Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [114]
* * *
“We’ll take the stairs,” Ivana said to her father. “The elevator is too unpredictable.”
Sasha grunted his agreement and led the way up the stairs, his daughter immediately behind him.
* * *
Jeff paused at the open door just inside the entrance, assuming this was the concierge, or whatever it was the Russians called the downstairs occupant. He reasoned whoever it was likely served as some sort of spy for the police, especially for matters out of the ordinary or involving foreigners.
Beside him, Daryl shook her head and pointed to the elevator. She tugged his sleeve and headed toward the doors. At the elevator, she punched the button; the doors crept open, as if they had been waiting for them. They stepped in and pushed the button for the third floor.
“No need to bother anyone,” she said to Jeff quietly. “Besides, the concierge might call ahead, and we wouldn’t want that.”
“You’re right. There’s a lot to this secret-agent stuff. I wonder if there’s a book I can access online?”
Daryl rolled her eyes.
* * *
Once the handle turned and the door opened even a crack, Manfield kicked it as hard as he could. The door struck the footrests of the wheelchair and bounced back at him, nearly slamming shut. Manfield threw his body against the door, pushing it and the wheelchair back until the door was open all the way.
State Security! Vladimir thought, frozen in place. He sat wide-eyed then reached for the wheels of his chair as if meaning to move. Before he could speak, Manfield pressed the muzzle of the gun against the young man’s chest and fired once.
Vladimir let out a sound as if he’d been punched hard in the chest. His mouth opened to cry out but no sound came.
There’d been no silencer, which had distressed Manfield, so this was the best he could do. Pressing the barrel of the gun against the body had muffled the sound of the single shot, but not the way a silencer would have.
With his foot Manfield closed the door behind him, shoving the dying man and his chair aside, and made his way to the computers, noting at once the large open space in the middle. One of them had been moved. He spotted the boxes and realized that the man had been moving.
The way this had played out, Manfield didn’t have much time. The Russian neighbors might mind their own business and ignore the muffled shot, but someone could just as well call the police militia. He had to work quickly.
Manfield seized the first computer tower and yanked at it, struggling to free it from its cables, trying to decide how best to disable it permanently since he couldn’t easily get at the hard drive. He looked about the room and found a heavy screwdriver. Setting the tower down, he braced it with his foot and pried the side loose. Inside were various printed boards. He jerked one out, then another. These he set on the floor and snapped into the case pieces. Taking the heavy screwdriver, he stabbed at anything inside that looked substantive.
He stood and stilled his breathing. He heard nothing. Satisfied, he turned to the next tower.
* * *
Sasha recognized a gunshot. “Stop!” he said, freezing in his tracks on the last step before the landing of the third floor.
“What was that?” Ivana asked.
“A gunshot.”
“My God! Vlad! They’ve come for him!”
Her father stepped back and reached for his daughter. He was unarmed; neither of them could do anything about what was happening in the apartment. His concern was for her safety.
Ivana tore from his grasp and bolted up the last step onto the landing. “Ivana! No!” her father cried. “Stop!”
Instead, the young woman ran to the door and pushed it fully open. A man across the room was struggling with the computer, but what drew her eyes was Vladimir’s lifeless body, slumped to the side in his wheelchair, a large patch of blood spreading across his chest,