A Bride of Allah

Grigoriev threw a dirty look into Panteleyev’s face; a verbal chewing-out seemed inevitable, but Oleg Alexandrovich kept his cool and walked over to the witnesses. He picked a fat man with surprised expression on his face and asked him, “What did that suspicious woman look like?”

“A stupid headscarf, ugly, mean. She screamed she’d kill everyone!”

“She screamed about killing?”

“Not exactly. Something about Allah.”

“Going forward, answer precisely.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“That’s up to me to decide. So what exactly was she screaming? Try to recall the exact words.”

“She screamed ‘Allah akbar’! ” the skinny beer lover interjected.

“Yeah, that’s right,” the fat one confirmed.

Oleg Alexandrovich redirected his attention to the skinny one.

“Did she have an explosive device? A large bag or a thick belt under her clothes?”

“She did!” the witness rejoiced. “Something on her stomach. With wires sticking out.”

“Have you actually seen the wires?”

“Yes, she clutched at them. And she had an accomplice, too.”

“An accomplice?” Grigoriev frowned. “Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he look like? Can you describe him?”

At that point, the witness in a flowery shirt joined the conversation. Waiving his hands, he explained to Grigoriev, “A typical Chechen! Wild eyes! Screaming! And a trigger device in his hand.”

“Nah, he didn’t look like a Chechen,” the fat one was doubtful.

“Who is he, if not a Chechen? Those bastards blow up everything. They should all be booted out of Moscow and not let back in!”

“Well, I didn’t get a chance to look at him closely. Maybe he was a Chechen.”

“I am sure he was! Young, insolent.”

Grigoriev decided to interrupt the argument.

“Tell me about the trigger device.”

“Sir,” the precinct head interjected, “we actually picked it up at the scene.”

He handed out a plastic bag holding a smashed box half the size of a matchbox.

“Is this it?” Grigoriev asked warily, looking at the splintered pieces of plastic.

The three witnesses replied simultaneously.

“Yes.”

“That’s it.”

“He was about to blow us all up. How did we manage to stay alive?”

“Because we stood up to him.”

“Yeah, were it not for us, there would be nothing left here,” the fat one said assuredly. “Everything would be blown up.”

The precinct head could not hold his indignation and said firmly, “The act of terror was prevented by our officer. It was he who stopped the terrorist on her way into the subway. He’s here.”

Panteleyev pointed out a plain-looking sergeant holding a crumpled hat in his hands. Grigoriev was suddenly interested.

“How did it all start?”

“I was checking papers. Stopped the suspicious-looking individuals. So I wanted to check her papers, too.”

“Because she looked like she was from the Caucasus?”

“Um, yeah. She was dressed strangely, eyes shifty. I came up to her, she started screaming. I pulled the trigger from her hand, and then… then the panic started. So she disappeared.”

Oleg Alexandrovich pulled the case of the trigger device apart without taking it out of the bag. A simple design; a power source, a button, and a switch. No remote control.

“Were there two of them?”

“She had a helper,” the policeman nodded assuredly. Otherwise, I would have handled her.

“What kind of car have they driven away in?”

“I didn’t see that.”

“Have you noticed the car?” Grigoriev asked the civilian witnesses.

“No, we haven’t.”

“Everyone was lying face down. There could be an explosion.”

“The Chechen and the Shahid woman ran over there, behind the kiosks,” the guy in the flowered shirt said.

Grigoriev turned to Panteleyev.

“If the presence of an explosive device is confirmed, our office will take over the case. Get the witnesses and the officer to our office for some Identikit work. And have your people canvass the area. Someone might have seen something coming home from work or looking out the window. In other words, the usual. Got it? Any additional information, contact me directly at this number.”

The colonel took a business card from the breast pocked of his impeccable suit.

“We’re working on this already,” Panteleyev replied uncertainly, putting away the card without looking at it. He looked unhappy, staring into the asphalt under his feet. It was clear that the head of the precinct didn’t like being ordered around by the feds.

“That’s good,” Grigoriev smiled condescendingly. “When you’re done, report.”

Oleg Alexandrovich noticed first lieutenant Burkov standing nearby in a tense pose and took him aside.

“What have you got?”

“Broad strokes, Oleg Alexandrovich, it’s like this. There was a Shahid woman, her bomb didn’t go off, and her accomplice helped her escape.”

“Broad strokes I already know myself. Give me the details! What kind of car did they have?”

Burkov, guilty expression on his face, spread his hands. “None of the merchants had seen the escape car. They’re scared out of their minds, some are in shock.”

“Bad business, Yuri,” Grigoriev signed.

Burkov took out a cigarette and a lighter.

“Put it away!” the colonel ordered quietly, but firmly. “You and I represent an important government organization before the ordinary citizens. By our appearance and actions, they judge the entire Service. Look at yourself. Crumpled pants, stained tie, and about to smoke. No smoking in public! Better yet, quit altogether.”

The first lieutenant crushed the cigarette in his hand, embarrassed, and started looking around for a place to toss it. The colonel reassuringly patted him on the shoulder.

“Keep the office’s image in mind. And one more thing. This is a busy place. Someone definitely saw the terrorists leave. Maybe even remembered the license plate number. Keep working the scene, and I’ll head back. Have to look at everything together. I have a feeling that those airplanes and today’s events are links in one chain. And that chain isn’t complete yet. You find out anything, call me.”

Chapter 4

August 31, 8:11 PM

Riga Overpass

Andrei Vlasov drove onto the Riga overpass and immediately found himself in a standstill traffic jam. Cars barely moved; drivers looked down, bewildered. Between the Rizhskaya metro station and the Krestovsky shopping mall, several cars were on fire. A thick column of black smoke rose up into the sky.

Andrei stuck his head out of the car’s window. Up ahead, a young woman driving a Toyota Corolla looked this way and that and kept asking, “What is this? Why are they on fire?”

“An act of terror, dammit,” a tired-looking cabbie cursed. “A bomb.”

“Maybe an engine shorted out and went up in flames?” Andrei made a guess.

“An engine fire? Are you freakin’ blind? Look at it!”

Vlasov looked and froze.

On a square in front of the metro station, people were wounded. The lightly wounded, their clothes torn, tried to help themselves and others. Some barely moved, but there were dead, too. Immobile bodies broken by explosion left no hope for an alternative outcome.

“What a nightmare,” the Corolla girl moaned, rolled up her window and tried to drive between the lanes.

Vlasov got out of the car. His eyes kept stumbling on the details of the horrible spectacle.

An elderly woman desperately tried to hold together the bloody mess that used to be her abdomen. A severed hand with fingers spread apart was lying on the sidewalk tiles.

“Look over there,” the cabbie pointed.

Andrei turned and shivered. On the roof of a pavilion, there was a woman’s head. The face, deep cuts all over it, eyes gone and mouth open, was turned towards the metro station. Long black hair got into the gaping mouth, clung to the empty eye sockets and the bloody fragments of the neck. The hair must have gotten tangled when the head rolled along the roof like a ball.

If the head is on the roof, the body… Now it was clear what the strange lumps in-between the bodies were. The soot, it seemed, smelled of burned flesh.

The cabbie wheezed. He was throwing up.

The sound of sirens made Andrei tear his eyes away from the terrifying picture. Through the standstill traffic on Prospekt Mira, multiple ambulances and fire engines made their way. He felt a little better. At least someone would get help.

Vlasov returned to his car. On the back seat, the battered girl stirred. With some difficulty, she lifted herself up, a grimace of pain on her now pale face. She saw the fire and black smoke and leaned forward. An expression of interest showed in her eyes.

“Is that a metro station?”

“Rizhskaya.”

The girl’s thick black eyebrows furrowed; she whispered grudgingly, “Zarima is already in paradise, and I…”

She looked up and around. The sight of the traffic jam seemed to somehow improve her mood. Her lacerated fingers picked up the loose wires and tried to connect them. When the naked wires touched, the girl closed her eyes happily and leaned back on the car seat.

The traffic jam started moving. Andrei drove in short bursts, looking at the girl in the rearview mirror. The smile was gone; she opened her eyes, surprised, and tried to reconnect the wires a few more times.

“It won’t detonate. The battery’s gone,” Andrei explained calmly.

The surprise in the Shahid’s eyes turned into desperation. Her narrowed eyes stared at the car’s cigarette lighter. Picking a moment when Vlasov’s attention was on the road, the girl pushed the lighter in. When it popped up, she grabbed the little cylinder with a hot spiral inside and jammed it into her belt. Her clothes began to singe.

Andrei turned to look and braked hard.

“Stupid!” He tried to pull away the hand holding the lighter.

The girl bit him on the wrist. Andrei wrestled the lighter away from her and threw it out the window. On his hand, there were bloody teeth imprints.

“What a beast! Are you tired of living?”

The girl hissed. Big dark eyes gave off lightings of fury. Her headscarf slid all the way down to her neck. She started thrashing, strands of hair falling across her open forehead.

“Hey, Shahid, calm down. You’ll wreck my car.”

The girl opened the right door and tried to get out. But the door was blocked by the bus sitting next to the car in the traffic jam. She threw herself over to the other door and pulled the handle. Andrei looked at her fruitless efforts and smirked, “Sorry, that lock’s broken.”

The girl, hysterical, attacked Andrei; screaming, she went for his throat. Her fingers pressed on with mad determination; her fingernails bit into his skin. Vlasov swiftly swung his elbow backward.

“Get away from me, you idiot! You’ve already been beaten up!”

A powerful swing hit her squarely on the head. The girl helplessly dropped back on the seat. He heard a common sniveling female weep.

Andrei rubbed his throat and glanced around. From the next car over, the fat driver smiled insolently, but approvingly.

He thinks I am manhandling my wife, Vlasov thought, irritated. A wife; what the hell! For him, there’s only one woman in the world! Only one! And this psychopath… Whatever possessed him to get involved with her?

If only she didn’t have that birthmark on her neck. Just like Sveta’s…

Chapter 5Nord OstDay One

Sveta. His darling Svetlanka. How could he forget her?

So many times he was startled by incoming calls on his cell phone. So many times he thought he heard her voice and saw her lithe figure in the street crowd. So many times the simple melody of a popular song brought him back to the day when their carefree life changed forever.

On that October evening, Andrei ambivalently watched TV. A movie was on; something about a werewolf and wolves. Actors worked hard at creating fear, indistinct howling figures and wild green eyes flashed on the screen.

His cell phone chirped an upbeat melody. Andrei, suppressed expectation in his heart, picked it up and wasn’t disappointed; it was Sveta. A few days back, they had a stupid falling out. He tried to call her several times to make up, but Sveta coldly rejected his requests to see her. But now she was calling him!

The beloved voice was unusually incoherent and worried.

“Andrei, I can’t call my mother! It’s always busy. Call her and tell her that I am okay. I just can’t get out.”

“Sveta, hi. I’m glad to hear you,” Andrei felt a happy smile widening on his face.

“Andrei, I am at Nord Ost. There are armed people and women in black masks in the theater. Looks like Chechens. They aren’t letting anyone out.”

“Nord Ost?” The beginning of the sentence blocked out the rest. Sveta was watching a musical? So she’s not alone. But not with him. “Who are you with?”

“It’s not important!” the girl shouted, irritated. “Tell Mom I am alive and well, just can’t get out of here. I don’t know when I’ll be home. That’s it, I can’t talk anymore.”

Short beeps banged into his ears like large drops of water falling into a metal bowl. Andrei blindly stared into the TV. He gradually began to understand what he just heard. Armed people in a theater! Men and women. Chechens! How did they get there? This was Moscow, not Grozny! It couldn’t be! It was unthinkable!

Was this some kind of prank?

Andrei, bewildered, kept dialing Sveta’s home number. Short beeps. Just like she said. Finally, he heard her mother’s voice.

“Hello, Polina Ivanovna. This is Andrei. Is Sveta home?”

“No, she’s off to see a play.”

“A play? Nord Ost?”

“Yes. Everyone says it’s a great musical, so she went. How come you’re not with her?”

“Um, it sort of happened that way,” Andrei mumbled. Sveta is in that theater, and that’s not a joke, he thought.

“Did you two have a fight?”

“Sveta called me and asked to tell you not to worry.”

“Why would I worry? Sveta’s a big girl. Are you not telling me something?”

“No. It’s just that she could be late.”

“With you? Does she want to stay at your place tonight?”

“I am just telling you what she asked me to. I’m home.”

“Oh, you youngsters! What are you up to? Have her call me, okay?”

“Of course; I’ll tell her. Goodbye, Polina Ivanovna.”

Andrei tried to call Sveta’s mobile. No answer.

The movie was interrupted by a news flash. The female newscaster was saying imperturbably, “It just came to our attention that in Moscow, a group of armed individuals has taken control of a theater during the showing of the Nord Ost musical. Shots were heard in the building. All spectators and performers are held hostage. Right now, the theater is surrounded by special services and police. Negotiations have started, but the terrorists’ demands are still not clear. There’s no information about casualties. Expect an update in fifteen minutes.”

Andrei, confused, lowered the hand holding the mobile phone, which he held by his ear all this time. The screen came alive again with the gloomy frames of the werewolf movie. After the shocking newscast, characters’ fears seemed ridiculous.

Andrei pushed a few buttons on the TV remote. Different channels repeated the scant information about the attack on the theater on Dubrovka.

Was it really that serious? No, it couldn’t be! Moscow was a peaceful city; there couldn’t be a large number of armed bandits. It was probably just a couple of crazy idiots with handguns; they would be easily neutralized soon enough.

In the next news update, TV was reporting live from the scene. Armed people, it was said, were numbered in dozens; they threatened to blow up the theater if the war in Chechnya is not stopped.

“Those Chechens again! Monsters, there’s no life around them,” Andrei’s mother cursed on the spur of the moment. She, in her nightgown and bathrobe, came out of her bedroom when she heard the troubling newscast. “When are they going to be over with? Praise God you’ve finished your service. I was so worried…”

The woman launched into her customary speech about how she was scared and worried while Andrei served in the army.

The scar left by a Chechen bullet on Andrei’s shoulder started itching. The old memories reminded of themselves with a chill. What must Sveta be going through? She was scared often; she was even afraid of mice. If she lost it, the terrorists would kill her in a blink of an eye. He knew what they were capable of.

He immediately thought that had he been there, everything would be different. He would calm her down and think of something. There is no such thing as a no-exit situation.

Andrei maniacally watched the news, flipping channels, and with every second, he realized more and more clearly that this wouldn’t be over soon. It would be serious business.

Late at night, he heard police sirens and looked out the window. Along Volgogradsky Prospekt, a convoy of armored vehicles and military trucks was moving downtown. The authorities must be preparing for resolution by force. In that case, there was no way to avoid casualties.

He thought it best not to think of the worst. He couldn’t wait! He had to act!

Andrei found the army dagger that he had hidden in a toolbox. The heavy handle comfortably fit into the palm of his hand; the steel blade gave off cold specks of light. Andrei put on a hooded windbreaker and unlocked the front door.

“Where are you off to?” he heard Mother’s sleepy voice.

“Sleep, I’ll be back soon,” he assured her and slipped out of the apartment.

He wanted to be with the woman he loved and he was convinced that if he couldn’t save her all by himself, he would get into the building during the breach and protect her from any danger.

The interior of the Lada, damp with the moisture of the autumn night, made a surprised squeaky noise as he plopped onto a faux leather seat. Andrei stepped on the gas and drove into the Volgogradsky. On the intersection with Melnikov Street, he hooked an illegal left and immediately faced a police cordon. He parked the car in a nearby courtyard, went around the cordon, and came up to the front of the theater.

The giant Nord Ost sign was brightly lit. Under it, bullet holes were visible in the foyer windows. The entire Dubrovka was full of cars and buses. Numerous TV crews tried to get footage, soldiers smoked by the armored vehicles, careful to stand on the protected side, policemen kept away the gawkers and tried to maintain vehicle access.

Can’t get in through the front, Vlasov thought.

Behind the theater was some kind of industrial plant. Andrei stealthily scaled the fence. He could see soldiers there as well, but it was dark, so he walked by a long wall trying to get closer to the theater. When he found a shallow pit around a basement window, he moved aside the unattached latticework and jumped into the pit. He pulled off his windbreaker and used it to press the glass in. When he was in the basement, he looked around.

It was a low-ceilinged utility basement. Pipes of different sizes with valves and taps on them came in from different sides. A big bunch of pipes went out towards the theater.

Andrei broke through the flimsy wall above the pipes. Now there was about fifty centimeters of crawl space between the pipes and the ceiling. Andrei carefully crawled on the grey pipes. Every now and then, he would flick on a cigarette lighter to look around. The pipes were hot and dusty, wrapped in wire mesh that sometimes caught on his clothes. Soon, the bunch of pipes curved and went into a wall.

Andrei carefully felt around the obstacle. Here, just as in the beginning, the wall was just a few barely cemented bricks. He could see light through the cracks. Andrei pulled out the dagger and started prying the bricks out one by one. After he removed two bricks, he saw a room with concrete walls. This had to be the theater’s basement.

He was close!

Never mind if he’s found, he thought. They’d think he was a theater employee hiding in the building and put him with the hostages. The important thing was to be close to Sveta.

Suddenly, one of the bricks slammed into the floor. There was the sound of footsteps in the room. Andrei held his breath.

The man in the basement didn’t think long. A handgun appeared in the opening above the pipes. Its barrel was pointed at Vlasov.

Without thinking, Andrei stabbed the hand. There was a scream, then furious cursing. Vlasov picked up the dropped handgun and quickly crawled backwards. When he was behind the curve, a burst of machine gun fire erupted above the pipes. The banging was unbearably loud. Andrei curled into a donut, shielded his face, and felt tiny shards of concrete bite into his clothes.

When the shooting was over, he heard the hissing of water. Up ahead, hot water sprang out. The crawl space was quickly filling with steam. It looked like the machine gun fire damaged one of the pipes.

The return trip took much longer. Andrei had to crawl feet first, because there was no room to turn around.

Vlasov waited until gloomy morning and exited the plant pretending to be one of its workers.

Chapter 6

August 31, 8:26 PM

Vlasov’s Car

After he got out of the traffic jam on the Riga overpass, Andrei Vlasov made a fortuitously easy dash along the third belt road and turned off into Volgogradsky Prospekt. Music on the radio suddenly stopped; it was urgent news. A fast-talking female voice said, “News flash. Twenty minutes ago, there was an explosion in Moscow, at the Rizhskaya metro station. There are dead and wounded. Their numbers are still being ascertained. The city’s emergency services are conducting rescue work. One theory is that the explosion was set off by a female suicide bomber. To remind, a few days ago, female terrorists calling themselves Shahids blew up two passenger airplanes departing from the Domodedovo airport. About hundred people died. According to the law enforcement authorities, there were four Shahid women deployed in Moscow to conduct acts of terror. If that’s the case, another explosion is to be expected soon, for the fourth suicide bomber is still at large.”

The newscaster caught her breath; there was the sound of shuffling paper.

“We have just received new information. Near the Dmitrovskaya metro station, an unidentified woman attempted to detonate an explosive device. Police officers intervened. There was no explosion, but the terrorist managed to escape. Her description has been sent out to all police stations. Moscow’s law enforcement is working extended shifts. Stay with us; we’ll keep you posted on any developments.”

At the mention of police officers preventing the explosion, Vlasov smirked. The girl in the back seat quieted down and listened intently. Andrei glanced at her. Looking scared, her whole body curled into a ball, tangled hair, ridiculous clothes. And that stupid headscarf to top it off. A scarecrow, really.

“Hey, scarecrow! Does it feel good to be in the news?”

The girl kept quiet.

“Are you Chechen?”

She shot him a glance. But the rage was gone quickly. She was too weak for rage.

“You don’t have to answer. I can see you are. And don’t you cast lightning with your eyes. I know how much you people love us. Just as much as I love you.”

They rode in silence until the turn to Lyublinskaya Street. Near the Tekstil’schiki metro station, Andrei pulled over. Out the window, there was the usual throng of people between the subway station exit and bus stops. Only police presence was much heavier.

“Get out, you wanted to,” Vlasov waved his hand toward the station.

The girl curled even tighter, trying to hid behind the car door. Her eyes stared at the uniforms near the station.

“Get out, I said!” Andrei raised his voice. “Get away from me!”

The shouting worked like a strike of a whip. She straightened up, there was determination in her eyes.

“I have to be in heaven. I am a bride of Allah. Get me a battery.”

“A battery? To you? What a bitch!” Andrei flared up.

He made a fist and punched himself on a thigh.

The Lada jerked forward running a red light over a pedestrian crossing. Andrei sped along Lyublinskaya Street; the girl was mumbling non-stop, “I want to go to paradise, I can’t live anymore. I must die and go to paradise. Zarima, Mareta, and Yahita are there already. They are well. Get me a battery. I can’t live here! Get me a battery, I’ll take some infidels with me, and Allah will reward me for my suffering. I want to go to paradise!”