Ganglands: Russia: Russia (7 page)

With a cajoling smile, Viktor beckoned Svetlana towards him.
She reluctantly allowed the leader of the 88s to pat her on the cheek.

‘You need to help us sort this little problem out,’ he said. ‘Tell Viktor the truth – did this boy come on to you?
Don’t lie to me now.’

Svetlana looked at Alexei for what felt like an eternity, then shrugged and looked away.

‘You see?’ said Alexei.
‘I didn’t do a thing!’

‘Shut your mouth!’ Medved growled.
‘No one talks to my girl – especially not runts like you.’

‘Go outside and calm down,’ rapped Pavel.
‘We’ll take it from here.’

Shooting a final murderous glance at Alexei, Medved wrapped a protective arm around Svetlana’s shoulder and they walked out of the gym.
Viktor waited for the skinhead to leave, then turned back to Alexei.

‘Right,’ he said sharply.
‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’

‘My name’s Alexei.
I came here because I wanted to train and I wanted to fight.
Then that crazy guy came out of nowhere and tried to beat the shit out of me.
I didn’t mean to cause any disrespect.
I thought I’d be welcome here.
I
thought
this gym would have my kind of people in it.’

‘Really?’ said Viktor, raising an eyebrow.
‘And what sort of people would they be?’

Alexei puffed out his chest, displaying his swastika.

‘White people,’ he said.
His words hung in the stale air.

‘I see,’ Viktor said slowly.
‘Well, you may think you know us, Alexei, but we don’t know you.
And maybe this isn’t the best time for us to be inviting strangers into our house.’

‘Whatever you say,’ Alexei replied.
‘All I know is us whites have got to stick together.’

Viktor glanced over at the blond teenager in the baseball cap.

‘You know this guy, Marat?’

Marat shook his head.
‘He’s only been here ten minutes.
Looks like he can take care of himself, though.
And you know what Medved’s like around Svetlana.
He thinks anyone who looks at her is trying to bone her.’

The teenager wilted under a caustic look from Viktor.
Alexei could taste the tension in the air as the Eagles waited for their leader to pass judgement.
After what seemed like an age, Viktor smiled thinly.

‘OK, Alexei.
We’ll say this is all a big …
misunderstanding
.’ The gang laughed.
‘Let’s go and have a talk over a drink.
There is much to discuss.
And someone go tell Medved to leave Alexei alone.
For now,’ Viktor added, his eyes glinting.

Alexei followed the Eagles out of the gym, tenderly checking his nose.
It had been broken before in the ring; mercifully, given how hard Medved had hit him, that didn’t seem to be the case now.
His stomach was still aching, but he was just relieved to be alive.
Ahead of him, the gang swaggered through the deserted streets like a
pack of hyenas, their laughter echoing off the scarred factories that lined the route.
A train rattled along the tracks past them, heading to one of the stations at Komsomolskaya Square.

A cry went up from the Eagles: someone had spotted an African man on the other side of the street.
Seeing the gang of skinheads, the immigrant scurried away to a chorus of jeers and insults.
One of the Eagles picked up an empty bottle out of the gutter and hurled it after him.
As the glass shattered against the wall, Viktor stopped the man from giving chase.

‘Another time,’ he said.
‘Now we eat and drink.’

They cut down a narrow alleyway and descended a flight of stone steps into an underground bar.
The only person inside was a bored-looking bartender, who nodded at Viktor as they entered.
Looking around the dirty, gloomy interior, Alexei doubted that the place was going to get any busier.

As the gang settled around a long wooden table, Viktor ordered a bottle of vodka from the barman, and with great ceremony poured out a glass of the colourless liquid for each of his men.

‘Drinks!’ Viktor called out.
He turned to Alexei.
‘And why don’t we let our new friend propose a suitable toast?’

Alexei coughed nervously.
The rest of the table turned expectantly as he rose to his feet, his mind working furiously.
Then, it came to him.
He raised his glass.

‘To Nikolai Borovsky!’ he shouted.
‘The hero of White Russia!’

The Moscow Eagles roared with approval.
Alexei
threw back his head and drained his vodka, feeling the liquid chart a burning course down his throat.
As he slammed his glass back on to the table, one of the men barked ‘
Sieg Heil!
’ and made a Nazi salute.

Someone patted Alexei on the back; another put a beer in front of him.
He had passed the first test.
As the Eagles began rowdily talking with one another, Alexei cautiously sized up the different gang members.
He couldn’t help wondering which of them had been responsible for the attack on Lena, had callously punched and kicked her into unconsciousness.
One thing was certain: no matter what happened with Trojan or Rozalina Petrova, one way or another Alexei would have his private revenge.

The anger was good for him – helped subdue his nerves.
He didn’t even blink when Medved reappeared.
The burly man ignored him, buying a jug of beer before sitting pointedly at the other end of the table.
Thankfully Svetlana was nowhere in sight.

Alexei drank quickly, wanting to fit in with the rest of the gang.
It was getting harder to stay alert.
He noticed that Viktor had barely touched his vodka – the leader of the Eagles seemed content to watch his men get drunk.
After a couple of hours Alexei staggered to the bathroom and splashed water on his face in an effort to sober up.
He returned to the table to find Viktor refilling his glass.

‘So, my young troublemaker,’ the man said expansively. ‘What brought you to our gym this morning?’

‘I told you: I wanted to train.’

‘But why a gym run by the Moscow Eagles?’

Trying to clear his head, Alexei thought back to the file Darius Jordan had made him memorize.
‘My father died during the war in Chechnya,’ he lied.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘The filthy bastards got him with a car bomb.
That was the only way they could have touched him.
He was a hero.
Like Borovsky is a hero.
Men like him should get medals, not prison sentences.’

Viktor nodded in agreement.
‘Wise words for a young man, Alexei.
I am sorry to hear about your father – I wish it were an isolated case, but …’ He pointed at the wiry man in camouflage trousers.
‘You see Pavel, there?
My right-hand man, my lieutenant.
He too fought in Chechnya; lost many good men, many brothers-in-arms.
Pavel survives, only to return to Moscow and there is
nothing
.
No work, no respect.
And yet he sees all these blacks, these half-humans with jobs and money.
That is why men like Pavel and you come to us.
The Moscow Eagles understand: we are the only family left for White Russians.’

‘A family I want to be a part of,’ Alexei interjected. ‘Borovsky is gone – but maybe one day you’ll let me take his place.’

As the leader of the 88s inspected his face thoughtfully, Alexei prayed he had sounded convincing.

‘Judging by the bruises on your face, Medved hasn’t been the only person punching you recently.’

Alexei shrugged.
‘I got into a fight with a couple of bastards from Dagestan.
If it had been one-on-one I would have kicked their asses.’

‘The foreigners are not stupid.
They know that in a
fair
fight with a white they could not hope to win.
Which is why we have to play them at their own game.’

‘How do we do that?’

Viktor settled back into his chair with a serpentine smile.
‘Hang around, and you might well find out,’ he said.

9. Street Fighter

They spent all afternoon underground – the cramped bar reverberating with caustic jokes and rough laughter.
Drinks were clashed together in toast after toast, sending waves of beer ebbing across the table.
In keeping with the Russian superstition, empty bottles were left off the table, forming a small glass platoon on the floor.
No one else came down to the bar, and when Alexei helped Marat bring back a round of beers, he noticed that the bartender had the numbers 88 tattooed on his bicep.
Just like the gym, this place was clearly for Eagles only.

Eventually Pavel banged on the table for silence.
As the conversations broke off and the laughter died, Viktor rose to his feet.
He sombrely surveyed the Eagles for several seconds before speaking.

‘My friends,’ he said finally, opening his arms.
‘My white brothers.
These have been dark times for us.
This week, we have lost a great man, one of our bravest and most steadfast soldiers.
Yet again the authorities – overrun by dirty foreigners; infiltrated by sly, deceitful Jews – have betrayed the true Russian heroes, the whites whose struggles and sacrifices provided the foundations for this great nation.’

A murmur of assent rumbled around the table.
Even
though Alexei disagreed with Viktor’s every word, he couldn’t deny that there was something powerful about the way he spoke.
The entire bar was hushed in rapt attention.

‘Maybe the foreigners think that, with Nikolai in prison, they have won.
Maybe the foreigners think that they no longer have to worry about the Moscow Eagles.’ Viktor was greeted with loud howls of disapproval.
With a smile, he gestured for quiet.

‘We need to send them a message that we are going nowhere.
A message that will be unmistakable in its tone and its intent.
We will send that message with our fists and our feet, and the weapons in our hands.’ His voice began to rise in volume.
‘And they had better listen!
The Chechens, the Armenians, the Tajiks, the Africans and the Jews!
None of them will be spared the righteous wrath of the Moscow Eagles!
All will feel the might of the White Russian hammer upon them!’

The Eagles rose to their feet, cheering and banging their glasses on the table.
Amid the uproar, Viktor leaned over and whispered in Alexei’s ear: ‘You want to join us, you take part tomorrow.
No one can join the Eagles until they have spilt blood.’

Even as he tried to look enthusiastic, Alexei’s heart sank.

It was dark by the time Alexei climbed the stairs out of the bar.
He took a couple of deep breaths, relishing the cold, crisp air in his lungs.
The sound of a chair breaking followed him up the steps: the Eagles were only just starting to party.
Alexei had stayed for as long as he could
stomach it, until his head was spinning and his words were coming out slurred.
In order to leave, he claimed that his girlfriend was nagging him to come home – a statement that caused the rest of the gang no end of amusement.
Only Medved continue to glower at him.
The skinhead had moodily drained jug after jug of beer, to seemingly no effect.

Alexei got on to the metro at Komsomolskaya Square and headed back towards Taganka.
Dozing off in his seat, he nearly missed his stop, only just slipping out through the doors before they shut.
He walked back through empty streets and scaled the hill towards the monastery.

The building was dark, the people carrier no longer parked by the entrance, and Alexei was momentarily worried that Trojan Industries had melted away. Hurrying inside, he was relieved to see the electronic equipment pulsing in the glare of the spotlights.
Two operatives talked softly to one another as they studied CCTV footage.
As Alexei entered the main hall, Richard Madison put down the newspaper he was reading and hurried over to greet him.
At the sight of Alexei’s dishevelled appearance, the Englishman raised an amused eyebrow.

‘Seems some of us have been having more fun than others.
You smell like a bloody brewery, son.’

Alexei slumped wearily into a chair.
‘Viktor took us to a bar.
I tried to stay sober, but they kept topping my drink up.’

‘Yeah, that’s what they all say.
I’ll go put some coffee on.’

Madison bustled away, passing Darius Jordan as he appeared out of one of the antechambers.
The American
instantly noted the marks on Alexei’s face.
‘Looks like you’ve already seen some action.
What happened?’

Alexei wearily rubbed his eyes.
‘I had an argument with one of the Eagles.
He won.’

‘So the first meeting didn’t go well, then?’

‘They’re pretty tough customers, and they sure as hell don’t like strangers.
This guy Medved hates my guts, but for now he can’t do anything about it because Viktor won’t let him.’

‘You met Orlov?
Did you make a better impression on him?’

‘It’s hard to tell.
He’s different from the rest of them – he’s smart.
He acted all friendly, but I could tell he was checking me out.’

‘Don’t be fooled by his appearance.
Orlov’s just as dangerous as the rest of them, if not more so.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that.
He’s organizing some kind of raid tomorrow.
If I want to join the Eagles, I have to take part in it.
I don’t know how I’m going to get out of it.
Maybe I can say that I’m too hungover or something like that.
I mean, obviously I can’t go on it …’

He trailed off.
Jordan said nothing.

‘You’re not saying I should do it?’ Alexei said incredulously.

The American gave him a meaningful look.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ Alexei shouted. ‘I’m not going to help these guys beat up some poor bastard just because he’s foreign!’

For a few seconds Jordan did nothing.
Then he nodded.
‘I understand completely.’ Clapping his hands together,
he called out in an echoing voice: ‘All right, people!
Stop what you’re doing and pack it up! We’re done here!’

‘Hey!’ cried Alexei, grabbing the American’s arm. ‘What are you doing?’

Jordan shrugged.
‘If you don’t show the Eagles that you’re willing to fight with them, they’ll never trust you.
This has all been a waste of time.’ He continued in a low, hard voice.
‘You seem to be under the impression that this is some kind of school lesson that you can ask to be excused from.
But this is real life, Alexei, and this is your mission.
This raid tomorrow will go ahead whether you’re there or not.
If you don’t go, maybe you’ll feel better about yourself, but Lena will still be in that hospital and the Eagles will still be out on the streets, free to do it again and again and again.’