Moscow, Russia
‘Two men up ahead,’ Evans said. ‘One with a black jacket, the other a parka.’
Medvedev didn’t respond. Evans gave him a few seconds to clock the men before he carried on.
‘Are they FSB?’ Evans asked.
‘If they are, they certainly weren’t invited by me.’
‘Come on. Follow me,’ Evans said.
He moved off to his left, toward the traffic, and without looking, dashed across the road to the buildings on the other side. The road was crowded, which meant the vehicles were slow moving, and Evans’s sudden traipse through the traffic drew nothing more than a solitary honk of a horn from a compact car.
Evans glanced quickly behind him and saw that Medvedev was still with him. He knew that to evade surveillance, the best course of action was to split up. But not today. There was very little left in him that trusted Medvedev. He wanted the Russian right where he could see him.
‘This way,’ Evans said, increasing his pace and taking a turn down the first side street he came to.
He looked behind again as he rounded the corner to see the two men from the river crossing the road. They were staring over in his direction now, moving with more purpose. Both had their hands in their pockets. Evans wondered whether they were armed. He wasn’t.
‘Shit,’ Evans said, picking up his speed even more. ‘We need to lose these two.’
‘Just keep going,’ Medvedev said. ‘Once we get past the next junction, the streets are less open. It won’t be too difficult.’
‘Unless they’re not too concerned about making a scene.’
‘You’re suggesting they might attack us? Shoot us? Never. Not out in the open. Not two unarmed civilians.’
Evans wasn’t feeling quite as confident as Medvedev about that.
‘Do you know how to get away from here?’ Evans said.
‘Of course,’ Medvedev responded. ‘Once we lose them, I’ll circle back and head west, back across the river.’
His speech was becoming stilted as a result of the quickening pace of his breathing.
Evans didn’t respond. But he certainly wasn’t going to let Medvedev go anywhere without him. Evans looked behind again. They were putting distance between themselves and the two men, who were still trying hard to blend in. For just a fleeting second, Evans felt a little more confident again.
But then, as they neared the end of the street, a large four-by-four came careening around the corner. Evans guessed even before the vehicle came to a crunching halt just twenty yards in front that it was more heat. As the body of the car rocked back and forth on its high suspension, a man and woman whipped open their doors and jumped out. They immediately began walking toward Evans and Medvedev.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Evans said. ‘Who are they, Nikolai? Who was following you?’
‘They weren’t following me!’
‘This isn’t normal surveillance,’ Evans said. ‘This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. They’re not just spying on us. They’re here to snatch us. What did you do?’
‘I don’t know who they are!’ Medvedev protested.
‘Come on, back this way,’ Evans said, spinning on his heel and heading back toward the river. The two men who had followed them from the riverfront were at least without a vehicle.
Medvedev followed, but just a few seconds later another car, a black saloon, turned into the road up ahead. It crawled just a few yards before turning lengthways and stopping, blocking the road. There was now a vehicle and two people on foot blocking each end of the street.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ Evans bellowed. ‘You set me up?’
‘No, I didn’t!’
‘Come on. I’m not getting caught today.’
Evans sprinted over toward the entrance to an alley that ran parallel to the riverfront road. Medvedev followed. This wasn’t how Evans had planned the rendezvous to end. Not at all. Something had gone badly wrong. There were multiple patrol teams on them. That kind of heat didn’t happen by chance. Even if Medvedev hadn’t set him up, it was clear the FSB agent’s cover had been blown. Medvedev certainly wasn’t an asset anymore.
Evans ran as fast as he could down the alley, looking back every couple of seconds to check Medvedev was still with him and whether the tracker teams were following. His mind was in overdrive, his body too, his limbs pumping away. The alley was dark and dingy, only just wide enough to fit a vehicle. As Evans turned his head again, he spotted the saloon car behind him, just entering the alley. The glare from the beam of the bright headlights caused him to squint.
‘When we get to the end, we have to split,’ Medvedev shouted.
Evans didn’t say anything. He just hoped they would make it that far.
‘You go right,’ Medvedev added.
The end of the alley was now only twenty yards away. Evans took one last glance behind, hoping the progress of the car was being hampered by the narrow passageway, which was obstructed here and there with industrial bins and fire escapes. But the car was nearly upon them. The growl of its engine filled his ears.
Was the driver just going to mow them down in the alley? Surely that wasn’t protocol. But the car certainly didn’t seem to be letting up.
Evans tried to pump his arms and legs faster. Medvedev, who was a good few years older, was already fading and falling behind. Evans ignored the daggers he was feeling in his legs. The pain in his lungs, which felt like they were about to explode. His legs pounded away. He pulled closer and closer to the end of the alley. The groan of the saloon car behind him became louder with each step he took. He wondered whether Medvedev had already been run down, not that he dared look.
Just as he came to within touching distance of the end of the alley, to safety, a battered grey van appeared from nowhere and screeched to a halt, blocking the opening up ahead. Evans had to throw on his brakes to avoid running slap bang into the van.
He stumbled forward, coming to a stop just in time to avoid a collision. Behind him, he heard screeching tyres as the driver of the saloon car tried desperately to do the same. Before Evans could catch a breath, or turn to look behind to see just how close the car had come to crushing him, the side door of the van slid open.
The first thing Evans saw emerge from the van was the barrel of a gun. He noticed it just a split second before he saw the leather-gloved hand that was wrapped around the trigger. The hand belonged to a figure decked in black, a woollen balaclava obscuring the face.
Despite the ominous scene, it was the distinctive shape and contours of the gun barrel that drew Evans’s attention. It was a German-made Walther PPK. One of Evans’s favourite guns. A much better gun, in Evans’s eyes, than the more recent American PPKs that were manufactured under licence in the US. The German Walther PPK was famous as the gun that Adolf Hitler shot and killed himself with. It had been used in service since 1935. It was a stalwart. A true legend.
Evans should have been terrified to see the barrel of the Walther protruding from the van. But he wasn’t. Because the gun wasn’t pointing at him. It was pointing at Medvedev.
Evans looked over at the Russian, who caught his gaze. He was panting heavily. His warm breath billowed into the cold air. A look of bewilderment was on his face. Just a few yards behind Medvedev was the saloon car – at a stop but with its engine still rumbling. Clearly the chase was over now.
Evans’s whole body jolted when the deafening bang rang out. He saw the neat, circular hole appear in Medvedev’s forehead and watched, frozen to the spot, as Medvedev’s body crumpled to the ground in slow motion, the perplexed look still etched on his face.
Evans turned to where the shot had come from. His brain again registered surprise when he noticed that the barrel of the gun was no longer pointing out of the van’s open doorway. In fact, there was no sign of the figure who had been there before at all. But then, as he was determining what he should do next, he felt a sharp stab in his arm. He recoiled and looked down to see a long syringe being pulled from the sleeve of his windbreaker.
Cold liquid from the syringe surged through his arm, up his shoulder and into his core, sending a sinister shiver right through him. With the drugs pumping through his blood immediately taking hold, he was only partially aware of the gloved hands that grasped him and thrust him aggressively into the waiting van.