8
Charlie wrapped the batch of paper in a plastic bag. ‘Every page is numbered, mate, there’s a signature block on the last one, and anything that’s been crossed out has been initialled. I reckon it’s a statement.’
‘So who were Red Eyes and Stubbly?’
‘F*ck it, who cares? Let’s just dump the gear and get out of here.’
‘You got any rounds left?’
He pulled the pistol from under his thigh and pressed the magazine release on the left of the grip. ‘Two in here.’ He pulled back the top slide. ‘One in the chamber.’ He let the slide go again, replaced the mag, set the safety catch and passed it to me. ‘That’s made ready, safety on.’
I double-checked the safety catch before shoving the pistol down the front of my jeans and the plastic bag into my bomber pocket. As I got out of the Audi I gave myself the once-over. We still had to make it back to the hotel tonight, and pass muster with the night staff. Even in Tbilisi, they didn’t like their guests covered in other people’s blood.
I pulled out my phone and switched it on. ‘I’ll call when I’m done. If you see any dramas coming in, just give us a call, OK?’
Charlie nodded as he slid into the driver’s seat. His job was to keep the trigger on the entrance.
‘I’ll need your torch as well.’
He handed it over.
‘See you in a bit.’ I headed straight for the open gate. There was no time to lurk about in the shadows. It was just a case of straight in, get it done, and back to the hotel before first light.
I checked the phone for a signal as I hit the main path between the burial plots. The glow from the petrol station was doing its best to bathe everything – headstones, benches, tree trunks – in BP green. I had no complaints; it meant I could see where I was going.
Acar drove past the entrance, sounding like its exhaust was bouncing along the road behind it. Apart from that it was quiet. Even the knitting circle had called it a day.
My marker bin loomed out of the shadows. The four guys on Tengiz’s headstone were still gazing at the heavens. I couldn’t make up my mind whether they were doing it out of sheer admiration, or just waiting for an answer that never came. I shone the beam along the wrought-iron fence to get my bearings, and then picked out the bench. I moved across the plot and tried to slide the top slab away from the base. I only needed a one-inch gap, but this was one chunk of marble that looked as though it wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
I bent down and gave it a second shove, this time with my shoulder. There was a low, grinding noise as it moved, and a quick flash of the torch confirmed I had the gap I needed. In went the bag of papers, the torch went back in my pocket, and I started to pull back the slab.
There was a crunch of feet on gravel behind me.
I spun round. A figure closed in on me, arms raised, blocking out every shred of ambient light. This boy was huge.
I stepped to my left as the arm came down, trying to check it in mid-stride. I was lucky. Steel clattered against stone as something very unfriendly fell from his hands.
I grabbed the bottom of my bomber jacket with my left hand and pulled it up, trying to grab the pistol grip with my right. But he was ahead of me. He yelled and lunged, hands the size of grappling irons gripping my arms and trying to wrench them from their sockets. I stumbled backwards over the low fence and we crashed onto the pathway.
My shoulder hit the kerb and my attacker fell on top of me, crushing the air from my lungs. I arched my back, kicking, bucking, struggling to get my hands down, trying to get him away from me so I could draw down.
The top of his head pushed hard against my chin. My teeth weren’t clenched and I bit my tongue.
Eighteen, maybe nineteen stone of him pressed down on me, keeping my arms pinioned above my head.
‘Charlie!’
I could feel the blood spurting from my mouth as I shouted. I bucked and kicked, but his body was still moulded to mine, pressing against the weapon.
‘CHARLIE!’
He let go of my arms and decided to throttle me instead. Massive fingers closed around my throat and I felt his saliva spray across my face as he strained to push my Adam’s apple out through the back of my neck. My head felt like it was going to explode.
There was nothing I could do but kick and writhe like a madman. I managed to get my hands round his neck as well, but his muscles simply tensed like steel hawsers under my fingers. I shifted them down to grip the lapels of his jacket, using them as leverage to dig my thumbs into the soft, fleshy area between the collar bones, at the base of his throat.
He was going to have to use his hands to deal with mine. If he didn’t, he’d choke to death. Unless I did first.
My face swelled to bursting point under the pressure of his grip.
He pushed down his chin, tensing his neck even more. F*ck, he was big. His stubble took two layers of skin off my hands.
My head pumped, my eyes blurred.
I dug harder and he lifted his head.
His hair flicked against my face. I felt his bristles rasp across my cheek and smelt his sourly alcoholic breath. I knew he was going to try and finish this with his teeth.