Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [116]
“He’s gone, he’s gone,” Daryl murmured, as she helped Jeff to his feet. Almost embarrassed by his near faint, Jeff shook his head hard and gave his complete attention to Daryl, who was still looking at him with great concern. “He ran down the stairs, after he shot you. And that man over there too, I think,” she said, indicating Sasha, lying splayed in the hallway.
Sasha was still breathing, but his life was draining out. At the doorway appeared a hysterical young woman, standing as if torn between two terrible choices. Jeff was holding his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. No one spoke.
Finally, the woman threw herself across the man lying in the hallway and sobbed uncontrollably, muttering words of endearment in Russian. Jeff looked into the apartment and saw a man in a wheelchair, dead. Could he be Superphreak? he thought. Or was Superphreak the dead man in the hallway?
“Vladimir Koskov?” he said.
The young woman looked up from the now dead man, as if seeing them for the first time. She said something to them in Russian, something dreadful, as if she’d uttered a curse.
Daryl answered. “We don’t speak Russian. We came to see Vladimir Koskov. We mean neither him nor you any harm. What happened here?”
The young woman switched to English. “You are not State Security?”
“No. We’re Americans. We’re looking for Mr. Koskov.”
Ivana, tears running down her face, looked into the apartment. “He is dead.” She looked at Jeff. “The man shot you? Why?”
“He tried to kill us in New York City yesterday,” Jeff said. “And now here. We don’t know why.”
The woman looked around and gathered herself. “We must leave, unless you wish to be arrested. The militia will be here any moment and they will arrest all of us. It is their way. Hurry!” She rushed toward the stairs, Jeff and Daryl following.
In the lobby, a small group had gathered. Spotting Ivana, they asked questions all at once. She rushed through them, telling Jeff and Daryl to hurry, then ran into the street. She opened the door to her car, ignoring the continued questions, and told the couple to get in. In the distance they could hear the clarion sound of a police car. They jumped in and Ivana pulled away from the curb.
* * *
Vakha saw the three pile into the car and asked, “What do I do?”
“Follow them,” Manfield said. He could not believe his good fortune. The only witness to the shooting and the couple he was to kill all in the same car. Allah was truly on his side. “And don’t lose them. This is important.”
The woman drove the Lada like a maniac, weaving down narrow streets, then breaking out of the residential blocks onto Tverskoy, heading toward the Kremlin.
* * *
“Who are you?” Ivana demanded.
“My name is Daryl Haugen. This is Jeff Aiken. We’re Americans.”
Jeff moaned beside her. The pain was suddenly much more intense. His face was pale and sweat now beaded his brow.
“You already told me that,” Ivana snapped. “You are American agents?”
“No,” Jeff said, grunting in pain. “I’m a private computer consultant.”
Daryl hesitated. “It’s complicated. I do work for a government agency, but Jeff and I are in the same line of work. I’m not an agent like you mean.” Daryl began dabbing at Jeff’s forehead with her scarf.
The car made a sudden turn to the right, shooting passed the Bolshoi Theatre. “What’s going on?” Ivana shouted. “Tell me or get out of the car!”
“We think Koskov—”
“My husband.”
“I’m sorry,” Daryl murmured, cutting her eyes toward Jeff. He nodded his agreement that Daryl should continue talking to the young woman. “But we think your husband created special viruses and sold them to very bad people. And they’ve killed him because of it. Now the same man is trying to kill us.”
“Viruses?” Ivana slowed down, but was still going faster than the rest of the traffic, as she wove back and forth between cars. Horns honked, drivers raised their fists, some cars were forced to swerve away. “I warned him about that,” she said quietly. “He was always so secretive about his work. What kind of bad people?