Red Square - Martin Cruz Smith [151]
Arkady said nothing. He felt the fact register in Ali’s mind that steam should be white. Ali moved all the way in and shut the door. His pudgy hand groped through the mist. Arkady stood on the bench so that his feet wouldn’t be visible in the light and walked around to the other side.
“Where are—”
For a moment there was nothing but the sound of water running over the rims of the fountain. Then he heard Ali lift the dead man and the suction as he pulled out the knife. With Makhmud off the glass tiles there was more light in the bath. Arkady saw Ali’s feet turn around. “Who’s here?” Ali asked.
Arkady was silent. Two more Chechens were outside the door, more at different areas around the spa, he thought. Ali had only to call. “I know you’re here,” he said.
There was a flurry in the mist, a flutter of water particles spinning as Ali slashed at steam. He was partially impeded by the fountain. Arkady tried to slide by toward the door and felt a hot line draw across his back. He retreated. Ali had also felt contact. His next move was a thrust into the wood by Arkady’s hand.
Arkady kicked out and Ali rocked. The fountain shifted, too. A hand grabbed Arkady’s foot and dragged him down onto the bench, then to the floor. Ali took a handful of hair and pulled Arkady’s head back, but the motion made him slip on the slick floor and lose the knife. Arkady heard it rattle on the far side of the bath.
They crawled over each other toward the sound. Ali had enough weight to force Arkady down and reach ahead. He got to his feet, a red Buddha rising through clouds, with the knife in his hand. It was a boning knife with a long, narrow blade. Arkady hit him. Ali slid back and came forward again. Arkady feinted another punch and Ali leaned forward to keep his momentum. When the punch didn’t come, he started to slide. He swung the knife and grabbed Arkady on the way down. They skated clumsily together for a second and landed under the fountain.
Ali heaved free and sat against the bench. He looked down, where his stomach was sliced open on a curve from his left hip to his right rib. He tried to hold his stomach together, but it was running out like a spilled cup. Ali sucked air. He couldn’t get enough to talk. He had the expression of a man who had willingly jumped from a height to find to his horror and disbelief that this time there was no safety cord. He thought Arkady was helping him up, but Arkady was taking the key chain off his wrist.
Arkady gathered his towel and slippers and left the bath. The two Chechens had moved down to the pool, though Rita was gone. He was aware he was covered in blood. He dove into the nearest sitting pool, which was frigid, and climbed out, leaving red curls unraveling in the water. He rinsed in the second, heated pool and dried himself as he went to the changing room.
Ali’s locker contained his shiny suit and a Louis Vuitton bag with a machine pistol, three clips and a Vuitton wallet fat with high-denomination Deutsche marks. Arkady dressed at normal speed and on the way down the stairs passed office workers who were hurrying up for after-hours relaxation and didn’t seem to find it unusual how badly a Russian’s clothes could fit. He returned his slippers to the cashier on the way out.
At Friedrichstrasse the garage door was still wedged open. Arkady climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. He left the lights off while he found his carry-on and changed clothes. Ali’s shoes pinched; he would have to get new ones tomorrow.
Timing was everything. If Borya heard that two bodies had been found in the bath, he’d be reassured. If he heard both were Chechen, he’d be warned. The police would put together a description of the man who had left in Ali’s suit. Beno and the other Chechens would already be looking for him.
Arkady was no expert on small arms, but he recognized the machine pistol as a Czech Skorpion, an automatic with a snout sticking out of an oversized slide. The clips held twenty rounds each, which the