Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [119]
Ivana was still talking to her mother, the words coming out between sobs. Daryl, who was standing beside her, looked to Jeff as if to say, Be patient.
Jeff thought for a moment. Were they safe? Did the killer know about this place? Had they been followed? The way the young Russian had driven it didn’t seem likely, but he couldn’t be certain. What he wanted, desperately, was for him and Daryl to be gone, out of Moscow, out of Russia, home, in America.
In the hallway he heard loud voices.
* * *
Manfield was moving steadily down the hallway when he heard the group get off the elevator, laughing loudly at some joke. He turned to see them clearly.
There were five men, out to celebrate from appearances. Two were holding bottles of vodka by the neck as if wringing a chicken. Others had unopened bottles tucked into the pockets of their jackets. Three of the men wore old army field coats. Veterans.
Manfield hesitated, then decided to stall until they had entered an apartment. He knelt as if to tie a shoelace.
* * *
Ivana took the cell phone from her ear and turned it off. “Neighbors are with my mother. She already knew. She thought I was dead, too, so I’m glad I called. I must go.”
“We have to go too,” Daryl said.
Ivana opened the door, then reached for the light switch. Outside, a group of men she’d seen before in the building were approaching, laughing boisterously. She stepped into the hallway, then to the side so Daryl and Jeff could leave the apartment.
At that moment Ivana spotted Manfield behind the men, moving slowly toward her, his piercing blue eyes glued to her. She started to speak, but nothing came out. Daryl and Jeff moved into the hallway, which was suddenly crowded as the drunken men reached the doorway. One eyed Ivana and Daryl appreciatively. One said something in Russian.
Jeff followed Ivana’s gaze and spotted Manfield. “Run!” he shouted. He turned to his right, pulling Daryl with him, but came up against one of the revelers, who took offense. Pushing Jeff hard against the wall, he spoke in an angry, guttural voice, smelling heavily of vodka, his eyes bloodshot and watery.
Ivana was petrified. She could not take her eyes away from the man who had murdered her husband and her father. She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her and her unborn child.
Manfield was still moving slowly toward her, waiting for the group of men to move and give him a clear shot. Then he heard the American call out and saw the pushing match with one of the Russians. He didn’t want to shoot, didn’t want a massacre, since that would only heighten the militia’s attention, but there was no choice. He raised the pistol and aimed at Ivana.
A second Russian had joined in and shoved Jeff hard too. The external drive clattered to the hallway floor. Daryl was trying desperately to separate the men, explaining in English that it was all a misunderstanding, that they had to stop this and leave them alone.
The moment Manfield fired, the men moved as a group and bumped into Ivana, who went down. The sound of the pistol in the hallway was deafening. The men turned toward the sound and spotted the weapon. Ivana was on the floor, masked from Manfield by a forest of legs.
Those holding Jeff turned their drunken attention to the shooter. Amazingly, Daryl thought, not one of them ran or even moved as if to run. Instead, angry and growling, as a single body they advanced on the man with the gun, shouting accusations in Russian. She turned to Jeff, who crumbled to the floor.
“The drive,” he gasped. “Get the—”
Instead, Daryl tried to pull him up and away from the group, away from danger.
On the floor, Ivana held her hand to her head, feeling a sharp pain, trying to stop the flow of blood that was streaming from her temple. She staggered to her feet, her free hand finding the external drive. She grabbed it as she stood up, swaying, her vision a misty pink.
The men rushed Manfield. For an instant he