Geordie Sharp 03: The Kremlin Device by Chris Ryan

Author:Chris Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-02-17T00:00:00+00:00

"Want a hand?"

"No thanks. We'll manage fine."

"Well any problems, just let me know."

"Thanks."

I thought the bastard was going back indoors, but he turned and said, "Oh, by the way, the security forces had a big success against the Mafia the other day."

"Is that right?"

"Caught several of the godfathers in a flat, right here in the middle of town. Killed four or five of them. It was on the news next day. Surprised you haven't heard about it."

"No..." I shook my head.

"We've been pretty busy don't have much time for watching TV."

"Maybe the Russians are getting better at Mafia-hunting, what? Maybe they don't need you fellows so much after all. Or maybe you've taught them something already? I took several deep breaths, forcing myself not to utter a sound until the door had closed behind him. Then I just whispered, "Jeeesus Christ! Let's get moving."

Unless you were colour-blind there was no way of muddling the components, because Apple's three pieces were all marked with a light green circle, Orange's with orange. We backed the black Volga as close as we could to the cellar door and carried the three green-marked cases out, four men on each of the heavy ones. Once again they pushed the car right down on its springs.

Toad removed the Rat from its lair and clipped it on his belt.

As soon as we'd secured the up-and-over door of the cellar, we drove off I'd felt as if my exchanges with the Charge lasted for ever, but still we had fifty minutes to kill; so, rather than hang about in the area, we followed our plan and drove up to the terrace in front of the univerity, on the edge of the Sparrow Hills. Sasha had taken us there during our first visit, and I remembered it as a favourite view-point, popular with tourists and sightseers, where strangers hanging around wouldn't attract attention.

If you ever want to get your adrenalin going, try driving through Moscow at night with a nuclear bomb in the boot of a rickety, underpowered car. Every traffic light spelt possible disaster, every vehicle that overtook seemed certain to be full of Mafia gunmen bent on a hijack.

"What we do not want," I said grimly, 'is to be stopped by the fucking GAl with this lot on board."

"Nah," said Pavarotti.

"They don't seem to operate much in the centre more out on the highways."

Luck favoured us. With me map-reading we managed to avoid the cops and find the way, and soon came out on to the huge, level esplanade, where one can park and walk forward to look out over the city. Whinger, following at a distance, pulled up some fifty yards to our right, and a couple got out of each car to take in the sights.

The prospect was spectacular, I had to admit. Behind us, the monstrous skyscraper of the main university building towered into the sky, topped by a slender spire that gleamed golden in its spotlights. On either side of it the lower

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