Moscow Rules

her face. As Bulganov and Gabriel approached, he turned to face them, hands on his hips, Stechkin shoved down the front of his trousers. Luka Osipov and the bald giant were standing directly behind Elena, each to one side. It was hardly optimal, Gabriel thought, but because Elena was still handcuffed to the chair, there was no chance of her getting into his line of fire. Bulganov spoke in Russian to Medvedev as they moved into point-blank range. Medvedev smiled and looked at Gabriel.
     
     
    “So, you’ve come to your senses.”
     
     
    “Yes, Arkady. I’ve come to my senses.”
     
     
    “Tell me then. Where are Ivan’s children?”
     
     
    “What children?”
     
     
    Medvedev frowned and looked at Bulganov. Bulganov frowned in return and pointed his gun at Medvedev’s heart. Gabriel took a step to his right while simultaneously reaching beneath his coat for the Makarov. They fired their first shots simultaneously, Bulganov into Medvedev’s chest, Gabriel into the flat forehead of the bald giant. Luka Osipov responded with a futile attempt to draw his weapon. Gabriel’s shot caught him just beneath the chin and exited at the base of his skull.
     
     
    At that instant, Gabriel heard the sound of shattering glass: the sound of three men simultaneously dropping three bottles of Baltika beer. They came in through the doorway neatly spaced, like little floating ducklings in an arcade shooting gallery. Gabriel took them down in order: head shot, head shot, torso shot.
     
     
    He spun round and looked at Elena. She was desperately trying to pull her wrists through her handcuffs, her mouth wide in a silent scream. Gabriel wanted to comfort her but could not; Arkady Medvedev was still alive and was struggling to get the Stechkin out of the front of his trousers. Gabriel kicked the gun out of Medvedev’s hands and stood over him. The Russian began to pant, pink blood frothing at the side of his mouth.
     
     
    “I’d like you to give Ivan a message,” Gabriel said. “Will you do that for me, Arkady?”
     
     
    Medvedev nodded, his breathing rapid and shallow. Gabriel raised the Makarov and fired his last three shots into the Russian’s face. Message delivered.
     
     
    Gabriel held Elena tightly while Bulganov searched the bodies for a key to the handcuffs. He found one, a universal, on Luka Osipov. He freed Elena’s hands first, then removed the cuffs from Gabriel’s hands.
     
     
    “Take her out to the car,” Gabriel said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
     
     
    “Be quick about it.”
     
     
    “Just go.”
     
     
    As Bulganov led Elena toward the door, Gabriel searched the corpse of Arkady Medvedev. He found keys, passports, and a wallet filled with cash. He ignored the money and removed a single item: a plastic card embossed with the image of a large apartment house on the banks of the Moscow River.
     
     
    Bulganov had the Volga’s engine running by the time Gabriel stepped outside. He climbed into the back next to Elena, whose screams were no longer silent. Gabriel held her tightly to his chest as Bulganov drove away.
     
     
    Her wailing had ceased by the time they saw the sign. It stood at the intersection of two dreadful roads, rusted, crooked, and pierced by bullet holes. Two arrows pointed in opposite directions. To the left was MOCKBA, the Cyrillic spelling of Moscow. Bulganov explained what lay to the right.
     
     
    “Ukraine.”
     
     
    “How long?”
     
     
    “We can be over the border before dawn.”
     
     
    “We?”
     
     
    “I just helped an Israeli agent kill Arkady Medvedev and five of his security men. How long do you think I’ll live if I stay in Moscow? A week, if I’m lucky. I’m coming with you.”
     
     
    “Another defector? That’s all we need.”
     
     
    “I suspect you’ll find I’m worth my weight in gold. You see, I’ve been privately investigating the ties between men like Ivan Kharkov and the FSB for years. I also know a great deal about Ivan’s little arms-trafficking network. Much more than you, I suspect. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come with you, Allon?”
     
     
    “We’d love the company, Colonel. Besides, it’s a long drive and I don’t have a clue how to get out of here.”
     
     
    Bulganov let his foot off the brake and started to turn to the right. Gabriel told him to stop.
     
     
    “What’s the problem?” Bulganov asked.
     
     
    “You’re going the wrong way.”
     
     
    “We’re going to Ukraine.