SEVENTY-FIVE
Dr. Azra Kaya had been listening to the news of the takeover of the U.S. ambassador’s residence some ten kilometers from her apartment, and she’d had little doubt that the man she’d been treating was somehow involved. There had been wild stories of gunfights and terrorists for days across the city, right when the American had arrived, and though he’d confirmed nothing, he’d at least had the decency not to deny he was out there, involved in some sort of dangerous work.
She didn’t think for one instant that he was a bad man. No, he was as good as they came, cut from a wholly different cloth than all the other men she’d treated in the last three years, and she only hoped he was okay.
She’d bought enough medical supplies to treat a small army, and though she hoped she wouldn’t have to use them tonight, she knew it was best to be prepared for the worst.
She was making herself a cup of tea at eleven thirty p.m., weighing the chances that the American would come tonight, wondering if he could be even more injured, when her doorbell chimed. Someone had pushed the call button by her name on the ground floor, just like the American had done around this time of night all week. She was so relieved she didn’t even go to the intercom box to check it. Instead, she launched to her feet, grabbed her keys, and headed for the staircase at a run.
Thirty seconds later she was at the ground floor, and she saw a figure in the darkness there. She turned the latch and opened the door.
Only then did she look at the man in front of her.
She deflated slowly, did not speak until she regained her composure, and then said, “I didn’t get a text.”
She remembered this patient. He’d been here over a year ago with a hand that looked like he’d broken it while punching someone in the unyielding bones of the face.
He was an asshole, he was scary, and, she sensed, he was at least a little bit nuts.
And he was Russian.
“Good evening,” the man said. “I’m sorry I did not notify your service I needed treatment.”
She looked past the man, into the street, wondering if the American was coming or not. She deflated a little more, then said, “It’s fine. Will you follow me?”
Even with a compression bandage on his arm, Zack Hightower continued to bleed over the car’s interior. He wasn’t in danger of dying from the blood loss, but it was making him a little dizzy and, to both Court’s and Zoya’s surprise, it made him quiet, rare for a man who never seemed to stop talking.
They pulled into the parking lot behind Dr. Kaya’s flat and parked with the nose of the vehicle facing out. Zoya and Court helped Zack from the backseat, and they went around to the building’s main entrance.
In the distance they could still hear sirens and swirling helicopters to the southwest as they arrived at the front door of the building. Court hadn’t texted, so he pushed the call button next to the doctor’s name, and he waited.
Zoya said, “You’ve been coming here every night?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you know this woman, how?”
Court cocked his head. “I told you. She works for a service I used in the private sector.”
Zoya was dubious, still. “And she . . . treated you?”
“She’s a doctor. That’s her thing.” He pressed the call button again.
Court looked back to Zoya, who was holding Zack up by putting her head under his arm. “What?” he said, unsure why she was talking about this.
Zack Hightower broke his silence, and he spoke weakly. “Dude. She’s jealous.”
“No, I’m not.” She said it defensively.
“A jealous Russkie is a dangerous thing,” Zack said with a faint smile.
“I am just clarifying who this person is so that—”
The door clicked open remotely. Court found this odd; he’d learned to recognize and to trust patterns, and all the other nights since the first time he’d come to Dr. Kaya’s flat, she’d come downstairs to let him in.
He opened the door, then paused.
Zoya said, “What is it?”
Court wasn’t sure. He said, “You two stay here in the lobby. Lock yourselves in. I’ll check it out upstairs and then come back down, help you get him in the elevator.”
Zoya said, “He needs to be treated, now.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll be right back down.”
Zoya put Zack down on the floor next to the elevator, and Court began climbing the stairs.
When he arrived at Dr. Kaya’s flat, he was surprised to see that her door was cracked open. This he found odder still, so he drew his pistol and held it down by his side.
He knocked gently on the door, then moved away from it, back up the hall.
Dr. Kaya’s voice cracked. “Come . . . Come in.”
Something was wrong. Court raised the pistol now, lined up the front sight post between the rear sight posts, then slowly pushed the door open with his foot. Stepping into the kitchen of the flat, he did not see anyone in the living room, so still with his gun trained in front of him, he took a few steps forward and looked down the hallway to the bedroom.
There, down the hall and at the far end of the bedroom, all but shrouded in darkness, he saw a figure standing next to a nightstand by a bed. It was a female form, but quickly he recognized from the silhouette that there was a man behind her, holding a handgun to the side of her face, the barrel pressed against her jaw.
In this lighting, at this distance, Court did not have a clean shot at the man’s head. Part of the man’s body was exposed, but Court knew shooting the man would ensure that he would fire a round into his hostage at point-blank distance.
He heard crying and then the voice of Dr. Kaya. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
He kept his weapon high. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Then he looked at the gunman. “What’s the plan, dude?”
The man holding Kaya spoke in a Russian accent. “I can tell you what the plan is not. I won’t be jumping out of the window this time, I can promise you that.”
Court’s Glock lowered a few inches as he realized this was the man who’d taken a nose dive out a fourth-floor window at the Adlon four days earlier. With astonishment he said, “Maksim Akulov.”
“You know me. I am flattered.”
“How the hell are you alive?”
“I ask myself that a lot. I also ask myself a more important question. Why? Why am I alive? But I think I know the answer finally.”
“Tell me,” Court said.
“I am alive to kill the Gray Man.”
“You know me, too,” Court said. “And I couldn’t possibly give a shit.” After a second of silence he said, “Seriously. How are you alive?”
Maksim sniffed out a laugh. “Because I can fly, obviously.”
Court turned his attention to the silhouette of the doctor, just in front of Akulov. “Azra. It’s going to be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She sniffed and sobbed. “I believe you.”
Zoya was downstairs, but neither she nor Zack was armed, and Zack was out of the fight due to his blood loss. Court didn’t see a solution to the puzzle in front of him, other than hoping for a lucky shot if the man moved the pistol away from the Turkish doctor’s face.
Akulov said, “Where is Zakharova?”
Court replied, “Brazil, last I heard.”
“Liar. I have people down in the street. They confirmed that three of you, including Zakharova, entered the lobby five minutes ago. I will give you this girl, I will let her live, let her leave here right now. But only if you get Zakharova up here. Call her now.”
Court said, “Fat chance, Maksim.”
“Then I suppose the one noncombatant among us tonight dies. Isn’t it always like that in our world, Gentry? We live to kill another day, and the innocents around us fall like lambs in the slaughter?”
Court’s jaw flexed. “You better pray you can fly again, motherfucker, because I’m going to throw you out the window tonight.”
Maksim laughed at this. “Pray? I don’t believe in God.”
Court just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, you won’t be running into him where you’re going.”
The Russian laughed at this, as well. “Ah, yes. I understand. Perhaps it is the devil who will get me?”
“If I don’t get you first.”
“Take your best shot, Gentry.”
Court did everything he could to calm his body, to remove any tension that could alter his shot, because he was pretty sure he’d have to take it soon. His eyes were slowly adapting to the low light, but still, Kaya and Akulov were so close together, and Akulov so well shielded by her, that he didn’t like his chances.
But he faked utter self-assuredness in his voice. “I’ll save my best shot for someone who warrants it. I can drop you anytime I want.”
Court’s pistol was in a two-handed grip, his arms fully extended, the sights of the weapon lined up in his eye, the barrel pointed at Maksim Akulov.
Court said, “You don’t want to kill some random doctor. You want to kill me. Shoot her now and I drop you where you stand. And what will you have accomplished?”
“You are a long way away, Mr. Gentry. Don’t try to scare me. We are both in the same line of work. I know it is impossible to shoot me in a way that would cease my motor functions instantly, which means if you shoot me now, then I shoot her. You know this. I know this. Let’s treat one another with professional respect.”
Court shrugged. “I barely know her.”
It was quiet for several seconds. Finally, Maksim said, “Then why haven’t you shot me already?”
This dude was smart, and he seemed to be pretty damn sure of the tactical situation before him. He was just missing Zoya, and as far as Court was concerned, that was a good thing. He answered, “I haven’t shot yet because I don’t want innocents to die if it can be avoided, and if you are any type of a man, you don’t, either.”
“A poor line of attack on your part, Mr. Cowboy. I have killed men, women, and children. Combatants and innocents alike. I question my actions, they haunt me, but that hasn’t stopped me yet. I’ll kill this bitch, and then I’ll kill you.”
Court slowly, reluctantly, lowered his weapon and stuck it in his jeans. “Okay. Let’s do it your way. You have a shot at me now. Take the gun away from her head, point it over here, and let’s end this whole thing right now.”
Maksim did so. Azra cried out at this.
The Russian assassin smiled a wide, toothy grin now. The mathematical solution he’d been working through the last minute had seemed to partially solve itself.
“Now you are at gunpoint. Call Zakharova.”
“It’s nyet gonna happen, Maksim.”
Suddenly, a voice called from the hallway, just next to the open kitchen door. It was Zoya. “Your equation is missing something, Maksim.”
With new excitement in his voice, the Russian assassin said, “Yes, my beauty. I am missing you. You are the job I’m here for, not Gentry, or so our mutual friend Inna keeps telling me.”
Court snapped at Zoya, “Go away. I’ve got this.”
Zoya ignored him. “Maksim, listen to me. I can give you what you want.”
“How will you do that?”
“If you let the doctor go, I will take her place. Don’t you have a mission objective you care about? Or is this just about facing your most dangerous opponent? Are you a professional? Or are you just here because you are a fan of the Gray Man?”
Court couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Zoya. No. If you come in here, then he’ll have both the targets he needs. Stay right where you are. Please.”
Despite Court’s pleas, however, Zoya stepped into the kitchen from the hallway, next to Court and in front of Akulov’s sights. Her hands were over her head.
As soon as she entered the room Court redrew his handgun tucked in the front of his pants in a blur and got it back up on Akulov, although it was still a virtually impossible shot, with a very real chance of hitting Azra Kaya in the head.
Zoya said, “Here’s what you have to do. Let her go, and take me hostage. You and Gray Man here can shoot it out with me in the middle. You have to admit your chance to achieve both your objectives today will improve.”
Maksim nodded. “Come to me. I will let her go.”
“You have a very narrow field of view from the back of that room and the hallway. If you fire at him, it gives me time to dive out of your line of sight. I am armed, and I will not disarm until I reach you. And if you fire at me as I approach, he will kill you.”
“And piss on your body,” Court said. He was furious at Zoya, directing it at Akulov.
Kaya sobbed audibly.
“Davay!” Come on! Maksim shouted.
“No, Zoya,” Court said, but despite this, Zoya began walking forward. Court cussed, told her again to stop, but she kept going. She went down the hall, staying to the wall so that Court could keep Akulov in his sights. She made it into the dark bedroom, walked around the bed to the far corner, and only stopped when she was next to Akulov.
With incredible speed he pushed Azra away, took Zakharova by the neck, and shoved the gun to her temple. He frisked her body and realized she’d lied about having a weapon on her.
Court felt his hand trembling now. “Doctor. Come to me, please. It’s okay.” Dr. Kaya’s curly hair was in her eyes, and tears streamed down her face, but she did as he instructed.
Dr. Kaya passed him by in the kitchen, then stepped out into the hallway, but Court could feel her presence still outside. “Azra. Get out of the building.”
But she refused. Though she’d been crying, her voice sounded strong now. “I am staying. When you shoot him, you will need my medical expertise.”
Court steadied his aim, took a couple of breaths to calm himself. In a voice laced with more bravado than he actually felt, he said, “When I shoot him, all I’m gonna need is your mop.”
Maksim smiled. “You are fast, I’ve seen you in action. But you aren’t so fast that I won’t be able to fulfill both of my objectives tonight.”
Zoya began crying now, the vision of vulnerability.
Maksim pulled her back to the far wall next to the window; she screamed with the movement, the pistol jabbed hard into her temple now.
Court said, “Zoya, we’re going to figure this out and—”
She interrupted. “Court. I’m sorry. I have one final request.”
“Of course. Anything.” Court felt the quiver in his hands again; it came both from his supercharged emotions and from the fact that his arms were getting tired from holding the man at gunpoint for so long, especially after everything else Court had been through.
Zoya sobbed a moment, but then she lifted her head and faced him. Court could see that she’d shifted her head a little to the right, pressing it hard against the barrel of Akulov’s handgun.
Her sobs disappeared, her voice strong now. “Just do me one favor.”
“Anything,” he repeated.
“Don’t get it in my hair.”
She waited a beat, long enough for Maksim to glance at her in confusion and, as he did this, he realized what was happening.
“No promises,” Court said from across the room and, at the same time, Zoya dropped her head down in a blindingly fast motion, pushing against Maksim’s arm around her. She exposed a portion of the Russian assassin’s face in the process.
Maksim held her tight, however, and he recovered from the surprise of her action, and put his pistol back against her temple.
And then a single gunshot cracked in the night. Azra Kaya screamed in the hallway.
The bullet left Court’s Glock and burned the air on its way across the kitchen and the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom, where it struck Akulov’s left eyeball. It tore apart flesh as it penetrated the eye, passed through the bone of the orbital socket and into the brain, where it passed through the Russian’s medulla oblongata.
All motor functions in the assassin’s body ceased in one tenth of one second, and he fell straight down, his pistol clanking on the floor. Unfired.
Zoya stood there. Court lowered his gun and raced to her, and they embraced in the dark.
Dr. Kaya entered the room a moment later, rushed over to her med kit in her bathroom, then ran back into her bedroom to check Akulov.
Court said, “Forget him. My buddy downstairs is hurt pretty bad. Please go help him. We will be down right behind you, and we’ll all leave together.”
“I am leaving?”
“Best thing for you right now. Police will be here in minutes.”
She grabbed her kit again and started towards the door, but she turned around and looked at Zoya. “You risked your life for me. Why would you do that?”
“Because I trust this guy. We work well together. I knew we could end the threat and leave you out of this.”
The doctor looked down at the body again, then turned and ran for the stairs.
Court said, “Maksim told me he had associates downstairs.”
Zoya went to the window of the flat and opened it through the curtains, hiding her body from the street. “Help me lift his body.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m proving to Maksim’s people that he can’t, in fact, fly. Inna and the support staff will run when they know their trigger man is dead.”
Together Court and Zoya rolled Akulov out the window, and he fell four floors before impacting with a loud thud against the sidewalk.
Across the street, a black four-door fired up, turned its lights on, and sped off.
Zoya said, “Das vadanya, Inna.”
Court and Zoya kissed for a long moment, and then he said, “Should we go help with Zack and get the fuck out of here?”
Zoya shrugged. “I kind of like him docile.” Then she smiled. “But we should probably go.”