Quiller Balalaika

'No.'

'Where is he?'

Natalya looked down, her body going slack suddenly. 'He's in a forced-labour camp in Siberia, for life.'

14: SHADOW

Lights flashing, sending waves of colour through the snow as the emergency lamps circled on the roofs of the police cars. The chains bit as I hit the brakes. It was the third crash scene we'd come across since we'd left the Entre'acte Club.

An illuminated baton made motions, and I put the window down and looked into a raw face buried under a hood smothered in snow. 'This street's blocked! Take the next left, then right, then left again. Get a move on!' The baton swung in practised arcs. Sirens were fading in behind us and the lights of two ambulances flooded the street as I made the turn.

I glanced down at Natalya. We hadn't spoken since we'd got into the car, and I'd left her to her tears. She said at last, 'Of course it was my fault.'

'What was?'

'Marius being sent to the camp. He couldn't help trying to protect me, you see, at first in small ways, and it began to annoy Vasyl. And there was the other thing: for a long time my brother had been worried about the killings.'

'The ones Sakkas ordered?'

'Yes.' She pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees, and I reached across and checked the seat-belt for tension. 'There were so many.'

'Did he start objecting to them?'

'After a time, yes. I once heard voices raised, and my brother saying he was getting sick of it, that business was business, there was no need to kill people. You know? It really worried him.'

'So Sakkas broke off the relationship?'

A short, bitter laugh. 'You could put it like that. What actually happened was that the Ministry of the Interior sent a squad to arrest my brother as he was coming out of a cafe on the Ring one night. The next day there were charges brought and he was summarily convicted of murdering a judge and sentenced to a life term at Gulanka. These days the Ministry can do things like that under the emergency legislation, with so much crime to deal with. It happens a lot – they herd the convicted prisoners out on trains.'

'You've been to a lawyer?'

'Of course, secretly. But I've no money, and it's so dangerous to do anything against Vasyl.'

A huge black Zil came at us through the blizzard with its lights blinding and I swung the Mercedes across the pavement and clouted a sand-bin and ripped away the front wing and got a shout from the limo, then it was gone like a shark in white water.

When I'd straightened course I said, 'You told me your brother knows everything about Sakkas' "empire".'

'Of course – he ran it. I'm talking about an international network, world-wide, with offices and warehouses right across Europe and even in America. Last year Vasyl made more than one billion dollars. My brother also knows every one of his major contacts in the government and the Russian army, all of them very high up and all of them paid either to keep their mouths shut or steer "business" his way. Marius has the whole picture, and Vasyl would have had him shot if it weren't for me.'

It didn't sound right. 'You mean out of his feelings for you?'

Natalya swung her head to stare at me and her voice was harsh. 'His feelings for me? He doesn't know what feelings are. But he wants to keep me with him, to show off to the other mafiyosa – they vie with each other over their possessions.'

'So Marius is a hostage.'

'Of course. That is why I'm trapped.'

'Did you ever try to leave Sakkas, before your brother was sent to the camp?'

'Twice. But Vasyl is uncanny, you know? His goons found me within hours, even though I kept away from my friends.'

I didn't ask her what the punishment was when the goons brought her back, didn't want to know. If she tried it again it would be infinitely worse: Sakkas would have her brother's body sent from the camp to Moscow for her to identify, while he savoured her grief. I was beginning to know him.

I turned left along the Boulevard Ring, going east, looking for a plush hotel. 'I'm going to put you into a taxi,' I told Natalya. 'Is that all right?'

'Of course.'

If I dropped her off at the house I could get shot at, afterwards, or tracked through the streets. 'I've got the number of the stage door at the theatre,' I told her. 'I might need to contact you again.'

'That would be dangerous. If one of his goons saw us tonight -'

'They didn't,' I said.

With a shrug. 'Then we were lucky. They're everywhere.'

I slid the Mercedes alongside the first taxi in the rank outside the Moscow Waldorf. 'If I can do anything to help your brother, I'll let you know.'

She looked at me. 'No one can help him. No one.'

Perfectly right, he was in Gulanka for Christ's sake, in northern Siberia. But for what it was worth I would tell Ferris, see if he could do anything through London.

'All I can hope for,' she said bleakly, 'is that one day, somehow, he might escape.'

'Let's pray for that.'

She unclipped her seat-belt, turning to face me. With formality: 'Thank you for your hospitality. And it was kind of you to take so much interest.'

'You should talk more to your friends.'

'They all know my story. I needed a stranger to listen.'

I got out and spoke to the driver, giving him a $50 bill. 'Take good care of her, my friend, on a night like this.'

Natalya slipped off her right glove and I kissed her hand and closed the door of the taxi and watched it away, the rear lights slewing in the snow as the Zhiguli bounced across the ruts.

I was halfway to my hotel when I picked up the tick.

There had been three vehicles behind me from the moment when I'd watched Natalya's taxi driving away to the present time, but now the scene had changed: two of them had peeled off and the third was still behind me, but now it had pulled back a little and its lights were doused.

Present time: 11:43.

I switched off the dashboard displays and left the retinae to accommodate. I didn't think it was a tracker, the other car. I thought it might be a hit team checking on me before it moved in for the strike or decided I was the wrong target. He'll be leaving his office before midnight and going east on Pogrovskij Boulevard. Take him before he reaches his apartment. A banker or some brave chief executive holding out against the pressure to buy protection, or perhaps simply a rival mafiyosa who had started getting in the way.

The snow was coming almost straight down from the sky now, making a curtain instead of a maelstrom: the main force of the wind had dropped in the past hour and the big flakes drifted until the slipstream of the Mercedes caught them and whirled them behind in the mirrors.