Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1) (30 page)

As I lowered my arm he sneered vowing, “That is the last thing you vill ever do,” before he called out for Pavlovitch; little realising that the help he had summoned would not arrive - the sounds of a struggle from the rear of the plane could be heard at that moment. Looking somewhat comic soused in champagne, he lunged at me in a bloody rage. The cabin was too narrow for me to get out of his way as he collided into me and we crashed into the bulkhead. My back took the full force of the impact and it winded me, as Zhukov recovered from his lunge he gave himself enough room to swing his right fist into my face. I was too slow to take evasive action and it smashed into the left of my face. I rammed my right fist into his stomach. This had him reeling with pain as he winced. I took a deep breath, recovered from my winding and swung my right fist into his face as I held up my left fist for protection, moving off the bulkhead as I did so. He tried to stand his ground and swung at me with his right fist; this time I blocked it with my left arm and in the style of the best bare knuckle fighter smashed my right fist straight into the middle of his face twice in quick succession. This caused his face to tilt upwards toward the ceiling with the impact of the blows, taking me out of his line of vision long enough for me to kick him hard in his groin. He screamed in pain, torn between nursing his bloody nose and holding his groin.

I then stooped down and charged at him grabbing him by the waist. We travelled a couple of paces down the aisle before we fell heavily – I on top of him; immediately, he astutely crawled out from underneath me so rapidly that I now fell on to my back with the momentum, so that I was now beneath him. He raised his fist to smash into my face – I thwarted him by raising my arm to deflect his blow, as his nose dripped blood on me. He punched me in my ribs with his other fist, causing me to wail out. Despite the pain I desperately reached up and grabbed both lapels of his jacket with both hands and pulled his body off me to my right. He fell off me with such force that he lost his balance, necessitating him placing his hand on the floor to steady himself; as his body was partially spun round so that he was mostly facing away from me. I sat up quickly and wrapped my right arm around his neck from behind and pinned his head back; whilst simultaneously placing my left arm around his body thereby trapping his left arm in my grip – while his right arm was trapped under our bodies as I pressed down upon him from his left flank. I was covered in sweat, blood, bruises and god knows what else; but in my fury and despite finding it difficult to speak, I stupidly hissed in his ear, “Do you admit to killing Sinclair?” And with greater vehemence my teeth clenched, “How many others have you killed?”

“Let me go!” he hissed trying to wrestle free, “You Ingleesh.....still think you own the world.....you never mind your own business,” he managed to croak out.

I rebuked myself for my folly – I’d engaged in enough confounded talk. I bent my left leg, thus bringing my left ankle within reach as I released my grip around his torso, so that I might reach for the steak knife with my left hand. I had retrieved it from the galley and concealed it in my sock earlier. He couldn’t see this with his back to me, but his left arm was now free so I had to be quick before he broke loose. My hand fumbled as it reached under the hem of my trousers left leg – just then Zhukov tried to wrestle free. I brought my left hand up and punched him in his sides and stomach repeatedly to subdue him; and whilst he recovered from these blows I reached down again hurriedly and found my sock and then felt the knife. The hilt was concealed in the sock with the blade sticking out. I placed my fingers down my sock and got hold of the hilt and grabbed it; and then in one swoop brought it up to my side and braced myself. By now I was panting desperately, realising that I couldn’t hold him for much longer. I adjusted my grip on the hilt in readiness to deliver the fatal blow. With my right arm I tilted his head further upwards so that he would be blind to my actions. I moved my left arm in front of his body and then whispered icily in his left ear, “Goodbye Zhukov,” and then with as much force as my precarious position afforded, plunged the blade as accurately as I could in to his chest aiming for his heart. His body became rigid for a moment as he gave out a half stifled cry. I then pushed the blade deeper until it was in as far as the hilt and then twisted the knife; he gave out a small barely audible groan before falling silent, his body fell limp. I released my hold on him and lay his body down as the sounds of a commotion could still be heard from the rear of the plane. I was caked in sweat and blood and toiling to get my breath back. He lay on his back – his eyes staring up, with the knife with which I had enjoyed my filet mignon still embedded in his chest.

I looked up at a distraught Anastasia. I then sat opposite her in Zhukov’s seat and asked for some water, at which point Jules appeared in the aisle. She handed me a glass and as I quenched my thirst evaluated my options. I considered having the plane divert to London assuming it had the fuel to do so, but that would be too dangerous; for it would give a clue as to the nationality of the killer and have the investigation into Zhukov’s death start in London. When I had composed myself I held her hands in mine across the table and looked into her tear filled eyes. I instructed her to pretty herself up and to visit the cockpit and tell the pilots that she and Zhukov had decided to visit Istanbul and to divert the flight there immediately and not to take no for an answer. When she’d left, Jules took her seat, poured himself some water and drank it down. As he placed the glass back on the table he exclaimed, “Thirsty business this!”

Smiling at his understatement, I asked, “You managed it O.K. back there?”

“All in a day’s work - one dead the other half dead,” he declared proudly, before looking down at Zhukov and remarking morbidly, “I see you got to the heart of the matter.”

We then dragged the corpses’ of Zhukov and Pavlovitch and stored them in the luggage storage area next to the toilets. As I did so I glanced into the galley to see the rather nervous stewardess, who scrupulously avoided eye contact. The other man was called Anton, he was barely alive. We placed him in a chair his body draped over the table as if sleeping. I then washed and smartened myself in the toilet.

Anastasia returned from the cockpit and I met her halfway along the plane; “Well?” I asked.

“It is done. We will arrive in less than two hours,” she said without any emotion as she looked suspiciously toward Jules. I then explained that he was a friend.

Lowering my voice I whispered, “The stewardess is a witness. We must tie her up!”

We appeared in the galley and at the sight of us the stewardess stood against one corner as if trapped, shaking her head and started crying, thinking that she would be slain next.

“We’re just going to tie you up. Don’t resist and you’ll be unharmed,” I assured her.

She acquiesced. We gagged her mouth and bound her hands and feet before placing her with the two corpses. It can’t have been pleasant for her – but it was better than our killing her. I resumed my seat and as I gathered my thoughts, discerned the aircraft banking to port in the direction of Constantinople – or Istanbul if you’re minded to humour the Turk.

CHAPTER 38 – TURKISH DELIGHT.

The three of us sat down, with Jules opposite me. After I introduced him properly to Anastasia we decided we could afford to relax, especially after she told us that the pilots suspected nothing. We finished the champagne and I explained to Jules the events which led to my being aboard Zhukov’s jet starting with Andrew’s murder. He explained that he was on a Special Forces mission which he couldn’t discuss, apart from telling us that his hair had been dyed to the same colour of the driver whom he was meant to be impersonating.

“What happened to him?” I asked recalling that Jules spoke Russian.

“He had an “accident”.....which was timed precisely so that I would be conveniently placed to take over - there being no one else,” Jules confided enjoying the irony, before adding, “It seems Tarquin, you’ve seen more action these last few days than you ever did in the army.”

As the clouds parted I saw the minarets, some nearly a thousand years old - the skyline for which Istanbul was famed as we descended and then banked over the city’s outskirts in order to land. As we touched down I dwelt on the civilisations that had risen, flourished and expired in this city - at the crossroads of east and west. When the aircraft came to a stop Anastasia and I disembarked swiftly. Jules declined to come with us and vanished into the airport. After purchasing our visas and clearing immigration we caught a taxi. I was minded to get out of the environs of the airport as quickly as possible – this was one reason why I didn’t just buy a ticket and jump on a flight to London. After all, it wasn’t going to be long before those whom we had assaulted, killed and bound were discovered. As a precaution I had the driver take us to Sultanhemet, from where we caught a tram across Galata Bridge; and then a second taxi. We checked into the Bentley Hotel, where I felt no qualms in insinuating ourselves in such luxury after what we, or more particularly I had endured. In Anastasia’s presence, I asked for a double room to which she made no objections. I also purchased a one way ticket to London for the following morning. Conscious of my poor Persian rags amidst such opulence, I purchased some smart cloths for dinner. Anastasia had been withdrawn and utterly subdued ever since I had dispatched Zhukov. In our room she explained she was an Anglophile who hated the authoritarianism of Russian society, which is why she had become an informant. I gave her a gentle talk and told her to cheer up, but it seemed to have no effect.

I took Anastasia out for dinner at the Mikla Restaurant; where I made a point of dining on each visit to the city. We arrived at 7.30pm and admired the panoramic views that the restaurant afforded. I encouraged her to drink a couple of vodkas in the belief that once you’ve got a few vodkas into a Russian girl, it will cheer her up and make her amenable to more diverting pursuits. At the Mikla we had a fine meal and I was pleased to see Anastasia looking brighter and quite relaxed. We returned to the Hotel where in the lobby, suddenly two smartly dressed men approached from the shadows. I was on my guard – believing they might be Zhukov’s men here to exact retribution and braced myself for trouble.

“Excuse me Sir. But may we speak to you?” the shorter of the two asked politely in an English accent.

This disarmed me. I nodded and told Anastasia to go ahead to the room.

“My name is Hopkins and this is Ryder,” he began, “We’re from the British Embassy here.”

They explained that they had received a request from a James Travers in Kushanbay, who had asked them to make contact with me and see if I needed any help. He had given them the necessary information from the GPS tracker so that they could pinpoint me exactly.

“Thank heavens for Travers,” I sighed relaxing on the news that these men were friends, “I must remember to have dinner with him,” I said absent mindedly.

I disclosed nothing about my adventures; but told them that I would not need any assistance, thanked them and bid them goodnight. I returned to our room. The lights were dimmed. I went to the bathroom. When I came out Anastasia was standing at the foot of the bed. She gave me a delicious and seductive smirk, as she undid her dressing gown to reveal that she was wearing nothing underneath. This caused me to stop in my tracks. She then slipped off her dressing gown and threw it aside with cavalier abandon, as she presented her perfect female form. I had already “moved the earth” once today; it seemed I would do so again! We fell into each other’s arms and embraced, kissing passionately as our tongues became intertwined. It seemed that the vodka had worked! We fell on to the bed and proceeded to enjoy Turkish delight! The End.