Anthony Horowitz - Russian Roulette

The station was right in front of me, at the end of a wide, very straight boulevard with trees on both sides. I recognized it at once. It was surrounded by stalls selling everything from suitcases, blankets and cushions to all sorts of food and drink. I could smell shashlyk – skewers of meat – cooking on charcoal fires and it made my mouth water. I was desperate to buy something but that was when I realized I had a problem. Although I had a lot of money in my pocket, it was all in large notes. I had no coins. If I were to hand over a ten-ruble note for a snack that would cost no more than a few kopecks, I would only draw attention to myself. The stallholder would assume I was a thief. Better to wait until I’d bought my train ticket. At least then I would have change.

With these thoughts in my mind, I walked towards the main entrance of the station. I was so relieved to have got here and so anxious to be on my way that I was careless. I was keeping my head down, trying not to catch anyone’s eye. I should have been looking all around me. In fact, if I had been sensible, I would have tried to enter the station from a completely different direction… around the side or the back. As it was, I hadn’t taken more than five or six steps before I found that my way was blocked. I glanced up and saw two policemen standing in front of me, dressed in long grey coats with insignia around their collars and military caps. They were both young, in their twenties. They had revolvers hanging from their belts.

“Where are you going?” one of them asked. He had bad skin, very raw, as if he had only started shaving recently and had used a blunt razor.

“To the station.” I pointed, trying to sound casual.

“Why?”

“I work there. After school. I help clean the platforms.” I was making things up as I went along.

“Where have you come from?”

“Over there…” I pointed to one of the apartment blocks I had passed on my way into the town.

“Your name?”

“Leo Tretyakov.” My poor dead friend. Why had I chosen him?

The two policemen hesitated and for a moment I thought they were going to let me pass. Surely there was no reason to stop me. I was just a boy, doing odd jobs after school. But then the second policeman spoke. “Your identity papers,” he demanded. His eyes were cold.

I had used a false name because I was afraid the authorities would know who I was. After all, it had been my parents, Anton and Eva Gregorovich, who had escaped from the factory. But now I was trapped. The moment they looked at my passport, they would know I had lied to them. I should have been watching out for them from the start. Now that I looked around me, I realized that the station was crawling with policemen. Obviously. The police would know what had happened at Estrov. They would have been told that two boys had escaped. They had been warned to keep an eye out for us at every station in the area… and I had simply walked into their arms.

“I don’t have them,” I stammered. I put a stupid look on my face, as if I didn’t realize how serious it was to be out without ID. “They’re at home.”

It might have worked. I was only fourteen and looked young for my age. But maybe the policemen had been given my description. Maybe one of the helicopter pilots had managed to take my photograph as he flew overhead. Either way, they knew. I could see it in their eyes, the way they glanced at each other. They were only at the start of their careers, and this was a huge moment for them. It could lead to promotion, a pay rise, their names in the newspaper. They had just scored big time. They had me.

“You will come with us,” the first policeman said.

“But I’ve done nothing wrong. My mother will be worried.” Why was I even bothering? Neither of them believed me.

“No arguments,” the second man snapped.

I had no choice. If I argued, if I tried to run, they would grab me and call for backup. I would be bundled into a police van before I could blink. It was better, for the moment, to stick with them. If they were determined to bring me into the police station themselves, there might still be an opportunity for me to get away. The building could be on the other side of town. By going with them, I would at least buy myself a little time to plan a way out of this.

We walked slowly and all the time I was thinking, my eyes darting about, adding up the possibilities. There were plenty of people around. The working day was coming to an end and they were on their way home. But they wouldn’t help me. They wouldn’t want to get involved. I glanced back at the two policemen who were walking about two steps behind me. What was it that I had noticed about them? They had clearly been pleased they had caught me, no question of that – but at the same time they were nervous. Well, that was understandable. This was a big deal for them.

But there was something else. They were nervous for another reason. I saw it now. They were walking very carefully, close enough to grab me if I tried to escape but not so close that they could actually touch me. Why the distance between me and them? Why hadn’t they put handcuffs on me? Why were they giving me even the smallest chance to run away? It made no sense.

Unless they knew.

That was it. It had to be.

I had supposedly been infected with a virus so deadly that it had forced the authorities to wipe out my village. It had killed Leo in less than twenty-four hours. The soldiers in the forest had all been dressed in biochemical protective gear. The police in Kirsk – and in Rosna, for that matter – must have been told that I was dangerous, infected. None of them could have guessed that my parents had risked everything to inoculate me. They probably didn’t know that an antidote existed at all. There was nothing to protect the young officers who had arrested me. As far as they were concerned, I was a walking time bomb. They wanted to bring me in. But they weren’t going to come too close.

We continued walking, away from the station. A few people passed us but said nothing and looked the other way. The policemen were still hanging back and now I knew why. Although it didn’t look like it, I had the upper hand. They were afraid of me! And I could use that.

Casually, I slipped my hand into my pocket. Because the two men were behind me, they didn’t see the movement. I took it out and wiped my mouth. I sensed that we were drawing close to the police station from the police cars parked ahead.

“Down there…!” one of the policemen snapped. We were going to enter the police station the back way, down a wide alleyway and across a deserted car park with overflowing dustbins lined up along a rusting fence. We turned off and suddenly we were on our own. It was exactly what I wanted.

I stumbled slightly and let out a groan, clutching hold of my stomach. Neither of the policemen spoke. I stopped. One of them prodded me in the back. Just one finger. No contact with my skin.

“Keep moving,” he commanded.

“I can’t,” I said, putting as much pain as I could manage into my voice.

I twisted round. At the same time, I began to cough, making horrible retching noises as if my lungs were tearing themselves apart. I sucked in, gasping for air, still holding my stomach. The policemen stared at me in horror. There was bright blood all around my lips, trickling down my chin. I coughed again and drops of blood splattered in their direction. I watched them fall back as if they had come face to face with a poisonous snake. And as far as they knew, my blood was poison. If any of it touched them, they would end up like me.

But it wasn’t blood.

Just a minute ago, I had slipped some of the lingonberries from the forest into my mouth and chewed them up. What I was spitting was red berry juice mixed with my own saliva.