CHAPTER ELEVEN
This is the final chapter where everything is resolved. There is a little bit of action in this chapter but nothing indiscreetly violent. Thanks for reading - maybe I'll write some more fanfics in the future. :)
Silently the assassin crept down the grimy alleyway. A flickering streetlamp did little to illuminate the thickset darkness. The assassin manoeuvred around the ice and trash which mingled in a slushy mess on the ground. The rusted back door to the long abandoned café was hidden at the back of the alleyway, partially covered by some disused garbage skips.
Ignoring the door, the assassin lept on top of skips. The bins groaned faintly but held the weight. In a few short movements the assassin was running lightly across the roof like a feline.
Scanning along the roofline, the assassin found the entry. An unused exhaust vent from the café's kitchen. Before removing the rain cover the assassin checked the weapon. Flipping the safety off, the assassin the lifted the rain cover and slid into the vent.
The inside of the café was barely warmer than outside although defended from the bitter wind. Crouching low, the assassin peered into the café's main dining area. A man sat in the corner, his head resting on his chest. The target. Confidently, the assassin stood tall and strode into the café, pointing the gun directly at the man's skull. Time had come for Ilya Gavrik.
Gavrik looked up startled, his faced betrayed a flicker of panic before his customary cool resolve set in. The assassin allowed time to savour the moment. Ilya's eyes remained fixed on the assassin's eyes, searching for way out. A curve crept across the assassin's red lips.
"You had this long coming old man." The assassin indulged in every word, pronouncing each syllable with prepared care.
"This is for Alyona and Erik Ivanovna." The assassin said with vehement hatred. Suddenly the Ilya's eyes flickered, only for a second, on something at the back of the room.
The assassin didn't need any other warning. Spinning on one foot the assassin instinctively directed the gun to where Ilya had looked.
It was too late. Before the assassin could register it, Sasha placed cracking blow fell across the assassin's face. Another well placed blow in the stomach and at the back of the knee's left the assassin kneeling on the dust sprinkled floor.
Out of breath, Sasha looked in the assassin's brown eyes. Of course it was you.
He lined his gun's cold barrel up with the Ekaterina's forehead. This time she made no confident saucy remarks. Her short red curls shook as she pleaded.
"Don't. Please." Her voice was a desperate whisper and her hands trembled. She looked into his eyes begging for mercy. Sasha tried to return her stare but had to avert his eyes. He looked at Ilya who was now standing behind her. Ilya stepped backwards as if to say: This is your decision Sasha. Inwardly, Sasha sighed.
"Mercy." Ekaterina pleaded again. Again Sasha glanced at Ilya. Ilya only pursed his lips. Not this time, you choose whether she lives or dies.
"Mother Mary..."She began to pray silently as he tightened his grip on the trigger. Ekaterina bent her head and joined her hands. Sasha remained frozen unable to decide. He looked again at his father.
In the moment when Sasha shifted focus Ekaterina reached out and grasped his ankle, bringing him to the ground. Her surprising strength was just enough to get the upper-hand. Sasha retained the grip on his gun but before he could raise it again Ekaterina had already retrieved he gun and aimed it had Ilya.
Ilya did not move. His neutrality was so absolute he would not even flinch. In one deft movement Ekaterina had shielded herself with Ilya and trained her gun on his temple.
He fixed his eyes on Sasha. Decide. Now.
"Your father will die." Ekaterina crooned in her low voice.
"By the way, you're a terrible interrogator. You know that right?" Sasha blocked out her attempts at distracting him. Focus. He lowered his Stechkit from Ekaterina's head and glanced at his father for approval. Ilya made no movement but to tighten his lips. Ekaterina continued,
"You're also a terrible spy. Or maybe I'm just good. I did completely fool MI5 and your spooks back at that poxy interrogation safehouse." As she laughed she kept her eyes directly on Sasha.
Sasha clenched his jaw. Now or Never. Squeezing the trigger, he shot the pistol into his father's shoulder, not far from his heart.
Ilya threw himself on the floor after the bullet passed through him leaving Ekaterina standing in shock behind him. A tiny pool of blood blossomed from her chest. It was an easy shot at such a point blank range but Sasha was relieved to hit his mark.
Sasha wasted no time in raising the gun to her forehead. He looked into her dark brown eyes on last time and saw them harden in anger.
"Go to hell!" she spat before Sasha pulled the trigger and she collapsed on the floor.
EPILOGUE
Morning light burst through the snow clouds, spilling onto the white snow and warming the cold walls of the FSB headquarters. Two figures exited the building and made their way across Lubyanka Square.
Sasha and Ilya did not say anything to each other. Both too caught up in their own thoughts to hold a conversation.
Sasha felt strangely awake, as if the adrenaline of last night was still pumping through his veins. He breathed deeply, the air was warmer today and didn't sear his lungs when he inhaled.
"MI5 will have to change their recruitment policy. Harry Pearce is getting slack letting monomaniacal assassins manipulate them." Ilya stated.
MI5 aren't the only ones in question, Sasha thought. Somehow Ekaterina had convinced Stepan and Leo to release her from the interrogation cell last night. Sasha sighed, I'll worry about that later.
"Why did she want to kill you so badly?" Sasha asked, wistfully glancing up at the bright sky.
"She spoke of her parents. I've done a lot things in my life, Sasha." Ilya stopped suddenly to observe the frozen fountain. Small beads of water fell from the icicles.
"People have been harmed when it wasn't necessary to." He finished. Ilya glanced at his son and a hint of warmth crossed his countenance.
As they neared the end of the square, Ilya's privately chauffeured car pulled up. Ilya looked at Sasha, his face showing the wear of many years in the secret service. Motioning to his arm which was wrapped in a sling he said,
"You're a good shot."
Sasha smiled and opened the door for his father.
"Thanks." Ilya nodded and slid into the car. Sasha stood and watched it exit the square. The snow dripped away as the early morning traffic picked up.
In the back of car, Ilya closed his eyes and thought,
I have a house, a son and tortoise in the garden.
I really thought about letting Ekaterina live but I started this story with her death in mind. Besides, the whole point was for Sasha to finally move on from his mother's death. He had to choose his father over his (symbolic) mother.