Valentin drove us across town and finally stopped in a strip-mall parking lot.We did it,I thought, still a little dazed by the whole thing.The cops have no idea where we are.We beat them.
I caught myself.When did the cops become ‘them’?
We climbed out. The rain had eased to a light drizzle that dampened our faces and made the dazzling, blue-and-white lights of the strip mall feel shockingly cold and stark. Gennadiy took me to one side. “We should talk about what to do next.”
“What is there to talk about?” I asked blankly. “We track down Grushin.”
“That might not be possible anymore.” He was trying to keep his voice calm, but I could hear the fear underneath. Fear forme.“The mansion and everything in it is gone, seized by the cops. All our bank accounts are frozen. My men have all been arrested, and by now the cops will have gone to the hospital and taken Radimir, too.” He waved his hand at the four of us, at the minivan. “This isit!This is all we are, now!” I looked around at our sad little circle: it was terrifying, how far and how fast the Aristov empire had fallen.
Gennadiy took theBholdall from me and tugged open the zipper, showing me what was inside. “There’s twenty thousand in cash inhere. Bronwyn’s fake passport won’t work for you but I can get one made that will. By tomorrow, you can be out of the country.”
I shook my head. “I want to stop this guy.”
His self-control snapped and he grabbed my face between his hands. “And I want you alive!Blyat’, Alison, for once in your life, don’t be stubborn!”
I stared into his eyes, an awful, cold certainty setting in. “If I sayyes,you’ll come with me?” He didn’t answer. “Bothof us get out!” My voice started to shake. “Right?”
He dropped his eyes. “You know I can’t leave Radimir.”
I nodded sadly. I understood. But that meant… “I’m staying,” I told him.
He sighed, exasperated, and scowled down at me...and then he pulled me into a tight, tight hug. At last, he drew back, brushed my hair from my face, and kissed me reverently. “I must have been a saint in a previous life,” he said, “to deserve you.”
I hugged him again, and then the four of us sat down on the hood of the minivan to figure out what the hell we were going to do. The sun was going down, and the temperature was starting to drop. I pulled my thin denim jacket tighter around me and, as soon as he saw I was cold, Gennadiy wrapped me up in his arms. But inside, a deeper chill was rolling in. We had nothing, no more leads. And the clock was ticking: by now, an APB would have gone out on all of us. It was only a matter of time before we were arrested.
I dug in my purse to see if I had a charger because my phone was running low. But the first thing I found was the carton of Bronwyn’s medication.Crap.She was probably under police guard at the hospital now. I turned it over in my hands…
And suddenly sat bolt upright. “I know what Grushin’s doing,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“You remember that tobacco billionaire,” I asked, “the one who went to Grushin’s clinic? We need to find him. Right now.”
61
ALISON
Fortunately,Clayton Tuxworth wasn’t exactly publicity-shy. Since stepping down as CEO of his tobacco company, he spent his days playing golf, giving speeches, and brokering multi-million-dollar deals, and all of it was documented on social media. It took all of five minutes to find out that he was attending a black-tie reception at a hotel across town.
We screeched to a stop outside, the minivan ridiculous in the sea of stretch limos. The press were there and they stared as we marched up the red carpet: Gennadiy, scowly and intimidating in his charcoal-gray suit and dark red shirt; me, marching alongside him in my ankle boots, jeans and denim jacket; Valentin just behind us with his long coat flapping in the wind; Mikhail looking like some dignified statesman come to sign a treaty; and following behind him, four enormous Malamutes. Security stepped forward to stop us and then faltered when they recognized Gennadiy: no one wanted to offend an Aristov.
We burst into the hotel’s ballroom. The guests were at circular tables, getting tipsy on champagne and whiskey and serving themselves from a buffet table that ran the entire length of one wall, loaded with whole roast chickens and hams, cheeses, fruit, anddesserts. At the far end of the room, the guests of honor sat at a long table, with Tuxworth right in the middle. He was in his seventies, lean, with a deep brown golfer’s tan and sleek, chin-length white hair. I counted four private security guys spaced out around the room, and they looked a lot more formidable than the hotel guys outside. We weren’t getting close to him unless…. “We need a diversion,” I said as we marched towards him.
Mikhail nodded. Without breaking his stride, he turned to his dogs. “Uzhin,” he said, and pointed to the buffet table.
The dogs became four streaks of gray fur. Screams and laughter rose as they barged under tables and past legs, tails wagging furiously. Two of them decided it would be faster to gooverthe tables and sprang up onto them, paws scrabbling at snow-white tablecloths and sending glasses of wine tumbling. They jumped from one table to the next, leaving a trail of destruction, and then jumped onto the buffet table just as the other two arrived from below.
Chaos erupted. All the hotel staff and two of the four private security guys raced over to the buffet as the dogs trotted up and down the table, stepping on gateaux and scattering cheese plates, tipping over salad bowls, and spilling sauces in their eagerness to reach the meat. One stood on the edge of a serving platter of cold cuts and flipped it, catapulting sliced meat onto tables, the floor, and people’s laps, and the dog bolted around the room, determined to locate and wolf down every piece. Two dogs decided the roast chicken was theirs and began attacking it from both sides, tearing off drumsticks with their teeth. And one dog sunk its teeth into a huge cold roast ham and started backing away, dragging it along the table and growling at anyone who came close.
The four of us marched towards Tuxworth’s table. One security guy ran to block us, and Gennadiy felled him with a single punch. The other came from my side, and I twisted and flipped him over my shoulder. Then we were standing in front of Tuxworth, who was half scared, half outraged. “What thehelldo you think you’re doing,” he demanded, “coming in here and?—”
I grabbed his shirt and ripped it open all the way down the front.All of us stared at the long, vertical incision scar that ran down his chest.
“What do old, rich guys want more than anything else?” I asked bitterly. “Another ten years of life. Those people on the submarine: Grushinistrafficking them. But not for sex. For their organs.”
62
GENNADIY
