level.
Finding what seemed the biggest tree in the forest, I rammed the large shovel into the snow just short of where the lowest branches disappeared. Moving back out of the way so he couldn't hit me with it, I motioned for Val to take off the bag. No problem from him on that one. Then I gave him the other spade.
Val didn't need any further encouragement. The wind was blowing hard, flattening my jacket against my body, and if we were to stay alive out here we had to get out of it soon. The ambient temperature was low enough as it was, but the effect of wind chill took it well below freezing. He might have been wearing a dinner jacket earlier on and heading for a night at the theater, but he was obviously no stranger to physical labor. You can always tell whether someone's used to a shovel.
He worked efficiently, not tearing the ass out of it, obviously knowing better than to let himself break out in a sweat and have it freeze on him later. After a while he stopped digging, got on his knees and started to scoop out snow with his gloved hands; then he disappeared into the cave. A few minutes later, he turned and stuck his head out. I thought I could just about make out the hint of a proud smile from under his hat.
I waved him back inside, throwing the bag in with him. Before I joined him I pulled back the index Finger of my right-hand glove, pushing my trigger finger through the slit. I'd prepared this one just like the leather pair for the buildup.
I followed him head first, with the 88 up, hitting the flashlight button once in cover. The shelter could have taken three people kneeling; once in, I slid round and landed up on my ass with the pistol in the aim. I put the flashlight in my mouth.
For him, it was bondage time again. Pulling a set of plasticuffs from my pocket, I stuck the pistol into his neck, twisting it into his skin this time. I plasticuffed his left hand to the branch above him. Snow fell on us as I ratcheted the plastic tight We both shook our heads, trying to get it off our faces. With his arm now strapped above his head, Val sat there looking like a gibbon as I got out a candle and matches. The candle provided more light than it would normally have, thanks to the reflection from the brilliant white walls. I crawled back to the entry point, pulled in the shovels and used one to pile snow across the gap. It would keep out the wind.
It was time to get everything else sorted. I emptied the contents of the bag and started to spread out the comforters on the ground.
Contact with the snow would conduct heat away from our bodies about twenty times faster than if we sat on the bedding.
Next, I smoothed out the sides of our hole with a gloved hand so that, as heat rose, the melting snow didn't form drip points and fall on us like rain. That done, I dug a small channel around the edge so that whatever did start to melt would run down the sides and refreeze there.
In situations like this, five percent extra effort always leads to fifty percent more comfort.
The wind was no longer the prominent noise. The rustling of nylon clothing and both of us sniffing or coughing had taken over.
The cave was beginning to look like a steam room as our breath hung in clouds in the confined space. Using the grip end of a shovel, I dug a small tunnel. I needed to be able to see out toward the house, and we needed ventilation. The candlelight wouldn't be seen directly from the house as it was low down and in an alcove; I just had to hope the ambient glow wasn't bright enough to be seen either, because there was no way we could do without it. Even the small amount of heat from a candle flame can help bring the temperature up to freezing point.
On my knees, I looked toward the house-well, it was out there in the darkness somewhere. Even with this amount of clothing on and some insulation beneath me, my body was still cold because we weren't moving. I readjusted my position so that I was comfortable and could still see outside. Val continued to study me.
At least two very cold, boring hours must have passed with me listening to the wind and Val constantly fidgeting to get feeling back into his arm, when all of a sudden he said, 'The Maliskia must have offered you quite a sizable amount of money to keep me alive. I am obviously more of a threat to them than I thought.'
I spun round in amazement.
It was a very confident, clear voice. He was smiling. He obviously liked my reaction. 'Now that you are alone, I should imagine it will be quite difficult to get me out of the country, to wherever it is the Maliskia want you to take me.' He paused. 'St. Petersburg, perhaps?'
I stayed silent. He was right: I was in the shit.
'You have a name, I presume?'
I shrugged. 'It's Nick.'
'Ah, Nicholas. You're British?'
'Yeah, that's right.' I turned back to the house.
'Tell me, Nicholas, what did the Maliskia offer you? One million U.S.?
Let me tell you, I am worth considerably more than that to them. What is one million? It wouldn't even buy a decent apartment in London. I know, I have three.'
I carried on looking out of the hole. 'I don't know who or what the Maliskia are; they sound Russian, but I was employed in London.'
He laughed. 'London, New York, it doesn't matter. It was them. They would very much like to have a meeting with me.'
'Who are they?'
'The same as me, but infinitely more dangerous, I can assure you.' He got up onto his knees and a small shower of ice fell as the branch moved.
I couldn't imagine anyone being more dangerous. Russian Organizatsiya (ROC) were spreading their operations around the world, growing faster than any crime organization in the history of mankind. From prostitution to blackmail, bombing hotels to buying Russian Navy submarines to smuggle drugs, all the different gangs and splinter groups were infiltrating nearly every country to the tune of billions of dollars. These people were making so much money it made Gates and Turner look like welfare cases. With that much money and power at stake, I was sure there would be the odd disagreement between different groups.
There was silence for a while as I kept a trigger on the house, then Val spoke again. 'Nick, I have a proposition that I think will appeal to you.'
6
I didn't respond, just kept my eyes on the house.
'It's a very simple proposition: Release me, and I will reward you handsomely. I have no idea what your plan is now. Mine, however, is to stay alive and at liberty. I am willing to pay you for that.'
I turned to look at him. 'How? There's nothing in your wallet but photographs.'
He tutted, a father addressing a wayward son. 'Nick, correct me if I'm wrong, but now that your plan has failed, I imagine you would like to get away from this country as quickly as you can. Release me, return to London and then I will get you the money. One of my apartments is in the name of Mr. P. P. Smith.' He smiled; the name seemed to amuse him. 'The address is 3A Palace Gardens, Kensington. Would you like me to repeat that?'
'No, I've got it.'
I knew the area. It fitted the bill. It was full of Russians and Arabs, people with so much money they owned apartments worth millions and only used them once in a blue moon.
'Let's say that in two days' time, and for the next seven days after that, from noon till four p.m.' there will be somebody at that address. Go there and you will receive one hundred thousand dollars U.S.'
A drop of melted ice hit me on the cheek. I took a handful of snow from the tunnel and ran it over the drip point, my mood as black as the night I was staring into. What the fuck was I doing freezing in this snow hole? I had half a million dollars sitting here with me, from doing something the Firm (Secret Intelligence Service/ SIS would have paid me a couple of hundred a day for. But I couldn't get at it. My only hope of ever seeing it was Sergei, and fuck knew where he was.
Val knew when to talk and when to shut up and let people think, I went back to watching the house for another hour or so, getting even more cold and miserable.
I was slowly convincing myself that, if Sergei didn't make an appearance, I should take my chances with Val in London. Why not? It wasn't as if I had anything to lose, and I was desperate for the paycheck.
I could only hear the faint noise of the engine at first. It was tucked into the trees somewhere on the track and fighting to be heard above the wind. Then headlights appeared out of the treeline, heading toward the house.
