Bear Page 4

  It was Viktor.

  The pale man dropped into the seat opposite Slater, directly facing him across the small table in the centre of the booth. Slater stared, waiting for Viktor to utter the first words. He didn’t want to push him into saying anything he didn’t want to say.

  Viktor had to want Slater to help.

  ‘I work for the Medved Shipbuilding Plant,’ Viktor finally said. ‘Or, at least, I did. I stumbled onto something I should not have seen, and I ran. They ordered me back when they realised what had happened. But if I go willingly to my death, then I’ll be letting things unfold exactly how my employers want them to. And I cannot do that. I need to try and stop it. So I’d like to work with you. I’d like to take your offer. I’ve had time to think.’

  ‘Medved,’ Slater said. ‘That means—’

  ‘Bear.’

  Slater glanced across the aisle of the carriage and realised both of the muscly henchmen in the cheap suits were staring directly at the pair of them, their gazes fixed on Viktor.

  Oh, that’s not good.

  9

  Viktor started to elaborate, but Slater cut him off with a single look, his eyes dark and broiling with intensity. Viktor understood and shut up immediately, the blood already beginning to drain from his face again. He sensed the gravity of what was taking place — he didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he latched onto the sudden tension in the air and froze on the spot.

  Slater stared back at the two henchmen — they hadn’t budged.

  Medved Shipbuilding Plant.

  They’d overheard.

  It was all connected. Somehow. Some way.

  And these men had lethal intentions in their eyes.

  The businessman hadn’t noticed. He was deep in his own head, staring out the window and shifting nervously in place with no knowledge of the silent standoff taking place just a foot to his right.

  Slater reached down slowly and slid the MP-443 Grach out of his waistband, bringing it inch by inch into full view of the two guys in the cheap suits. One of them nodded, a wry smile spreading across his face. He lifted up his jacket to reveal a fearsome-looking sidearm resting in a holster attached to his belt. From the brief glance Slater got of the weapon, it looked like a Desert Eagle.

  There would be hell to pay if a firefight broke out.

  All three of them recognised that. An all-out gunfight would cause untold civilian casualties — there were at least twenty other passengers in the carriage. Slater didn’t think either of the pair cared about that, but then the train would stop in its tracks as pandemonium broke out and they wouldn’t make it to Vladivostok.

  They had business to attend to in the port city.

  Business that no doubt involved the shipbuilding plant.

  An uneasy stalemate settled over the aisle — no-one knew what the correct course of proceedings should be. Anyone unaccustomed to tense situations would have averted their gaze, but Slater kept his eyes locked on the two men, studying their subtle mannerisms, trying to find an opening or a chance to act. At the same time his mind raced, trying to figure out exactly how the pieces of the puzzle fit together, contemplating the connection.

  It all led to Vladivostok.

  But there were hours of the trip left, and the situation needed to be dealt with. Slater kept staring and noticed the hesitation in both men — they were unsure. They knew Viktor was a threat, but they were puzzled. They didn’t know why.

  Viktor had been telling the truth. The two parties weren’t connected.

  The two bodyguards didn’t know who Viktor was.

  But they knew about the shipbuilding plant.

  And they knew Slater meant business.

  Slater jabbed a finger toward the other end of the carriage and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. Both men continued staring. Neither budged. But neither showed signs of hostility, either.

  Slater opened and closed the four fingers on his right hand against his thumb, making a let’s talk gesture, and once again jabbed his finger in the direction of the carriage’s end. He was pointing to the rear of the carriage, in the opposite direction of the bathroom with the dead man. The other way led straight into the dining car, and Slater had no intention of talking to the two men with witnesses around. Only a couple of days into the train’s journey he’d seen a door at the very front of the train leading into a carriage reserved for staff.

  Hopefully, with only a few hours left on their journey, the carriage would be deserted.

  Otherwise things could get messy.

  He was under no illusions as to what the bodyguards wanted to do with him. He was armed, and didn’t shy away from confrontation. He seemed to be conspiring with someone who knew a great deal about the shipbuilding plant. All of these aspects combined into a serious threat, one that needed to be eliminated before they arrived in Vladivostok, even if the men knew nothing about Slater or who he worked for.

  Getting rid of him was the safest option, by far.

  There seemed to be a great deal on the line, even though Slater had no idea what it involved.

  But the pair of bodyguards must have thought he was a moron, because the hint of a smug grin spread across one of their faces and they nodded in unison, accepting the silent proposal. To reinforce his supposed idiocy, Slater shoved the Grach back into his waistband and turned both palms out, each hand facing the men across the aisle.

  I don’t want to fight.

  They certainly did, but they feigned their own innocence by following suit, draping their jackets over the holsters at their waists so that the weapons disappeared from sight. One of them swept his hand in the same direction Slater had pointed.

  After you.

  They must have thought they’d struck gold. Here was a significant threat that could pose serious problems to them once they arrived in Vladivostok, but he seemed to be walking willingly to his death, completely unaware of what their intentions were. Slater knew exactly what they were thinking, but he played the role of the bumbling dipshit by nodding and smiling politely.

  He got to his feet, leaving Viktor sitting alone in the booth, pale as a ghost and visibly shaking.

  ‘No,’ Viktor whispered, barely audible.

  Slater heard, though.

  His brain was firing on all cylinders, attuned to the slightest twitches and the softest sounds. He heard Viktor’s quiet protest and ignored it — Viktor must think he was an idiot too. He realised no-one in the carriage knew his background — sure, Viktor had watched him kill a man without much effort, but anyone could get lucky with a single punch.

  Slater stepped out into the aisle as the train rattled on the tracks, and paused momentarily to get his balance. When he righted himself, he walked straight past the three men on the other side — by now, the man in the expensive suit had noticed what was going on.

  Slater strode purposefully down the length of the carriage and moved through to the next one.

  Silently, the two bodyguards left their booth and trailed behind him.

  10

  He didn’t dare look back — he had a role to play, and it meant pretending that he trusted the two men completely. So he stared straight ahead as he moved through carriages packed with passengers, politely skirting around plump men and women reaching for their luggage on the shelves overhead or heading for the restrooms at the end of each carriage.

  One of the train’s staff smiled at him as he moved past, and he returned the gesture. She was moving in the opposite direction, which meant she would pass by the bodyguards a few seconds after she passed him. Slater listened closely and heard both men softly step aside, only a couple of feet behind him. They were keeping close on his heels.

  The strange procession made their way through the train, probably seeming perfectly ordinary to any onlookers. Slater, however, hadn’t been on edge like this in quite some time. He knew conflict was inevitable, in the same way he knew the sun would rise each day. That was just the nature of the beast. He had spent enough time in these k
inds of situations to recognise the electricity in the atmosphere.

  Right now, everything pointed to death.

  Either him, or the two guys behind him.

  They wanted him out of the equation, because they didn’t know what his business with the shipbuilding plant involved.

  Slater passed another pair of staff serving drinks and traditional Russian snacks in the frontmost passenger carriage. He nodded to them, and they nodded back. On the last few hours of the journey, Slater couldn’t imagine any of the staff loitering in their quarters. There were jobs to be undertaken.

  He would have complete privacy if he forced his way in — he was sure of it.

  Then the three-man unit crossed into carriages containing the sleeping quarters — Slater passed the door to his deluxe suite without a second look. The whole time his mind roared, running through all the potential ways the encounter could unfold.

  He couldn’t talk to the pair, or pry information out of them. Any attempt to subdue them wouldn’t work — he could tell they were trained, otherwise they wouldn’t have been assigned the role of protecting the man in the expensive suit. So to try and beat them down without giving the fight his all would only result in disaster. It would only take a narrow window of opportunity to capitalise on one of Slater’s mistakes, and then the fight would be over. Two on one — especially against men who were expecting it and ready for it — had to be over in a matter of seconds.

  He couldn’t hesitate, or he would die.

  They passed through the final carriage open to passengers, skirting around a group of civilians heading back to their sleeping quarters — probably to pack their things in anticipation of arriving in Vladivostok. Then Slater came to the familiar wood-panelled door, labelled Staff Only in a number of different languages.

  He turned back ever so slightly, showing no trace of hostility in his mannerisms. He caught a glimpse of the two bodyguards hovering behind him, only a few feet away, standing side by side across the narrow aisle in case he felt the need to flee. They were boxing him in, their hands crossed together in front of their bodies so they could wrench their weapons free in an instant if the situation required it.

  They’re going to kill me.

  Without a doubt.

  Slater didn’t make direct eye contact, instead raising a palm to silently tell them to be patient. Then he turned back to the door and rapped on it once, slamming his knuckles against the wood with enough force to draw the attention of anyone inside. He waited three seconds, then rapped again.

  Nothing.

  No-one home.

  Nodding satisfactorily, he checked once more behind the bodyguards for any sign of witnesses. Finding nothing but an empty corridor, he bent at the knees, lowering his bodyweight a few inches. Then he slammed his shoulder against the right-hand side of the door, putting enough forward momentum into the charge to snap the lock. Any other door would have left him looking like an idiot, but this train was archaic. It had been renovated and decorated and made to look luxurious, but the foundations were old and suffering from all manner of wear and tear.

  Slater burst into the staff quarters, which consisted of nothing more than a few shiny plastic booths and a kitchenette taking up the far third of the carriage. He assumed the staff’s sleeping area was in another carriage.

  ‘Shut the door,’ he said.

  He doubted either of the men spoke English, but they understood all the same. The man on the right — a little taller and a little heavier than his partner — reached back and wedged the broken lock back in place as best he could.

  It held.

  They were alone.

  11

  Slater raised both eyebrows at the same time and leant forward imperceptibly, drawing both men in a little closer. They paused — one of them had already started reaching for his gun, but the gesture was strange enough to make them hesitate.

  Perhaps Slater had important information…

  Before they even realised what was happening Slater reared his head back and lashed out with the underside of his heavy winter boot, slamming the sole into the solar plexus of the guy on the left. For some reason the breaking ribs made no noise, but Slater felt the sickening crunch underfoot and knew the injuries would be horrific.

  That was enough to give him comfort.

  Before the guy had even started to collapse, Slater jerked forward at the waist and slammed his forehead into the delicate cartilage of the other guy’s nose. The second man hadn’t had the chance to recoil, so his septum cracked and blood spurted from both nostrils at once. He made to let out a howl but Slater clamped the guy’s jaw shut with a whistling uppercut, twisting his hips to transfer all the natural momentum of his body into the punch. The man’s teeth smashed together and he stumbled back a couple of steps.

  Then Slater’s mind went haywire as he noticed the guy on the left reaching for his Desert Eagle.

  It seemed that the man hadn’t gone down like Slater anticipated, instead riding out the pain of his broken ribs and making a lunge for his weapon all the same.

  Slater twisted back in the other direction and launched a turning side kick, aiming for the guy’s jaw with as much accuracy as he could muster. If he connected, it would be lights out.

  But he missed.

  The smaller guy with the broken ribs darted out of range and ripped the Desert Eagle from his holster. In one smooth motion he thumbed the safety off and brought the massive firearm up to aim at Slater’s throat.

  His pulse racing, his senses reeling, Slater finished turning a full revolution to ride out the inertia of the missed kick. He’d put his all into it, and now he found himself on the back step.

  He would die.

  But, thankfully, the guy on the right — his nose broken and a handful of teeth falling out of his mouth — came lunging into range with a panicked burst of adrenalin. He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings — he was in pain, and had chosen to take all the rage he was feeling and direct it toward Slater.

  If he’d stayed put, Slater would have died.

  But instead he charged into range, making the other guy hesitate — a Desert Eagle round would put a crater in both of them, and the smaller man didn’t seem to want to gun down his comrade just to incapacitate Slater. At the same time a wave of unavoidable pain creased his features — the agony of the broken ribs had finally caught up with him.

  He’d been able to keep it at bay for a couple of seconds, but the window of opportunity to move without hindrance was rapidly closing.

  Slater absorbed a wild, looping haymaker to the side of his skull — it hurt, but didn’t slow him down one bit. With that out of the way, he snatched two handfuls of the taller guy’s jacket and hurled him straight into his friend, pinning the gun between their bodies. Both of them went down in an ungainly heap and Slater followed them to the floor.

  He knew if the Desert Eagle resurfaced, his life would be over. He picked the taller guy up with one hand and delivered one of the hardest punches he’d ever thrown in his life, breaking a cluster of bones in his cheek and sending him straight back onto the tiled floor, unconscious. The guy with the broken ribs began to worm his way to his feet and Slater stomped down on his chest, driving him back into the floor with enough ferocity to send the Desert Eagle spinning away.

  The guy squeezed his eyes shut and curled into the foetal position, in so much pain that he found it hard to move.

  Slater glanced at the Desert Eagle resting in the corner of the room and shook his head. A gunshot from such a fearsome pistol would sound like a bomb going off in this confined space. It would attract the attention of everyone on the train.

  This would have to be done silently.

  Uncomfortable about what had to be done, Slater hardened his features, turning his face to stone. He bent down, rolled the guy with the broken ribs onto his front, and silently looped a forearm around his throat.

  He started to squeeze.

  12

  A steady murmuring
arose in the carriage Slater had spent most of the journey in. Not for any notable reason — he guessed it was simply because they were approaching their final destination. Everyone was restless, eager to depart and either explore the port city or make the long winding journey back to Moscow.

  Sensing eyes in the back of his head, Slater lowered his gaze toward the floor and slumped his shoulders, making himself as small as possible in an attempt to avoid attention. He dropped back into the seat opposite Viktor, who hadn’t budged since he’d left. He sensed the man in the expensive suit staring at him, in disbelief as to what had occurred. He might not know yet that his two companions were dead, but he would soon come to that conclusion.

  Until then, Slater had to make Viktor understand certain things.

  ‘Where are they?’ Viktor said, this time having the common sense to keep his voice low.

  ‘They joined the other guy.’

  ‘What other guy?’

  ‘The bathroom guy.’

  ‘Oh… oh no.’

  ‘I didn’t have a choice, Viktor.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I offered to tell you. You didn’t seem interested.’

  ‘I thought it was luck. Now I am interested.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time for that later. Right now, we need to get a few things straight.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘You need to do exactly what I say. The guy across from us — don’t look — can’t hear us, but any second now he’s going to wander over and ask what happened to the men he was with. He saw them follow me. He’s looking at us right now.’

  ‘What happens when he comes over?’

  ‘You’ll see. But if I even look in your direction you need to do everything I tell you to, as soon as I tell you to do it. Got it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t take this lightly. I understand your family’s at risk, but I can help you. Quick question.’

  ‘Uh-huh?’