Red Square - Martin Cruz Smith [80]
Fewer cars reached the next level. Arkady saw a number of parking places and a red door at the other end of the floor. He was halfway to it when a Mercedes rose from the ramp and coasted between open slots. The car was an older model, a white chassis crazed like old ivory, with the tinny resonance of a punctured muffler. It stopped in the dark under a missing light. Arkady walked with his hand on his pocket, in the manner of a man reaching for keys. As soon as he cleared the last car, he started to trot. He should have studied German more, he thought. The sign on the red door said KEIN ZUTRITT; “No admittance,” he translated, too late. The jamb had a built-in digital lock that he fumbled with for a second before giving up and looking back for the Mercedes.
Which had vanished. But was not gone, because the walls echoed with its rheumatic tremor. Alone on this level, the sound seemed to be amplified. He could hear the knock of cylinders, the chime of a loose tailpipe. The driver had moved behind the elevator, he thought, or into one of the parking docks on the side. The docks were unlit, a good place to hide.
His return route to the emergency stairs crossed one open space where there were no pillars or parked cars to protect him. There was a different way out, down the “up” car ramp, defying the KEIN EINGANG prohibitions painted on either side. He slipped between cars and was at the head of the ramp before he realized his mistake. The white Mercedes was waiting. It had backed down the ramp to watch him.
Arkady raced the car to the stairs. He didn’t know what sounded worse, his lungs or the car behind him, although the driver seemed to be keeping pace at Arkady’s heels more than trying to run him over. At the first side dock filled by a car, Arkady dove in. The Mercedes stopped, effectively blocking the dock, and the driver got out.
On foot the odds were different. A fire extinguisher hung on the wall of the dock. Arkady lifted it from its hook and bowled it, making the driver jump in a particularly ungainly fashion. Arkady hit him on the way down. While the man tried to rise, Arkady ripped the rubber hose from the extinguisher, wrapped it around the driver’s neck and dragged him out of the dock into the light.
Even with his neck squeezed up around his chin and ears, the driver was obviously Stas. Arkady unwound the hose and Stas sagged against a wheel.
“And a good morning to you.” Stas felt his neck. “Talk about living up to your reputation.”
Arkady squatted beside him. “I’m sorry. You scared me.”
“I scared you? My God.” He swallowed in a tentative manner. “That’s what they say about Dobermans.” He gagged and felt his chest.
At first, Arkady was afraid Stas was having a heart attack until he produced a pack of cigarettes. “Got a light?”
Arkady held out a match.
Stas said, “Fuck it. Take one for yourself. Beat me up, steal my cigarettes.”
“Thanks.” Arkady accepted the offer. “Why were you following me?”
“I was watching you.” Stas cleared his throat. “You told me where you were staying. I couldn’t believe they’d bring their favorite investigator all the way from Moscow to put him up in a hole like that. I saw that weasel Federov leave and followed you to the station. I wouldn’t have kept up with you for long in the crowd, but you stopped at the phone. When I came back with the car, you were still there.”
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“You’re curious?” Arkady noticed a woman who came out of the elevator and froze, bags swaying like pendulums, at the sight of two men sitting on the floor beside a car. “Curious about what?”
Stas shifted onto a more comfortable elbow. “About a lot of things.