Julia Gousseva - Gray Shadows - Russian Historical Thriller

Nikolai left Pyotr Alekseevich to deal with the environmental evaluation and focused on the next, and the main, challenge. And that was the board meeting itself.

Nikolai and Vanya had practiced the routine enough to perform it with the utmost precision, and they predicted, calculated, and worked out their actions in all possible circumstances: a trip to the airport in an armored car, a special permission to drive the car onto the airfield, a quick and uneventful transition of the two board members from the airplane to the car, and a safe journey back to the compound.

From his training, Nikolai knew that entering and exiting cars and buildings, and other transitional movements were the most dangerous for the clients and their bodyguards. So, when the car left the airport and turned onto the main road leading to Upper Luzinsk, the two board members and their luggage safely inside, Nikolai breathed a sigh of relief. Next stop was the compound, and the situation there would be much easier to control.

Vanya was driving, so Nikolai leaned back in the front passenger seat next to him and watched the bleak landscape roll by: the tall mounds of snow, the dwarf trees, and the low darkening sky. Vanya tuned the radio to a classical music station and turned the volume to low.

Even after staying in Upper Luzinsk for the last few weeks, Nikolai could not get used to this strange place, so isolated, so cold, and so different from the big city that he was used to. He peeked into the visor mirror at their distinguished passengers, curious about their reaction to Upper Luzinsk. Neither of them seemed to be paying attention to the outside world. The woman, a slim redhead in fashionable glasses and wearing lots of fur, was busy with her phone. She reminded him of Olga: good-looking, elegant, and always busy.

Nikolai glanced at the man. In contrast to the woman, he was dressed quite plainly, in jeans and a thick parka. He, too, was busy. But not with the phone. The man was leafing through a thick stack of papers he put on his lap on top of his briefcase. One of those papers was probably that document to be signed in the next few days, the document that was causing all this hectic activity and Nikolai’s agency’s protection.

They had just passed a small intersection with a narrow road leading to a fishing village when Nikolai noticed a pair of lonely headlights shining into their car from behind. The headlights were approaching quickly.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” muttered Vanya and slowed down allowing the vehicle to pass, but it showed no such intention.

“Speed up then,” Nikolai said. “We don’t want them trailing us.”

The vehicle was behaving strangely, mirroring Vanya’s actions: when Vanya slowed down, so did the car behind them, and when Vanya accelerated, the other car did, too. The bright headlights made it difficult to discern what kind of car it was, but from its boxy silhouette and relatively small size, Nikolai was pretty sure it was a Soviet-made Lada, a run-of-the-mill inexpensive vehicle.

“Should we be worried about this?” Vanya said.

“I don’t know yet,” Nikolai said and checked his gun. “Lock the doors,” he quietly said to Vanya.

Their two passengers seemed oblivious to the unfolding events, and Nikolai decided not to say anything to them. No need to worry them. At least not yet.

Vanya slowed down once more, and the old Lada started passing on the left. Hugging the snowy curb, Vanya slowed down, too.

“Just an erratic driver, probably,” Vanya said as the Lada got ahead of them.

The Lada accelerated, moved into the center of the lane in front of them and rapidly slowed down, coming to a full stop in front of them. Vanya slammed on the brakes, forcing everyone in the car to lurch forward. Nikolai heard a loud thump, the screeching of metal hitting metal, and the screaming of their two passengers, all of it seemed to be happening at once. Their car skidded to a stop, and Nikolai turned to check on the passengers: they were frightened but not hurt.

“What is going on?” the redhead said. “Are you not paying attention to the road? Do something!” the redhead said to Nikolai.

“I will when I need to,” Nikolai said, trying to calculate what could happen next. The damage to both cars was obvious: Lada’s rear was mangled, and so was the front of their car.

Two men came out of the Lada. They were both young, probably in their mid-twenties, and both dressed in bulky coats that could, and probably did, conceal weapons. One was tall and athletic-looking, with broad shoulders and muscular legs. The other was shorter, with most of his strength located in his upper body, with smaller legs. Guys who favored push-ups over squats tended to look like that.

The two men approached their car.

“What do they want?” the redhead said.

“Money,” her colleague said. “They pulled in front of us on purpose.”

“How do you know? You weren’t even looking,” the redhead said. “And what money do they want? Why?”

“Standard maneuver of thugs and extortionists,” the man said. “And the car is old, so it figures they want money.”

“What do you think?” the redhead asked Nikolai.

“I agree,” Nikolai said and turned to Vanya. “It’s best if we give them money. To pay for the damage.”

“Are you crazy?” Vanya said. “I’m not giving them any money. That’s the only reason they did what they did. I’ll show them!”

Vanya stepped out of the car, slammed the door shut behind him, and started arguing with the two guys. Nikolai could not make out the words but the tension and anger were obvious. Still in his seat, Nikolai slipped his gun out of its holster and cocked it.

“Do something!” the redhead said again.

“They could kill Vanya!” the man said. “Help him!”

“My job is to protect the two of you,” Nikolai responded. “And right now, there is no immediate danger to either of you. And not even to Vanya.”

“What?” the redhead said. “That’s callous! He needs help! They’ll kill him!”

The taller of the two men came up to the car on the driver’s side and pulled on the handle. The shorter one was still arguing with Vanya.

Nikolai got out of the car from the passenger’s side and took a small step towards the front of the car so that the young man’s hands were in Nikolai’s sight. “Step away from the car!” Nikolai said loudly, keeping his eyes on the man’s hands: his left hand was still on the door handle, and he used his right hand to support himself on the body of the car. There were no weapons in the young man’s hands. In contrast to Nikolai, the young man kept his gaze straight on Nikolai’s face, not even trying to see what Nikolai’s hands were doing. That indicated to Nikolai that the man was an amateur. You couldn’t kill with your face.

“Step away from the car,” Nikolai repeated.

“And what if I don’t?” the young man said, his tone menacing.

Nikolai raised his hand, with his Makarov pistol in it, straight up in the air and fired a shot.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” the young man screamed, his expression quickly going from confident to panicked. “Are you crazy?” He backed away from the car.

The shorter man was no longer focused on Vanya. He was watching Nikolai from a distance.

“Hands in the air! Both of you!” Nikolai said, pointing the gun to the shorter man and motioning for the two of them to come closer to each other. “Now! Or the next shot will be at you.”

Fear obvious on their faces, both young men raised their hands in the air.

“Face down on the ground!” Nikolai ordered. “Count to one hundred. Loudly and slowly. And don’t get up until you’re done.”

The two men dropped to the ground. “He’s a psycho,” muttered the shorter one and started counting.