Volkov’s driver. At the back of the van she found Mikhail’s discarded raincoat and removed the soggy remainder of his Sobranies from the pocket. She found one that was smokeable and lit it then wandered back.

Rogov took out one of his Winston’s. ‘What do we do now, boss?’

‘Take her to your car. I’ll join you in a minute.’ She removed the backpack and held it out to him. ‘And put this in the boot.’

The sirens came soon after she had extinguished the cigarette. Mikhail’s Mercedes came into view and he sprinted from it when it had barely stopped. His gun was in his hands and he ducked behind the van for cover.

She watched him from a low stone wall, resting her back on the gates of Volkov’s house. ‘I bet I look sexy,’ she called over.

He stood up slowly, then ran to her and wrapped her in his arms. ‘Like an extra in a zombie movie.’

They had barely moved when Primakov arrived in his van. She watched him fiddle with his silver case before extracting a pair of blue overshoes from it. For some reason it seemed the funniest thing she had seen in a long time.

‘Captain, are you hurt?’ Primakov asked.

‘I’m fine.’

Mikhail sat on the wall by her side, his arm around her. ‘What’s going on, Natalya?’

‘I got Dahl’s company things. They are in Rogov’s car. I need you both to stay here and clean up.’

‘Angel, what are you talking about?’

She wondered why she felt so composed when she had just killed a man.

‘Yuri Volkov and his wife were murdered by an FSB agent. I think you’ve already met him, Leo’ – Primakov looked away – ‘he killed them with my gun.’

Mikhail rubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘Shit, that’s great.’

‘My guess is the FSB couldn’t rely on Volkov to keep his mouth quiet. When it was over, I was meant to take the blame.’

‘So where is this bastard? I’ll put a bullet in him myself.’

‘He’s dead. I got to him first.’

Mikhail lit a cigarette and looked at her with something approaching awe. ‘Jesus Christ. You said he was FSB.’

‘It won’t make him any less dead.’

‘Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you?’

‘This is why I need you.’ She took out the CZ 75 from the waistband of her jeans. ‘This one killed the FSB agent.’ She slapped it in Primakov’s ungloved hand; he looked horrified. She removed her Makarov from its holster and handed it to Mikhail. ‘This one killed Volkov and his wife… and the driver of the van was probably killed by the agent’s Grach. I need you to fix things before Dostoynov finds out and reaches the conclusion I’ve gone on a killing spree. All the better if you can make the FSB agent look innocent.’

‘That’s easy,’ said Mikhail, ‘We’ll pile all the bodies inside and burn the fucking house to the ground.’

‘No, Major, with respect. That won’t work.’

‘Of course it will – as long as Vasiliev assigns the case to me.’

‘Please Major, we have to do this right.’

She stood, ‘I’m going now boys.’ She kissed Mikhail on the lips.

‘You taste of blood.’

‘I’m a zombie. That’s what we taste like.’

‘Are we good, Angel?’

‘We’re better than that. I’ll see you home tonight.’

‘You’re the expert, Leo.’ she said to Primakov as she walked away. ‘Don’t let him bully you.’

Rogov was at the wheel, smoking through the open window of the driver’s seat. He tossed the cigarette onto the pavement. ‘Where are we going, boss?’

‘Back to Piter .’ She glanced at his Makarov. ‘And we’re going to need that.’

On Vasilyevsky Island, Rogov parked his unmarked Primera outside Veselnaya Ulitsa.

Natalya groaned as she took Nahodkin’s rucksack from the boot and slung it onto her aching shoulders.

She bent down to address Zena through the window of the back seat then realised she had no words of comfort for the girl. The curtains in the neighbouring apartment twitched as she approached; this time she knew it wouldn’t be Lyudmila Kuznetsova watching but one of the FSB agents.

‘Hello,’ she called out.

Major Belikova opened the door, aiming a Grach at her belly. ‘So, here is the late Detective Ivanova,’ she said in her sharp voice.

‘I’ve got one of those too, but let’s keep it civilised.’

On cue, Rogov leaned over the bonnet of the Primera, his long-sleeved shirt partially obscuring the barrel of his Makarov. He waved at the major with his free hand.

Belikova stepped back to let her inside the hallway. ‘Where’s Nahodkin?’

‘I killed him. To be fair, he was trying to kill me at the time. I’ve got some people cleaning up the mess he left behind in Volkov’s house. With any luck they’ll clean his conscience too.’

Belikova pursed her lips. ‘You did well, he was one of my best.’

Natalya unhooked the rucksack from her shoulders and dropped it on the floor. ‘Where’s her father?’

Belikova arched a single eyebrow. ‘Her father? ’

‘Let’s not play games.’

‘Now you’re being boring.’ Belikova hammered on the door of Zena’s apartment with her fist. ‘Hey, Demutsky, wake up – you’re getting evicted.’

She nudged the rucksack towards Belikova with her foot.

‘Is that it?’ The Major tucked the Grach in her holster and opened the bag. She removed the plastic wallet and flicked through the papers, then examined the seal presses.

‘Hey, Demutsky?’ Belikova called through Zena’s apartment door. ‘Today would be nice. I want to be out of this provincial shithole.’

The door opened, shaking silver fingerprint powder to the floor. The thin agent yawned.

‘Get your coat. Hurry up.’

He disappeared, then re-emerged clutching a brown leather jacket. Behind him she could see an anxious Dahl, who appeared to be unharmed.

‘Our Swedish friend has agreed to keep his mouth shut,’ said Belikova, ‘and you kept your end of the deal.’ She lifted the rucksack onto her shoulders. ‘Tell me, Ivanova, weren’t you tempted to sell them yourself? You must know a few criminals.’

‘No,’ said Natalya, ‘I never even thought of it.’

Belikova pulled on the door. ‘An honourable ment ,’ she sniffed and walked away, muttering something unintelligible.

She was on the E18 heading north, escorting Zena and Thorsten to the Finnish border; from there, Anatoly Lagunov had agreed to take them the rest of the way to Stockholm. Rogov was at the wheel with Dahl next to him, his huge frame folded to allow her to fit in the seat behind without crushing her knees. By her side, Zena was taciturn as they drove past the turning for Sestroretsk.

Natalya looked out of the rear window and saw a gelik , the nickname for a Mercedes Geländewagon. Those fancy jeeps were expensive; a basic model cost over a hundred thousand euros – though money wasn’t a problem for the FSB graduates who liked to flout traffic regulations in their geliki . This one had a tinted windscreen and she caught a Moscow region code of “99” on the number plate. There was a possibility it was the same one she’d seen in the morning on the way to Dahl’s old headquarters. Had Major Belikova assigned a new agent to make sure Thorsten and Zena left the country, or had she planned something more sinister?