Chapter Twenty-Two
January 16
Moscow, Russia
Justin glanced around the Krasnaya Zvezda restaurant at the patrons wearing hundred-thousand-dollar suits or dresses and felt out of place. He could pay for his meal—at least he hoped he could, since prices were not advertised on the gold-plated menus—and he was in the company of Markov, the GRU agent who knew at least some of the powerful businessmen filling the ritzy establishment. She was dressed in a sleeveless V-neck black-and-white dress that was tight in all the right places, accentuating her neatly shaped curves. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had applied very little make-up: a light blush and a soft pink lip gloss. Not exactly low profile, but pale in comparison to the glitzy women around them.
But Justin still experienced an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. A sort of premonition, that the sky was going to fall pretty soon. Perhaps it was memories of the past, since every time he came to Moscow, something went seriously sideways. Or it could be expectations about the future, as both Markov and he were waiting for Egorov to make her move.
Carrie and Dolina had put the word out about al-Gailani residing in Moscow. They had stopped short of divulging his exact address. It would take Egorov and her team a few minutes to discover al-Gailani’s location. But if they had already done so, there had been no indication they were planning to target the bagman.
“What are you thinking, Justin?” Markov asked as she sliced off a small piece of her gold-flake triple chocolate cake.
“Egorov. Where is she?”
“Relax. She’ll make an appearance.”
“It’s the second day, and we’re still waiting.”
“Egorov is patient and extremely careful. She knows this is a trap.”
“But you still think she’ll come?”
“Of course she will. But only when she’s confident she can outsmart us.”
“Can she?”
Markov looked deep into Justin’s thoughtful eyes. “Yes, she can, but she won’t. We’re not going to let her. But we also can’t underestimate her skills. Egorov didn’t get to where she is by being sloppy and making mistakes.”
Justin nodded, then reached for his cup of coffee. It had a rich smoky taste with hints of burned chocolate. He loved it, and made a mental note to ask the waitress again about the long fancy-sounding name.
Markov continued, “She could be watching us as we speak. And I’m sure she has eyes on her target and our surveillance.”
“Yes, have they reported any sightings?”
“Negative.” Markov tapped her phone next to the dessert plate. “I’ll be the first one to know.”
“We’ve made sure we have a few operatives in the open?”
“Well, not exactly in the open, but somewhat easy to spot. We don’t want to make it obvious to Egorov that we know she’s coming, although we do.”
Justin sighed. He did not have the patience for this cat-and-mouse game. A man of action, he hated sitting on his hands. But we’re not just having expensive coffee and dessert here. We’re laying the trap, slowly and carefully. It’s a crucial part of our op. He nodded to himself and sipped his coffee.
“How did you fare in Iraq?” Markov asked.
“Things went okay, but I’ve told you that already.”
Markov forked another small piece of cake to her mouth and swallowed it slowly. “Oh, this is so good. You’re sure you don’t want some?”
Justin cocked his head. “Since you insist.” He reached with his spoon and took a small piece.
“Oh, come on, Justin. That’s minuscule. You can do better than that.”
Justin dug in and filled his spoon. Then he brought it to his mouth. The decadent chocolate was so rich and sweet. The small pieces of edible gold were just an extravagance. They were crunchy, but absent of any metallic taste. He thought about the last time he had tasted gold. Yeah, that bagel with truffle cream cheese and small gold flakes. It had been during his meeting with Romanov, the ruthless Russian oil baron, once Justin’s supporter. “Hmmmm, it’s so tasty.”
“Glad you like it. Now, Iraq—anything specific you can tell me?”
“You’re a curious gal.”
“Yes, and you’re quite observant.” Markov laughed. “Look, Justin, I’m not just a GRU officer. I’m more than that—well, I hope I’m your friend.”
Justin nodded. He was not sure “friend” was the right word to describe his relationship with Markov. “Partner” was a better description, but if Markov preferred the first, that would work for him as well. “You are my friend, but we work for different agencies that sometimes are at odds with one another.”
“Justin, I’m not asking to give me secrets or classified intel,” Markov said in a tone with a slight irritation. “I just want to know you’ve . . . eh, you’ve closed the loop.”
Justin tried to stifle the frown stretching across his face. Markov was telling him in no uncertain terms that she knew about the reason he had been dispatched to Iraq. But how much does she know? “Eh, I did what I could. But, where did you hear about that?”
Markov shrugged. “I like to know what my friends are up to. Glad everything is resolved.”
Justin held Markov’s eyes for a moment, but did not notice anything but genuine concern. He decided to let things slide for now, but it was something he wanted to revisit at another time.
The waitress appeared tableside. “Can I get you anything else?”
Markov glanced at the cake crumbs on her plate. “Justin, you want to split another slice?”
“Sure, why not? And can I get another cup of coffee?”
“Of course, I’ll bring them right away.”
Justin finished the last of his coffee, then glanced at Markov. She was checking her phone and tapping the screen. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, got a message about something strange near the Evo Tower.”
“Al-Gailani’s office?”
“Yes. Let me check.” Markov dialed a number.
Justin sat at the edge of his seat. The Evolution Tower was a spiralling 246-meter-high skyscraper in the Moscow’s business district. The Bank of Belgium offices occupied space on the fifty-first floor, near the top of the tower.
Markov’s face twisted in a dark frown. “No, no, no,” she said, then swore.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ll be there right away.” She ended the call and stood up. “Egorov’s at the tower along with a large team.”
Justin jumped to his feet and reached for his wallet. “How much?” he pulled out a wad of cash.
“Five hundred should do it, six with the tip.”
Justin’s jaw almost dropped, but he shrugged. He placed the bills on the table, then hurried behind Markov. “Have they breached security?” he whispered as they made their way through the restaurant.
“They have.”
“How? How did that happen?”
“A Bank of Belgium helo landed on the helipad. It was full of Egorov’s people.”
Justin cursed the bank and the lax security at the top of the tower. The GRU and FSB had placed only two operatives up there, focusing most of the manpower around the tower on the ground.
Markov had parked her boxed-shaped black Mercedes AMG G63 SUV behind the restaurant. She got behind the wheel and hit the gas before Justin had even closed the front passenger door. “Gonna be a rough ride.”
He strapped on the seatbelt. “Ready now.”
The SUV’s wheels spun as Markov flattened the gas pedal. They barreled through the street, then fishtailed through the intersection. Thankfully, no vehicles were in close vicinity, and Markov’s excellent maneuvering avoided a crash with a truck zooming from the other direction.
They rocketed down Vozdvizhenka Street. Markov hammered the horn with her fist to clear traffic ahead of them, or swerved onto the sidewalks. They were making good time, but were still at least five minutes out. Justin clenched his teeth, hoping they would not be too late. If Egorov’s team seized al-Gailani, they would all disappear without a trace, never to be found. We can’t let that happen. “Faster, faster,” he said.
“Justin, relax. We need to get there in one piece.”
“Yes, but not when it’s all over.”
Markov cursed Egorov and stepped on the gas. The Mercedes drifted through the next intersection and came dangerously close to a city bus. Markov jerked the wheel and sideswiped a yellow taxi. Then she forced her way in between a black Range Rover SUV and a silver Mazda sedan, scraping both vehicles. She turned to the right, and the Mercedes’ crash guard slammed into the rear of a Porsche roadster, tossing it to the side as if it were a toy car.
With the road more or less clear, the Mercedes raced forward. Markov said, “Better?”
Justin smiled. “An improvement.”
“Do you want to drive?”
“No, I’m better with the gun.” He unholstered his Sig Sauer P229 pistol and cocked it.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Justin nodded. He had seen Markov in action, and she was as good, if not a better shot than he.
When they reached Krasnopresnenskaya Naberezhnaya, Markov yanked hard on the wheel. The Evolution Tower appeared to the left, jutting up at the sky, its unique spiral shape sculpturally symbolizing the DNA molecule double helix. A cloud of smoke was billowing from the top.
Markov frowned. “We might be too late.”
“Hit it, girl.”
Markov nodded and slammed her foot on the gas. The Mercedes shot up through the street. Markov maneuvered around the vehicles like a street racer. She dared to cross to the oncoming lane, barely missing head-on collisions a few times. They brushed against a few cars, mostly sedans, that the three-ton heavy armored Mercedes had no problem shoving to the sides.
Justin held on to the door, flinching every time they came close to crashing into another vehicle. His eyes were glued to the tower, growing taller and bigger by the second. He noticed a reddish dot hovering over the top. “There’s a helo.”
“Egorov may still be there.”
“Yeah, let’s hope so.”
It was not long before Markov brought the battered Mercedes to a screeching halt in front of the tower’s main entrance. Two men in black uniforms—FSB operatives—approached their vehicle. Markov said, “We’re GRU. Where’s Egorov?”
“Still in the building. Top floor,” replied one of them.
Markov jumped out of the SUV and flipped open the Mercedes’ trunk. She replaced her stilettos with a pair of runners, then reached for an AK-105 assault rifle. “Justin, take the other one.”
He holstered his pistol and picked up the rifle. Then he reached into the trunk and pulled four magazines from the ammunition box.
“Ready?” Markov asked.
“Let’s roll,” Justin replied.
They bolted toward the entrance and found the elevators. One of them was non-functional, the door opening and closing and the lights inside the car flashing. Justin and Markov stepped into the other one. He pushed the button to the fiftieth floor, and the car zoomed upwards.
Justin glanced at Markov. “If this goes sideways, you’re one of the best op—”
“Hey, nobody is dying today but Egorov.”
“And her men.”
“Yes, all of them.”
“Al-Gailani?”
“Maybe. But for sure not you or I.”
Justin nodded. He cocked the assault rifle and glanced at the elevator’s doors.
When they opened with a low ping, he stepped to the side and pointed the rifle at the gap. No one fired at them, and the hall was empty. “I’ll take the top,” Justin said.
“You want all the fun?”
“Once you’ve cleared the next floor, come join the party.”
Markov nodded.
Justin pointed toward the staircase and dashed toward it. He opened it carefully, then climbed the stairs by twos and threes. He did not need to glance over his shoulder for Markov. He could hear and feel her right behind him.
When they got to the next floor, Justin stopped by the metal door. He listened for a moment. All quiet. He nodded at Markov, then whispered, “All the best.”
“Same.”
Justin continued upwards, while Markov opened the door. It made a faint click, then Markov disappeared through the narrow gap. Before the door closed, a quick burst came from the other side. Justin shrugged. He hoped it was Markov who had pulled the trigger.
He reached the next floor. When he was about three steps away from the door, it swung open. A gunman burst forth. Justin fired once. His bullet struck the man in the neck, and he toppled down the stairs.
Someone fired from inside the hall. Justin dropped against the wall as bullets flew through the door.
Justin squeezed off a few rounds, then hurried up the stairs, careful to keep the door in his peripheral vision. He needed to reach the top, before Egorov got into the helicopter with or without al-Gailani.
Moments later, Justin came to the door that opened onto the tower’s roof. It too was slightly open. The helicopter’s rumble came through the door, along with loud voices.
He peered carefully and stepped onto the roof. The sharp cold wind assaulted his face. He blinked and turned his head to the side while looking for gunmen.
This side of the square roof was clear.
He glanced upwards at the tower’s crown. It was a solid steel structure formed of two twisted arches. The helipad was three stories high. Then Justin looked for a service staircase—as the top floors housed the utility units—and found one to his right. He began to climb as fast as he could.
Justin was halfway up when the helicopter appeared to his left. He quickened his steps, hoping to reach the helipad before the pilot noticed him.
It was not meant to be.
A volley of bullets struck all around him. Rounds pinged against the metal staircase. A couple whizzed past his head, missing him by inches. One cut through his left calf. Justin screamed in agony.
He struggled to climb, ignoring the pain shooting through his body. He stopped for a moment and pointed his rifle at the helicopter. Before he could let off a volley, the helicopter veered off and out of sight.
Justin finished his climb as gunfire echoed from the helipad. He stayed low as he came to the top of the staircase. A thin glass parapet enclosed the circular helipad landing, but other than that, there was not much cover.
His eyes found a couple of bodies strewed about. He was not sure if they were FSB, GRU, or part of Egorov’s team. It was not important, as they were not moving.
But Egorov was standing on the other side.
Two men were beside her. One of them noticed Justin and dropped to one knee. Then he opened fired.
Justin was already on his stomach.
The glass parapet erupted in a million pieces. Justin buried his head in his arms, which were cut by the sharp slivers. He cursed the shooter, then aimed his rifle. He glanced through the parapet and double-tapped the trigger.
The shooter fell to his side.
The other man did not point a weapon at Justin; he seemed to be staggering on his feet.
Justin scanned the helipad for other shooters.
There were none.
Egorov stepped closer to the man and pressed a pistol to his temple. “Come out or I’ll blow his head off,” she shouted.
The helicopter’s rumble came from the right side.
Justin fired a long barrage as soon as the helicopter appeared high above him. The pilot, though, had anticipated the incoming volley, so he nose-dived between the skyscrapers.
Egorov fired a couple of rounds that pinged right by Justin’s head.
Justin turned his rifle toward her, but Egorov returned her weapon to the hostage’s head. “Drop it, or the bagman dies.”
Justin climbed to his feet and took a few steps toward Egorov. He put most of his body weight on his right leg, slightly dragging the left one to his side. The helicopter was nowhere in sight, but the rumble told Justin it was not far away.
“Stop, or I’ll kill him,” Egorov shouted.
“Kill him! What do I care?”
Justin was now halfway across the helipad.
Egorov slid her body behind al-Gailani. The wind was blowing her long black hair, but only a small fragment of her face was visible. “I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I.”
“Stop, don’t move! Last warning!”
The helicopter appeared behind Justin.
Before he could turn, bullets pounded all around him. Justin rolled on the tarmac, then flipped on his back. He fired a short burst at the helicopter, then rolled again.
Egorov also squeezed off a couple of rounds.
One missed Justin, but not by much. The second one grazed his back. It felt as if he had been struck by a heavy hammer. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs for a moment. He was glad he had worn a bulletproof vest underneath his black jacket.
He fired the rest of his magazine at the helicopter, which dove to the right. Then he reloaded quickly and rolled again, as more bullets zipped around him.
Justin turned onto his stomach and aimed at Egorov. The hostage, al-Gailani, had stepped away from her, but not much. There was not a large enough gap for Justin to fire a sure shot at Egorov. But he did.
The single round hit al-Gailani in his left leg.
He screamed and dropped to the tarmac.
Egorov was exposed.
She squeezed off a round.
It struck by Justin’s head. Two inches to the left, and it would have been over for him.
Justin fired again.
His bullet caught Egorov on the right side of her chest. The force of the impact sent her flying toward the parapet. She tried to hold on to it, but her body slipped through the broken glass.
“No, no,” Justin shouted.
He had not wanted to kill her, but only to neutralize the threat. He sighed and crawled forward. He struggled to climb to his knees, and then to his feet.
He drew in an uneasy breath and stood up. The helicopter’s rumble seemed to come from right in front of him.
Yes, there it is.
The helicopter appeared high over the other side. The pilot must have noticed Egorov had fallen—wounded or perhaps dead—because he let off a long barrage. It was aimed at al-Gailani, who was moving away from the edge of the landing.
Justin aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger. He fired round after round. Bullets struck the helicopter’s fuselage. Others thumped against the rotor blades, lighting up sparks.
The pilot tried to bank to the right, but he seemed to have lost control. The maneuver was not well-executed, and the helicopter whirled around. It gained some altitude, while Justin kept hammering it with his ceaseless volley.
The pilot veered to the right, but the helicopter dropped in mid-maneuver. One of the skids hit the top of the skyscraper’s steel crown. The crash yanked the helicopter back, and it completed a full circle.
Then it nose-dived toward the helipad.
Justin cursed the turn of events and bolted to the left. He tried to calculate where the helicopter would crash-land, hoping against hope the pilot would regain control, and the helicopter would soar upwards.
It did not.
The nose of the helicopter slammed near the middle of the landing. The force of the impact swung it to the side. The tail was broken in two pieces. The back rotor flew toward Justin, who was already rolling toward the parapet.
One of the twisted rotor blades flew overhead, almost beheading him. He lay flat on the tarmac, praying the rotor and the debris would miss him. The rotor touched down about three feet to his right, then bounced over his body, and spun onto the other side.
Justin kept his head down as a hail of debris continued to fall over him.
Then a violent fiery explosion rocked the area. The mangled wreckage of the helicopter erupted to his left. Bright orange flames shot up as high as fifteen or twenty feet. Another wave of blazing-hot shrapnel rained down on him.
Justin stayed down until all became quiet, but for the crackling fires chewing through what remained of the scorched helicopter. He checked himself and noticed his arms and legs had been punctured by shrapnel. Nothing life-threatening, but he would need more than a few bandages.
He tasted blood in his mouth, then noticed a long, deep cut along the left side of his face. He also had a deep gash along his forearm.
Justin shrugged, then pointed his rifle at al-Gailani. The bagman was not moving, but Justin had to double-check and make sure al-Gailani was dead.
He was. Two bullets had gone through his back.
Justin then hobbled to the shattered parapet. He glanced down, expecting to see Egorov’s body lying on the floor three stories down.
She was not there.
Justin frowned. What? Where did she go? There was a bloodstain on the terrace. He looked around. Nothing. He cursed under his breath. We lost her again? He limped further along the parapet and studied the terrace and the helipad. No sign of Egorov anywhere.
He shook his head and sighed.
“Justin, Justin,” Markov called to him from across the helipad and dashed toward him.
“Egorov’s gone.”
“What? How?”
“Don’t know. I wounded her; I’m sure about that. But she’s not here.” He spread his arms around, gesturing toward the parapet. “And she’s not down there either.” He tipped his head toward the terrace.
“We’ll check everywhere. She won’t go far. Egorov’s wounded, and we have people on every floor.”
Justin shook his head. “Don’t underestimate her.”
“I’m not. We’ll get her. Now, let me help you down.”
“No. I can do it. Go after Egorov.”
“You’re sure? You’re bleeding a lot.”
Justin shrugged. “It’s not gonna kill me. Go.”
“All right. See you. And when we meet, I’ll have Egorov or her body.”
Justin nodded. I hope so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t find her.
Markov cursed the turn of events and bolted toward the staircase.