"Headlights." Devra tensed. "That's the right direction."
"You'll know his car?"
"I'll know it," she said. "There aren't many cars in the area. Mostly old trucks for carting."
The glow brightened. Then they saw the headlights themselves as the vehicle crested the rise. From the position of the headlights, Arkadin could tell this was a car, not a truck.
"It's him," she said.
"Get out," Arkadin ordered. "Run! Run now!"
Keep moving," Bourne told the cabbie, "in first gear only till I tell you different."
"I don't think-"
But Bourne had already swung open the curbside door, was sprinting toward the two men. One had Gala, the other was turning, raising his hand, perhaps a signal for one of the waiting cars. Bourne chopped his midsection with his two hands, brought his head down to his raised knee. The man's teeth clacked together and he toppled over.
The second man swung Gala around so that she was between him and Bourne. He scrabbled for his gun, but Bourne was too quick. Reaching around Gala, Bourne went for him. He moved to block Bourne and Gala stamped her heel on his instep. That was all the distraction Bourne needed. With a hand around her waist, he pulled her away, delivered a vicious uppercut to the man's throat. Reflexively, he put two hands up, choking and gagging. Bourne delivered two quick blows to his stomach and he, too, hit the pavement.
"Come on!"
Bourne grabbed Gala by the hand, made for the bombila, moving slowly along the street with its door open. Bourne swung her inside, climbed in after her, slammed the door shut.
"Take off!" he shouted at the cabbie. "Take off now!"
Shivering with the cold, Gala rolled up the window.
"My name is Yakov," the cabbie said, craning his neck to look at them in the rearview mirror. "You make much excitement for me tonight. Is there more? Where can I take you?"
"Just drive around," Bourne said.
Several blocks on he discovered Gala staring at him.
"You weren't lying to me," she said.
"Neither were you. Clearly, the Kazanskaya think you know where Leonid is."
"Leonid Danilovich Arkadin." She was still trying to catch her breath. "That's his name. It's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"What I want," Bourne said, "is a meeting with Dimitri Maslov."
"The head of the Kazanskaya? You're insane."
"Leonid has been playing with a very bad crowd," Bourne said. "He's put you in harm's way. Unless I can persuade Maslov that you don't know where Arkadin is you'll never be safe."
Shivering, Gala struggled back into her fur jacket. "Why did you save me?" She pulled the jacket tight around her slender frame. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I can't let Arkadin throw you to the wolves."
"That's not what he's done," she protested.
"What would you call it?"
She opened her mouth, closed it again, bit her lip as if she could find an answer in her pain.
They had reached the inner Garden Road. Traffic whizzed by at dizzying speeds. The cabbie was about to earn his bombily name.
"Where to?" he said over his shoulder.
There was silence for a moment. Then Gala leaned forward, gave him an address.
"And where the fuck might that be?" the cabbie asked.
That was another oddity about bombily. Since almost none of them were Muscovites, they had no idea where anything was. Unfazed, Gala gave him directions and, with a horrific belching of diesel fumes, they lurched into the madly spinning traffic.
"Since we can't go back to the apartment," Gala said, "we'll crash at my girlfriend's place. I've done it before. She's cool with it."
"Do the Kazanskaya know about her?"
Gala frowned. "I don't think so, no."
"We can't take the chance." Bourne gave the cabbie the address of one of the new American-run hotels near Red Square. "That's the last place they'll think to look for you," he said as the cabbie changed gears and they hurtled through the spangled Moscow night.
Alone in the car, Arkadin fired the ignition and pulled out. He stamped on the gas pedal, accelerating so quickly his head jerked back. Just before he slammed into the right corner of Haydar's car, he switched on his headlights. He could see Haydar's bodyguards in the rear seat. They were in the process of turning around when Arkadin's car made jarring contact. The rear end of Haydar's car slewed to the left, beginning its spin; Arkadin braked sharply, rammed the right back door, staving it in. Haydar, who had been struggling with the wheel, completely lost control of the car. It spun off