Under A Blood Red Sky Part 52

'One that is worth real money, not . . .' he gazed disdainfully round the shop, 'not Novgorki kopecks.'

The man squinted at Mikhail, his tobacco-stained teeth chewing on his lower lip. 'Very well,' he said, pointing to a curtained doorway at the back of the shop. 'You, comrade, come with me. You,' he pointed at Sofia, 'wait here.'

Before the storekeeper could draw breath Mikhail had leapt over the counter and pinned him against his boxes, a hand crushing his throat. He could feel the man's windpipe fighting for air.

'Don't mistake me, comrade,' Mikhail hissed in his face. 'I am not one of your peasant fools. I do not walk blindly into your backroom to be ambushed and robbed while my woman is stolen. Understand me?'

'Da.' The man's voice was a gasp, his eyes popping in his head.

Mikhail removed his hand and let him breathe. The rasping sc.r.a.pe of it sounded loud in the silence of the musty store.

'Now,' Mikhail said, keeping the man jammed against his shelves, 'tomorrow morning I will return here at eight o'clock for no more than five minutes. If you know a buyer for a jewel worth more than you'll earn in ten lifetimes, bring him here. Got that?'

The man blinked his understanding.

'Do zavtra. Till tomorrow,' Mikhail snapped, picking up the roll of canvas. He gripped Sofia by her upper arm and strode out of the shop.

'So you're not just a handsome face after all,' Sofia said.

She was teasing him, he knew that, but her smile didn't reach her eyes.

'I had to do it, Sofia. It was the only way of showing that man I'm serious. This is a hard town, my love, danger is what they breathe out here. Don't look so reproachful.'

'He might have pulled a gun on you.'

Mikhail patted the loaded pistol hidden under her slender waistband, the one he'd stolen from the officer behind the Gaz truck. 'Then you'd have shot him,' he said and kissed her nose.

She shivered nevertheless. He wrapped an arm around her to keep her warm, as neither of them were dressed for a cool northern evening, but she pulled away.

'Don't,' she said angrily. 'Don't take risks.'

He burst out laughing and felt her fist smack into his chest. He caught it in his hand and pulled her tight to him. 'This is all one huge risk, my sweet love, so what's an extra little one or two along the way?'

'Don't die,' she whispered.

'I intend to live till I'm a hundred, as long as you promise to live to a hundred with me.'

'To darn your socks and cook your meals?' she teased.

'No, my precious, to warm my bed and let me kiss your sweet neck.'

She nestled her lips in the hollow of his throat. 'I'll warm your bed and let you kiss my neck,' she crooned, 'if you darn my socks and cook my meals for a hundred years.'

'Agreed,' he laughed.

56.

'No, Mikhail, we do this together. We agreed.'

They were standing in the street and heavy rain was lashing down, soaking them to the skin and turning the road into a muddy torrent. A stray yellow hound crouched shivering in the gutter, its mournful eyes following their every move.

Mikhail pushed open the door to the hardware store and Sofia positioned herself silently just inside the entrance, leaning against the timber wall where she casually laid one hand on the gun at her waistband. Her eyes followed Mikhail as he approached the stranger who was waiting next to the counter with folded arms. The man was built like a series of boxes balanced on top of each other: square hat, square head, square shoulders, a sharp square suit. His face displayed the broken veins of a drinker and the shrewd eyes of a man in authority - a man who knows how to use it. The shopkeeper hovered in the background, as brown and dusty as his boxes.

'So, comrade, what have you brought for me to see?' the square man said without preliminaries. 'It had better not be s.h.i.t. No gavno gavno.'

Mikhail took his time, eyeing the stranger up and down in a manner that was meant to insult, and which brought Sofia's heart to her throat. He didn't speak, just took a small piece of green material from his back pocket and opened it on his palm. The man's eyes widened, then narrowed to half shut like a lizard's, because even in the dim light of the hardware shop the diamond on the green cloth winked at him. He drew a loud intake of breath.

For the first time Mikhail spoke. 'It's worth more than you possess.'

'Comrade, there's something you need to learn. A jewel like that is only worth what someone will pay.'

'And . . .' Mikhail gave him a cold smile, 'how quickly they will pay for it.'

The man nodded his square head, took out a handkerchief and blew his veined nose in it. This seemed to be a signal of some kind because another man stepped out from behind the curtain to the backroom, a great bearded ox of a man with a badly scarred face. Instantly Sofia pulled the gun out of her waistband and, clutching it with two hands, pointed it directly at the square stranger. His lizard eyes stared at her for a second, a.s.sessing the danger, then he waved a hand dismissively and his henchman lumbered back into his curtained den.

Nothing was said, no mention was made of the short-lived intrusion, but Sofia didn't lower the gun. Mikhail took a slow and deliberate step forward, then spoke in a voice that crowded the dismal room.

'Now that we understand each other . . . comrade comrade,' he made the word sound like something he'd sc.r.a.ped off the bottom of his shoe, 'let's get down to business. My time is short.'

'By all means,' the man's gaze focused on the diamond, his words as smooth as oil, 'let's talk money.'

'No, comrade. Let's talk horses.'

Sofia waited alone in the rain. Zenia's scarf on her head was soaked, but a few metres of canvas with a hole cut in it for her head was keeping the worst of the downpour off her body. The black earth beneath her feet had turned to a quagmire but she barely noticed the squelch of mud as she prowled soft-footed among the trees, her eyes scanning the road that ran straight as a rifle barrel into Novgorki.

Where was he?

He should be here by now.

Was he safe?

Should she race back into town?

Her head swarmed with fears for Mikhail. Her fingers played incessantly with the Tokarev pistol clutched under her canvas shroud. She drew some comfort from its rea.s.suring weight, its hard metallic edges, its lethal simplicity. But Mikhail should have his fist tight round this gun right now. He's the one in danger But Mikhail should have his fist tight round this gun right now. He's the one in danger.

He'd forced her to wait. The square man with the smile that stretched too tight had insisted on a one-to-one deal, with no guns and no henchmen. So Mikhail had kissed her, a light touch of lips that she committed to memory, and left the hardware store. Sofia had watched them disappear up the street, the yellow dog trailing behind them through the rain, then she retreated to the spot on the edge of town where he'd told her to meet him.

Hidden from curious eyes, she waited for him. She felt as if she'd been waiting for him all her life.

Two hours later Mikhail finally emerged through the grey curtain of rain. Sofia wanted to throw herself into his arms and yell at him for putting her through such h.e.l.l. But instead she stood quietly under a dripping poplar tree and let him come to her. He was riding a big chestnut horse and leading two others, one of which was carrying quite a load on its back, strapped down under a canvas sheet. Mikhail slid to the ground in one easy movement, placed his hands on her shoulders and looked carefully into her face.

'You were a long time,' she said simply.

'I'm sorry. Were you worried?'

'No.'

'Good. You must trust me.'

'I do.'

He smiled, the wide smile he kept just for her, and she wrapped her fist into his sodden shirt in an effort to hold on to that smile.

'I hope one of those horses is for me.'

'Always thinking of taking it easy, aren't you?'

She laughed and the unexpected relief of it doused her fears. 'Did you get a good deal?' she asked and released his shirt.

'Svetlana Dyuzheyeva would turn in her grave if she knew how cheaply her diamond ring had changed hands, but yes, for us it was a good deal.'

From inside his wet shirt he pulled out a fistful of large rouble notes, lifted the front of her canvas cape and slipped the money into the pocket of her black skirt.

'That'll keep you safe,' he smiled and suddenly took her in his arms, as though frightened of losing her.

They stood like that, Sofia had no idea for how long, heads together. But when their hearts had finally stilled, they swung up on to the horses and headed off through the forest. Behind them the yellow dog skulked in their tracks.

It was the dog, warning her with its low throaty growl, that raised the hackles on her own neck. They were riding through the forest with just the pattering of rain for company and the soft shuffle of horses' hooves through the undergrowth. Mikhail was leading the way, Sofia close behind, but her horse had a shorter stride and kept hanging back. They had been weaving their way through the trees for more than an hour when the attack came.

But the dog had warned her, so the gun was ready in her hand.

Two bulky figures leapt out from the trees with a great roar as they launched themselves at Sofia and a rifle shot rang out, ricocheting off the trunks. Her horse screamed a shrill shriek of fear that split the air and the dog snarled, loud and menacing. A man's face appeared next to her horse's head, gaunt skin stretched over sharp bones, hair black and matted, a ragged length to his shoulders. His mouth was open and bellowing words at her, threats and insults and crude curses. Sofia yelled back at him with rage as one filthy hand seized her horse's bridle, the other grasped her ankle.

She raised the gun and shouted a warning. Her attacker yanked hard on the horse's mouth, drawing blood. In terror the animal jinked sideways and reared up, its front hooves slicing through the rain, its wet head thrashing violently from side to side, tumbling Sofia from its back.

As she fell to the ground, she pulled the trigger.

'Sofia.'

Mikhail's voice was drifting in and out of her head. Sometimes near and sometimes so far away she could barely hear it. Other noises came and went, strange sounds she couldn't place, but through them all snagged the low whining of a dog. She fought to open her eyes but her eyelids refused to obey. Instead she called Mikhail's name, but it came out as no more than a breath.

'Sofia, wake up.'

She listened to the voice she loved, to the way he made her name sound like something precious, and when she felt his cool hand brush over her forehead, she sighed. Something let go inside her and she started to float into a dream where silver-haired women stretched out their arms around her.

Sofia flicked open her eyes. Her head hurt. As though a splinter of iron were stuck in her brain. The air seemed as grey and warm as squirrels' fur and for a moment she couldn't make out where she was.

'Mikhail,' she murmured.

'My Sofia.' At once his head bent over her and his lips touched her temple. 'Don't move, my love. You've taken a bad knock on the head.'

Slowly things came to her, thought by thought, and she realised she was lying on her side, her head on Mikhail's lap. He was sitting with his back against a pine tree, one hand holding her, the other holding the gun. Above them he'd rigged up a canopy of canvas and under it he'd lit a small fire that hissed and popped when a splash of rain blew into it. She rolled on to her back, gazed up at him. His eyes were full of concern.

'Help me up,' she said.

'No, my sweet, you must stay where you are. You have to rest.'

'I've rested enough.'

He didn't argue further. Just sat her up and held her steady while the world swooped and danced around her. He placed a metal cup of hot tea in her hands and sat quietly while she sipped it.

'Where are they?' she asked at last, leaning against him.

'Over there.' He gestured off to the left.

'Who were they?'

'His henchmen. Come to retrieve the money and the horses.'

'You're not hurt?'

'A bruise or two, nothing much.'

He spoke in short bursts, barely in control of his anger. 'They're dead. Both of them.'

She nodded, chilled by her own indifference.

When she was ready, he helped her stand. She insisted on going over to check on the bodies of their attackers because only seeing them with her own eyes would convince her that she and Mikhail were safe. For now, anyway. With Mikhail's arm round her waist she stared down at the two corpses in the mud. The one with the ragged hair had a hole in the centre of his chest and stared back at her with sightless eyes, the other was the ox man with the scarred face from the hardware store. His throat had been cut in a livid slash and the rain was washing his clothes pink.