Page 54 of Emerald

I don’t expect the rest of the floor to hold out much longer.

I look wildly around and see my neighbor, Mrs. Chugunkin, staring at me from the doorway. She’s wearing her usual oversized cardigan and carpet slippers, and she too is holding a mug of tea. She’s lucky she was drinking it in the kitchen, and not on her green chintz sofa, which has been completely flattened by my bathtub.

“Ubiraysya otsyuda!”I shout at her.Get out of here!

We race for her front door, Mrs. Chugunkin getting there first, because I stop to snatch another wooly cardigan off the coatrack in her hallway. I shove my feet into a pair of her rain boots, and then we run out the door, down the hallway, and all the way down the four flights of stairs to the ground floor.

By this time, we’re in a crowd of apartment dwellers who have heard the explosion and are trying to flee the building. I see the superintendent, Mr. Bobrov, trying to direct people but almost getting trampled by the plumber who lives on the second floor.

“What was it?” Mrs. Chugunkin says to me in confusion. “Was it a gas leak?”

I ignore her, pushing past her to the doorway down to the parking garage.

I avoid my own ancient Vesta and hot-wire the plumber’s work van instead. Whoever tossed a grenade through my window is probably well aware what kind of car I drive. They probably saw me pull in. They must have been close by, watching and waiting for me to arrive back home.

What I don’t know is who’s trying to kill me.

Is it Remizov, in retaliation for failing to complete the hit on Ivan?

He’s not supposed to know who he hired to do the job, any more than I’m supposed to know who hired me.

But that doesn’t mean he didn’t figure it out.

If I tracked Zima’s IP address, that means other people can do it, too.

I start the engine of the van and pull out of the underground lot.

My first impulse is to get out of the city, head to my other safe house in Moscow. It’s a shack, even shittier than this place. But I have clothes and cash stashed there, and another laptop.

That’s what pisses me off the most about my apartment getting torched—it took me a long time to build my computer rig. It had all my records on it. I need it for work.

Of course, I have backups of my files in several places, plus more supplies, but all my favorite stuff was in that flat.

However, before I’ve driven very far out of St. Petersburg, I start thinking that switching to my other safe house isn’t the best idea. After all, if somebody knew about my apartment here, they could very well know about the one in Moscow. I doubt I’ll get lucky a second time if they decide to launch another grenade through my window.

I do need money, ID, and better clothes. I’m currently wearing a moth-eaten cardigan and a pair of Wellingtons.

I have emergency caches stashed in a few places around the city.

That’s where I’ll go first.

I’ll get some money.

I’ll buy some pants.

Then I’ll figure out who’s trying to kill me.

* * *

16

Ivan

Mist to mist, drops to drops. For water thou art, and unto water shalt thou return.

Kamand Kojouri

I’ve only been back at the compound an hour when Andrei calls me to tell me that a battered white van has pulled up to the gate.

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