Читать книгу A Bride of Allah - Сергей Бакшеев - Страница 13

Aslan Kitkiev looked at the apartment number again. Everything was right; building 18, apartment 64. He remembered the address ever since he left for Moscow, but hasn’t been here yet. The apartment was a backup location to be used in the event of a partial failure of the operation. It had to have a supply of medication and food for two weeks, enough to sit around without going outside.

Aslan had a key, but he preferred to push the doorbell button and take two steps back. While the lock was clicking, the young man held his hand inside his coat. The palm of his hand was wrapped around the ribbed grip of his handgun.

The door was opened by a woman of about forty. A shock of unnaturally white hair framed her round face with prominent slightly crooked nose, straight black eyebrows, and thin brightly painted lips. At the roots, her hair was black for about a centimeter. Massive earrings pulled down her earlobes. She wore a variety of necklaces, rings, and bracelets. Her pink blouse accentuated not only her large breasts, but also the folds on her stomach.

The woman quickly glanced around and retreated into the apartment. Aslan quietly came in, looked into the only room and into the kitchen. Only after that his right hand left the inside of his coat.

“Where did you leave the car?” the woman asked.

“Don’t ask meaningless questions, Fatima! There are more important things now,” Aslan snapped and went into the bathroom.

“Nevertheless,” Fatima repeated her question when Aslan came out of the bathroom.

“Are you still harping on about the car? What a bore! The next street over, near the store.”

“You’ve finally learned the basics. Now tell me about the girl.”

Aslan hated to report to women. Although Fatima had been posted to Moscow years ago and conducted several operations here, it was he who was appointed the head of the group. She would have to report first. But the failure of his mission made Aslan more agreeable on the small stuff. In addition, no one else was there to see it.

He sloppily dropped into the only armchair (let the woman stand!) and briefly told her about what happened to Aiza near the metro station.

“Too bad they didn’t kick her to death!” Fatima barked.

“Since that didn’t happen, we have to leave!”

“Why?”

“Woman,” Aslan hissed, lowering his eyes to fat knees peeking out from under her skirt, “Aiza may already be captured and spilling her guts on us as we speak!”

“She doesn’t know about this place.”

“No, but she knows us!”

“What about the money?”

“We’ve done a lot already.”

“Especially you. We won’t get anything for blowing up that glass booth on Kashirskoe Shosse.”

“I know. But three brides out of four succeeded. The airplanes were my work! Or have you forgotten? Hundred fifty thousand bucks would be enough for now.”

“We can’t leave her alive! That’s bad example. Did she come by the old place?”

“No. Vakha is posted there. If she shows up, he’ll let me know.”

“Just don’t bring him here. Remember the rule? Only you can see me.”

“And the girls.”

“They don’t count. They are here today, gone tomorrow. Were it not for today’s mishap… Where could Aiza be?”

“I think she’s still with that guy.”

“Did you find out where he lives?”

“Yes.”

“Is he a cop?”

“No. A common idiot.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s reliable. Our source from the police headquarters came through.”

“That one?”

“Yeah,” Aslan smiled. “It was my idea to recruit him.”

“Show me his address on the map.”

Aslan opened a Moscow road atlas.

“He lives here, on Volgogradsky Prospekt. I wanted to go there, but you said to do nothing until I saw you.”

Fatima faltered, but finally said in a decisive tone, “No. We won’t stick our necks out at night. Too risky. We’ll go there in the morning, when everyone’s off to work.” She opened a curtain slightly and looked out the dark window. “I still hope the girl would push the button. Aiza wanted to die so badly.”

Aslan’s face spread in a greasy smile, “I tried my best.”

Fatima threw him a contemptuous look, but didn’t say anything. She found a remote control and turned on the small TV.

“Let’s hear the news. You’ll see my work, and maybe Aiza would show up, too.”

“What is she doesn’t?”

“The Russians have a saying, there’s no bad thing without a good thing. Tomorrow is September 1, the beginning of the school year. We’ll find her in the morning and send her to a school. I’ll up the dosage, and she’ll do what she must.”

“Are you still drawn to schools, teacher?”

“Why not?” Fatima lowered her voice. “I’ve discussed a school with you-know-who a while ago. And if tomorrow we – ”

“School; girls with bows,” Aslan smiled. “That would be way better than a metro station.”