The Unhappy Medium 3: Wretched Things: A Supernatural Comedy, page 45
‘Oh, please,’ begged Andronicus. ‘It would mean a lot to me. I am your brother.’
‘Don’t care who you are,’ replied Viktor. ‘I give you a nuke, and I get to fall out of a high window. The Kremlin will marinate me in Novichok! Look, I can sell you tanks, Grads, and howitzers. Guns? Sure, take as many as you want. Hell, I won’t even charge you! But nukes? No way.’
‘But we don’t know how to use tanks,’ protested Andronicus.
‘Good job too,’ laughed Viktor. ‘Because the Turks have a LOT of their own. Good ones. You’d be blown to bits the second you crossed the border.’
‘Well, what do you suggest then?’ asked the flustered and frustrated Andronicus. ‘Eh?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ said Viktor. ‘I’m not even interested in why you want to do this stupid thing. I strongly suggest you don’t, though. Stick to drugs and people trafficking; it’s what you do best. Look, brother, you can stay here as long as you want. Forget this nonsense. Let us drink vodka and eat the blinis, like the old days.’
‘So no army then?’ asked Andronicus
‘No army,’ answered Viktor.
‘And no nukes?’ added Homer.
‘Not a chance,’ stated Viktor.
‘Damn,’ sighed Andronicus.
*****
‘Where are we now?’ asked Newton. as the pilot took Thunderbird 2 eastwards.
‘Walking a goddamn line is where,’ replied Valenti. ‘South of Crimea, riding the frontier between Russian and Turkish airspace. See the green light? Reckon everyone and his wife is tracking us right now. It’s like Operation Rolling Thunder all over again.’
‘Like what?’ asked Newton.
‘Nam,’ answered the grizzled old pilot. ‘Bomb run up north to hit Saigon. NVA had us locked up all the goddamn way.’
‘We’re civilians,’ said Newton. ‘Surely they won’t fire at civilians?’
‘You don’t read the news much, do you, son,’ drawled Valenti. ‘Civilian birds get knocked down all the time.’
‘Great,’ exclaimed Newton, turning around to shout back into the cabin to check on the Bonetaker. ‘Bennet. How’s he doing back there? Any new signals?’
‘It’s getting a bit stronger, apparently,’ Bennet shouted back. ‘Still off to the north-east. He thinks he can home in a bit better as we get nearer.’
‘AND LOWER,’ added the Bonetaker. ‘LOWER AS WE GET … NEARER.’
‘Lower is better,’ yelled Valenti, ‘when you’re thinking about missiles.’
‘Thanks to you,’ said Newton, ‘I’m thinking about missiles quite a lot.’
‘Pleasure,’ grinned the pilot, chucking in a fresh cigar. ‘What’s the time?’
Newton checked his watch. ‘Ten past seven, local.’
‘Gonna get dark soon,’ added Valenti, pointing out the pink light starting to paint the clouds around them.
‘How we doing for fuel?’ asked Newton.
‘Ok for now,’ replied Valenti. ‘Purgs installed a few extra tanks in the wings. Tinkered with the engines ‘n’ all. She goes a heck of a lot further than she used to. All the same, we’ll have to put the old girl down eventually. I’d rather do that in Ukraine; land in Mother Russia, and you’ll be mining salt for the rest of your goddam life.’
‘Ukraine gets my vote then,’ agreed Newton.
‘Meanwhile, though,’ said Valenti, ‘I’m gonna have to swing the old girl slap over the Kerch Strait. Would rather not, but that’s where we have to go, seeing as the signal is north-east.’
‘Why?’ asked Newton. ‘What’s so bad about the Kerch Strait?’
‘The bridge,’ explained the pilot, banking the transport around. ‘Putin’s pet project. An eleven-mile-long monstrosity linking Mother Russia to the annexed Crimean Peninsula. He can’t get there by land without going through Ukraine, so he built this bridge.
Ten minutes later, as the Kerch Strait appeared on the horizon, a thin white line drifted slowly into view.
‘Wow. It’s huge,’ observed Newton.
‘Has to be. Only way in … only way out.’
‘Don’t want to worry you, but the green light is going a bit nuts.’
‘Yeah?’ asked Valenti, easing off a headphone. ‘Turn the sound up.’
Newton turned the knob. Instantly, he was rewarded with an angry electric growl.
‘Radar?’ suggested Newton, hopefully. ‘Tell me it’s just the ground radar.’
‘Not radar,’ said Valenti, somewhat unemotionally. ‘Jet.’
‘JET?’ gasped Newton, a lot more emotionally.
‘Oh, he’s been there a while,’ replied Valenti casually. ‘Was gonna say, but I didn’t wanna spook y’all.’
‘Where?’ demanded Newton. ‘WHERE?’
‘Eight o’clock high,’ explained Valenti, looking back out his window. ‘You won’t see him from your seat. Sukhoi Su-35 “Flanker”. He’s been tracking us since we turned.’
‘Damn,’ exclaimed Newton. ‘That’s gotta be bad, right?’
‘Don’t sweat it,’ reassured Valenti. ‘Would be surprised if they didn’t send one up. Them Ruskis are gonna be mighty prickly about a foreign plane in the same airspace as that there bridge.’
‘Oh great.’
‘Chill,’ suggested Valenti calmly. ‘I filed a flight plan when you were back in the cabin. They know we’re headed this way. Think we’re bound for Mariupol with a cargo of tobacco. International law and all that, see? Gotta let us through.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘If you’re interested, he’s coming in closer. He probably wants to eyeball us close up as we cross the bridge. Pop back in the cabin, and you’ll be able to see him. Hey, why not give the bastard a wave? They like that.’
Newton looked at the pilot doubtfully, then heaved himself out of his seat.
‘What’s up?’ asked Bennet, as Newton entered the cabin.
‘Company,’ said Newton, gesturing to the small windows. ‘You may want to see this.’
‘See what?’
‘This,’ explained Newton, pointing. Bennet wiped the dirty window with his sleeve, removed his glasses, then peered out to see a sleek blue-grey fighter jet slide into formation just off their left wing, six very serious-looking missiles hanging menacingly from the wings. The beetle-eyed fighter pilot turned his helmet towards them.
‘Flip!’ exclaimed Bennet.
‘Quite,’ agreed Newton, waving foolishly at the expressionless Russian pilot.
‘Are they going to shoot us down?’
‘Valenti seems to think … not.’
‘Is he sure?’ asked Bennet, trying his hardest to make sure his dog collar was visible through the postage stamp-sized window.
‘It’s routine for the location, apparently,’ answered Newton, trying to mimic Valenti’s steady nerves. ‘See that white thing down there? That’s the Kerch Bridge. Hot property.’
‘Aaaaaah,’ nodded Bennet. ‘That explains a lot.’
Getting no response from the inhuman pilot in the Sukhoi, Newton and Bennet stopped waving.
Five minutes later, satisfied the old transport was not about to kamikaze itself into the bridge below, the jet finally grew bored with them, banking abruptly away to the north-west, afterburners glowing as it shot into a rapidly falling night.
The Dakota droned on into the airspace above the Sea of Azov.
*****
He may not have given Andronicus and Homer their army, but Viktor had at least provided for their men; the Myrmidons shuttled ashore to enjoy the best of Russian military cuisine and, of course, limitless vodka. As the warriors sang their Myrmidon songs outside, the inglorious Andronicus sulked indoors in the salon, back to square one, while Astrid TikTok-ed herself silly in the semi-submerged Nemo lounge.
‘Stop looking so despondent,’ said Homer, once a very drunken Viktor had retired to his bedroom. ‘It’s not over yet.’
‘How do you know how I look?’ demanded Andronicus. ‘You’re blind.’
‘I don’t need eyes to know your expression,’ responded Homer. ‘Your defeatism is palpable. I can smell it.’
‘What do you mean it’s not over?’ snapped Andronicus. ‘He’s not going to sell us the nukes, and he’s not gonna lend us his army. It is over.’
‘You don’t need his permission to take the weapons,’ insisted Homer. ‘No more than you needed the oligarch’s permission to take his boat.’
‘I possessed the oligarch, remember,’ replied Andronicus. ‘It’s different.’
‘Exactly!’ explained Homer. ‘We possess his brother. Simples.’
‘We do?’ asked Andronicus, perking up. ‘But how are we going to do that? Didn’t we use up all the spirits in the museum?’
‘No. We have one Myrmidon left. The German girl, she escaped it, remember?’
‘Damn!’ exclaimed Andronicus. ‘That’s right! Then it went for me, but you stopped it!’
‘The very one!’ said Homer. ‘I sent it back into the Trojan stick. It waits there still.’
‘My goodness … that’s excellent news. Is it still on the boat?’
‘It is,’ confirmed Homer. ‘Let us send Dima back for it, then, while the colonel general is still out of his mind on spirits, we shall possess him! Just as we possessed the others!’
*****
Helena Kraakenhausen was on the move. Stealing silently along the empty corridors, she soon confirmed that the crew, most of them at least, were ashore, as were the Myrmidons. What crew there were, she evaded with ease, finding her way back to the storeroom where Viv and Gabby were spending yet another night zip-tied to shelving.
‘You vonted to go,’ whispered Helena urgently, cutting them free. ‘Vell, now is the moment. Everyvun’s on land.’
‘On land doing what?’ asked Gabby, rubbing the blood back into her wrists.
‘I don’t know … yet,’ replied Helena. ‘But this is not your concern. You just escape, tell the Purgatorians vhere they are. I … vill infiltrate.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Viv. ‘How do we get to the beach?’
‘Ve swim. They take all the boats.’
‘Needs must, I suppose,’ sighed Viv.
‘Ok. Follow me,’ ordered Helena. ‘And be quiet, please. Not everyvun is ashore. A skeleton crew remains, and the Kapitän is on the bridge. Ve need to be stealthy, ja?’
‘Ja,’ nodded Gabby. ‘Lead on.’
Helena opened the door, then checked either way down the corridor.
‘Is clear,’ she whispered. ‘Ve go now.’
Deep in the guts of the Black Sea Princess, only the hum of a generator and the occasional static cackle from a radio could be heard as they edged through darkened gangways, then up a steep staircase to the deck.
‘Is clear,’ said Helena.
But … it wasn’t.
Approaching the bow, they stumbled upon a Myrmidon kicking back on the flashy teal and white leather deck furniture, as he experimented with his first cigarette.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he coughed, as they reared backwards in alarm.
‘Get out of our vay,’ ordered Helena, pulling out her breadknife. ‘Or I’ll have to hurt you.’
‘Hurt me?’ laughed the ancient Greek. ‘I’m a Myrmidon! I hurt other people.’
‘You’re supposed to be ashore,’ she said, waving the knife around. ‘Vhy aren’t you ashore?’
‘I didn’t like the sound of Russian food,’ replied the Myrmidon. ‘Cheap fatty meat, root vegetables …. What am I? A peasant?’
‘Get out of our vay,’ repeated Helena, waving the knife at him. ‘Last varning.’
The Myrmidon lashed out.
Grabbing her arm, he twisted it around in a savage loop, sending the blade scraping away across the deck, through the gunwales, and into the still waters beyond.
‘Himmel!’ shrieked Helena, kicking back at the Greek. ‘Get the hell off me.’
‘Yeah, get off her,’ yelled Viv, picking up a chair, which she waved menacingly at the surprised Myrmidon, as Gabby dashed away behind them.
‘Where’s that little witch?’ demanded the warrior, backing away. ‘Where did she go?’
‘Never mind her,’ snarled Viv, driving him relentlessly towards the bow. ‘It’s me you should be worried about,’ she jabbed at him, making him jump from side to side as she aimed for his legs. ‘You like that, eh? No, I bet you don’t. Clear off if you know what’s good for you.’
‘What’s good for me,’ replied the Myrmidon, grabbing the chair and yanking it away from her, ‘is to kill you.’ To make his point, the warrior twisted the chair in his hands, attempting to disarm her with his martial dexterity.
‘Try this on for size,’ said Gabby, bashing him over the head with a second chair.
‘Whaaaat!’ shrieked the Myrmidon, as Gabby and Viv launched the full force of their combined weight against him, pushing the Greek over the rail. Floundering in the water below he yelled, ‘I will kill you!’ as he made for a ladder up the side of the yacht.
‘Like hell you will,’ shouted Gabby.
‘Here!’ called Helena, grabbing one end of a heavy firepit table. Together the three of them heaved the bulky furniture over the side onto the infuriated Myrmidon. Knocking him senseless, it took him with it as it plunged into the Sea of Asov.
‘Blimey!’ gasped Viv, as the splash subsided. ‘We killed him.’
‘We did,’ confirmed Gabby. ‘But he’s been dead before. You’ll forgive me if I don’t feel guilty.’
‘Fantastiche!’ applauded Helena.
‘Thanks,’ said Gabby. ‘Now, let’s get the hell out of here.’
Three splashes, and they were in the water, striking out for the distant sand dunes, as investigating crewmen hammered along the decks.
*****
The Trojan relic beneath his arm, Dima was looking into the empty storeroom, cursing as only a Russian can.
‘You,’ he yelled at a passing crewman. ‘Where the hell are they?’
‘There was an incident,’ replied the man, as Dima slammed him against the bulkhead. ‘There was a body, floating beside the boat. We pulled it up. It was one of the Greeks. Dead!’
‘Shit,’ said Dima, letting the man drop. Wasting no time, he tore back up to the deck. ‘Where are they?’ he bellowed. ‘The girls …. Where the hell are they?’
Getting no answer, he leaped back into the Zodiac. Firing up the outboard, he charged away from the Black Sea Princess, pulling a torch out of his utility belt. Shinning it left and right, he began to comb the sea between the superyacht and the shoreline.
‘Crap,’ said Gabby, spotting the gunman sweeping back and forth. ‘He’s on to us.’
‘Keep svimming,’ yelled Helena. ‘Ve’re halfway there!’
Desperately, they struck out, pushing hard for a horribly distant shoreline.
‘Oh balls!’ yelled Viv. ‘He’s coming back!’
Dima could be seen sweeping around in a wide arc, his trajectory leading him right to where they were swimming. ‘Split up!’ yelled Helena. ‘You go that vay, I’ll distract him!’
Viv and Gabby threw all their remaining energies into a mad dash at the beach as Helena, waving her arms frantically to make herself seen, began yelling at the speeding Dima.
‘Here! Schweinhund! Here!’
Gunning the engine, Dima sped towards the waving figure. Helpless in the water, the Zodiac barrelled into Helena Kraakenhausen … then away.
‘No!’ screamed Gabby, looking back in horror. ‘NOOOOO!’
Dima’s torch instantly flicked onto the girls still in the water. Spotting them struggling frantically for shore, he slammed the boat around, then surged in their direction.
This time, he didn’t run them down. Dima pulled two watery doughnuts, Viv and Gabby holding each other in terror in the churned-up water. Then he pulled the Zodiac to a halt.
The gunman picked up his gun.
‘Get in the boat.’
*****
On board Thunderbird 2, now just 70 miles to the south-west, the Bonetaker, exhausted by sustained concentration, came back to life. Fear pulsing out from the girls, his senses had gone wild, his unique neurons fizzing like a bath bomb.
‘VIV!’ boomed the giant, lurching forward out of his stupor. ‘GABBY … THREATS!’
‘Wooooooaaaaahhh!,’ yelled Newton, as Valenti struggled to deal with the sudden shift in the centre of gravity. ‘What the hell?’
‘He’s got something!’ shouted Bennet. ‘Something strong.’
‘Crap,’ lamented Newton. ‘How close?’
‘CLOSE-ISH,’ replied the Bonetaker, emphatically pointing towards the starboard engine. ‘LESS THAN HUNDRED MILES … MORE THAN FIFTY.’
‘You see that?’ Newton quizzed the pilot. ‘Just off to the right. What’s that, 2 o’clock?’
‘I got it,’ yelled Valenti, turning the old transport onto its wing. ‘Hang on to yer goddam hats!’
Chapter 35
Down
Dima burst in through the doors of Viktor’s villa, pushing his captives ahead of him.
‘Look what the tide brought in,’ snarled the gunman, throwing a bedraggled and exhausted Gabby onto the ground.
‘Oi!’ shouted Viv. ‘Be nice!’
‘Why are they not on the boat?’ demanded Andronicus.
‘Because they escaped,’ explained Dima. ‘That’s why. They took out one of your Greeks. Drowned him. I caught them swimming for shore. The German girl was with them; she must have stowed away when we left Athens.’
‘You must catch her!’ declared Homer.
‘I did better than that,’ replied Dima. ‘I ran her down with the boat. She’s dead.’
‘Quite right, too,’ said Andronicus. ‘Ghastly woman. Terrible attitude.’
‘Intimidated by strong women, aren’t we?’ sneered Gabby. ‘Mummy issues?’
‘Shut up,’ snapped Dima, kicking Gabby off her knees. Another pulse of emotion flew into the fog outside. ‘You really beginning to piss me off.’
‘Mutual,’ hissed Gabby.
‘These Purgatorians are a distraction,’ seethed Homer. ‘We need to get on with our plan. Dima, did you bring the relic?’
‘I did,’ confirmed Dima, passing the box to the old man’s extended hands.
