Chapter Eighteen

 

 

Moscow, Russia

December 4, 10:55 a.m.

 

The brown leather jacket fit tight around his shoulders. It was definitely not a winter jacket, as Justin could feel the bitter wind blowing around his chest, and it did not match his black wool pants or white shirt. But it allowed him to toss his muddy coat into the nearest trash can along with his black tie, and take on a somewhat different look

He moved through the maze of back alleys, circling around apartment buildings, cutting through parking lots and church courtyards, avoiding the major thoroughfares and intersections of this part of Moscow. He suspected the men of the FSB were not very far away and could surprise him at any moment. Were they really from the FSB? Who else could it be, and why would they follow me relentlessly but not violently?

Fifteen minutes later, he reached the corner of Pokrovka Street and Pokrovsky Boulevard. He observed the traffic rushing through the intersection for a couple of minutes. No black Mercedes-Benz with broken mirrors or dents in the front and scratches in the back. No men in black coats or a blonde woman running through the streets.

Justin walked toward the Clean Ponds, a block north of the intersection. This area was an upscale neighborhood of Moscow; the buildings were well-maintained, the streets were cleared of almost all snow, and the cars parked along the sidewalk were mainly expensive imports. He waited for a tram coming from the north to pass him by, then crossed Chistoprudny Boulevard adjacent to the ponds.

He cut through the park and looked at a group of teens skating over the frozen surface of the pond. One of them tried a loop jump. He started well, but then lost his footing during the revolution, landing hard on his butt on the ice. His friends burst out laughing. Two of the boys helped him up, while one of the girls stroked away in a large semi-circle, then turned around and showed him the move. She carried it out to perfection, leaving Justin wondering whether she was a figure skater.

He watched the teens for a few more moments, his eyes taking in the entire space of the park. An elderly couple was stumbling slowly to the left and a woman with two toddlers was strolling to the right. Justin was convinced none of them were from any secret service, and that he had successfully evaded the FSB surveillance.

He returned to Pokrovsky Boulevard and found an electronics store. He bought two disposable phones along with their SIM cards, activated them, and topped up his accounts with enough money for a few long-distance calls. Then he made his way toward the meeting point with Carrie and Becca.

He kept a brisk pace, crossing the streets and looking over his shoulders at times to make sure no other FSB team was shadowing him. He called Fyodor, one of the Canadian Intelligence Service operatives in Moscow, and asked him to pick them up at Gorki Park.

Justin entered the park from the north. He walked along the banks of the Moskva River and stopped for a few moments to take in his surroundings. Three men were walking ahead of him, smoking and talking in loud voices about the high prices of oil. A young man on a bicycle came from the other direction and moved on without so much as a glance toward Justin.

The surface of the river was completely frozen and had turned into a rough layer of ice. Underneath the surface, the powerful water rolled as it always had—unseen to his eye, but Justin knew it was there and ready to whisk away anyone who made the grave mistake of venturing too close.

He turned left and headed toward the Buran, the space test shuttle. A group of elementary school students were circling the shuttle and listening carefully to the explanations of two guides. The training ship was repainted like the model that had actually flown into space in 1988 but had been destroyed in 2002 in its hangar during a major storm. Still, the spacecraft had the utmost attention of the students, and Justin could tell a few of them were already reconsidering their career options, replacing “teacher” or “doctor” with “astronaut.”

Further away to the south, he saw an arbor on the bank of the river. Carrie was waiting inside, resting against one of the white columns. That was his sign that she was clear and no FSB agents had been able to track her down to their meeting point. Becca was sitting on one of the benches next to the rotunda arbor, keeping a watchful eye on the park street forking toward the south and the east.

“Hey, you look stylish,” Carrie said and pointed at Justin’s jacket. “Where’d you get that?”

“Oh, a long story. The FSB was chasing me and a woman at a shop helped me. She gave it to me.”

“Looks good on you.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s this?” Carrie ran her hands through Justin’s hair behind his head.

“Mud. A car splashed me as I was running away from the FSB. How did you do?”

“Better than you. I had a man and a woman follow me on foot for three or four blocks, quite discreetly, I should say. Then I got on the tramway and they lost me.”

Justin stepped near the wrought-iron rail of the riverbank. He leaned over it and stared at the ice. “What about her?” He nodded toward the city.

Carrie understood him. She turned her back toward Becca, then said, “She told me there was only one man behind her, and she eluded him very easily going through a few stores.”

“And you believe her?”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise. There is no one watching us at this moment.”

“Not yet.”

Carrie shrugged. She produced a small cellphone. “I got two of these.”

“Excellent. I’ve already called Fyodor. He should be waiting for us on Leninsky Prospect.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “We have about five minutes before he’ll start to worry.”

“Fyodor worries very easily.”

“Survival instinct. Let’s go.”

They walked toward Becca. As they were about to cross the street, Justin noticed a red sedan speed through one of the streets of the park. It had to be a government vehicle, since civilian vehicles were prohibited from entering the park grounds. The type of car—a new, shiny Audi—and the way the driver was going—fast and hard—told Justin the people in the car were not a part of the park’s maintenance crew.

“Who the hell is that?” Justin asked Carrie.

His mind raced through their options. Escape in three different directions. Run in the same direction. Stay and fight whoever may step out of the car screeching to a halt a few feet away from Becca’s bench. The driver parked at an angle, and his face was hidden from Justin’s line of sight.

“Don’t worry,” Becca said as she got up. “It’s a friend.”

The driver rolled down the front passenger window. Justin’s eyes caught the face of Maxim Levin, the FSB Special Agent who had attended their meeting with the FSB Deputy Director Derzhavin. What is he doing here? Is this a trap?

“He’s no friend of mine,” Justin said and took a step back.

“Max is my contact, my source,” Becca said. “He’s giving us crucial intelligence.”

“Hurry up, we’ve got to go before my absence becomes a reason for suspicion,” Max called to them from inside the car.

Justin hesitated for a moment. Carrie glanced at him and waited for instructions.

“Justin, do you trust me?” Becca asked and looked deep into his eyes.

“This is not a matter of trust; it’s a matter of tactics. Going into that car is the wrong move at the moment.”

“Max has never let me down, and he’s not going to start now. He’s risking his very own life to help us.”

Justin shook his head. “Even if that’s true, we have no idea who may be following him, who else may be in the know about his helping us. And how did he find us here?”

“I . . . I called him on the way.”

“When were you going to tell me—us—about that call?”

Becca looked away. “I was going to tell you, but he just . . . he just showed up early.”

Justin stared at Max, who was looking at them impatiently. “What’s the holdup?”

Justin did not reply. He let out a deep sigh, then said, “OK, Becca, let’s see what this intel is. But before we do that, I’ve got to make a call.”

He took one of his cellphones and casually paced toward the bank of the Moskva River. He called Fyodor and updated him on the unexpected change of plans. He gave Fyodor the license plate of Max’s Audi, as well as the man’s description. He asked Fyodor to follow the Audi extremely tactfully so that Max would not notice him.

“We can go now,” he said when he returned.

“Thanks,” said Becca. “You’ll see, this will be our much-needed breakthrough.” She slid into the front passenger seat.

Justin opened the right-side back door for Carrie. Just as she drew near him to step inside, he whispered in Carrie’s ear, “At the smallest hint of foul play, I’ll kill him.”