The Equalizer (42 page)

McCall followed Kirov and his wife and his lawyer and his date into the theater. He stood at the back, waiting to see where Kirov and his wife were sitting. They were in the A section, even numbers, to the right, row F. The attorney and the Playmate were sitting beside them. McCall's seat was in the center section, but row V, the last row, on the aisle. People found their seats. The lights came down and the overture started and the sense of anticipation was electric.

McCall sat for the first twenty minutes of the show. Then he got up. He told one of the ushers that he had sciatica and had to stand periodically, which was why he'd chosen an aisle seat in the back row. The usher nodded. He didn't care. From this vantage point, McCall could get a better view of Kirov and his wife. Kristine Kirov was absolutely enchanted. Her face was radiant as she watched the show. It was the big “Master of the House” scene where Thénardier, the “best innkeeper in town,” was explaining that
nothing gets you nothing, everything has got a little price
.…

“Charge 'em for the lice, extra for the mice, two percent for looking in the mirror twice.…”

And that:
“How it all increases, all them bits and pieces, Jesus it's amazing how it grows.…”

The innkeeper's wife, Madame Thénardier, told the audience
“God knows how I've lasted, living with this bastard in the house,”
and when the chorus wanted to toast the master of the house and sang,
“Everybody raise a glass,”
and she sang,
“Raise it up the Master's arse,”
McCall laughed out loud.

It seemed a long time since he'd done that.

Quickly they were at the rousing finale of the First Act, “One Day More,” Jean Valjean's voice magnificent and rousing, before the barricades of freedom go up and the lovers and rebels wonder what their God in Heaven has in store for them. This brought the audience to their feet. McCall looked over at Borislav Kirov. He didn't stand. He looked bored. McCall walked out into the lobby. The doors to the auditorium opened and the theatergoes poured out and within seconds the bar area was like last call at an Irish pub in Dublin.

Perfect.

Kirov had ordered drinks ahead. McCall timed it so that he drew parallel with Kirov as he turned to hand his wife and attorney their drinks. Bumped into him in the crowd. McCall thrust his hand into the right-hand pocket of Kirov's suit coat, came out with his iPhone, jostled him, and murmured an apology, which was completely lost in the overall ambiance. By the time Kirov turned around, McCall was gone, swallowed up in the seething mass of people.

Kirov never felt a thing.

It was the same coat pocket in which he carried his lighter. The loss of weight should not register with him.

McCall walked outside. There were lots of people on the sidewalk, smoking, talking on their cell phones. McCall walked down the street to an outdoor café where there was an empty table. He took out his own iPhone, plugged in a small device Brahms had given him earlier in the day, connected it to Kirov's iPhone, and started downloading Kirov's documents and e-mails.

It took longer than he thought it would. He kept an eye on the time and finally had to get to his feet and rejoin the crowd outside the theater. It was sparser. The lights in the lobby were flashing and people were moving toward the auditorium doors. End of intermission. McCall walked back into the theater lobby. He had both phones in the pocket of his suit coat, the transfer of data continuing.

Kirov was just knocking back the last of his fourth gin-and-tonic. Kristine was urging him to come on! They'd be late back to their seats! Kirov threw off her arm and McCall saw, for the first time, a flicker of fear in her eyes. Now he got it. She loved him and she tolerated him and she turned a blind eye to his business.

Because she was afraid of him.

They moved to the auditorium doors. McCall followed, watching Kirov's right hand, feeling tension coiling inside him. But the Chechen's hand did not move to his right-hand coat pocket. You could not use your cell phone once you were in the theater. He had already checked for messages just over an hour before.

Inside the auditorium Kirov and his wife took their seats. His attorney and his Playboy date joined them soon afterward. The hubbub in the theater died down as the lights went out. The orchestra started the overture for the Second Act of the musical. Lots of applause. The lights went up on the stage and Enjolras brought his band of freedom fighters downstage and McCall went back out into the lobby. He walked to the men's room and into an empty stall. Sat on the top of the toilet and brought out the two iPhones. It took another ten minutes to complete the download. Then he put his own iPhone back into his pocket, strode across the lobby, and opened one of the doors to the theater. He motioned to the usher who was standing at the back, enjoying the show. Onstage, Gavroche had just turned in Javert as a traitor. McCall handed the usher Kirov's iPhone.

“I found this in the lobby,” McCall whispered. “The man who dropped it is sitting in section A, row F, right on the aisle. I didn't want to go down there myself with the show already started, but I have to leave. My leg is really hurting me. Can you give this to him? I'll wait right here and make sure you give it to the right guy.”

“It'll have to wait until the end of the performance,” the usher whispered.

“It can't. I need to know he's got it back. I don't want to be accused of stealing it. It'll only take you a few seconds. Look, people are still finding their way back to their seats.”

It was true. The last intermission stragglers were coming down both aisles, apologizing in whispers, sliding into seats. The usher took the iPhone from McCall and moved quickly down the right-hand aisle. McCall watched as he knelt beside Kirov at row F and whispered to him. He handed him the iPhone. Instinctively Kirov felt his right-hand coat pocket. His heavy silver lighter was in there. McCall nodded. He'd mistaken the weight for both the lighter and the iPhone. Kirov took the iPhone and thanked the usher, looking up the aisle. McCall knew what he was saying without having to hear the words.
Who handed it in?
The usher must've told him it was one of the theatergoers. Found it on the lobby floor. The usher said something else, probably to warn Kirov not to turn on the iPhone while the show was in progress. Kirov nodded and put the iPhone into his pocket.

McCall stayed long enough to see Éponine's death scene with Marius. The actress was Samantha Barks, who had played the role in the London stage production, and also in the terrific movie. McCall wanted to see her performance again. It had moved him both times. She didn't disappoint him. She was poignant and believable and had the voice of an angel. At the end of the song, most of the audience rose to its feet and cheered. It stopped the show.

Kirov remained seated. He looked back up the aisle. In the darkness at the back of the theater, McCall gave him an ironic wave, even though he knew he would not be able to see it.

Then he walked out of the auditorium, through the lobby, and out of the theater.

In the kitchen of his apartment, McCall plugged his iPhone into his laptop on the square kitchen table and started the process of transferring Kirov's documents onto the computer. Brahms had already been to his apartment while he'd been at
Les Misérables
. He didn't need a key. Brahms could break any lock on the planet. He had installed software onto McCall's laptop that would bypass encrypted files and firewalls and passwords. Highly sophisticated and illegal. He'd left a note for McCall on the coffee table in the living room: “Nice place. Too tidy. Live in it!”

McCall had smiled. But his mind was in a different time and place. Seeing that actress as Éponine in the musical had touched off another sense memory within him.

She looked very much like a younger Serena Johanssen.

McCall looked out at the darkened rooftops outside the kitchen window and was drawn back to her.

 

CHAPTER 30

He had to get her out of the jeep. The insistent thought burned through the pain. He felt the night air on his face. His eyes were like slits. His left leg was pinned beneath the steering wheel. His left arm was wedged under his body, but his right arm was free. He pushed on the crumpled dashboard and dragged himself up a few inches. He twisted his body a little more and wrenched his left leg toward him.

A couple of inches.

Again.

Two more inches.

He managed to free his left arm and put both hands on the steering wheel and pushed hard against it. His left leg moved farther along the seat.

One more heave.

McCall could not hear her breathing or moving. He felt exposed, as if he was no longer inside the jeep, which he knew he was. He opened his eyes further, swimming up through the layers of hurt toward a light just out of his reach. It was not bright, but it beckoned him.

He opened his eyes fully.

Half of the UAZ jeep had been torn away by the tree trunk. The driver's door had been thrown to the ground, most of the windshield was buckled and the left-hand front-side of the vehicle was crushed. The roof had been torn off completely. Blood streamed down the left-hand side of McCall's face. He was able to raise his right hand and wipe it away. He twisted in the crumpled front seat and looked at the back. It was caved in. From this angle there was no sign of Serena at all.

He smelled fuel leaking.

One spark would do it.

He looked down at his trapped left leg. It was almost free of the bent steering wheel. He put both hands onto the seat and heaved again.

His leg came free.

Pain immediately shot through it. McCall started taking deep breaths to help absorb it. There was no way for him to climb into the back. It was too mangled. The Kedr submachine gun lay on the passenger-seat floor. He leaned down and scooped it up. He pulled himself through the jagged space where the driver's door had been. He fell onto the ground. It was cold. Vestiges of snow clung to it. He pulled himself up and leaned against the wreckage for just a moment.

Listening hard.

Now he heard the sounds of pursuit through the forest. A truck engine. Some crashing through the undergrowth. Muffled shouts. They were all pretty far away to the west.

McCall set down the submachine gun and staggered to the back of the jeep. He was afraid of what he was going to see. But Serena was still below the seats where she'd wedged herself before the back window had been blown out. There was a shroud of glass over her. She was moaning softly now, moving a little, trying to pull herself up. Unlike him, she didn't seem to be trapped by any of the protruding wreckage, but she couldn't get out on her own. She didn't have the strength.

McCall reached down and caught her fluttering left hand. He pulled her up … slowly, so slowly.…

And then the direction of the pursuit changed.

It was coming closer.

McCall put his left hand under her right shoulder and heaved up.

She came up into his arms with a cry and no farther.

Her foot was trapped by the crushed front seat.

McCall leaned farther down while she lay awkwardly across the mangled backseat. He found her foot. It was bloody and twisted in the wreckage. Gently he turned it one way. She gasped, but stifled her cry. He turned it the other way. It gave a little. He turned it a little more and heaved up.

Nothing doing.

The sounds of pursuit were closer.

McCall tried again.

One last heave.

Her foot came away.

He straightened, caught her body, and lifted her out of the wreckage. Both of them stumbled and fell heavily to the sodden ground. They lay there gasping in deep breaths of the frigid night air. McCall pulled himself to his knees beside her and ran his hands over her arms and legs. No broken bones. He felt her ribs on both sides. He didn't find any breaks. Her sides were swollen; there might be internal bleeding, but there was nothing he could do about that.

She turned her head and looked up at him.

There was fire in her eyes.

“I'm all right.”

McCall got up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to her feet. She swayed, but stayed on them.

There was more muffled shouting from their left.

Much closer.

“Can you walk?” McCall asked her.

“I'll have to.”

“I can carry you.”

“I can walk.”

She shivered violently. He picked up the Kedr submachine gun, thrust it into one of the big pockets in Gredenko's overcoat, took it off, and put it around her.

“It'll be a little heavy with the sub in it.”

She nodded. That's okay. The bottom of the coat dragged on the ground. He put an arm around her shoulders. They ran toward the shelter of the trees.

They got twenty yards.

Behind them the UAZ exploded in a fiery rage.

The blast knocked them both to the ground.

Heat blazed across the back of McCall's head. There were fiery cinders tossed into the air along with the drifting snow. Some of them sprayed through Serena's hair. McCall rubbed them out and dragged her up to her feet.

She was shaking.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

He took hold of her hand.

That explosion will bring them right to us,
he thought.

They ran into the trees. Moonlight speared down through the branches, some of it reaching the forest floor. There was enough radiance to see where they were going—just. The ground was treacherous, covered with a layer of snow that disguised the tangles of vines and protruding rocks. They continuously stumbled, McCall holding Serena up. A light snow began to fall again, big heavy flakes lazily swirling among the trees, heading with no urgency toward the ground. The muted shouts had diminished, but McCall knew that was illusionary. The wind had risen, blowing the fat snowflakes around, soughing through the closely packed trees. It was masking the sounds of pursuit.