Russian Roulette- the Story of an Assassin pdfdrive com

part of myself accepting what I had turned into. I no longer thought
about escaping. I didn’t even think about what might exist on the other
side of the wall. Once, I found myself looking in the mirror because
there was a stain on my shirt. There was to be a dinner that night and I
was genuinely embarrassed, afraid I would let my master down. At that
moment I was disgusted with myself. I saw, quite clearly, what I was
becoming … perhaps what I had already become.
I never thought of Estrov. It was as if my parents had not existed. Even
my time in Moscow seemed far behind me. It was obvious that Dima
would never find me and even if he did I would be out of his reach. All I
could think about was the work I would do the next day. This was
Sharkovsky’s revenge. He had allowed me to keep my life but he had
taken away my humanity.
And so it might have continued.
But things changed quite suddenly in the early summer of my third
year of captivity. Ivan had just finished his last year at Harrow and was
due back any time. Svetlana was staying with friends near the Black Sea.
Sharkovsky was having another dinner party and I had been told to
report to the dining room to help with the preparations.
For some reason, I arrived early. As I walked up to the house, a car
passed me and stopped at the front door. A man got out, rang the bell
and hurried inside. I had seen him before. His name was Brodsky and he
was one of Sharkovsky’s business associates from Moscow. The two of
them owned several companies together and they were connected in
other ways it was probably best not to know. I went into the kitchen and

---

a few moments later, the telephone rang. Mr Brodsky wanted tea. Pavel
was busy preparing the dinner – a broiled Atlantic salmon, which he was
decorating with red and black caviar. The housekeepers were laying the
table. I was there and in my suit so I made the tea and carried it up.
I crossed the hallway, which was now so familiar to me that I could
have made my way blindfolded. The sweeping staircase, the marble
pillars, the huge bowl of flowers and the chandelier no longer meant
anything to me. I had seen them too often. The door to the study was
half open as I approached and normally I would have knocked and
entered, set the tray down on a table and left as quickly as I could. But
this time, just as I drew close, I heard a single word that stopped me in
my tracks and rooted me to the floor.
“They’re asking questions about it again. Estrov. We’re going to have
to do something before the situation gets out of hand…”
Estrov.
My village.
It had been Brodsky who had spoken. Estrov. What could he possibly
know about Estrov? Hardly daring to breathe, I waited for Sharkovsky to
reply.
“You can deal with it, Mikhail.”
“It’s not as easy as that, Vladimir. These are Western journalists,
working in London. If they connect you with what happened…”
“Why should they?”
“They’re not stupid. They’ve already discovered you were a
shareholder.”
“So what?” Sharkovsky didn’t sound concerned. “There were lots of
shareholders. What exactly am I supposed to have done?”
“You wanted them to raise productivity. You wanted more profit. You
ordered them to change the safety procedures.”
“Are you accusing me, Mikhail?”
“No. Of course not. I’m your closest advisor and your friend and why
should I care if a few peasants got killed? But these people smell a story.
And it would be seriously damaging to us if the name of Estrov were to
be mentioned in the British press or anywhere else.”
“It was all taken care of at the time,” Sharkovsky replied. “There was
no evidence left. Our friends in the ministry made sure of that. It never
happened! Let these stupid journalists sniff around and ask questions.

---

They won’t find anything. And if I do come to believe that they are
dangerous to me or to my business, then I’ll deal with them. Even in
London there are car accidents. Now stop worrying and have a drink.”
“I ordered tea.”
“It should be here. I’ll call down.”
It was a miracle I hadn’t been caught listening outside. If Karl or Josef
had come down the stairs and seen me, I would have been beaten. But I
couldn’t go in quite yet. I had to wait for the echoes of the conversation
to die away. I counted to ten, then knocked on the door and entered. I
kept my face blank. It was vital that they should not know that I had
heard them talking. But as I crossed the carpet to where the visitor was
sitting, the cup and the saucer rattled on the silver tray and I’m sure
there can’t have been any colour in my face.
Sharkovsky barely glanced at me. “What took you so long, Yassen?” he
asked.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I had to wait for the kettle to boil.”
“Very well. Get out.”
I bowed and left as quickly as I could.
I was shaking by the time I returned to the hall. It was as if all the pain
and misery I had suffered in the last three years had been bundled
together and then slammed into me, delivering one final, knock-out
blow. It wasn’t enough that Vladimir Sharkovsky had been endlessly
cruel to me. It wasn’t enough that he had reduced me to the role of his
mindless slave. He was also directly implicated in the deaths of my
mother and father, of Leo and of everyone else in the village.
Was it really such a surprise? When I had first heard his name, it had
been at the university in Moscow. He had been talking to Misha
Dementyev on the telephone and Dementyev had been implicated in
what had happened. Nigel Brown had warned me too. He had told me
that Sharkovsky invested in chemicals. I should have made the
connection. And yet how could I have? It was almost beyond belief.
That night, as I stood at the table watching him tear apart the salmon
that I had just tasted in front of all the other guests, I swore that I would
kill him. It was surely the reason why fate had brought me here and it
no longer mattered if I lived or died.
I would kill him. I swore it to myself.
I would kill him.

---

I would kill.

---

МЕХАНИК

---

THE MECHANIC
I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, my thoughts
turned to guns, to kitchen knives, to the forks and spades that were used
in the garden, to hammers and fire axes. The truth was that I was
surrounded by weapons. Sharkovsky was used to having me around. I
could reach him and have my revenge for Estrov before anyone knew
what had happened.
But what good would it do? Josef and Karl – of course I knew which
was which by now – were always nearby and even assuming I could get
to Sharkovsky before they stopped me, they would deal with me
immediately afterwards. Lying in my simple wooden bed, in my empty
room, looking at the cold light of day, I saw that any action on my part
would only lead to my own death. There had to be another way.
I felt sick and unhappy. I remembered Fagin with his leather notebook,
reading out the different names and addresses in Moscow. Why had I
made this choice?
Once again, and for the first time in a very long while, I thought about
escape. I knew what the stakes were. If I tried and failed, I would die.
But one way or another, this had to end.
I had just one advantage. By now I knew everything about the 
dacha
and that included all the security arrangements. I took out one of the
exercise books that Nigel Brown had given me – it was full of English
vocabulary – and turned to an empty page at the back. Then, using a
pencil, I drew a sketch of the compound and, resting it on my knees, I
began to consider the best way out.
There wasn’t one.
CCTV cameras covered every inch of the gardens. Climbing the wall
was impossible. Quite apart from the razor wire, there were sensors
buried under the lawn and they would register my footfall before I got
close. Could I approach one of the guards? No. They were all far too
afraid of Sharkovsky. What about his wife, Maya? Could I somehow
persuade her to take me on one of her shopping trips to Moscow? It was

---

a ridiculous idea. She had no reason to help me.
Even if I did miraculously make it to the other side, what was I to do
next? I was surrounded by countryside – the Silver Forest – with no idea
of how near I was to the nearest bus stop or station. If I made it to
Moscow, I could go back to Tverskaya Street. I had no doubt that Dima
would hide me … assuming he was still there. But Sharkovsky would use
all his police and underworld contacts to hunt me down. It wouldn’t
bother him that he had been keeping me a prisoner for three years and
he had treated me in a way that was certainly illegal. It was just that we
had made a deal and he would make sure I kept it. I worked for him or I
was dead.
For the next few weeks, everything went on as before. I cleaned, I
washed, I bowed, I scraped. But for me, nothing was the same. I could
hardly bear to be in the same room as Sharkovsky. Tasting his food
made me physically sick. This was the man responsible for what had
happened to Estrov, the unnamed investor my parents had been
complaining about the night before they died. If I couldn’t escape from
him, I would go mad. I would kill him or I would kill myself. I simply
couldn’t stay here any more.
I had hidden the exercise book under my mattress and every night I
took it out and jotted down my thoughts. Slowly, I realized that I had
been right from the very start. There was only one way out of this place
– and that was the Bell JetRanger helicopter. I turned to a new page and
wrote down the name of the pilot, Arkady Zelin, then underlined it
twice. What did I know about him? How could I persuade him to take
me out of here? Did he have any weaknesses, anything I could exploit?
We had known each other for three years but I wouldn’t say we were
friends. Zelin was a very solitary person, often preferring to eat alone.
Even so, it was impossible to live in such close confinement without
giving things away and the fact was that we did talk to each other,