the guests were likely to be businessmen and so would not be in their rooms. Berg was on the fourth floor. The Russian would have preferred higher, but unless Berg was extremely lucky, he would be killed outright. He would drop Berg by the ankles just to make sure that he landed head first. Given his recent unfortunate run of bad luck, Berg seemed a perfect candidate for suicide.
He worked his way along the corridor to room four six six and stood half a meter from the door. He knocked twice. Nothing. He could have opened the door with one kick, perhaps two, but why would someone who was about to commit suicide break down their own door? Just as this thought went through his head, he heard the gentle swish of the elevator door opening. A trolley stacked high with bed linen and an assortment of cleaning utensils appeared. The woman pushing it dark skinned, unlikely to be Polish.
He gestured to her to come towards him. He met her midway.
“ My key in room. Please open.” He looked down at the much smaller woman as he pointed to Berg’s room further down the corridor.
He thought for a moment that she would refuse and tell him to go back to reception. Then he saw the familiar look of fear and uncertainty in her eyes.
“ Thank you,” he said as she slid the keycard from the lock. She scurried away, determined not to know any more.
The Russian opened the door quietly but firmly. A brown leather holdall lay on the bed. He moved stealthily towards the bathroom. Door closed. He turned the handle, at the same time barging through the door. Empty. Water dripped from the shower. Soap bubbling from the drain. The pharmacy. Had he changed his hair color? Maybe he he’d just taken a shower.
He called Revnik.
“He’s gone. Have you seen him?” he said in his native tongue.
“No .”
The tracking device was sewn into the inside bottom of the holdall. He’d called off Svetlana’s team. Didn’t want witnesses. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was he going to do now?
“Keep watching, he could still be inside . Tell Svetlana to get her team back on the ground. I’ll do what I can. Be suspicious of everyone, he might have changed his appearance.”
---
Michael half walked, half ran along the street back towards Centralna Station on Jerozlimskie Ulica. On his way out of the restaurant entrance to the hotel, tagging behind a group of four other guests, he’d noticed a large well-built man standing on the opposite side of the road. The man’s gaze switched from one entrance to the other. Was he looking for Michael?
It was eleven fifteen when he arrived at the station. The place was a maze. It took Michael fifteen minutes to navigate the information booth and the ticket office. He was lucky; there would be an express train to Katowice in only ten minutes.
Chapter 19
Konstantin Rykov stood close to the doorway. He was alone. It had been four hours since Berg had managed to escape them. Svetlana’s team and Anatoli were doing their best to look for him, but it was close to impossible. Particularly as Berg could well have changed his appearance.
Anna Kazinsky appeared through the door. The Russian grabbed her by the throat and squeezed hard, pulling her into the room, against his right shoulder. Not enough pressure to destroy her voice box, but enough to stop her from making a sound. She would have extreme difficulty in breathing. He kicked the door shut.
He swiftly removed the six-inch knife from his inside right hand pocket before sliding it to the point where it was nicking her lower eyelid. He exerted pressure, gently. The blade pushed against the eyeball. He looked into her petrified eyes. If she’d known what this knife had done to several people over the years, he wouldn’t need to bother with the theatrics.
“ Vy govorite po-Ruski?” he asked.
“ Tag,” she croaked, then she corrected herself, “Da.”
“ I need information. Give
He worked his way along the corridor to room four six six and stood half a meter from the door. He knocked twice. Nothing. He could have opened the door with one kick, perhaps two, but why would someone who was about to commit suicide break down their own door? Just as this thought went through his head, he heard the gentle swish of the elevator door opening. A trolley stacked high with bed linen and an assortment of cleaning utensils appeared. The woman pushing it dark skinned, unlikely to be Polish.
He gestured to her to come towards him. He met her midway.
“ My key in room. Please open.” He looked down at the much smaller woman as he pointed to Berg’s room further down the corridor.
He thought for a moment that she would refuse and tell him to go back to reception. Then he saw the familiar look of fear and uncertainty in her eyes.
“ Thank you,” he said as she slid the keycard from the lock. She scurried away, determined not to know any more.
The Russian opened the door quietly but firmly. A brown leather holdall lay on the bed. He moved stealthily towards the bathroom. Door closed. He turned the handle, at the same time barging through the door. Empty. Water dripped from the shower. Soap bubbling from the drain. The pharmacy. Had he changed his hair color? Maybe he he’d just taken a shower.
He called Revnik.
“He’s gone. Have you seen him?” he said in his native tongue.
“No .”
The tracking device was sewn into the inside bottom of the holdall. He’d called off Svetlana’s team. Didn’t want witnesses. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was he going to do now?
“Keep watching, he could still be inside . Tell Svetlana to get her team back on the ground. I’ll do what I can. Be suspicious of everyone, he might have changed his appearance.”
---
Michael half walked, half ran along the street back towards Centralna Station on Jerozlimskie Ulica. On his way out of the restaurant entrance to the hotel, tagging behind a group of four other guests, he’d noticed a large well-built man standing on the opposite side of the road. The man’s gaze switched from one entrance to the other. Was he looking for Michael?
It was eleven fifteen when he arrived at the station. The place was a maze. It took Michael fifteen minutes to navigate the information booth and the ticket office. He was lucky; there would be an express train to Katowice in only ten minutes.
Chapter 19
Konstantin Rykov stood close to the doorway. He was alone. It had been four hours since Berg had managed to escape them. Svetlana’s team and Anatoli were doing their best to look for him, but it was close to impossible. Particularly as Berg could well have changed his appearance.
Anna Kazinsky appeared through the door. The Russian grabbed her by the throat and squeezed hard, pulling her into the room, against his right shoulder. Not enough pressure to destroy her voice box, but enough to stop her from making a sound. She would have extreme difficulty in breathing. He kicked the door shut.
He swiftly removed the six-inch knife from his inside right hand pocket before sliding it to the point where it was nicking her lower eyelid. He exerted pressure, gently. The blade pushed against the eyeball. He looked into her petrified eyes. If she’d known what this knife had done to several people over the years, he wouldn’t need to bother with the theatrics.
“ Vy govorite po-Ruski?” he asked.
“ Tag,” she croaked, then she corrected herself, “Da.”
“ I need information. Give
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