Anthony Horowitz - Russian Roulette

“What…?” he began.

Rykov didn’t say anything. He stepped forward and shot my employer three times, the bullets thudding into his chest and stomach so quietly that I barely heard them. The effect was catastrophic. Sharkovsky was thrown backwards… off his feet. His head hit the carpet first. If the bullets hadn’t killed him, he would surely have broken his neck. His legs jerked then became still.

What did I feel at that moment? Nothing. Of course I wasn’t going to waste any tears on Sharkovsky. I was glad he was dead. But I couldn’t find it in myself to celebrate the death of another human being. I was frightened. I was still wondering how I could turn this to my advantage. Everything was happening so quickly that I didn’t have time to work out my emotions. I suppose I was in a state of shock.

And then a voice came floating out of the darkness.

“Don’t turn round. Put the gun down!”

Rykov twisted his head but saw nothing. I was hiding behind the door, out of sight. It was Karl. He had come up from the cellar. Maybe he had been looking for me, wondering why I hadn’t broken up those crates. He was behind Rykov and over to one side, edging into the hall with a gun clasped in both hands, holding it at the same level as his head.

Rykov froze. He was still holding the gun he had used to kill Sharkovsky and I wondered if he’d had time to reload. He had fired at least five bullets. Rykov couldn’t see where the order had come from but he remained completely calm. “I will pay you one hundred thousand rubles to let me leave here,” he said. He sounded very different from the mechanic I had spoken to. His voice was younger, more cultivated.

“Who sent you?”

“Scorpia.”

The word meant nothing to me. Nor did it seem to have any significance for Karl. “Lower your gun very slowly,” he said. “Put it on the carpet where I can see it… in front of you.”

There was nothing Rykov could do. If he couldn’t see the bodyguard, he couldn’t kill him. He lowered the gun to the floor.

“Kick it away.”

“If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else,” Rykov said. “Do yourself a favour. You’re out of a job. Take the money and go.”

Silence. Rykov knew he had to do what he was told. He kicked the gun across the carpet. It came to a halt a few inches away from the dead man.

Karl stepped further into the hall, still holding his gun in both hands. It was aimed at the back of Rykov’s neck. He glanced to the right and saw Josef lying spreadeagled on the stairs. Something flickered across his face and I had no doubt that he was going to shoot down the man who had been responsible for the death of his brother. As he moved forward, his path took him in front of the door where I was standing and suddenly I was behind him.

“One hundred and fifty thousand rubles,” Rykov said. “More money than you will ever see in your life.”

“You have killed my brother.”

Rykov understood. There was no point in arguing. In Russia, blood ties, particularly between brothers, are strong.

Karl was very close to him now and without really thinking about it, I made the decision – probably the most momentous of my life. I slipped through the door and, raising the axe, took three steps into the hall. The bodyguard heard me at the very last moment but it was too late. Using the blunt end, I brought the axe swinging down and hit him on the back of the head. He collapsed in front of me, his arms, his legs, his entire body suddenly limp. The mechanic moved incredibly fast. He didn’t know what had happened but he dived forward, reaching out for the gun he had just kicked away. But I was faster. Before he could grab it, I had dropped the axe and swept up Karl’s gun and already I was aiming it straight at him, doing my best to stop my hand shaking.

Rykov saw me and stared. He was unarmed. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. “You!” he exclaimed.

“Listen to me,” I said. “I could shoot you now. If I fire a single shot, everyone will come. You’ll never get away.”

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I want to get out of here.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. You have to help me!” I scrabbled for words. “I knew you weren’t really a mechanic. I knew you and Zelin were working together. But I didn’t say anything. It’s thanks to me that you managed to do what you came for.” I nodded at the body of Vladimir Sharkovsky.

“I will give you money…”

“I don’t want money. I want you to take me with you. I never chose to come here. I’m a prisoner. I’m their slave. All I’m asking is for you to take me as far away as you can and then to leave me. I don’t care about you or who you’re working for. I’m glad he’s dead. Do you understand? Is it a deal?”

He pretended to think… but only very briefly. The helicopter was still whining outside and very soon one of the guards might ask what was happening. Arkady Zelin might panic and take off without him. Rykov didn’t have any time. “Let me get my gun,” he said. He stretched out his hand.

“No!” I tightened my grip. “We’ll leave together. It’ll be better for you that way. The guards know me and they’re less likely to ask questions.” He still seemed to be hesitating, so I added, “You do it my way or you never leave.”

He nodded, once. “Very well. Let’s go.”

We left together, back down the corridor, past the room with the dead woman. I was terrified. I was with a man who had just killed three people without even blinking and I knew that he would make me the fourth if I gave him the slightest chance. I made sure I didn’t get too close to him. If he hit out at me or tried to grab me, I would fire the gun. This one wasn’t silenced. The sound of the explosion would act as a general alarm.

Rykov didn’t seem at all concerned. He didn’t speak as we left the house and walked through the half-darkness together, skirting the fountain and making our way across the lawn towards the helicopter. And it had been true, what I had told him. One of the guards saw us but did nothing. The fact that I was walking with him meant that everything had to be OK.

But Zelin was shocked when he saw the two of us together. “What is he doing?” he shouted.

I could barely hear a word he said but the meaning was obvious. I was struggling to keep the gun steady, feeling the wind from the rotors buffeting my arms. I knew that this was the most dangerous part. As we climbed in, the mechanic could wrench the gun away and kill me with it. He could probably kill me with his bare hands. I wasn’t sure if I should go in first or second. What if he had another gun hidden under one of the seats?

I made my decision. “I’m getting in first!” I shouted. “You follow!”

As I climbed into the back seat, I kept the gun pointed at Zelin, not the mechanic. I knew that he couldn’t fly. If he tried anything, I would shoot the pilot and we would both be stuck. I think he understood my strategy. There was actually something close to a smile as he climbed into the seat next to the pilot.

Zelin shouted something else. The mechanic leant forward and shouted back into his ear. Again, it was impossible to hear. For all I knew, he was sentencing me to death. I might have the advantage now but their moment would come while we were flying or perhaps when we landed. I wouldn’t be able to keep them both covered and one of them would get me.

An alarm went off in the house, even louder than the scream of the helicopter. At once, the arc lamps all exploded into life. Two of the guards started running towards us, lifting their weapons. At the same time, a jeep appeared from the gatehouse, its headlamps blazing, tearing across the grass. The mechanic slammed the door and Zelin hit the controls. The muzzles of the automatic machine guns were flashing in the darkness. Machine-gun bullets were strafing past. One of them hit the cockpit but ricocheted away uselessly and I realized that, of course, it must be armoured glass.