A Bride of Allah

“And right away, you dragged her home? A brave one. But she looks strange.”

“She’s sick.”

“Not in the head, accidentally?”

“Haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Wow! What’s her name?”

“Aiza,” Andrei signed calling out the unusual name.

“So she’s not Russian after all; I thought so! She’s not Chechen, is she? She looks like one!”

“So what if she is?” Vlasov flared up. “What do you care?”

“I can’t stand them, you know.”

“Who? Girls?”

“Of course not! The nosy Caucasians.”

“While working for Armenians?”

“I am a delivery driver. What am I to do if they took over the vodka business?”

“Find a job delivering sausages.”

“The best sausage is vodka. It feels you up and makes you happy. And Armenians aren’t like Chechens or Azeris. But I don’t like them, either. And I take my revenge on them! In my own way. They suffer!” He flicked on the bottle. “I get by.”

“You’re stealing?”

“Not from the government; only from the Armenians. May they rot in hell!”

“And if your company gets bought by Russians tomorrow, will you stop pilfering?”

“Let it go, okay? I don’t bring home swarthy women.”

“And I just did! Okay, let’s have another drink.”

“That’s better.”

Vityok tossed back another one, leaned forward, and squinted, “Have you forgotten how you wanted to kill all Chechen women? It wasn’t that long ago. Back when the Nord Ost thing went down. You even asked me for an address. Remember? For the first victim.”

Vlasov slowly wiped his moist lips with a palm of his hand; he dropped his head onto his interlocked fists. Little knots of muscles bulged on his wrists. While in service, he realized a terrifying truth: killing people is not very difficult.

One can actually get used to it.

Chapter 16Nord OstDay Two, Afternoon

I have to avenge! They killed, and so must I! I’ll kill! Vlasov kept telling himself on his way home.

He didn’t remember coming home from the theater held by terrorists after leaving a threatening note on the TV van. In his empty head, only one thought rolled around ringing like a steel ball, They’ve killed Sveta! I’ll avenge her! I’ll avenge!

His eyes saw the number on his apartment door, but the hand holding the keys went back into his pocket. His hard-to-control body rocked hesitantly and turned to the neighbor’s door. His tense finger kept pressing the doorbell button even after the door opened.

Viktor Chervyakov, the neighbor, looked at Andrei hardly recognizing him. His buddy’s dull eyes, it seemed, looked inward; his stooping figure oozed cold like a stone statue. Chervyakov’s hand took Vlasov’s wrist and pulled the petrified hand off the doorbell button.

“Are you crazy?”

Vlasov’s eyes lost some of their sticky dullness; he recognized his neighbor and gloomily came closer. His hand grabbed at the shirt on Viktor’s chest; his sunken stubbly cheekbones started moving nervously.

“Where is she? Where is that bitch?”

“Who? You really need to sleep it off.”

“That Chechen woman. With the kids. Where is she?”

“What Chechen woman?”

“She used to live in our building.”

“Let go, will ya?”

“She was renting an apartment here. She’s been driven out after the house explosions in Moscow. You brought your truck to help her move.”

Andrei lowered his hand. Viktor straightened his shirt and flexed his neck.

“Oh, that one. She hired me all right.”

“Where is she now?”

“What do you want with her?”

Andrei suddenly exploded.

“They kill, so I will kill, too! Baraev spilled blood first! Now it’s my turn.”

“Quiet, you! Don’t yell.” Viktor stuck his head out, looked around, and pulled Andrei into the apartment. The door lock clicked. “This is serious; you can’t do it on the spur of the moment.”

He carefully looked over his neighbor, as if trying to figure something out, then asked quietly, “You want your revenge?”

“Yes,” Vlasov exhaled.

“Kill?”

Andrei nodded curtly. Viktor rubbed his hands nervously; his eyes shifted around looking for something usual and necessary.

“Come into the kitchen. Let’s talk.”

In the kitchen, Viktor took an opened bottle of vodka out of the refrigerator and poured generously into the glasses. They drank in silence, without clanking the glasses.

“Good decision, Andryukha. I would do it myself! But you’d be better at it.”

“Where does she live?”

“Why do you want her?”

“I don’t care, as long as she’s Chechen.”

Viktor took a pause, but not a long one.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But don’t get me involved.”

“I can handle it myself.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. If something goes wrong… don’t tell on me.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a baby.”

“Good deal; now listen.”

Viktor gave detailed directions on finding the building and apartment to which he moved the Chechen single mother with children.

“Just don’t do anything rash! Do it properly,” the neighbor urged before saying goodbye.

“I’ll manage,” Vlasov promised heading out.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Maybe – » Chervyakov started to worry.

Andrei turned around abruptly and pulled Victor closer.

“He started it. Now it’s my turn.”

“Of course,” Viktor mumbled, shivering as he took in his buddy’s insane look.

The neighbors said their goodbyes at the apartment’s front door. Viktor Chervyakov stood still and listened to the heavy stomping of his old buddy Andrei Vlasov’s shoes. The footsteps were getting more distant, but not dying down. Then, the building entrance door slammed resonantly. In the silence that ensued, Viktor, trying to control the shivers of excitement, knocked on the wood of the doorframe three times; he wanted Andrei to succeed.

If everything goes right, he’d throw another address his neighbor’s way. After all, the swarthy did take over mother Moscow!

Chapter 17

August 31, 10:15 PM

Vlasov’s Kitchen

“Yeah, Andryukha, you were right back then! They kill us, we kill them!”

Viktor moved closer and tried to look up into his neighbor’s eyes. Andrei, looking down, kept turning his empty glass in his hands. The glass bottom knocked on the plastic tabletop.

“Those bastards blow stuff up for big bucks; you wanted to do it for an idea. Revenge is a noble business. If someone did that to my girlfriend, I would… Remember Nord Ost?”

Andrei jumped up from behind the table; his chair fell over on the floor.

“I remember everything! I remember too much! I don’t know what to do with those memories! They are in me, burning me, burning – ”

Viktor hastily splashed into the glasses the remained of vodka.

“Drink it down, Andryukha! And forget everything!”

Yekaterina Fedorovna stuck her head out of her bedroom and winced.

“Another bash. Go easy on the furniture. Who’s gonna replace it? And they’re gonna it all the bread.”

“That bread really got to you, didn’t it?” Andrei grabbed the remains of the loaf and rudely pushed them into his mother’s hands. “Take it and hide it. And go to bed, don’t be in the way.”

“Got drank, didn’t you? Have some food after you drink. There are dumplings in the fridge. I’ll boil them.”

“I’ll do it myself, Mom.”

Andrei almost pushed his mother into her bedroom and came back; he grabbed the glass, vodka splashed out on his fingers. Andrei licked the wet palm of his hand.

“Tomorrow is Sveta’s birthday.”

“Will you go to her?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s drink to her,” Viktor lifted up his glass.

“To Sveta!” Andrei said and tossed back the glass. His lips pursed; he noisily inhaled through his nose. Vlasov looked at his buddy from under his eyebrows. “Now go.”

“Do you want to spend some time with the girl?” Viktor asked playfully, picking at the salad. “She doesn’t look right.”

“I told you. She’s sick.”

“Call her out here. We’ll cure her.”

“No. Go home.”

“And she’s dressed like a scarecrow, too. Hey, should I run and get another bottle?”

“Just go, okay?”

“Are you in heat?”

“Go, Vityok.”

“Look here, Andryukha. A pussy’s a pussy, but I wouldn’t do it with a Chechen. If her uncle isn’t a bandit, her brother just might be. Or she is a Shahid herself.”

“Nobody is asking you to do anything.” Andrei nodded toward the exit. “Go, I’ll explain everything later.”

Viktor reluctantly started down the hallway. Along the way, he, as if by accident, looked into Andrei’s room. The girl fearfully looked at the two men; her tense hands rested on her knees. Viktor winked at Aiza with a smile; he squinted and ogled the girl.

At the front door, he whispered to Andrei, “Have you changed your tactic? Now you suffocate the enemy by hugging?”

Andrei, silent, pushed out his laughing buddy and locked the door behind him.

Alone in the stairway, Chervyakov lit up a cigarette. His smile disappeared, his forehead wrinkled up, his lips whispered thoughtfully, “He used to bash their heads in.”

Chapter 18Nord OstDay Two, Evening

His feet plodded through puddles. Cold gusts of wind blew through his clothes; drops of rain ran down his hollow cheeks, getting caught and breaking in his stubble. Andrei Vlasov, consumed by the idea of revenge, paid no attention to whims of nature; before he knew it, he was near the building he looked for. All the way over, he talked to Sveta in his mind. He though she was asking him to avenge her.

He came into a courtyard flanked by two standard five-story apartment blocks. Sveta lived in a building just like these, so Andrei knew the apartments’ numbering. Every time he walked his girlfriend home, he would stand under her windows waiting for Sveta to wave goodbye to him through a window.

He gazed over the façade. The windows of the Chechen woman’s apartment overlooked the courtyard. All windows were dark: no one in the apartment. That was even better; no need to break in, he would wait and do her in the courtyard.

Andrei tried to remember what the woman looked like. All he could remember was an eternally concerned stare of her dark eyes. Would he recognize her? Definitely. She was from the Caucasus after all. She would be his first victim! That was his decision. Why she? What did it matter? She had no time to look for another. He wanted to get it all done today!

Once he decided, he calmed down. His brain was coldly calculating the plan of the murder. The important part was to decide whether he wanted to disguise the murder as a robbery gone bad or to demonstrate right away that it was revenge.

After some deliberation, he decided to stick with option one. It was too early to show that Chechen women were being killed just for being Chechens. After the fourth or fifth instance, everyone would make the connection anyway. And if they didn’t, he would throw a hint to the nosy reporters.

How would he kill her? He wouldn’t use the gun just yet; he might have to use the bullets elsewhere. There are easier ways to kill a single woman.

Vlasov looked around. Along the road, there was a low metal fence, bent in a few places by recklessly driven cars. A few hits with the heel of his shoe, and Andrei was able to pull a piece of rebar out of the ground. Short and heavy: just what he needed. One strike, and that would be it!

Andrei wiped the rod with wet leaves; whatever the reason, he didn’t want to use a dirty rod. In addition, now he could hide it under his clothes. The piece of rebar fit into his sleeve up to the elbow. This way, it was completely invisible. The end stuck out and could be hidden in the palm of his hand. He only had to wait for the victim.

It was still raining; cold, disgusting drizzle. The weather was crappy. Vlasov walked into the other apartment block and up to the top landing. Through the window, he could see the courtyard very well. Wherever the Chechen woman were coming from, she wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Andrei also decided that if anyone sees him in the building, he would put the murder off. He’d find the woman later, elsewhere, and kill her anyway. But right now, he had to be careful. One victim was not enough. He had big plans.

* * * * *

Two hours went by. It was completely dark now, but it wasn’t raining anymore, so the streetlights, it seemed, shone brighter. Finally, he saw a silhouette in the courtyard; a woman and a boy of about six. For a moment, the streetlight highlighted the long-nosed face with a headscarf wrapping around it.

That’s her!

His heart started racing.

During this time, he hasn’t seen anyone. So he could act. But the boy? What to do about him? Should he leave a witness? He quickly came downstairs, feverishly adjusting the operation plan.

When he stepped out of the building, Andrei pulled his hood over his head and looked around. Not a soul. The Chechen woman and the boy were fifteen paces away, their backs to him. The ideal setup. The fog of doubt lifted completely; his mind was terrifyingly clear, his muscles tensed.

He would quietly walk up to them. Push the kid hard. The boy would have to fall face down, so that he wouldn’t see anything. When he falls, Andrei would hit the woman on the head. Better do it a few times to make sure. Then he would pick up her purse and walk away quickly, but without panic.

He wished the kid wouldn’t turn around, or he would have to get rid of him, too.

Andrei wasn’t worried about accidental witnesses. A black hooded figure in a dark courtyard; with a description like that, he’d never be found. He wouldn’t leave any fingerprints, either. He would only take cash from the purse and dump the rest around the corner. Let it be found. A typical robbery. And he would destroy his gloves and jacket. Just to be sure.

“Sveta, I will avenge you!” he thought excitedly.

Vlasov was catching up to the woman quickly, but quietly. He could walk stealthily; he learned that in the army.

Five paces between them. Now, only three. Show time!

The woman stopped and started to adjust something in the boy’s clothing. Andrei, looking only at the back of her head covered with the warm headscarf, took another step, pulled the piece of rebar from his sleeve unsteadily, and raised his weapon.

The kid! He had to push the kid first!

But his hand was already raised high. Now he would have to kill him too.

Chapter 19

August 31, 10:25 PM

Andrei’s Room

After he showed his neighbor out, Vlasov came back to Aiza. The girl’s tension and shivers were gone, her breathing was steady, but she was visibly depressed. She seemed full of sadness and suffering. Upon a close look, he noticed the slight tremor in her fingers and a carefully concealed grimace of pain.

“Poor girl,” Andrei almost said, but he immediately thought back to the outbursts of fury with which the mad girl with TNT wrapped around her waist attacked him in his car. He instinctively touched his neck; the scratches were still hurting.

The bobcat turned into a sick kitten. For how long?

“Have you taken the pills?” Andrei unceremoniously touched the girl’s forehead. Aiza nodded obediently; her sweaty cool skin felt slippery to the touch. “You’re not burning up. Looks like a hangover after a big party. Have you drunk anything since this morning?”

Aiza shook her head no.

“No smell… Have you been injected?”

The girl nodded. Andrei lifted up her powerless hand and rolled up her sleeve.

“Clean,” he concluded after he looked on the insides of both her elbows. “Did you get injected only today? Come on, talk to me!”

“Yes,” the girl said barely audibly.

“Did they say it was for courage, so you feel no fear?”

“Um, yes.”

“That can be fixed. Tell you what, let’s have some vodka! It won’t hurt you. A great antidepressant. I know it from my own experience. In Chechnya, we used to – » Andrei faltered and pulled on the girl’s hand. “Let’s go!”

In the kitchen, he sat Aiza at the table and rummaged on the shelves.

“Here!” He pulled out a bottle of vodka. “ER! Know what it means? Emergency Reserve. To be used only in emergency. Like now.”

He rinsed the glasses and poured vodka.

“Drink.”

Aiza obediently drank, then winced.

“Now that’s good,” Andrei approved. “Now eat something. By the morning, you’d feel cool as a pickle. Speaking of, we’ve got pickles. Great snack. And I’ll boil some dumplings, too.”

He was working the kitchen looking at Aiza over his shoulder and talking almost non-stop. Here are the dumplings, frozen. Now the water is boiling, I am tossing them in. Damn! I almost burned myself; splashes. Now let’s salt it. Do you like dumplings? Mom used to roll her own, but these days, there’s such variety in the stores, just pick. These seem to be okay.

The girl’s face lost its deadly pallor; her eyes came alive. She looked around.

“Do you live here with your mom?”

“Yes. You’ve met her.”

“Do you have a wife?”

“A wife?” Andrei paused, as if looking for an answer to a complicated question. He slowly stirred the boiling dumplings. “I don’t have a wife.”

“A bride?” Aiza asked quietly.

“I did… But not anymore.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sveta. Svetlana.”

“Did you have a fight? Did you break up?” Aiza got interested.

“You could say that.”

“Is she beautiful?”

Andrei turned away, pretending to remove a sore from his eye. He whispered quietly, “Very.”

“Is she nice?” Aiza wouldn’t quit.

Andrei, surprised, look at her. Why did she keep prying? But he answered, “Yes.”

“Then you have to make up! Call her.”

“Now?” Andrei was baffled. “I can’t.”

“It’s late,” the girl agreed and added convincingly, “Sveta will cal you! She definitely will! You’ll see. You’re a good man, she’ll call.”

Andrei instinctively touched the phone in his pocket. It seemed that the phone was about to start vibrating announcing an incoming call.

Just like it did that evening, when he raised a piece of rebar over a woman and a child.

Raised it to kill.

Chapter 20

Nord Ost

Day Two, Late Evening

Suddenly, something stirred inside his jacket. Andrei started, his fingers lost the grip, the raised piece of rebar dropped on the asphalt. The woman turned around, scared, trying to cover the child. Her pose betrayed the helplessness of a hen trying to protect her chick; fear was in her eyes. She understood everything, her fear transferred to the child, he squeaked, “Mama!” The woman’s wide opened eyes awaited execution.

Here eyes were light, a strand of dark blond hair fell from under her headscarf. It wasn’t the Chechen woman; it was someone totally different!

Andrei looked at her stupidly until he realized that his phone was vibrating. He turned the ringer off before he tried getting into the theater. He abruptly pulled the phone out. The woman jumped aside and fell down. The child cried louder.

“Sveta!” Andrei yelled when he realized whose voice he just heard through the phone. “Svetochka!”

“Andryusha, dear, honey,” Svetlana prattled incoherently. “I can’t call my mom. Where is she, did you talk to her?”

“Of course; she’s hanging around the theater. Waiting for you. There’s a bunch of relatives there; they’re getting help. Are you alive?” he asked a stupid question and immediately corrected himself. “Are you okay?”

The scared woman got up from a puddle, picked up the crying child and ran away into a building.

“Yes. Tell my mom to start organizing pickets against the war in Chechnya. Otherwise, we’ll be shot. Tomorrow, everyone has to come out into the Red Square.”

“Sveta – ”

“I can’t talk anymore. If there are no protests, we’ll be shot,” the girl kept repeating.

“Sveta, is anyone standing next to you?”

“Yes.”

“Can I call you later?”

“No.”

The call ended. Andrei stood in the dark courtyard, looked at his phone, and waited for another call. Then, he carried the phone in his hand for a while to be able to answer Svetlana’s call right away. Every now and then, he looked at the display to make sure that the battery isn’t dead and the network is available.

The phone was in working order. But no more calls came in.

She called him “honey”. It’s been so long since she called him that. An eternity.

The hostages may be shot! No, those were empty threats. Just empty threats, he kept telling himself. And immediately remembered: one girl was already dead. And kept beating away a shameful thought: good thing it wasn’t Sveta.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Примечания

1

Shahid, literally translated from Arabic as “witness”, also denotes a Muslim martyr. In Russia, the word is often used by non-Muslims to refer to a suicide bomber. (Translator’s note.)

2

The street in Moscow where the Federal Security Service’s headquarters is located. (Translator’s note.)