Lust, Money & Murder (19 page)

Dmitry slammed the transmission into reverse and tried to back out, but the car wouldn’t budge. Elaine felt the rear of the Lada sink an inch or two farther into the snow.

“Stop!” she yelled at Dmitry. “You’re just digging us in deeper.”

He let up on the accelerator and the wheels stopped spinning. They sat there in abrupt silence, the Lada’s little engine idling softly. Dmitry stared helplessly through the rearview as the approaching vehicle slowly threaded its way through the trees—it would reach them in a matter of a minute or two. By the look on his face, Elaine could tell he thought he was already as good as dead.

She threw the passenger seat forward and jumped out of the car. The tree branch was caught on the roof, snagged on the cracked TAXI sign. She held her pistol by the barrel and took several swipes at it, but the gun, made of plastics, was too light to have any effect.

Now Elaine could hear the rumble of the Hummer’s engine. Dmitry dashed around to the trunk, and pulled out a tire iron, then came back and struck several heavy blows to the TAXI sign.

The sound of the Hummer’s engine faded. Elaine turned back and looked. The vehicle had come to a stop perhaps 50 yards behind them. Doors opened. Several men got out, pulling pistols from their jackets.

“Get down!” Elaine said, just as the first shot rang out. The Lada’s back window shattered.

Dmitry dove inside the car.

Elaine dropped into the snow. There were several metallic pings and thuds as bullets impacted the car. She crawled around to the far side of the open passenger door for protection. The window shattered above her head. She screamed, bits of glass spraying her in the face.

Using the top of the door to support her pistol, Elaine drew a steady bead on one of the men, the farthest to the left. He was crouched down, preparing to fire again.

She pulled the trigger.

The bullet went wide, not going anywhere near him. But all the men dropped to the ground. She fired again and again, mentally counting the ammunition remaining in the clip, as she had been trained to do.

Dmitry started the car. The wheels spun again, but it didn’t move forward.

Elaine fired off another round.
Five left
. The men were staying down, but scurrying forward in little spurts, like soldiers trying to take out any enemy position.

“Keep beating the hell out of that sign,” Elaine told Dmitry. “I’ll cover you.”

Dmitry looked at her like she was crazy.

Elaine fired off two more rounds.

He gave the TAXI sign several more blows, swinging at the sign as if his life depended on it. Which it did. Elaine fired off one more shot.
Two bullets left.
Dmitry was cursing to himself in Russian—the sign was beaten into a tangled mess of metal and plastic, but the debris was jammed underneath the tree branch.

Something warm was running into Elaine’s eyes, blurring her vision. When she wiped it away, she saw that her fingers were wet with bright red blood. The glass had put a few tiny cuts in her forehead.

I’m going to die here
, she thought.
I’m going to be gunned down in the middle of a goddam Russian forest.

Taking another wide swing, Dmitry gave the car one more terrific blow, this time bringing the heavy steel bar down onto the roof just behind the sign. It caved in. He hit it twice more and the windshield shattered, the roof dented so deeply that Elaine could now see at least a half inch of clear space under the tree trunk.

She fired off one more round at the approaching men, then jumped into the car.

Dmitry stomped on the gas. The little Lada finally lurched forward, fishtailing a bit, and then cleared the tree.

Now Dmitry was madly twisting the wheel back and forth, trying to avoid more of the birches—it seemed they had gotten even closer together.

Elaine turned and looked through the gaping back window, vapor streaming from her mouth. The Hummer was far behind for the moment.

“Where’s the bridge?” she shouted at Dmitry.

“Very near, I think.”

“You
think
?”

He swerved around another tree. Suddenly they were in a small clearing. They sped across the open snow and entered another section of the woods, this one much less thick with trees. The Lada picked up speed. Dmitry tried to see through the shattered windshield, then stuck his head out the window. “There!”

Through the cracked glass Elaine could see a narrow bridge, made of wood. It was definitely not for vehicles, but for pedestrians.

“Are you sure this car will fit?” she said anxiously.

“I think so.”

“Dammit,” Elaine said, looking back out the rear window. The Hummer was gaining on them again—the trees were spread far enough out that it was able to follow their path now. Elaine could see the river to the right—it was completely frozen over.

Dmitry swerved in the other direction, away from the bridge.

“What are you doing?” Elaine said.

“We need much speed.”

To the left, the Hummer was barreling towards them. Someone was leaning out the passenger window, aiming at them.

Before the man could fire, Dmitry had swerved again. He fishtailed around a few more trees, and then they were headed straight at the bridge.

The Hummer swerved around, following their path.

Elaine dropped the pistol and grabbed hold of the dash, bracing herself for the impact. As the bridge rushed up at them, she could tell that the wooden side railings were not wide enough for the car to fit between.

The Lada hit the structure dead on, the nose of the car perfectly centered between the railings. The little automobile bounced violently as they flew across the narrow walkway, a hair-raising snapping of metal as the sides of the vehicle scraped through. Dmitry’s remaining mirror and both door handles were ripped away. Then they were airborne for a half second...they sailed over a small depression on the other side of the bridge. The little car finally slammed back down to the ground, sliding sideways, out of control, Dmitry bellowing like a madman. As if moving in slow motion, it lost speed until the back end swung around, and finally, was stopped by another tree with a small, anticlimactic thump.

Now the car had completely spun around and they were facing the bridge. They both watched, open mouthed, as the Hummer roared towards it. The huge vehicle slammed into the two handrails, wood splintering, flying in all directions. It came to an abrupt halt halfway across, the wood bowed out on both sides. There was an eerie stillness for a second. One of the doors opened. The back end of the Hummer lurched downward a couple of feet. The other door swung open—she could hear shouting—and then the bridge collapsed. The back end of the vehicle dropped down to the ice, which was only a few feet below, with an ear-splitting crunch. Elaine could see one of the men trying to untangle himself from an airbag as he lowered himself down to the thick, cracked ice, peering at them, shouting something.

“Let’s get out of here!” Elaine said.

Dmitry was so stunned it took him a second to snap out of it and get the car moving again.

* * *

It took them less than 10 minutes to reach the Sheremetyevo II terminal.

As they pulled into the long-term parking entrance, Dmitry rolled down his window. It was the only piece of glass left intact in the car—even the rearview mirror had been shattered. He plucked the time card from the machine, then drove to the far side of the lot, where there were only a few cars parked. After triumphing over the pursuers, Dmitry had experienced a few brief moments of glee. Now his expression was somber.

“That will take you to Arrival section,” he said, pointing to a covered walkway.

Elaine got out, threw the seat forward, and climbed in the back next to her suitcase.

She started counting out money...but with the cash she would need for the ticket, and to buy clothes to disguise herself, she had almost nothing to spare.

She ended up handing him $500. “Dmitry, this is an insult, I know. I promise you, when I get back to the States, I will make sure that you’re paid —”

“Money not so important now, Janyet,” he said, gazing dejectedly out the window.

Elaine knew what he meant, and she felt sick. He was terrified for his life, and for the safety of his family. She was leaving him to face the wrath of the Russian Mafia all alone.

He reached over and picked up the tire iron. He handed it to her.

She stared at the heavy metal bar in her hand. “I can’t...”

“You must, Janyet.”

Elaine took the tire iron and slowly raised it above the back of his head. Her hand trembled. She couldn’t hurt this poor man! He had risked his life to help her.

“You
must
.” He looked at her through the mirror with his sad, basset hound eyes. “If they think I want help you, they kill me.”

She lowered the tire iron. “It would be better if I shot you.”

His eyes widened.

She grabbed his shoulder through his overcoat, pinching the meat together and pushing the gun barrel up against the fabric. “You’ll bleed like a stuck pig, but it won’t cause any serious damage.”

He grimaced. “
Da!
Do it, Janyet.”

Gritting her teeth, Elaine forced herself to pull the trigger.

The gun went off, splattering blood all over the dashboard.

Dmitry lurched forward, groaning, cursing under his breath.

Elaine took hold of the suitcase and put one leg out the door. “Tell them I shot you because you wouldn’t drive over the bridge. Tell them I threatened your family. Tell them—”

“I know what say them,” Dmitry gasped, still doubled over in pain. Grimacing, he pulled a green checked wool scarf from the side pocket of his door and gave it to her. “You will be cold,” he said.

She took it—it was old and frayed. “Thank you, Dmitry.” She was touched.

She dragged her suitcase onto the icy pavement and shut the car door. She prayed that he would be all right.

Dmitry looked up at her.

“Janyet?” he grunted.

“Yes?”

“Good luck.”

* * *

As Elaine rode the escalator up to the Departure level, she glanced around to see if anyone was watching. The space was so huge, and so crowded, it was impossible to tell.

She looked up at a gigantic display that showed the arriving and departing flights. There were five with the flashing BOARDING message—one to Lisbon, one to Bangkok, one to Paris...

She glanced at her watch. The Paris flight would be ideal—it took off in 30 minutes, which would give her just enough time.

Pulling her suitcase along behind her, she headed towards a cluster of shops. She quickly bought a jade, down-filled parka that came down to her knees, and a matching green cap with an extra long bill, almost the same shade as the jacket. She also bought a natural leather satchel, completely different from her black one.

Elaine found a disabled restroom and changed out of her soiled, bloody clothes. She washed the remaining blood from her face—there were a few small cuts just where her hairline met her scalp. When she finished, she pinned her hair up and applied a bronzer to her entire face, made an impossible-to-miss mole high on her right cheek, and made heavy use of eyeliner. She put on her reading glasses, donned the green hat, and then put on the long green checked scarf that Dmitry had given her.

When she peered at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked kind of arty and brainy. Like a graduate student in philosophy.

If she could make it to Passport Control, she could take off the glasses and wipe away the mole easily enough.

She slipped the data key into the secret compartment in the suitcase where the passport had been hidden. She ditched everything she didn’t need, including her old satchel and the disassembled pistol, hiding it in the very bottom of the restroom trash bin. Hopefully she would be long gone before any of it was discovered.

She used her remaining cash to buy an economy class ticket on the Air France flight to Paris.

* * *

When Elaine reached Customs, she elbowed her way to the front of one of the shortest NOTHING TO DECLARE lines. Every now and then she glanced over her shoulder, but still did not see anyone following her.

As she approached the x-ray machine, she began to worry that the data key would show up in her suitcase and cause suspicion.

The customs officer watched as she placed her suitcase and handbag on the conveyor.

“You have with you Russian rubles?” he said.

“No,” she said, handing him the Irish passport with a sweaty hand. When he saw the black diplomatic cover, his attitude softened a little. He gave as much of a smile as Russians ever give strangers, which was a kind of strained grimace.

There was a female guard watching a screen that monitored the x-ray machine. Elaine could see the screen. The image of the suitcase appeared. She could see the black cylinder, but it was only one of many shadows in the picture—her phone charger and other items masked it.