Instinctively, he referred to the GPS screen to monitor his position, as if his willpower would have any effect on distance. The first part of Sokolov’s race ended as he turned onto the Ring. It was a sizeable highway of twelve lanes, halved by a concrete barrier. Sokolov fused into the stream of traffic, and charged along it. Siren shrieking, he piloted the BMW along the track of the Ring like a jet fighter, shifting to the left, overtaking. The motorists yielded, fearing the authority of the blue siren, and fell behind in puffs of minute spray their wheels kicked up.
As the lane cleared for him, Sokolov picked up speed, careless about all perils. To him, everything was trancelike, secondary to his goal. He looked with detachment at the green digits ticking off the M5’s velocity on the HUD, as the car shot through vanishing scenery. Going at 140… 150… 160 kilometers per hour…Water cascaded across the windshield. Rain bombarded the road. The needle of the BMW’s speedometer passed 200, and it was still too slow! The isolated comfort inside the car warped the sense of speed, and danger. The mind adjusted to cruising velocity, and assured itself of complete safety, coupled with the narcotic urge to go faster.
All he cared about was time, his eternal challenger.
Amid distant trees, on the crest of a hill, he could make out the rooftop of the cardiology center, prominent at the edge of the hospital compound. The Central Clinical Hospital took up a park area located between Kutuzovsky and the Ring, neighboring Kuntsevo.
Sokolov took the exit that led to it.
Driving past the concrete fence that surrounded the Hospital, Sokolov glimpsed a break in the stretch of trees, and the main gate disappearing in the side window of the BMW. Alluring as it was, arriving at the heavily guarded checkpoint would have ended his effort right there. Unable to take a direct approach, he followed the perimeter of the Hospital, turning right, to a street cutting through a residential area that neighbored the medical facility.
There was another entryway — formally numbered third, yet functioning in a primary role, used on a daily basis by authorized vehicles that needed to be admitted without delay.
Even if he had no fixed appointment with any of the doctors, there was a way of getting past security.
For all the spaciousness within the compound, outside it was squeezed for space by residential blocks that grew tightly around it. Creeping through narrow driveways between houses, Sokolov separated from the main street and found refuge behind a set of high-rises, in a small yard made even smaller by a chain of parked cars. He stopped the BMW near a children’s playground, which the shower made deserted, and got out.
The rain lashed his face and soaked the grimy rags of his gi. Sokolov rounded the car and opened the trunk. The man inside was still unconscious. Sokolov removed the handcuffs and dragged him out to the front of the car, placing him in the passenger’s seat and strapping him with the belt.
Returning behind the wheel, Sokolov eased the BMW around the corner and activated the strobe lights as he pulled up to the hospital checkpoint.
He stopped the patrol car at the barrier. A security guard emerged from his booth, spurred further by Sokolov blasting the horn.
“I have an injured officer here!” Sokolov yelled through the open window. “Open the gate! Move!”
Sokolov’s commanding demeanor generated the required effect. The guard had no reason to question Sokolov’s order, seeing the condition of the BMW’s second occupant, who probably required urgent medical assistance. Whether or not they were entitled to it was up to others to decide, so he did his routine job and let the police car through. He knew better than to act wise.
Sokolov floored the pedal, sending spray around, leaving the guard fuming at his recklessness as he blazed by. It never occurred to the guard that it wasn’t the passenger’s life that Sokolov wanted to save.
19
Asiyah could not tell if it was only her heart or her entire body shaking. She anticipated facing another gunman when the elevator reached ground floor. Instead, the lobby was empty, but for a receptionist and a guard who showed no interest in her. As she crossed it, she felt her spine tingle in the spot she thought a bullet would hit if the assassin caught up with her.
She rushed to the gargantuan front door and pushed it, slithering through the opening.
The unbounded view gave her a hint of freedom. Tumultuous black clouds were cast in golden outlines by the sun concealed behind them. A gust of wind swept the treetops and slanted the rain to touch her face. The air was crisp with ozone, clearing the moldy sensation left in her by the hospital. Across the alley, the compact parking lot was neglected.
She ran down the front steps, scanning the parked cars. She hoped to find one that would be easy to steal. There was always the likelihood of someone leaving the keys in the ignition, or keeping the vehicle unlocked. The leaden sky pelted her with raindrops. Asiyah hurried, though getting soaked wet was the least of her concerns. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the assassin was not behind her. Just then, the light came on inside the farthest car in the lot as its door opened. A man emerged from the dark Lexus sedan.
The ground exploded at her feet, water spraying.
The assassin’s backup fired at her as he moved in, his shots missing narrowly.
With a knock, Asiyah fell to the ground, finding cover behind the nearest car. Keeping as low as possible, her back pressed against the car’s body, she wormed away from the impacting bullets, grazing the skin on her hands against the rough paving. Dirt clung to her clothes. In the storm’s din, she could not hear the approaching footsteps, but she knew that the man from the Lexus was coming for her. All he had to do was get her in his sights. She was trapped.
Even if she had no place to run, she wasn’t about to give up. Reaching above her, she found a door handle with her fingers and yanked. No use. She was going to try smashing the window when the gunman loomed over her.
There were no last words before the end, no prelude or drama. The killer simply pointed the gun at her face. He was a few meters away, too far for her to attempt struggling.
At first, Asiyah didn’t know whether it was the effect of the drugs or the coming of death, but in that moment everything around her flashed blue. Louder than the storm was a guttural shriek that grew wildly. But it was no hallucination of hers. The assassin turned to the source of the shining and the roar, when suddenly a powerful light beam focused on him, blinding.
He swung the gun from Asiyah towards the advancing car. Before he could scream, the braking vehicle slammed into him.
Impacting laterally, the car’s bumper smashed his knee, and in the same instant the bonnet hit his thigh. The assassin’s entire body wrapped around the front of the car, his head striking at the edge of the bonnet and the windshield. In a squeal of wet tires, the car jerked to a stop, and the assassin’s body rolled down and smacked on the ground.
On impulse, Asiyah backed away, trying to get up. Her body lagged in response. She had no strength to raise herself. Clutching his leg, the assassin gurgled, yelling, then fell silent.
Asiyah set her eyes on the car — a white BMW police cruiser, coated in cascading water droplets, blue lights flickering on its roof.
The driver’s door flew open, and a man hopped out into the beating rain. He did not even remotely resemble a policeman. The kind of martial arts uniform on him was stained black with soot, a sleeve torn off. As he neared her, his captivating blue eyes looked into hers.
“Asiyah.”
He knew her name, strangely.
“Asiyah, I’ll get you out of here.” He bent down to reach for her hand. “You’ll be safe.”