Chapter 39

  The closet wasn’t deep, although it was fairly long. Peter went to one end and Petrov the other. He was surrounded by Martha’s dresses, sweaters, shoes, boxes, knitting bags, and other items he could only guess the nature of. Peter could see the terror in the old man’s face when he told him to keep absolutely still and not make a sound. His heart was racing out of control, and he only hoped that it would settle down and not give them away. Suddenly, Peter was startled when he felt something move against one of his legs. He almost jumped out of his skin, but then he heard Martha’s cat start to purr. It must have followed them into the closet without them noticing. The damn cat was going to get them killed, he thought.

  At first, Peter thought they might escape the killer, but then Martha’s door opened, and he knew that wouldn’t be the case. He could hear the man moving through the apartment, and Peter was surprised at how quiet he was for a big man. Finally, the door to Martha’s bedroom opened with a slight creek, and Peter could hear the man’s soft footfalls enter the room. Then he heard the man say something about “only in the fuckin movies,” which he thought was very odd. Then he could tell that the killer was at the closet door as his shadow blocked the light coming in under it. Apparently, their time had arrived. Then suddenly, Peter heard a cell phone vibrate, and he held his breath. He just hoped it wasn’t Petrov’s.

  *****

  Ivan reached for the closet door that was only slightly open, and just as he touched it, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. The intensity of the moment startled him, and it shot a jolt of electricity through his body. “Shit” Ivan stepped back from the doorknob as if it were alive and had just given him a shock. He stuck the flashlight into his jacket pocket, dug out his cell phone, and looked at the caller ID. It was Dmitri. “What?” Ivan asked.

  “The fucking police just passed the end of the alley with their lights flashing on. When they went by, I pulled around to the front of the street, and they stopped in front of Chakinski’s building. A minute later, an ambulance pulled up next to them. What the fuck do you want me to do?”

  “Get your ass to the back door and wait for me with the side door open. But if you see any cops back there, you call me right away. You got that?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “And keep the fucking van running.”

  Ivan kept the cell phone in his hand and immediately started to leave Martha’s small apartment. He had only taken several steps when he pivoted and looked back at the closet door. Ivan knew he should leave the building, but something pulled at him. He stepped back in front of the closet door again and opened it. The closet was draped in just enough light to see dresses hanging across a rod anchored on either end of the closet. He was about to close the door when he heard something from inside. Ivan brought his Beretta up and started to pull back the dresses on one end when a black cat let out a loud screech and ran through his legs. “Fuck” Ivan said as he slammed the closet door shut.

  He stood there for a moment, and then opened the closet door again. He pulled back the clothes from the far end of the closet and was surprised to see a pair of eyes staring back at him. "Mr. Chakinski, it's so nice to see you. Please come out; it must be very uncomfortable in there." But it wasn't Peter, it was Petrov. Ivan pointed the Beretta at his chest, and with his other hand, he shined his flashlight into the face of the man standing at the end of the closet. A puzzled look came over Ivan's face, and he said more to himself than to Petrov, "Who the fuck are you?"

  *****

  Ivan sensed something was wrong before he felt the other person behind him. He spun around and caught motion directly in front of his eyes. Instantly, he was hit in the face by a force that didn’t physically knock him down, but it took him to his knees just the same. Someone had sprayed a chemical into his eyes and mouth that burned like the fires of hell. Instinctively, he got off three shots from the Beretta before his hands flew to his face. He heard someone groan on one or two of his shots. He then dropped his gun and flashlight and tried in vain to rub the liquid from his eyes; however, this just inflected more pain. He couldn’t see anything, and he couldn’t catch his breath. Then, he was knocked backward by someone leaving the closet. Frantically, he started to search for his gun but found only shoes. A few seconds later, his fingers found the gun’s silencer.

  “You bastard, I’m going to kill you and everyone you fuckin know,” Ivan screamed. But his words fell on deaf ears. Petrov was already out the door, and Peter was in shock from the two bullets that had hit his body.

  *****

  Ivan had to get out of the building, and he had to get out fast. But first, he had to find Chakinski's laptop. He groped in the closet and found the limp body of a man who was covered in blood. There was no laptop. He wasn't afraid of a firefight with the police, but being half blind, he would be at a complete disadvantage. He finally stood, tucked the Beretta into his pants, and tried to remember where the kitchen was. He assumed that Chakinski was the other man in the closet and that his friend had fled after his close call with the grim Reaper. He was pretty sure that he had killed Chakinski. For a second, he thought about putting a final bullet into the man’s head; however, time was of the essence.

  Ivan moved along the wall until he reached the bedroom door, then blindly to where he thought the kitchen was. He heard no one or felt no presence in the apartment. Ivan finally found the kitchen and then the sink. He washed his eyes with water for what seemed like an eternity, yet it was only several seconds. The water flushed out most of the chemicals for his eyes, and his sight returned just enough to see blurred images. Soaking a dish towel with water, he placed it on his eyes and headed for the exit.

  *****

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  Ivan had killed many men by a variety of means. Guns, knives, garrote, some he had bludgeoned to death with clubs or tire irons, and still others he had just beaten to death with his fists. Big or small, it didn’t matter.

  He could see well enough now to find the door leading to the hallway. It was open, and he could hear men shouting from the floors below. He couldn’t go down now. He had to go to the roof and escape over the rooftops. Ivan was halfway to the back staircase when a loud voice boomed from behind him.

  “Police, stop, or I will shoot.”

  He turned and saw the fuzzy figure of a man coming at him. Ivan lifted his Beretta and fired several shots at the shadowy figure. He changed his escape plan and charged down the back staircase, hoping not to find any police waiting for him. He also hoped that Dmitri was where he was supposed to be. But when he reached the staircase, something went wrong. He didn’t hear the gunshots, but he felt the sting, one and then another. His mind registered what was happening to him, but he didn’t feel any pain, or at least not the sort of pain he expected to feel. This was not supposed to happen. This was an easy assignment. This guy was just a scientist, not a mobster or hired thug. Ivan fell down the staircase and landed face-to-face with Martha. He tried to get up, but his arms and legs wouldn’t follow his orders. Ivan stared into the open dead eyes of the old woman, and it appeared in his blurred vision that she was smiling at him. He smiled back, and then his body finally started to move again.

  “Sorry, Martha,” was all he could say as he made his way down the back staircase, bleeding from a hole and a gash along his side.

  *****

  Peter saw the killer turn, and he was ready. He had some fabric from a dress or blouse over his mouth as he shoved the small canister into the killer's face and pushed the nozzle down, releasing its contents. As he did, he saw the gun turn toward him, and the narrow closet proved too small to evade the inevitable. Ivan was shooting blind, so he sprayed his shots, hoping to hit something. The first bullet missed its mark; however, the second and third did not. He let out a groan as the slugs tore his body apart. The second burrowed a large gash in Peter's upper left shoulder, and the third hit something more vital. The slug passed through his lower right lung and exited out his back, shattering one rib as it made its quick journey through bone and soft tissue before finally embedding into the solid plaster wall behind him. At one point, he thought the killer was going to empty the remaining clip into him as well, but instead, he heard the gun drop to the floor, and the killer fell to his knees, crying out in agony from the chemical in his eyes and lungs. Peter then slumped to the floor and waited to die.

  *****

  Ivan stumbled down the back staircase. On the way, he heard other shouts to stop, but he encountered no other police and kept going. He had taken a round in the left shoulder and one that grazed his right hip, leaving a gash that was spewing blood down his pant leg. He burst through the back door and into the cool night air, looking for Dmitri and the van. To his utter surprise, he was parked across the alley, waiting with the side door open. He descended the back steps and limped to the waiting vehicle as fast as he could. Just as he was about to get in the van, a man stepped out from around the backside. He was taking his dog out one last time before retiring for the evening.

  *****

  The elderly gentleman stopped in his tracks at the sight of the man before him. His face was beet red, his eyes were swollen, and his shirt was covered in blood, as were his pants on one side. The hair on the dog's back rose up, and he started to growl at what he perceived was a threat to his owner. Then he saw the gun at the man's side, and his face registered the danger he was in. Ivan didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol and shot the dog in the head, then its owner, who stood petrified and unable to move. Ivan then looked up and down the alley before getting into the van. Dmitri turned to look into the back of the van, where his wounded partner was covered in blood and was pouring water into his eyes from a water bottle left on the seat.

  "What happen to you?"

  Dmitri asked with an expression of surprise.

  Ivan pointed his Beretta at Dmitri’s forehead and screamed, “Get the fuck out of here, you fucking idiot…and I mean right fucking now before I put a bullet through that empty fucking head of yours.”

  Dmitri didn’t say another word. He just turned around quickly and hit the gas. The van sped down the alley and into the street. Dimitri hoped he wouldn’t receive a slug in the back of his head once they were clear of the police. After traveling a few blocks, he asked, “Do you need a doctor?”

  “Of course, I need a fucking doctor, you dumb fuck. Drive to the farm in Klecany. It’s marked in the navigation system. I assume you know how to read it.”

  Dimitri just drove. He didn’t have the nerve to answer him.

  After they cleared the alley without being pursued, Ivan took out a flashlight from one of his bags and looked at the torn flesh on his right hip. Luckily, the bullet didn’t hit bone, but it hurt much more than his shoulder, which was now numb.

  “Where’s the vodka that was back here? Ivan asked in a tone that made Dmitri even more nervous.

  Dmitri didn’t reply. He simply passed the bottle into the back seat with a third of its contents missing. Ivan grabbed the bottle from his hand and stared at the back of Dmitri’s head, contemplating whether to kill him that instant. He was too tired for the inconvenience, so he opened the bottle and took a long drink. The clear liquid slid down his throat and calmed him almost instantly. Ivan washed down several painkillers with the rest of the bottle in the next two miles. The pain had subsided, but he was feeling faint from the mixture of alcohol, pain pills, and blood loss. Six miles later, they pulled off the main highway onto a dirt road leading to an old farmhouse and a safe haven for the night.

  *****

  The tail lights of the Mercedes van had just cleared the alley when the police discovered the body of the old gentleman and his faithful companion while Petrov led the police to the closet where he escaped from certain death. Peter wasn’t conscious, and his breathing was very shallow and erratic, but he was alive. The paramedics worked fast. They transferred him onto a gurney and inserted an IV drip into his forearm before he was wheeled out to a waiting ambulance. A Prague policeman was also inside the ambulance with a non-life-threatening gunshot wound to his upper thigh. Petrov stayed at Peter’s side the whole time, praying that he wouldn’t die. The once quiet street was now filled with sirens and flashing lights, as other police cars arrived on the scene.

  Peter was a very fortunate man. He was in surgery for three hours to repair the damage done by the 9mm slugs. Petrov had recovered Peter’s laptop that was on the floor of the closet and gave it to the police, stating that the killer was after something on the computer. Investigators interviewed Petrov for hours, going over every detail of the events that night that took the lives of two people and the wounding of two more. Petrov wasn’t able to give the police any description of the killer because of the flashlight in his face. Fingerprints were removed from the door knobs of both Martha’s and Peter’s apartment, and DNA samples were taken from the blood found in the back stairway and on Martha’s clothing that belonged to the killer. After going over all the events of that night, several things still puzzled the police and remained a mystery. It appeared that Dr. Chakinski was the only person who could clear things up, and he wasn’t able to talk just yet.