Chapter Sixteen

 

 

Moscow, Russia

December 4, 10:25 a.m.

 

Max escorted them to the exit of the FSB headquarters. He did not offer an apology for his Deputy Director’s positions even though it had been clear during the meeting that he did not completely agree with Derzhavin. They shook hands with Max and walked off into the misty Moscow morning.

Justin looked around Lubyanka Square. It was way past the rush hour but still a constant stream of vehicles rushed through the streets and the intersections. The snow had stopped, but it had left behind slippery sidewalks covered in a thin layer of white powder. The air was cold and carried the smell of car exhaust.

“I need a cup of coffee to warm up,” Justin said and turned left, heading south down the Lubyanskiy Proyezd. “That meeting and this weather have given me the chills.”

“It’s probably five degrees,” Carrie said, walking to Justin’s right. “Judging by our breath freezing right away.” She blew a frosty breath.

Becca shoved her hands deeper into her heavy coat pockets. “Where are we getting our coffees?” she said as she stepped to the other side of Justin.

“Just across the street. And I want to see the Solovetsky Stone.”

A black Mercedes-Benz sedan slid out from across the street and made a left turn. Justin saw it out of the corner of his eye. “We’ve got company,” he said.

“We sure do,” Becca answered.

They did not look back. One of the Moscow rules of spies said that they were never completely alone, regardless of whether or not they noticed the people following them.

They crossed the street, then stopped at one of the little kiosks at the corner of the small park near the FSB building, and Justin ordered three coffees. The old man behind the counter—his face wrinkled and withered like an overripe prune—offered to spike their coffees with vodka for free, to warm them up. Justin smiled and declined the offer. He tipped the old man and handed the coffees to Carrie and Becca.

They walked through the narrow pathways of the park and stopped in front of the Solovetsky Stone. A few bouquets of fresh flowers had been placed over the clean slabs where the large stone rested. It had been cut and brought from the remote Solovetsky Islands on the edge of the White Sea and the Arctic Circle, one of the first gulags, the notorious labor camps for political prisoners in the Soviet Union. It stood here as a memorial of those dark days so people would not forget the horrors they had inflicted on their own compatriots.

Justin stood in silence. He knew Russian and he read the inscription. It said the memorial had been installed to remember the millions of victims of the authoritarian regime of the past. Justin thought about the current regime in Russia and its treatment of political opposition. The country was a democracy, but there was very little political freedom. The parliament was dominated by the ruling party and the strong-handed president was identified with the state. The media and the opposition were kept on a short, tight leash. Riots and protests were squashed and nosy journalists or defiant businessmen were thrown in jail or ended up dead in suspicious circumstances.

The black Mercedes-Benz stopped at the end of the park across from them. The front passenger rolled down the window but Justin could not see the face of the man or the woman in the seat. The sedan had parked in such a way as to be seen yet keep the people inside unrecognized.

Justin felt Becca’s inquisitive eyes fall on him. He looked at her, took a sip of his coffee, then said, “Our friends are letting us know they’re here.”

“The park was a good choice,” Becca said. “They can’t hear us or even read our lips.”

“They may not, but I don’t know about them,” said Carrie with a slight head gesture.

A man was working on repairing or cleaning a small snow blower about a dozen or so steps behind them. On the other side, a blonde woman was sitting on a bench and looking over a toddler playing with snow and trying to build a snowman.

“You think they’re FSB?” Becca asked.

“We’ll find out very soon.” Justin raised his cup to his lips. His eyes caught the gaze of the blonde woman and he smiled at her. She hesitated for a moment, then returned a shy smile. “We’ll split up. Lose the surveillance, and we’ll meet one of our local ops at Gorki Park.”

Becca nodded.

“What do we need to get?” asked Carrie. She took a few steps around the memorial to appear as if she was interested in it.

“Disposable phones and SIM cards. Two each. I need to make a call. We’ll go from there.”

Becca nodded but her eyes did not leave his face.

Justin said, “He’s a trusted operative. All I can say at this point.”

“All right,” Becca said.

Justin said, “See you at Gorki Park in an hour.”