I shot across the tram tracks, cutting a corner. The Niva was jolted so hard our teeth chattered. The SUV, a heavy and clumsy Land Cruiser, got stuck on the rails, spinning its wheels in the slush. That gave us a lead. Three minutes. No more.
“Dad, you’re bleeding!” Nadya said.
I ran a hand over my forehead. I had cut it on the sun visor during the jump. Nothing serious. We weaved through the side streets.
“Nadya, listen to me carefully,” I said, watching the road. “In the glove compartment, there’s an old phone. A Nokia. It has a different SIM card, a burner. I bought it for the dacha. Take it. Call Uncle Gena.”
“What Gena?”
“Gennady Viktorovich. My old colleague. He’s the head of security at a firm now. Tell him the password: ‘Sirius.’ He’ll understand. Tell him where we are. Tell him to meet us.”
Nadya’s trembling fingers rummaged in the glove compartment.
“Found it. The number?”
I dictated the number from memory. The line was ringing.
“Hello. Uncle Gena? This is Nadya Astakhova. Dad said ‘Sirius.’ Yes. We’re on the Ring Road, near Sviatoshyno. We have a tail. A black Land Cruiser. Yes, I understand.” She lowered the phone. “He said to go to the old airfield. To the hangars. His guys are there.”
The old airfield. A wasteland, now built up with new buildings, but there were still secluded corners. I nodded.
The SUV appeared in the mirrors again. It was gaining. The powerful Toyota engine against my eighty horsepower. On a straight road, I had no chance. But in the labyrinth of construction sites…
I turned into the territory of some construction site. The barrier was up—the guard in the booth was asleep. We sped between concrete slabs and stacks of rebar. The SUV roared behind us, blinding with its high beams.
“He’s going to ram us!” Nadya screamed.
A hit to the rear bumper. The Niva was thrown sideways. I caught the car. Straightened it out. Another hit. Harder. My head snapped, my neck cracked. Ahead was a dead end. A concrete fence.
“That’s it, we’re done,” Nadya whispered.
The SUV stopped behind us, blocking the exit. The doors opened. Vitalik and the two thugs got out slowly. They were holding something dark. Guns? Or just bats?
“Well, heroes, the movie’s over!” Vitalik shouted. “Get out!”
I looked at Nadya.
“Stay here. Don’t get out until I say so.”
“Dad, no!”
“Stay!”
I opened the door. I got out. I stood in front of the car, shielding my daughter. In my hand, I clutched the same pocketknife I had used to open the bag. A ridiculous weapon against three men, but I wasn’t going to surrender.
Vitalik came closer. His face was contorted with rage.
“You scratched my car, you old scum!” he hissed. “I’m going to cut you into pieces now. Slowly!”
“Try it,” I said.
They moved towards me. And then—light. A bright, blinding light hit them from behind. From above, from the roof of an unfinished hangar, and from the sides, from behind stacks of slabs, engines roared. Three black vans without license plates emerged from the darkness. They surrounded the SUV and us. Men in camouflage and masks poured out of the vans. Without any talk, harshly, professionally.
“Face down! Special forces! Weapons on the ground!”
Vitalik froze. The crowbar fell from his hands. He turned so pale he was visible in the dark. The thugs were subdued in a second. Vitalik was forced face down into the snow, his arms twisted behind his back.
“Aaargh, it hurts! Who are you? I’m going to file a complaint!” he squealed…
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