Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1) (27 page)

“Yuri Gromyko?” I asked for the sake of completeness.

He nodded and uttered a word in concurrence.

“Do you remember Bosnia all those years ago?” I asked not even knowing whether he spoke English. “Vania.... Goric?” I pronounced slowly. With the mention of that name there was a light of recognition in his eyes.

He started smirking and then I’m certain, began cursing me softly in Russian. He took a couple of small steps toward me, so that he was now standing just outside the cubicle. His arms were poised by his sides and I was convinced he was about to lunge toward me any second; so I took a step back to maintain the distance between us.

“I was in Vania Goric that day,” said I pointing a finger to my chest; wanting him to know that it was I who killed his comrades and nearly killed him that day.

“Do you know Andrew Sinclair?” I asked putting one hand around my neck to remind him of how Sinclair had been killed, “He was my friend. Was it you?”

“An - drei Sink - lair,” he repeated with a heavy accent.

His eyes enlarged with the recollection coming to him; infuriatingly he still seemed to find the whole thing amusing - grinning maniacally as if he rejoiced at the memory of Andrew’s murder. He nodded - which I took as an admission of guilt. Like the dumb brute he was, he seemed to have no sense of fear or remorse.

And then in a blink of an eye; like the Russian bear he was, he burst into a sprint and then made a huge lunge toward me. He moved astonishingly quickly for a man of his size. My heart leaped with surprise and I jumped back. My waist came up against the hand basins and then I had to take a quick side ways step to my right to stay out of his reach. He crashed into the basins where I had been standing – I took another step away from him and brought my gun up and shot him side on, into his left flank. I only had time to get in one shot before his left arm lashed out furiously with such speed and force that his hand hit my Glock and caused it to leap out of my hand into the air over my head, before it came clattering down on the floor and slid away. He then grabbed his left side realising he’d been shot. They say a beast is at his most dangerous when wounded. With that thought in mind I turned and made a dash for my Glock. But as I did so I felt something constraining me from behind – he had grasped the tail of my jacket. As I strained to get away, he kicked my right foot causing it to give way and released his grasp simultaneously. I lost balance and fell forward flat on my stomach. His quick reflexes and strength reinforced my sense of alarm as I landed – my face inches from the floor. Glancing ahead and seeing my weapon at the far end, I began scrambling across the floor desperately using my arms to propel me forward. I felt him grip my left ankle. I looked over my shoulder and tried to kick free using my right leg; and saw that he was crouched forward. After I had managed to get in about three kicks in the air, he also grabbed my right ankle and then hauled me toward him. I felt as if I was being sucked in to the clutches of a monster from whom I would not emerge alive. Wriggling my legs furiously, I tried to grip the floor with my arms and gain some purchase against this seemingly irresistible force - but in vain. I kicked again trying to break free, drenched in a sweat of desperation, summoning what strength I had. Then my left ankle was released bearing witness to my thrashing about, causing it to hit his stomach inadvertently. He gave out a most appalling primordial scream, as I must have hit his wound. His face was contorted with pain. Exultant at having found his weakness, I kicked him in his stomach again, but this time deliberately. He still had my right ankle in a vice like grip, which at that moment he released. Freed, I got up and urgently began to run toward my Glock; but as I did so was suddenly engulfed by some enormous weight bearing down upon me. I went crashing down on the floor, realising that Gromyko must have leapt on me, despite his wound. As I landed I braced myself – notwithstanding, my forehead hit the floor and sent a stinging sensation all over my head. I crawled toward my left, lest I be trapped under his bulk. As I did so, I felt his left arm grab me between the shoulders and raise me a fraction off the floor. I lashed out violently with my arms and legs, but it was utterly ineffectual; for he turned on his side and his other arm came from nowhere and before I knew what was happening his right hand was clamped around my throat, as we tussled. Realising that this was no time to be preoccupied with ethical considerations over Marquis of Queensbury rules – in a frenzy I kicked him hard in his groin, punched him in the face and then began gouging out his eyes with my fingers. While he meanwhile, began to squeeze my throat – my eyes felt as if they would pop out as I struggled to breathe. Nothing I did seemed to work! I brought up my right leg and desperately fumbled for my knife under the hem of my trousers in my boot. All the while I was being throttled and at risk of losing consciousness, with ensuing death! As soon as I had the hilt in my hand I pulled it from my boot and stuck the knife with as much force as I could into his left thigh. He gave out a deafening roar of pain and released me as he tried to remove the knife. At this I rose up coughing and spluttering from my near throttling; and half stumbling, ran and then dived to my Glock.

Just at that moment the entire building was filled with the screeching and deafening sound of an aircraft. I picked up the Glock and turned around to see him coming at me like some maniacal beast. It was impossible to miss such a target at point blank range – I fired two shots into his chest in quick succession. The shots were barely audible in the room, drowned out as they were by the aircraft engines. He fell toward me carried by the momentum of his motion, like some ancient tree being felled. I leapt out of the way as his body came crashing down, making a smack sound as it landed on the tiled floor. The sound of the aircraft now receded quickly. He lay still, face down, and then with Glock still in hand I stood over him as I turned his body over with my feet. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling and his clothes had turned crimson in colour where his chest was. Gratifyingly the cunt was dead....and I wondered how many scores that settled.

“That was for you Andrew!” I whispered as I put away my gun.

I paused for a moment to get my breath back. I bent forward, my hands on my knees recovering; my head and throat were sore, my eyes and nose moist and I felt like retching barely able to stand. I retrieved my soiled knife, washed it and placed it back in my boot. After a moment, I began to haul his corpse into one of the cubicles, so as to delay his detection. They say that there’s nothing quite so heavy as the weight of a dead man; and I could only agree as I struggled to move him any way I could. I cursed, perspired and strained every sinew as I slowly managed to get him into a cubicle, before hauling his corpse onto the toilet seat. I then locked the cubicle from the inside, climbed over the wall into the next cubicle and went to the wash basins and mopped up the blood on the floor. Then washed my face and hands and ensured I looked presentable
; removed the broom from the handle, let myself out and closed the door behind me with the “OUT OF ORDER” sign still hanging outside.

CHAPTER 33 – COMRADES DELIVERED AND AN ADIEU.

“What kept you?” asked Guy.

“I had a run in with one of Andrew’s killer – Yuri Gromyko,” I explained, “It’s astonishing the filth you come across in foreign toilets.”

“So what happened?”

“He and my Glock had a disagreement, he came off second best and I left him perched on his throne,” I said airily as I bit into the kebab Guy had just handed me.

“In that case the sooner you’re on that flight the better,” Guy observed.

A little later I checked-in for my flight to Tehran. Guy looked over my shoulder toward the terminal entrance - someone had caught his attention.

“Let’s go outside for a moment,” he said distracted.

We got outside. Guy left me by the kerb and crossed the road to a waiting Renault, one of whose occupants had only just returned to the vehicle. He stooped down and spoke to the two occupants through the driver’s window before returning to me.

“Some good news Tarquin,” he extolled, “two of your comrades have been picked up safely by the Germans after crossing the border – a Major von Weizsacker and an Azaki called Ismail,” he announced with an intonation that suggested he wanted me to confirm I recognised the names; which I duly did.

“Thank heavens,” I said, my genuine pleasure on hearing such good news was tempered by the recollection of my two less fortunate comrades, “I don’t suppose they know about Mueller and Aziz?”

“No, I don’t suppose they do,” the poignancy evident in his voice, “I’ll be sure to let them know. With any luck they may be able to recover the bodies.”

I gave the faintest nod and there was an awkward silence.

“Well Tarquin,” Guy said, breaking the silence, “this is where we part. I dare say you won’t have any problems from here on in.”

“Thank you for everything,” I said as we shook hands firmly.

“Just think we’ll be able to dine out on this story amongst select friends, until the end of our days,” he said, bringing a smile to both our faces as our hands parted.

He gave a last nod of acknowledgement before returning to the Renault. I watched as the car drove off, raising my hand in farewell and barely crediting the fact that I was still alive.

There was nothing to do but wait for my flight. As the afternoon had progressed the airport got busier as more passengers arrived, so I went upstairs where it was less crowded. Just then I and other passengers noticed a commotion further down the terminal building near the toilets. Several men, some in uniform had arrived from the other end of the terminal. It seemed that his body had been discovered and I possessed the murder weapon! I turned around and walked in the opposite direction attempting to exude an aura of calm, underneath a funk of dread. When I had reached a quiet area I looked around furtively to ensure I was not being watched and then sat down. I pulled out my Glock, detached the magazine which I placed in my pocket and then bundled up the Glock and my knife in an item of clothing from my holdall. I placed this bundle in a nearby litter bin and walked back to my boarding gate and dropped the magazine in another bin en-route. I went through security and entered the gate for my flight. Exhaling nonchalantly I sat down with my back to the main terminal corridor, which was visible through the glass wall that divided the gate and the rest of the terminal. My fellow passengers were all Persians, mostly men, including an elderly couple who looked so old they may have been around in the days of the late Shah’s father.

Our plane was parked on the tarmac a short distance from the terminal; it was a rather old Tupolev 154. I turned to look through the glass wall, to see what developments there had been. There were a couple of officials at the top of the stairs; they appeared to be waiting to greet someone. I looked at my Breitling; there were 33 minutes until our scheduled departure. I picked up a discarded newspaper; it was the Tehran Times an English language daily. Once I had begun to read I heard a stir amongst the passengers and so put down the paper and saw that the gate agents had arrived. We were to board at last! The passengers began to stand up and gather their belongings, as did I. Turning around, I saw that several men in uniform had come up the stairs and were greeted by the two awaiting officials. Some were undoubtedly police, but the other men had the appearance of the IRG. One of them was taller than the others – than to my horror and surprise I realised it was Lieutenant Pahlavi! Christ!! I averted my gaze instantly and in my terror nearly lost control of my bladder.

CHAPTER 34 – A FIRST CLASS DIVERSION.

Just at that moment the gate agent made an announcement that had the passengers forming a queue. I reflected grimly that my killing Gromyko could well be my undoing; for it had effectively been a de facto summons to my pursuers to come to the airport. Regardless of what happened now, I had the satisfaction of knowing that I had dispatched Gromyko and I was glad that I had. I milled into the queue to present my boarding pass as well as I could, hoping to manoeuvre myself so that there would always be passengers between me and the glass wall. I daren’t even look back, petrified that I would do so just at the moment that Pahlavi was looking in my direction. After leaving the gate we went via a ramp and then down some stairs to the tarmac. With aircraft engines nearby the sound here was quite deafening and one had to shout to be heard. There were still people tending to the plane, which was nearly 50 metres in front of us. We’d been sent down prematurely. I consoled myself that at least I was nearer the plane down here and out of sight of Pahlavi. I then noticed the executive jet, that I saw landing earlier parked outside the terminal to our left, much further down from where we were. I wondered casually who’d be flying on an executive jet in this provincial part of Iran? I abruptly recalled Gromyko! He wouldn’t be here by himself. Of course not!! Oh what a bloody fool I’d been. I laughed at my own stupidity. Just then I saw some figures coming from the terminal approaching the executive jet. I strained to look and as if to confirm my suspicions – it was Zhukov, Anastasia and Pavlovitch!

The ground staff member went back up to the gate, so there was no one here but us passengers. The upper floor of the terminal overhung the ground floor by several metres; as a result there was a colonnade the length of the building. It was sunny and I was exhausted, I therefore moved toward this area where I could take refuge in the shade and sat down on the ground, concealed partially behind a pillar. Just then the ground staff man came back down looking rather flustered, followed by a couple of IRG. I ensured that they didn’t see me. He was telling all the passengers to return back upstairs. The passengers began groaning in dissent, in response to which one of the Guards began shouting in reproach. I moved further away alarmed and hid by a pillar and watched until they had gone. The Revolutionary Guard must have decided to screen all passengers in searching for the murderer – for otherwise why would they be accompanying the ground staff in getting the passengers back upstairs?