Russian Roulette- the Story of an Assassin pdfdrive com

part of what had happened. But I had not been the one who had invited
the mechanic into the house. That had been Zelin. With a bit of luck,
Sharkovsky’s people would concentrate on the two of them and they
would forget about me.
I was not safe yet. Far from it.
Both Zelin and Rykov had put on headphones and although the blast of
the rotors made conversation impossible for me, they were able to talk
freely. What were they planning? I knew Zelin had been angry to see me
but he was not the one in charge. Everything depended on Rykov. It
might well be that he had already radioed ahead. There could be people
waiting for me when we landed. I could be dragged out of my seat and
shot. I knew already that human life meant nothing to the so-called
mechanic. He had killed Nina, Josef and Sharkovsky without batting an
eyelid. It would make no difference to him if he added an unknown
teenager to the score.
But I didn’t care. I hated myself at the 
dacha
. I was eighteen years old,
still cleaning toilets and sweeping corridors, kneeling in front of Ivan to
polish his shoes or, worse, performing like a trained monkey at his
father’s dinner parties. It had been necessary to do these things to live
but what was the point of a life so debased? If I were to die now, at least
it would be on my own terms. I had grabbed hold of the opportunity.
I had escaped. I had proved to myself that I was not beaten after all.
And there were so many other things I was experiencing for the first
time. I had never flown before. Even to sit in the luxurious leather seat
of the Bell JetRanger was extraordinary. It had once been my dream to

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fly helicopters and here I was, gazing over Zelin’s shoulder, watching
him as he manipulated the controls. I wished I could see more of the
countryside but it was already dark and the outskirts of Moscow were
little more than a scattering of electric lights. I didn’t mind if I was being
taken to my death. I was happy! Sharkovsky was finished. I had got
away. I was flying.
After about ten minutes, Rykov turned round with a plastic bottle of
water in his hand. He was offering it to me. I shook my head. At the
same time, I retreated into the furthest corner, once again raising the
gun. I was afraid of a trick. Rykov shrugged as if to say that I was
making a mistake, but he understood and turned back again. We
continued for another half-hour, then began to descend. It was only the
pressure in my ears that warned me. Looking out of the window,
everything seemed to be black and I got the idea we must be above
water. Gently we touched down. Zelin hit the controls and the engine
stopped, the rotors slowing down.
Rykov took off his headphones and hung them up. Then he turned to
me. “What now?” he asked.
“Where are we?” I demanded.
“On the edge of a town called Boltino. To the north of Moscow.” He
unfastened his seat belt. “You have your wish, Yassen. You have escaped
from Vladimir Sharkovsky. I’m sure we all agree that the world is a
better place without him. As for Arkady and me, we have a plane
waiting to take us on the next leg of our journey. I’m afraid we have to
say goodbye.”
Ignoring the gun, almost forgetting I was there, Rykov opened the door
and let himself out of the helicopter.
Arkady Zelin faced me. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he hissed.
“You don’t know these people…”
“Who are they?” I asked. I remembered the name I had heard.
“Scorpia…”
“They will kill you.” He undid his own belt and scrambled out,
following the mechanic.
Suddenly I didn’t want to be left on my own. I went after them.
Looking around me, I had no idea why we had landed here. The
helicopter was resting on a strip of mud that was so light-coloured that
on second thoughts I realized it must be sand. An expanse of water

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stretched out next to it with about thirty sailing boats and cruisers
moored to a jetty. There were trees on either side of us and what looked
like wooden hangars or warehouses behind. The mechanic had been
doing something to himself as I climbed down and by the time I reached
him I was astonished to see that he had completely changed his
appearance. The tangled grey hair was a wig. His hair was the same
colour as mine, short and neatly cut. There had been something in his
mouth, which had changed the shape of his face, and the folds of flesh
around his chin had gone. He was suddenly slimmer and younger. He
stripped out of his oily overalls. Underneath he was wearing a black T-
shirt and jeans. The man who had come to the 
dacha
in a green van
marked MVZ Helicopters had disappeared. Nobody would ever see him
again.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“We are leaving the country.”
“In a boat?”
“In a plane, Yassen.” I looked around me, confused. How could a plane
possibly land here? “A seaplane,” he went on. “Don’t you see it?”
And there it was, sitting flat on the water with a pilot already in the
cockpit, waiting to fly them to their next destination. The seaplane was
white. It had two propellers perched high up on the wings and a tail that
was higher still so that even without moving it looked as if it was trying
to lift itself into the air.
“Take me with you,” I said.
The mechanic who was no longer a mechanic smiled once again. “Why
should I do that?”
I still had the gun. I could have forced him to take me … or tried to.
But I knew that was a bad idea, that it would only end up getting me
killed. Instead, I had to make a gesture, to show them I could be trusted.
It was a terrible risk but I knew there was no other way. I turned the gun
round in my hand and gave it to him. He looked genuinely surprised. He
could shoot me where I stood and no one would be any the wiser. Apart
from Zelin and the waiting pilot, there was nobody near.
“I saved your life,” I said. “Back at the 
dacha
… Karl would have shot
you. And I don’t know why you killed Sharkovsky but you couldn’t have
hated him more than I did. We’re on the same side.”
He weighed the gun. Zelin watched the two of us, his face pale.

---

“I’m not on any side. I was paid to kill him,” Rykov said.
“Then take me with you. It doesn’t matter where you’re going. Maybe I
can work for you. I can be useful to you. I’ll do anything you tell me. I
speak three languages. I…” My voice trailed away.
Rykov was still holding the gun. Perhaps he was amused. Perhaps he
was wondering where to fire the next bullet. It was impossible to tell
what was going on in his head. Eventually he spoke – but not to me.
“What do you think, Arkady?” asked.
“I think we should leave,” Zelin said.
“With or without our extra passenger?”
There was a pause and I knew my life was hanging in the balance.
Arkady Zelin had known me for three years. He had played cards with
me. I had never been a threat to him. Surely he wouldn’t abandon me
now.
At last he made up his mind. “With him, if you like. He’s not so bad.
And they treated him like a dog.”
“Very well.” Rykov slid the gun into his waistband. “It may well be
that my employers have a use for you. They can make the final decision.
But until then, you do exactly as you’re told.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s no need to call me that.”
He was already walking down the jetty to the plane. The pilot saw him
and flicked on the engine. It sounded like one of the petrol lawnmowers
at the 
dacha
and, looking at the tiny propellers, the ungainly wings, I
wondered how it could possibly separate itself from the water and fly.
Arkady Zelin was carrying a travel bag, which he had brought from the
helicopter. It occurred to me that everything he owned must be inside it.
He was leaving Russia and, if he was wise, he would never come back.
Sharkovsky’s people might leave me alone but they would certainly be
looking for him. It was impossible to say how much Zelin had been paid
for his part in all this but I hoped the price included a completely new
identity.
We got into the plane, a four-seater. I was lucky there was room for
me. The new pilot ignored me. He knew better than to ask unnecessary
questions.
But I had to know. “Where are we going?” I asked for a second time.
“To Venice,” Rykov said.

---

“And to Scorpia,” he might have added. The most dangerous criminal
organization in the world. And I was about to walk right into its arms.

---

ВЕНЕЦИЯ

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VENICE
It was night-time when we landed.
Once again we came plunging out of the darkness with only the sound
of the engine and the rising feeling in my stomach to tell me we had
reached the end of our journey. The seaplane hit the water, bounced,
then skimmed along the surface before finally coming to rest. The pilot
turned off the engine and we were suddenly sitting in complete silence,
rocking gently on the water. Looking out of the window, I could make
out a few lights twinkling in the distance. I glanced at Rykov, his face
illuminated by the glow of the control panels, trying to work out what
was going on in his mind. I was still afraid he would turn round and
shoot me. He gave nothing away.
What next?
Although I didn’t know it at the time, Venice was a perfect destination
for those travelling by seaplane, particularly if they wished to arrive
without being seen. It is possible, of course, that the Italian police and
air traffic control had been bribed but nobody seemed to have noticed
that we had landed. For about two minutes, no one spoke. Then I heard
the deep throb of an engine and, with my face pressed against the
window, I saw a motor launch slip out of the darkness and draw up next
to us. The pilot opened the door and we climbed out.
The motor launch was about thirty feet long, made of wood, with a
cabin at the front and leather seats behind. There were two men on
board, a captain and a deckhand who helped us climb down. If they
were surprised to find themselves with an extra passenger, they didn’t
show it. They said nothing. Rykov gestured and I sat out in the open at
the back of the launch, even though the night was chilly. Zelin sat
opposite me. He was clutching his travel bag, deep in thought.
We set off and as we went I heard the seaplane start up and take off
again. I was already impressed. Everything about this operation had
been well planned and executed down to the last detail. There had been
only one mistake … and that was me. It took us about ten minutes to

---

make the crossing, pulling into a ramshackle wooden jetty with striped
poles slanting in different directions. Rykov stepped out and waited for
me to follow but Zelin stayed where he was and I realized he was not
coming with us.
I held out a hand to the helicopter pilot. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank
you for letting me come with you.”
“That place was horrible and Sharkovsky was beneath contempt,” Zelin
replied. “All those things they did to you… I’m sorry I didn’t help.”
“It’s over now.”
“For both of us.” He shook my hand. “I hope it works out for you,
Yassen. Take care.”
I climbed onto the jetty and the boat pulled away. Moments later it
had disappeared over the lagoon.
Rykov and I continued on foot. He took me to a flat in an area near the
old dockyards where we had disembarked. Why do I call him Rykov? As
I was soon to discover, it was not his name. He was not a mechanic. I’m
not even sure that he was Russian, although he spoke my language
fluently. He told me nothing about himself in the time I was with him
and I was wise enough not to ask. When you are in his sort of business –
now my business – you are not defined by who you are but who you are
not. If you want to stay ahead of the police and the investigation
agencies, you must never leave a trace of yourself behind.
We reached a doorway between two shops in an anonymous street.
Rykov unlocked it and we entered a hallway with a narrow, twisting
staircase leading up. His flat was on the fourth floor. He unlocked
a second door and turned on the light. I found myself in a square,
whitewashed room with a high ceiling and exposed beams. It had very
little personality and I guessed it was merely somewhere he stayed when
he was in Venice rather than a home. The furniture looked new. There
was a sofa facing a television, a dining table with four chairs, and a
small kitchen. The pictures on the wall were views of the city, probably
the same views you could see if you opened the shutters. It did not feel
as if anyone had been here for some time.
“Are you hungry?” Rykov asked.
I shook my head. “No. I’m OK.”
“There are some tins in the cupboard if you want.”
I was hungry. But I was tired too. In fact, I was exhausted as all the

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suffering of the last three years suddenly drained out of me. It had ended
so quickly. I still couldn’t quite accept it. “What happens now?” I asked.
Rykov pointed at a door which I hadn’t noticed, next to the fridge.
“There’s only one bedroom here,” he said. “You can sleep on the couch. I
have to go out but I’ll be back later. Don’t try to leave here. Do you
understand me? You’re to stay in this room. And don’t use the telephone
either. If you do, I’ll know.”
“I don’t have anyone to call,” I said. “And I don’t have anywhere to
go.”
He nodded. “Good. I’ll get you some blankets before I leave. Help
yourself to anything you need.”
A short while later, he left. I drank some water, then made up a bed on
the couch and lay down without getting undressed. I was asleep
instantly. It was the first time I had slept outside my small wooden cabin
in three years.
I didn’t hear Rykov come back but I was woken up by him the
following morning as he folded back the shutters and let in the sun. He
had changed once again and it took me a few moments to remember
who he was. He was wearing a suit and sunglasses. There was a gold
chain around his neck. He looked slim and very fit, ten years younger
than the mechanic who had come to mend the Bell JetRanger.
“It’s nine o’clock,” he said. “I can’t believe Sharkovsky let you sleep
this long. Is that when you started work?”
“No,” I replied. At the 
dacha
, I’d woken at six every morning.
“You can use my shower. I’ve left you a fresh shirt. I think it’s your
size. Don’t take too long. I want to get some breakfast.”
Ten minutes later, I was washed and dried, wearing a pale blue T-shirt
that fitted me well. Rykov took me out and for the first time I saw
Venice in the light of an autumn day.
There is simply nowhere in the world like it. Even today, when I am
not working, this is somewhere I will come to unwind. I love to sit
outside while the sun sets, watching the seagulls circling and the traffic
crossing back and forth across the lagoon … the water taxis, the water
ambulances, the classic speedboats, the