Stepan felt his heart pounding in his chest. He was sixty-two. Artem was thirty-two. In a direct confrontation, he stood no chance.
“Where is my daughter?” he repeated.
“In the car. Sleeping. A glass of wine at the restaurant, and she passed out right at the table. The waiter helped me carry her out. Said my wife had had too much to drink. Everyone was sympathetic.” Artem smirked. “People are so trusting.”
“If you touch her…”
“What? What will you do?” Artem came closer. “You’re an old man with a bad heart. I’ve seen you clutch your chest when you think no one is looking. One blow, and it’s over. A heart attack. Very convincing.”
At that moment, the phone in Stepan’s pocket vibrated. Artem noticed.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Hands where I can see them.”
“It’s Saveliev,” Stepan said. “He knows where I am. If I don’t answer, he’ll come.”
“Let him come. I’ll be long gone. With your daughter. And believe me, you’ll never see her again.”
Stepan realized the time for talk was over. Artem wasn’t going to let him go. He had come to kill.
“You know,” Stepan said slowly, “in thirty years, I’ve caught many like you. Smart. Calculating. Convinced of their own invulnerability. And they all made one mistake. They thought they were special. That the rules didn’t apply to them.”
Artem frowned.
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m getting at the fact that you’re not as smart as you think.”
Stepan pressed the button on the phone in his pocket. The one he had set up before leaving. An emergency call. A direct line to Saveliev.
“What are you doing?” Artem stepped towards him.
“I’m giving you a chance. A last one. Tell me, where’s the car? Where’s Dasha? And maybe, just maybe, you’ll live to see a trial.”
Artem burst out laughing.
“You’re bluffing, old man. You have nothing.”
“I have your archive. The photos. The documents. Your handwriting. Your confessions.”
“Illegally obtained. No court will accept it.”
“The court might not. But the victims’ families will. Gladly. What do you think Svetlana’s brother will do when he finds out you killed his sister? That you tried to kill him too?”
For the first time, Artem hesitated.
“He died. In the crash.”
“No. He survived. You were sure he was dead. You even told Zhanna so. But he pulled through. He’s in a wheelchair now. But he’s alive. And very, very angry.”
It was true. Saveliev had found this information yesterday while checking the crash data. Svetlana’s brother, Nikolai Gritsenko, had survived, though he was left paralyzed. For two years, he had been searching for proof that the crash was staged. For two years, he had been waiting for a chance at revenge.
Artem turned pale. For the first time, his mask cracked.
“You… you wouldn’t dare.”
“I wouldn’t. But he would. And I won’t stop him.”
At that moment, the door to the stairwell opened at the end of the hall. Saveliev. Behind him, two uniformed police officers.
“Police! Drop the weapon!”
Artem spun around. In a second, his confidence vanished. He saw guns aimed at him. He saw men ready to shoot.
“Drop the knife!” Saveliev shouted. “Hands behind your head!”
Artem looked at Stepan. For the first time, fear flickered in his eyes. The real, animal fear of a cornered beast.
“This isn’t over,” he hissed.
“It is over,” Stepan replied. “For you.”
The knife clattered to the floor. A second later, Artem was on his stomach, face down. Handcuffs were being snapped onto his wrists behind his back.
“Dasha,” Stepan rushed to Saveliev. “She’s in the car. He drugged her.”
“The car’s in the underground parking,” Saveliev said. “We found it. Medics are with her now.”
“Is she… is she okay?”
