The white Mercedes transit van pulled over in front of the World Wide Destinations Travel Agency in Union City, New Jersey, a minute or two before nine-thirty. Viktor had gotten lucky with a parking spot, but didn’t look over as Alexei, behind the wheel of the Mercedes C300, passed them and got lucky with another parking spot just half a block down the street.
“The gods are with us this morning,” Alexei said.
Bykov, in the passenger seat, nodded, but something didn’t feel right to him. He didn’t know what it was, maybe a sixth sense, but his gut said get out now.
Traffic through the Lincoln Tunnel had been heavy, which they’d expected at that hour. But right here, Union City seemed almost deserted.
Only one car cruised past, the woman driver looking straight ahead. But there were no pedestrians on the sidewalks. No one waiting at the corner for the light to change so they could cross. Even the travel agency, the beauty salon, and the liquor store across the street from where they were parked seemed deserted.
“What’s the matter?” Alexei, sensing something of Bykov’s mood, asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s quiet.”
“Hold fast,” Bykov said. He got out of the car and walked across the street to the liquor store.
The door was open and a clerk, an older man, came from the back. He looked bored.
“Good morning,” Bykov said. “Stoli?”
“End of the aisle.”
Bykov went down the aisle, found a liter bottle of Stolichnaya vodka, and back at the counter he paid cash for it.
The clerk made change and bagged the bottle. “Have a nice day.”
“You too.”
Taking the bottle, Bykov walked back across the street and got in the car. “We’re leaving now.”
Alexei looked up in the rearview mirror. “Something wrong?”
“Da,” Bykov said, “But I don’t know what.” He got on the phone and tried Butch Hardy’s number. He let it ring ten times, but Hardy didn’t answer.
“Okay, what the hell is going on, Yuri?”
“It is a setup, and I think Hardy has turned us in.”
“Pizdec.”
Bykov phoned Viktor, who answered on the first ring. “Arkadi is just finishing. Stand by.”
“Drop it and get up here right now, we’re leaving.”
“Wait, wait.”
“Nyet!” Bykov said.
Viktor shouted something Bykov couldn’t quite catch, and Arkadi’s reply was equally as garbled.
Everything was wrong.
Bykov opened his door and was about to run back to the van, when he heard the sounds of a lot of sirens maybe a couple of blocks away, closing in.
He closed the door.
“What’s the matter?” Alexei demanded.
“We’re leaving right now.”
“What about Viktor and Arkadi?” Alexei shouted.
“Drive to the airport.”
Alexei pulled away from the curb. Turned left and sped back the way they had come.
“Slow down,” Bykov said. “We can’t be stopped for speeding.”
Viktor couldn’t believe his eyes watching Alexi and Yuri driving off. “Yeb vas,” he said. Fuck off.
“We need to get out of here now,” Arkadi shouted, climbing over the seat.
“Shut the bomb off! Something’s wrong.”
Viktor opened his door and started to get out.
Around the corner a block and a half away, a tremendous explosion behind them split the air with an unbelievable roar. Seconds later, the concussion from the blast blew out windows on the left side of the street.
“Mother of God,” Alexei said, crossing himself.