Holger moved stealthily through a group of trees and turned the corner of the building. The shadows made seeing things on the ground difficult, and he stopped. Only leaves. The only sound was the wind rustling the leaves. There was no sign of life besides the pounding of his pulse. Suddenly, he heard something alien. He closed his eyes to listen more intently. Yes, there it was again. Was it a foot scraping against the wall? He kneeled carefully and cautiously inched his head around the corner of the building. Although his night vision was good, it took him a moment to decipher the movements in the shadows. Was someone dragging something along the side of the wall? Something… or someone? Was it a person? IT’S TATJANA! The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut, and paralysed, he watched Tatjana being hauled into the building. Fuck! he thought. We should have observed the house longer, been more patient before acting. He pushed the self-reproach aside as the door slammed shut and scampered along the wall towards the illuminated window where Tatjana’s gun glinted in the moonlight. Holger picked it up and checked that the magazine was packed, and the safety catch was off. Nobody seemed to be present, but he waited to make sure. Then he peered cautiously through the lightened window. The room was deserted. I have to get into the building for her. 341
Crouching low, gripping the gun with two hands, he set off towards the entrance. He pressed himself against the wall for the last couple of metres and edged furtively towards the door. He tightened his grip on the gun while carefully depressing the door handle with his other hand. Constantly making sure that the wall concealed his body. If someone opens fire from inside, only my arm will be hit. Holger pushed the door open and stepped quickly inside with the pistol raised. The hall was abandoned, but he could faintly hear voices. Holger followed them, checking each room in turn. Apparently, theirs are only the ones I can hear. As he got closer, he could hear Tatjana arguing with a man in Russian. Holger could not make out what they said, and he moved closer. Finally, he realised they were in the room he had seen through the window. The studio. Reaching the door, he saw a fat, dishevelled man standing at its centre. Holger tightened his two-handed grip on the pistol and stepped sideways into the studio, ensuring he had a clean shot without the risk of hitting Tatjana.
The fat man hadn’t heard him; his eyes were entranced by Tatjana’s body. He had his pump-gun trained on her. He ordered her to undress in a Russian accent and told her directly what he would do to her. Tatjana stood vulnerable with her arms crossed across her breasts. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she steeled herself to remove her underwear. Holger squeezed the trigger determinedly simultaneously, and the shot cut through the tense atmosphere in the room as the pump-gun careered through the air. It was as if everything froze for a couple of seconds until the fat Russian registered that the bullet had gone straight through his right hand. Then came his scream of pain.
Holger stepped forward.342
‘Down on the floor. Make one fucking move, and what passes for a brain in your fat head will be sprayed across it,’ Holger ordered.
‘Is he alone in the house?’ he asked, his eyes fixed firmly on the fat man on the floor.
‘That’s what he said,’ Tatjana replied shakily as she gathered her clothes.
Holger grabbed a chair from the wall, dragged it to the Russian and calmly took a seat, the barrel of his gun trained on the injured man’s skull, while Tatjana began to get dressed.
‘This is more fun than being in court,’ Holger told Tatjana in English, attempting to lift her spirits with a smile.
As soon as she was dressed, Tatjana coolly picked up the pump-gun and joined Holger. The man on the floor was scared out of his wits and moaned about the pain in the wounded hand. She ignored him:
‘How much of your clothing do you want to take off?’ she asked sweetly, taking over the questioning. ‘Pants first! I can start by blowing off your manhood,’ she continued briskly.
The man shot a hateful glance at Tatjana as she poked the barrel of the pump-gun at his belly as she continued: ‘You heard me; lose the pants!’
Holger was astounded by Tatjana’s brutality, but it sent the obese Russian quivering uncontrollably. Lying on his back, he managed to wriggle out of his pants while trying to shield the bloody mess of his hand. Holger briefly averted his eyes in disgust but quickly regained his composure.
‘We’re in charge now, and he’ll learn that we can behave worse than his wildest nightmare,’ Tatjana said impassively to Holger, turning back towards the man:343
‘Your name,’ she hissed.
‘Does it matter?’ he replied in an attempt at defiance.
Tatjana’s face showed no emotion as she slowly lowered the muzzle of the pump-gun, training it on the man’s groin.
‘Igor… Igor Rakatjov,’ he stuttered.
‘You work for Andrej Nitchenko, don’t you?’ she carried on without removing the muzzle.
‘My boss is the director of the movies we record here,’ he quipped and glanced frightened at his groin.
Tatjana was clearly unimpressed by the answer, looked at Holger with a shrug as she stepped on the bloody hand. The silence of the room was shredded by the Russian’s shrill cry of pain. The look in Holger’s eyes made her remove her foot again. Holger pushed her gently aside and pointed his pistol straight at the face of the fat man. The man sensed Holger’s finger tightened on the trigger and held up his arm in defence:
‘No, no… Yes, Andrej Nitchenko owns this building.’
‘Have you seen a foreigner here?’ Tatjana interrupted without paying attention to the man’s choked-up voice.
‘They’ll kill me. They’ll kill me,’ the Russian mumbled as his eyes begged for mercy.
‘So will we. Only we’ll do it more slowly,’ replied Tatjana.
The man looked nervously at Tatjana and said: ‘A foreigner. Yes, we did a video. I know where he is held captive,’ and nodded towards the door at the back of the room.
Holger and Tatjana exchanged a look.
‘Get up!’ Holger demanded.
The Russian wrenched himself onto his knees and clambered to his feet. With his pants still around his ankles, he shuffled to the 344door. It was a grotesque sight. Holger followed him closely. The fat man started pumping the door handle as they reached the door.
‘Trust me, I haven’t got a key,’ he said imploringly.
‘Tatjana, one false move from this fat fuck, and you drop him,’ Holger said firmly, gesturing at her to move away from the door. Holger swapped the pistol for the pump-gun, pointed it at the upper hinge and fired. The steel buckshot tore the hinge from the wall in a cloud of shattered brick and steel shards. In one fluid motion, Holger pumped the action slide handle, feeding another shell into the chamber for the next shot. Then he fired, reloaded and fired again. The blast wave from shot number two and three towards the remaining hinges forced the three of them to hunch in the growing cloud of mortar and splintered wood.
The corpulent Russian took advantage of the confusion, tore off his pants, and barrelled for the exit. He was deceptively fast for his bulk. The three shots had Holger’s eardrums begging for mercy, and the high-pitched ringing that filled his head disorientated him. Thus, he did not register the Russian’s escape before it was too late. Tatjana, however, didn’t hesitate. Resolutely, she squeezed off two quick rounds, but without hitting their target. Holger had recovered from his stupor and sprinted out of the house to pursue the Russian. Outside, he stopped to catch his breath and peered into the darkness for the man. He spotted the fat silhouette in the moonlight, running for the road. Holger calmly took aim. With a single, accurate shot, he felled the fat man and reloaded as he ran to the lifeless form. Holger kneeled and checked the bare throat for a pulse. He was stone dead – as much pulse as a fish at the fishmonger’s. Holger scanned the street and realised that not even gunshots elicited a reaction in this part of St Petersburg.345
Holger turned the corpse over. The exit wound, caused by the buckshot that had torn his heart out, made him nauseous, and he struggled to avoid vomiting. Holger dragged the heavy corpse into nearby bushes as he, at the same time, tried to avoid getting blood on this clothing. Having reassured himself that no nosy neighbours were in sight, he ran back to Tatjana.
She was visibly relieved to see Holger and embraced him as she buried her head in his chest. Holger put his arms around her and squeezed her. They both knew that time was not on their side and reluctantly, they turned toward the doorway. The dust had settled, and the opening looked like a gaping wound with scorched, jagged edges.
‘Let’s get on with it,’ Tatjana said, entering the adjoining room.
She quickly started rifling through some documents on a table as Holger tried to assess the lay of the land. Tatjana handed him photos of Kaare, clearly evidencing him being brutally treated. The photos once more made Holger doubt whether Kaare was still alive. Tatjana had opened a filing cabinet and emptied a large folder on the table. The folder contained a series of plans. Hastily, she spread several sheets of paper over the conference table and held the cover up as she pointed to the two words pencilled on it:
‘Yes, here’s the address. And a guard plan. There are four guards. It’s in the middle of the Grazhdanka district,’ she said excitedly and pointed at a map.
‘And here he is, Kaare Strand,’ Holger said gloomily, putting the photos down.346
Tatjana reached for the Bakelite phone on the table and dialled a number on the old-fashioned rotary:
‘Hi, Tatjana here. Yeah, we’re OK, but there are a lot of documents here. Yes, warehouse 6, Lenin Prospect in Grazhdanka. Good, we’ll see you soon…’
Holger pulled the GSM mobile from his pocket and made a call. There was no answer; he waited until the end of the voicemail’s instructions, left his status report and put the mobile back in his pocket.