Tom Callaghan - An Autumn Hunting

‘OK, I’m looking at the wrong end of a gun barrel,’ I said, ‘but don’t you think you’re pushing your luck as well?’

‘Retire and take up gardening, that’s what you have in mind for me?’

Her tone was light, but I could tell she didn’t find the conversation amusing.

‘There are worse things than roses,’ I said, ‘and some of them have sharper thorns.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘I think you should get on the train to Moscow tomorrow morning. Aliyev’s men are bound to be watching the airport, but there shouldn’t be a problem with the train.’

‘You want me to sit on a train for forty-eight hours, while you turn into Clint Eastwood?’

‘Travel first class, a sleeper to yourself. I’d like to do that myself, but I have to sort this stuff out first.’

‘With Aliyev?’ she asked.

‘And with Tynaliev. It was him who threw me into this shit in the first place. If I don’t deal with him, I might as well glue rear-view mirrors to my forehead. And then he’ll attack from the front.’

I put my empty cup down, took hers, held her hand.

‘The fake assassination for a start.’

She nodded.

‘It had to be fake. I knew you were a bad shot, but even you couldn’t have missed a fat bastard like that at point-blank range.’

‘So then I’m on the run, top of the Most Wanted charts, a smash hit. Shooting Tynaliev was the only way I could get into Aliyev’s team and win his trust. Since every one of his men has to take off their shoes to count past ten, that wasn’t too difficult.’

‘He didn’t suspect?’ Saltanat asked.

‘Of course, that’s why he sent me off to Bangkok. If I managed to draw Quang out of his regular activities, Aliyev could set him up, let the Russians know who was poisoning their children. Then all he had to do was stand back and let the Spetsnaz go to work. With Quang sidelined, Aliyev could own the spice routes into Russia. Big-time money.’

‘While Quang prepared to sideline Aliyev.’

‘You’ve been paying attention,’ I said, ‘I like that,’ and I kissed her to prove I meant it.

‘So Aliyev and Quang commit mutually assured destruction. And the resulting vacuum is filled by none other than the Minister of State Security,’ Saltanat said.

‘You have a very devious mind, even for a woman,’ I said, dodging the blow I knew would follow.

‘I’m still not going to Moscow,’ she said, jaw set in that ‘argument is futile’ mode.

‘I’ve got tickets for both of us,’ I said, and reached into my jacket inside pocket to show her. ‘You go tomorrow, I follow two days later, meet you outside Lenin’s mausoleum, then we go into the GUM luxury store for the world’s most expensive cup of coffee.’

‘And then?’

‘Then we decide where we’re going to live, when we’re going to get married, what names we’re going to give our children.’

I patted her stomach. Too early to feel life, but I knew it was there, preparing to emerge on an unsuspecting world.

‘What makes you think I want to marry you? Or marry anyone?’

‘After everything we did an hour ago? How can you resist?’ I said, with my most winning smile.

Saltanat looked suspicious, perhaps even a little sad; I couldn’t say I blamed her.

‘Why do you want to marry me?’ she said. ‘It can’t be because of this,’ as she pointed to her stomach.

I felt scared, no, terrified. Terrified of exposing my inner self, or being rejected, of being left alone again, with no one and nothing to live for. I looked at her, and she could sense my fear, watched me struggle to overcome it.

‘Because I love you,’ I said, my voice hoarse, my throat choked, my words stumbling over each other as if drunk.

Saltanat simply stared at me. I had no clue as to what she was thinking. Finally, she spoke.

‘I know.’

And the way she said it splintered my heart.

‘You swear you’ll meet me in Red Square?’

‘You saw my ticket. I’ll even take you in to see Lenin embalmed in his glass box.’

‘That’s not the most romantic offer I’ve ever had.’

‘I’m out of practice,’ I said, and kissed her again. Somehow, her tea managed to get spilt all over the Hyatt’s pristine white sheets, but at the rates they charged, I figured they could afford a little laundry bill.

In the morning, showered but unshaved, I watched Saltanat get dressed. She looked at me as she fastened her bra at her waist, turned it round and up, sliding the straps over her arms. At that moment, she had the grace and poise of a ballerina, each movement instinctive and perfectly judged. I smiled as a wave of tenderness, not desire, swept over me.

‘Let me show you something,’ she said, and pulled at the side of her bra, exposing the end of a thin metal wire which she then pushed back out of sight.

‘Ground to a point at both ends. Push this into someone’s ear, you can watch it come out the other side. Always prepared, that’s me.’

The smile slid from my face, remembering Saltanat’s existence as a perfect killing machine. It didn’t stop me loving her, but it reminded me ours was never going to be a picturebook romance.

‘Clever,’ I said.

‘Good for picking locks too,’ she said, and a smile danced across her face.

I looked at my watch. Eight o’clock: time to head down to the lobby. I’d called Usupov the night before, asked him to meet us, take us for a drive. I didn’t say where. Saltanat paid the bill with a credit card I was certain didn’t have her real name on it. The clerk gave an uninterested smile, wished us a pleasant journey, hoped to see us again. Not if I’m paying, I thought as we stepped out into the crisp morning air.

Usupov was waiting, the car exhaust coughing smoke. We climbed into the back seat, and Usupov pulled away.

‘I told Tynaliev you were back in the city,’ he said, his voice thick with apology. ‘If I hadn’t, and he found out I knew…’

‘I understand, Kenesh, I’m sure he has the airport watched full time,’ I reassured him. I hoped the use of his first name would tell him I was on his side. And I knew the risk he was taking in being with us, a reminder there are still decent people in the world, pressured, intimidated, afraid, but prepared to do the right thing.

‘Where are we going?’

‘The station,’ I said.

‘No luggage?’

‘Travel light, move fast,’ I said. ‘It’s kept me alive all these years.’

Then I sat back, slumped down in my seat to minimise the risk of being spotted, watched Bishkek stretching and yawning as it woke up…

I’ve known men who’ve told me it’s possible to love more than one woman at the same time. I’ve even put a couple of them behind bars when their romances turned sour, and one of the women had to go. The truth is you can love two women, but in different ways, for different reasons.

Sometimes it’s just hoping you can still attract women, that they’re willing to overlook the sagging jawline or beer belly because of your wonderful personality. Or the size of your bank balance. Other times, it’s having so much money you can buy what passes for love and desire. Or maybe it’s just a need for company and comfort as the years scurry by and the long night approaches.

I knew I’d loved Chinara for all she had been, loved her still. And I hoped she would have approved of me finding someone after she left me. A professional assassin wouldn’t have been her ideal choice, but then we can’t dictate the future, no matter how much we might try.

Bishkek railway station is a big place, considering how few trains actually run there. From the outside, it could pass for the town hall of a rural oblast , built with civic pride for some district far from a capital city. Built in High Soviet style, with a tall three-storey central building flanked by two extended wings, it proclaims the power and invincibility of the USSR. The Union has long gone, but the station remains.