A black SUV rushes at a huge, almost exorbitant speed, whistling through the un-autumn warm air.
In the back seat, a dark-haired man, frozen in tension, stares unblinkingly into the mirror above the driver. He looks until he raises his head and catches his screaming look: “Push it up, Valera!”
Obeying the silent order of the boss, the driver-bodyguard grips the steering wheel tighter with knotty knuckled fingers and squeezes the maximum out of the iron horse that is possible.
A man with just a movement of his eyes approves in advance any action of Valera. And the car, miraculously kept on the old broken road, cuts through the thick enveloping darkness.
Dangerously? Yes. But I don't have the time or desire to think about it.
Now the main thing is to break away, to be as far as possible from the second car. Now the main thing is to save and deliver the money safely, and not their own skins, already shabby.
Now the main thing is that the persecutors, who believe that crispy banknotes should go to them, believe that Mr. Aleksandrov, or, as he is called, "Controller", is not smart enough.
Cretins! They will always be one step behind!
A crooked grin distorts the correct features of the man's face.
Controller…
Yes, but the fool is the one who thinks that he was given this nickname only because he controls the fulfillment of the terms of the contracts and the movement of funds received from them and going “upstairs”.
He, Alexandrov Sergey Ivanovich, received his nickname for completely different merits. For the habit and ability to control any, even the most difficult situation. For the ability to calculate all the opponent's moves in advance.
So this time, he, who had recently begun to suspect that a “rat” was wound up among his own, leaking information to competitors, foresaw how likely it was to run into an ambush along the way. On those who, by all means, will try to intercept the money being transported.
Well, someone is in for a big and nasty surprise.
Before they understand what is happening, they will have to suffer, chasing the "soap bubble".
Two exactly the same cars with the same numbers. Only in his SUV - money, a lot ... a monstrous lot of money. And he goes along the old road, which has been closed for repairs for more than six years and forgotten by everyone. On the road, on which even an absolute madman with a penchant for unjustified risk will not agree to go even before dark.
And there is another car - a dummy - its task is to draw attention to itself by any means. Do everything so that the enemies who track the movement of money are sure that the goods are being transported in it.
A self-satisfied smile slides over Sergei's lips. An unhealthy gleam burns in his eyes from the excitement of the chase. And there is no need to see the eyes to understand it. He may close them altogether. The essence of what is happening still will not change.
He knows every little thing, every subsequent frame, because all this has already happened in his life. Countless times.
Through the windshield, only the smashed road illuminated by the headlights is visible.
The impenetrable darkness around does not allow you to see the area, but this does not interfere with your orientation at all, making up a complete picture in small strokes.
Sergey knows for sure: a curtain of gray-brown dust, mixed with gravel flying out from under the wheels, spreads behind the SUV. You can hear how it rustles and from time to time hits the metal.
If the switched-off street lamps standing along the road suddenly lit up and illuminated the area, on the right in the lowland one could see a deep ravine overgrown with tall weeds.
Once upon a time, about twenty years ago, there was a collector of sewage treatment plants. The armored tinted windows of the car are tightly closed for safety reasons, but even through them a characteristic smell seeps into the cabin.
It means that there, on the other side of the road, a plantation of fruit trees that no one needs and has long been abandoned has grown and turned into a wild jungle.
And no one knows how many people, still considered missing, will forever remain here. Gradually turning into bones, gnawed by hungry packs of stray dogs.
Not so long ago, in the early nineties, they brought here and threw down all those who disagreed and objectionable. Sometimes already dead, tortured beyond recognition, and sometimes beaten to a pulp, but still alive. These people will never be found, and they will not be looked for.
Sergey is distracted from the crown of the head outside the window, glances at an expensive wristwatch and, feeling no strength, clutches the phone in his palm.
There are nodules on the cheekbones.
He leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes, trying to concentrate.
What is there!
Well, why are these idiots still silent?! Did they manage to lead away the pursuers and break away from them? Come on, damn it! After all, there is nothing complicated: one call - everyone is alive, two - there are losses, silence ...
The phone in his hand vibrates and breaks the unknown with a call. One is the only one. And immediately shuts up. The wait seems to go on forever. Here - now the nerves, stretched like strings, will begin to burst, but the sound is not repeated.
Sergei sighs. So there are no dead among his people. This time luck is on their side!
A pager beeps on his trouser belt.
Something went wrong?
Sergei jumps up sharply, almost rips off the black rectangle and reads a clear code to him alone: “In the cabin plus 3 minus 1, outside the window minus 5.”
Blood is pounding in the temples. The fact that all five pursuers are dead does not make it any easier.
Your division! "Minus 1" means that of the three of his people who were traveling in a car - a dummy, one is still injured.
It remains only to hope that they will manage to take him to the hospital. And there is already a person who will take care of everything. And he, Sergei, will definitely not help. He has his own, more important tasks. After all, risking themselves is the job of his fighters. They all knew what they were signing up for, being part of Mr. Alexandrov's cover group.
- Valera, push it, you need to quickly throw off the load, - Sergey orders the driver - bodyguard in a tired voice.
His eyelids fill with heaviness, and he plunges into an anxious slumber.
