Page 45 of Savage Warrior

?tefan slows the Land Rover and glances over. “Grigor Kusnetsov,” he reads from the label below the picture. “Where did you see him?”

“He drove the van that picked us up when we got off the ship. He was with another man. One of them shot that police officer.”

?tefan nods. “Okay. Great. Anyone else?”

I scroll through again, more slowly this time, and manage to pick out two more possibles. ?tefan makes a mental note of all the names, though I’m less certain of the final two. They were men I spotted at the Crimson Club in Lida and didn’t take much notice of. That seems a lifetime ago now.

“I could be wrong,” I explain. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve done well.” He shoves the phone back in his pocket. “Ah. There’s a petrol station up ahead. We’ll fill up there, and you can use the toilets if you need to.”

Rome

While Arina nips round the back of the kiosk to use the facilities, I fill up the tank then go into the roadside shop to pay. I pick up a couple of packs of sandwiches and buy hot drinks from a vending machine. I also pick up a six pack of condoms, then think better of it and grab two more as well. At the paydesk, a ruddy-faced kid of about eighteen takes my money.

“Which way did ye come, mate?” he asks me.

I’m not his mate and I’m about to say so, but he babbles on. “Did ye come though the roadblock?”

“Roadblock?” I pick up my change. “What roadblock?”

“About a mile that way,” he replies, clearly eager to dish the gossip. I guess there are not that many people to talk to round here. “Police, lookin’ for an escaped prisoner or somethin’. A woman. She’s dangerous, apparently.”

“Oh. What did she do?” I keep it casual, though all my senses are on alert.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Must’ve been serious, though. There’s plenty of ’em.”

“I see. Well, let’s hope they find her then.” I collect up my supplies and head back outside.

Arina is waiting for me in the car.

“I need you to climb over into the back and duck down behind the seats. There’s a blanket. I want you to pull that over yourself.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I said so.” Perhaps I should explain my suspicions, but that would only alarm her more.

“But—”

“I thought we went through all this, back at the cabin. I tell you to do stuff. You do it.”

She reddens but stifles any further argument. I wait until she’s safely concealed in the rear footwell, then drive off.

We reach the roadblock about a mile and half further along the road. A red-and-white painted barrier has been placed across the single-track road, and two uniformed police officers are stationed at each end. I check that my dash cam is turned on and drive slowly towards them. One steps into the middle of the road, his hand raised.

I come to a stop and lower the window on the driver’s side. “What’s the problem, Officer?”

He walks around my vehicle, making a show of checking the registration plate, then leans in the window.

“Are you travelling alone, sir?”

“You can see I am. Why?”

“We’re looking for someone. An escaped felon…”

Felon? That’s not common parlance, even in this remote spot. My Spidey-senses prickle. “Do you have identification?”

He glowers at me, then gestures one of his colleagues to come over. The second policeman brandishes a warrant card at me, which settles the matter as far as I’m concerned. I saw enough of those when I was a kid to know that the badge should be on the right.

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