The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [161]
They ran for the Jaguar, Henning pulling Stevie, Stevie still holding Anya by the wrist. Fortunately Henning had insisted the car be left outdoors, under a cover, despite the frost and snow.
Stevie heard boots hit ice—men were running out of the hotel entrance. Dragoman’s men. They were carrying torches and guns. It wouldn’t be long before the three of them were found and the men wouldn’t be asking questions. Thank goodness for the helicopter—it had drawn their attention.
Obviously not one of theirs then, thought Stevie.
The fugitives stayed crouching by the parked car, Henning pulling the cover off, ready for a quick getaway.
‘Can we get in, Henning? Anya’s feet must be frozen.’
‘Afraid not—these blasted bippers make a hell of a noise, and even if I use the key, the lights go on automatically. We’ll glow like a Christmas tree.’
He took off his dinner jacket and put it around Anya’s shoulders. He gave his scarf to Stevie. ‘Wrap her feet in this.’
The helicopter was still hovering centimetres off the ground when the door opened and four men in black fatigues and heavy boots leapt out. In the semi-darkness, Stevie saw the clear outline of assault rifles.
Beside her, Henning muttered in a low voice, ‘SR-3 “Vikhr” compact assault rifles. We’re in trouble.’
‘What do you mean? Who are they?’ Stevie’s eyes were wide.
‘Russians,’ he whispered, eyes on the running men. ‘The SR-3 is used as a concealed weapon by the FSB, VIP protection teams, and other Russian state security operatives. It’s pretty much the same size and weight as most submachine guns but it fires much more potent, armour-piercing bullets.’
Stevie looked at Henning, surprised. ‘You know a lot about guns.’
Henning grinned in the dark. ‘I have an encyclopaedia of weapons— both volumes.’
Then Stevie remembered their conversation in The Boar about criminal tattoos; she realised she knew even less about Henning than she had thought.
‘Well,’ she whispered, ‘what are they doing here?’
The first man turned to shout something, and she recognised him immediately.
Dragoman had appeared, and was now standing prudently behind his men. He obviously recognised him, too. He drew, of all things, a golden gun.
‘Orlikov,’ Henning said.
‘You don’t think they’ve come to rescue Anya, do you?’
Henning shook his head. ‘The dead man obviously had a friend that Dragoman’s men never found.’
Orlikov and his men raised their guns.
Stevie nudged Henning. ‘What’s that one? It’s much bigger than the SR-3s.’ Henning squinted in concentration. ‘It’s an AKS-74U Shorty Assault Rifle—a relative of the Kalashnikov—with a silent fire device and silent underbarrel grenade launcher. I don’t think these chaps are going to be overly concerned with collateral damage.’
Orlikov’s men took out two of Dragoman’s guards with four shots, easy as ducks. In response, there was immediately a volley of gunfire from the others; Orlikov and his men took refuge behind a Hummer parked in the lot. Bullets zinged about like fireflies in the night.
Stevie, the words ‘grenade launcher’ turning in her head, shoved Anya under the Jaguar and prayed. Dragoman now ran back inside the castle, his shadow giving covering fire. The siege had begun.
Stevie put her mouth close to Henning’s ear so he could hear her over the deafening gunfire. ‘I say we wait until the shooting’s stopped and then we make a break for it,’ she said. ‘Orlikov’s men won’t be interested in us—they don’t even know we exist.’
Henning nodded. ‘Best thing if we could create a distraction for both teams . . .’
Stevie had an idea.
Quickly stripping off the white nurse’s coat she was still wearing over her evening clothes, she crumpled it into a ball.
‘Henning, give me your lighters—all of them.’
Henning pulled three cigarette lighters from his pockets and handed them to her.
‘Stay here. I’ll be back.’
Stevie took off, crawling through the gravelly snow on her hands and knees, heading for an old Mercedes on the other side of the lot.
There was more gunfire, bullets, breaking glass.