Voronov laughed. “Well done, Maksim!” As Grishin anxiously searched for the source of the shot, Voronov escaped around the side of the lorry and into someone’s front garden, while Jake and Billy ran hell for leather into a small lane between the houses behind them and disappeared. When Grishin and Platonov had stopped Voronov’s car and the lorry minutes before with their own roadblock, they hadn’t noticed Maksim, who still had Voronov’s Smith and Wesson, slipping out of the Packard and behind some dustbins near the car. Voronov now moved from the garden, under cover of some bushes, to join Maksim and took possesion of the gun. Grishin meanwhile ran behind his car and was joined there moments later by Platonov, who had only been grazed by Maksim’s shot.
Merlin hurried back and knelt down behind the police Austin with Bridges. Moments later there was a shout as Maksim broke his cover. Somehow he avoided the hail of bullets from Grishin and Platonov and made it to the entrance of the lane down which Jake and Billy had escaped. He cast a brief glance back at his boss before vanishing from sight.
“Maksim, you bastard! Come back…”
“Come out, Kyril Ivanovitch. This is idiotic. You have no hope.” Merlin could see that Grishin was reloading as he shouted in Russian to the bearded man.
“Ha, Valery Grishin. I spit on you. You know I have a hundred lives. I have thwarted our great leader Comrade Stalin many times. Why not once again?”
More bullets pinged against the metal of the bins and the Packard before Voronov burst from his cover, maintaining his fire as he ran towards the lane down which the others had made their escape. Grishin needed to reload, but Platonov got off another couple of shots, one of which was successful. Voronov came to a halt, staggered a few steps, then slowly crumpled to the ground. All was silence, save for the hissing sound of the steam escaping from the Packard’s bullet-damaged radiator. After a cautious minute’s wait, Grishin slowly emerged from behind his car and walked the few yards towards the fallen body. He turned Voronov over with his foot and saw that he was still breathing. Voronov opened his eyes, coughed up some blood, and smiled up at him. Grunting with pain and effort, he reached up to grasp Grishin’s wrist. “I have enjoyed my lives, my friend.” He attempted a chuckle. “So I guess this really was my hundredth.” A stream of blood stained his beard. “Such a messy end, eh? Please give my regards to Josef Vissarionovich. I wish him pleasure of his gold.” His grasp relaxed and the great luck of which Voronov was so proud finally ran out.
*
After some to’ing and fro’ing with the A.C., who had had to consult several lofty civil servants, Merlin had arranged for the lorry’s contents to be deposited that evening in the vaults of the Bank of England. Grishin had ranted and raved at him in Hampstead and followed him to Scotland Yard, insisting that the gold was Russian property and should be entrusted to his care. The Russians had made representations to the Foreign Office, the Treasury and the Prime Minister’s Office, all to no avail.
Miro Kubicki was recovering from his concussion at the Hampstead General Hospital and hadn’t yet been questioned. The Countess was still distraught and in no fit state for interrogation. The second dead man at the original hijacking scene had been identified by papers on his body as Misha Trubetskoi, Voronov’s business partner and partner in crime.
Robinson had been kind enough to make Merlin a hot chocolate, which he was now enjoying in his office as his cuckoo clock sounded to tell him it was midnight. He hoped the exact story of what had happened in Hampstead that afternoon would become clearer tomorrow. He was doodling with a pencil on the blotting pad on his desk and found himself writing down the name of Kilinski. A lot had happened, but would any of it lead them any closer to Kilinski’s killer? The night’s bombing seemed to have subsided. He shut his eyes. Best to give my brain a rest until the morning, he thought.
Chapter 17
Wednesday, September 18