It all happened very fast. Kowalski, Kubicki and the two cockneys stood transfixed by the scene for a moment, unaware of the sudden arrival of Voronov, who darted forward with impressive speed for a man of his bulk and clubbed Kubicki over the head with his Tokarev pistol. Kubicki groaned and fell to his knees before sliding slowly down the grille of the lorry. Kowalski was still too dazed even to be aware of the danger he was in. He knelt down to close the Count’s eyes, oblivious to the gun in Voronov’s hand that was trained on him. Voronov also knelt down, maintaining his gaze on Kowalski, and touched Trubetskoi’s hand. He muttered a few inaudible words in Russian to his dead compatriot then stood up to face Kowalski. His face was distorted with fury and he kicked Kubicki’s inert but breathing body savagely. His voice as he spoke to Kowalski in fluent Polish, however, was measured and even.
“You had better come with us. Your foolish friend has caused the completely unnecessary deaths of the Count and my good friend. I should kill you both for that, but…” He waved his free hand in the air and shouted over his shoulder in Russian. “Maksim. Bring the magnum and load this gentleman into the car.” Maksim appeared, gun in hand, and grabbed Kowalski by the arm as Voronov instructed Jake and Billy to drag the unconscious Miro and follow Maksim. Voronov told them that he would remain by the lorry covering them.
Maksim was just about to open one of the car doors for Kowalski when a young woman in a nanny’s uniform appeared at the gate of a house a few yards further down from where the lorry had pulled over. As she turned to close the gate behind her she saw the scene for the first time – the dead men, Miro’s unconscious body, the blood, the guns. She screamed in terror. Maksim, Jake and Billy looked back in confusion at Voronov, who was walking over to the woman and in that instant Kowalski took his chance and bolted. He ran as fast as he could along the edge of the pavement, which was bordered in the most part by thick hedges, hoping desperately they would provide some protection from his pursuers. There was the crack of a gun report and he heard the bullet whistle inches above his head. He ran another twenty yards then stopped and hid behind a tree. Hearing the sound of squealing tyres he poked his head out and looked back to see Voronov’s saloon accelerating away with the lorry following behind.
*
Merlin and his team arrived a little later than intended because they had had to divert around a bomb-crater just outside the Lord’s cricket ground. As they pulled up, they saw the Countess standing rigidly outside her front door, staring hard into the distance, as if looking for something. A number of men who looked like workmen stood around her, seeming equally confused. Then Merlin heard a cracking noise, and another. “Was that what I think it was, Sergeant?”
“Sounded like gunshots, sir.”
One of the workmen pointed at the next road junction and shouted something about a lorry. The Countess turned slowly to look at him, her hands clenched tightly together in front of her, and shouted her husband’s name. “Adam!”
Merlin got back in the car and Bridges took off, taking the first turning down Snowdon Drive in search of the source of the shots. At the end of the road, Bridges paused briefly until Merlin directed him to the right. “There. Be careful.” The stolen Austin remained where it had stopped, pulled in at right angles to the kerb. There were no other vehicles in sight. “Approach carefully, Sam.”
Merlin could see three motionless figures, two in the road near the car and one on the pavement a few yards away. “You’d better stay in the car, Constable.”
“Certainly not, sir.”
Merlin decided to ignore Robinson’s insubordination. “Very well, but stay close to me.”
Bridges walked over and knelt down to look at the first of the bodies in the road. “The Count, sir. Looks like he’s had it.” A thin stream of red liquid trickled from the corner of Tarkowski’s mouth as he lay, his head face up, in the blood-soaked gutter.
“This one’s alive.” Robinson knelt by the man on the pavement who was wearing a Polish Air Force uniform. While the back of his head sported a very ugly-looking bloody wound, his eyelids were fluttering. Merlin knelt down beside her. “Why it’s Jan’s friend Kubicki. What the hell is he doing here?”
Bridges turned to the final body. “This one’s dead too, sir. Both men killed with a bullet in the skull.” Bridges stood up and told Robinson to find a police box to call for an ambulance. “I saw one around the corner.” Merlin looked down at the second corpse. “Who’s this then?” Strands of red hair hung over Trubetskoi’s sightless eyes, which seemed to stare up at him in amused surprise. The face looked Slavic to him.