by now had rolled into a sitting position. He didn’t seem to be hurt, but the surviving bodyguard next to him had been gut-shot, and Court could see intestines between his fingers as the wounded man tried to hold them in. Though horrifically injured, the man saw Court and started to lift his pistol up, but Court just reached down and pulled it away from him. He knelt over the wounded man. “I’m taking your protectee, but I’m not with these killers, and you have bigger problems than losing your job right now.”
The man spoke with a weak voice. “Med kit. Back of both Rovers.”
Court pulled Belyakov to his feet, yanked him out into the street, and threw him into the Mercedes as soon as Fitzroy pulled up. He then opened the rear of the lead Range Rover, pulled out a red backpack with a white cross on it, and threw it to the man on the sidewalk. Court doubted he’d be able to do much for himself, but at least he’d die with some purpose.
Court climbed in after Belyakov and Fitzroy began driving off.
After just a few seconds Court leaned up between the front seats. “Fitz! We aren’t going to church! Step on it!”
The older man accelerated, but not much. Court just rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the dazed Russian next to him.
* * *
• • •
Sir Donald Fitzroy followed Court’s directions back to his safe house in West Kensington, dropped him off, and then, following his former contract employee’s wishes, drove off through the rainy afternoon and tried to forget everything that had just happened. He’d get rid of the Mercedes, he’d stay inside his flat for the next week or more, and he’d have his daughter-in-law and grandkids come and keep him company.
This had definitely been a first for the old man. He’d been in hundreds of operations in his lifetime, but being the wheel man during a shootout on a street in Mayfair was a new experience, and one he had no desire to repeat in any fashion.
* * *
• • •
Court manhandled Belyakov down the stairs to the basement flat, held him there while he unlocked the door, then pushed him into the house and down onto a kitchen chair. He ripped the cord of a floor fan out of the wall, cut it off where it went into the fan body, and used this to lash the Russian’s hands behind him and through the slats of the chairback. The sixty-five-year-old was still in a state of disbelief, looking around him in confusion even now, twenty-five minutes after the shooting stopped.
Court drew a large kitchen knife out of a drawer, then held it as he dragged the chair with a terrified and compliant Russian billionaire in it across the kitchen area and into the small living room. He positioned him in front of the sofa and Court sat down in front of the man, wincing with pain as he did so.
He had suffered no injuries in the shootout, but the effects of yesterday’s one-sided fistfight would remain with him for quite some time.
Holding the knife down between his own knees, he leaned close to the heavy Russian. “Okay, boss, I need you to pay attention here, so I can lay down the ground rules. You with me?”
“Da . . . yes. Who are you?”
“First rule. I ask the questions.”
A slight nod from Belyakov, and then he looked towards the front door.
Court shook his head. “Nobody’s coming for you, except to retrieve your body when the smell gives it away.”
Belyakov’s eyes snapped back to Court. “I can make you a very rich—”
Court cut him off. “Asshole, you know how many dead bodies have said that to me ten seconds before they became dead bodies?”
The Russian had no response to this other than a look of dread.
“Now,” Court continued, “as things stand, you are dead. I have no intention of letting you walk out of here with your life.”
“What have I done to you?”
“I’m a psychopathic killer, Vlad. I don’t need a reason to stick this knife in your neck. I am, however, open to negotiation. I only need a little information from you and, if you give it to me, I won’t kill you. If you delay in giving it to me, then I’ll hurt you.” Court leaned forward. “You do believe I am capable of hurting you, do you not?”
Belyakov nodded slightly. “I saw what you did back there. I know you