Once they were driving he said to JJ, “You speak Russian?”
JJ glanced away from the road enough to shake his head. He’d already gotten the impression the guy’s English was limited, so by pretending not to speak any Russian he could keep the conversation to a minimum.
Sure enough the Russian didn’t speak again for a while. JJ drove a few miles more before turning onto a smaller road and turning again farther on, this time onto a single-lane track with passing points, the woods pressing up against each side, already darkening though the sky above was still blue.
After turning onto the track JJ said, “Holden’s in a cabin, you know, for hunting?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“He has two guards. CIA.” He could see the other guy nod from the corner of his eye but could sense his caution stepping up a gear too, his eyes constantly scanning the road ahead of them.
At least until then it would have been a hard one for the Russian to call. He’d been sitting it out in the middle of nowhere, not knowing where Holden was, waiting for information to come through, and then JJ had shown up pressing all the right buttons, giving no reason to suggest he wasn’t on the level.
And if JJ had been there to hit him he’d have done it at the motel, not taken him to the woods to do it. JJ wasn’t doing it for normal reasons though, and now it seemed that possibility was becoming real to the Russian. He kept his calm but said, “I think this partnership is good. You know Berg is very powerful man.”
“More powerful now,” said JJ.
“More powerful, yes. Together is much stronger.” He paused for a second before adding, “You know Mikhail Sergeyevich?”
JJ shook his head and said, “I’ve heard a lot about him,” kicking himself mentally as he said it, realizing how obvious it was for the Russian to throw up a false name.
He responded with silence, a couple of seconds only, but JJ could almost feel the Russian psyching himself up for the right moment. He’d blown it, was angry with himself, but when the Russian moved it was the wrong move, a twitch of the hand before going for his gun; a body blow first would have been smarter.
As he saw the movement JJ released the guy’s seat belt and hit the brakes hard; old tricks always worked best. They weren’t going fast, but the Russian slammed forward, his head hitting the dash, JJ feeling his own belt crunching against his chest. He released himself, giving the guy a hard drum-shuddering smack to the ear, pushing his hand under his body then and pulling the gun he’d been trying to reach for himself.
It took a couple of seconds, the guy not even finding time for an instinctive physical retaliation before realizing his own gun was pressing under the side of his jaw.
JJ was still catching his own breath but wasting no time he shouted, “Open the door!” He repeated it, pushing the gun hard into the guy until he did it, then shouted again, “Out, out,” coaxing him with the barrel like before.
By the time JJ got out of the car the Russian was already running into the woods but he was disoriented and clumsy from the couple of blows he’d taken. JJ jogged after him through the bracken, almost catching him before the guy stumbled anyway, crashing down among the foliage, lost for a second in the gloom. Not realizing JJ was above him, he scrambled awkwardly to his feet, JJ waiting till he was halfway up before shoving him back onto his knees and pushing the gun into his face.
The guy was delirious, putting up no resistance now as JJ grabbed his face and forced the barrel into his mouth, the metal scraping and clattering against his teeth. JJ used the gun to lever his head back then, the guy squealing with realization in the moment before JJ pulled the trigger, the bullet kicking him away to the ground, the crack of the gunshot tearing a hole through the forest calm.
It took a few seconds for the sound to die away, the forest flooding back over it then and, a few moments later, the call of a bird in the distance, the sound harsh, menacing. Around him though there was an intense peacefulness, JJ not wanting to move for a while, wanting to remain there in the blanketing twilight, a druglike stupor in the smell and feel of the air, the violence of the last moments already lost.