Chapter Twenty-five

 

 

Moscow, Russia

December 4, 9:35 p.m.

 

The BMW took a few turns and stopped in front of a store selling electronic supplies. The neighborhood seemed safe and young people in expensive-looking coats were walking on the sidewalks, which were clear of snow and well-lit by streetlights. Justin noticed a sportswear store across the street and decided to head there for a change of clothes. He was still in the dead guard’s camouflage outfit coated with blood, mud, and snow.

“Here, you may want to use this.” Yuliya handed him a rag she found in the glove compartment. “So the clerk doesn’t call the police.”

“Do I look that bad?” asked Justin.

“Yeah, your face is banged up pretty good. And you look like a rogue soldier.”

Justin shifted in his seat so he could catch a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror. Bronislav adjusted the mirror, then gave Justin a grin.

“Thanks,” Justin said.

He checked his face. It was bruised and swollen in places and blood had coagulated at the right corner of his lips and just underneath his left ear. He spat on the rag and cleaned off some of the mud and blood, feeling the bumps on his head and tapping gently around the bruises.

“I’ll be out in five,” he said. “Then I’ll hit the cell store.”

Yuliya nodded.

“Thanks,” Justin said again and jumped outside.

The store clerk—a young man barely in his twenties—looked up from his laptop as Justin entered the store and flinched when he noticed the wounds. Justin had already pulled out a few one-hundred-euro banknotes and he placed them on the counter before the clerk had a chance to back away.

“I need some clothes,” Justin said in Russian. “Here’s a good tip if you’re helpful.” He showed the clerk another fifty-euro banknote before slapping it down next to the others.

The young man looked at the cash. Justin could tell he was making some quick calculations in his mind. “What do you need, sir?” he asked.

Three minutes later, Justin came out of the dressing room feeling like a different man. He wore a red windbreaker with the logo and the name of FC Spartak Moscow soccer club embroidered on the front and a black ski jacket and ski pants. He kept his combat boots, but wiped them with his old clothes. He also bought a pair of leather gloves and a baseball cap.

Justin stood by the counter wearing his new clothes as the clerk scanned their barcodes and removed their security tags. Then Justin hurried to the electronics store.

This stop took ten minutes, and when Justin stepped out of the store he was armed with two disposable phones. He placed a call to the safe house’s phone number and was relieved to hear Carrie pick up at the first ring. Carrie assured him she was fine and Justin gave her the detention center’s address. He asked her to bring along any heavy weapons she could find at the safe house.

“You look ready to hit the slopes.” Yuliya smiled as Justin returned to his seat.

“This seemed to be the best selection,” he replied.

“Still going ahead with your plan to attack the detention center?” asked Yuliya.

“I have reinforcements.”

“You have one more person: Carrie.”

“It is enough. She’ll distract them, while I make my move.”

“Simple enough,” Yuliya said.

“Exactly.”

She nodded to Bronislav and he started up the car. He made a U-turn and they headed once again toward Moscow’s outskirts.

They drove for about fifteen minutes in silence. Justin was looking out the window as the landscape changed from low-rise apartments to open fields with small patches of forests. They were travelling on narrow, two-lane roads, with very little traffic.

Yuliya said, “This detention center used to be a warehouse. It’s a two-story building, surrounded by chain-link fence crowned with barbwire. If I were you, I would sneak in from the back, slice the throats of the guards, and make my way inside.”

Justin nodded. “Good plan. I’m having Carrie blow up the main entrance. The guards will return fire, and hopefully they’ll pay little attention to the back.”

Yuliya shrugged. “Not sure how far inside you’ll make it but your mind is set.” Her eyes lingered on Justin’s face.

“Yes, I’m going through with it.”

Yuliya let out a deep sigh.

They came to an intersection and Bronislav turned right. Up ahead, Justin noticed the bright lights that lit up the entrance to the detention center. It was about two hundred yards away from the main road and a guard shack was to the left of the solid steel, almost ten-foot-high gate.

“Have you ever been inside?” Justin asked.

“No, but there should be a long wing of cells and a parking garage in the front.”

Justin peered and saw five or six cars parked to the left side of the entrance and by the red brick walls. Faint lights cast an eerie glow around the area and he thought he spotted a couple of silhouettes huddled in a corner. Perhaps they’re guards out for a smoke.

He looked straight ahead and saw the headlights of a car just as it turned in the direction of the center. He noticed it was a sleek black sedan, perhaps a Mercedes-Benz or an Audi.

“Someone’s arriving,” Bronislav said.

“Who is it?” asked Justin.

“I can’t see the driver and I don’t recognize the car,” said Yuliya. “But it looks official. I’m tempted to say it’s FSB.”

“Slow down,” Justin said.

“I can’t. They’ll make us out and there goes your surprise.”

The sedan stopped in front of the gate. The driver rolled down the window and a guard came out of the shack. A moment later, the driver got out and began to talk to the guard in a very animated way. They were too far away, and Bronislav was driving too fast for Justin to be able to follow and understand their hand gestures. As the BMW passed behind the sedan—a Mercedes-Benz—the front passenger opened his door. As he stepped out and straightened himself, Justin recognized him. It was Derzhavin.

“Stop the car, stop. Now!” Justin shouted at Bronislav and Yuliya.

Bronislav kept going.

“Why? What’s happening?” Yuliya asked.

Justin had no time to explain. “Derzhavin’s here.” He pointed toward the gate.

“Where? I don’t see him,” Yuliya replied.

Justin shook his head and made a quick decision. He grabbed the AK lying on the seat next to him and reached for the door handle. He pulled it, then pushed the door open with his shoulder.

“Hey, what are you—”

Justin jumped out of the BMW going at about thirty miles per hour. He aimed away from the spinning wheels and the solid asphalt surface of the road. He landed on his left shoulder in a snow-covered, grassy patch and rolled away.

The BMW screeched to an abrupt halt a few feet away.

Justin turned onto his stomach, ignored the pain in his shoulder, elbows, and knees, and looked up at the gate. It was still closed but the BMW had attracted the attention of the guard and of the Mercedes-Benz driver. They looked in that direction while Derzhavin seemed to be arguing with the guard, waving his arms high in the air. A moment later, the heavy steel gate began to roll open and Derzhavin began to walk back to the car.

“Justin, what was that?” Yuliya asked.

Justin aimed his AK and squeezed a quick burst. His bullets shattered the windows of the Mercedes-Benz, sending Derzhavin and the driver to the ground. The guard went for his sidearm, but Justin fired a couple more rounds and the guard fell on his back.

“Derzhavin’s out there,” Justin said to Yuliya, who now lay flat next to him on the snow. “I’m going to get him.”

“Alone?”

Justin looked at the gate just as a rocket-propelled grenade cut through the cold night air, leaving a thin trail of gray smoke behind. It smashed into the guard shack and exploded, sending a hail of glass and metal shrapnel all over the Mercedes-Benz.

“That’s Carrie,” Justin said. “She likes to make an entrance.”

Yuliya nodded. “Doorknockers,” she said.

Justin raced forward through the grass, letting off quick two- and three-round bursts. There had been no return fire so far and he was determined to make use of this advantage. He had advanced about fifty feet when another rocket-propelled grenade flew over the Mercedes-Benz and slammed into the steel gate, tearing it to shreds.

A long barrage sent him diving for cover on the ground. Someone was shooting from inside the detention center. Muzzle flashes came from two different locations, one from a window on the second floor, and the other by the fence next to the entrance.

Justin took aim and focused his firepower at the closest target. His first few shots missed. Then the shooter made the mistake of popping up for a split second and Justin knocked him down with a bullet to the head.

Two bullets zipped past Justin’s head and he lowered it, burrowing deep into the snow for an inch or so of cover. A single shot came from behind him, then another one, and the return fire stopped. He looked back at Yuliya, about twenty feet away.

“Thanks,” he said.

She nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Other quick-fire bursts came from behind, calm and calculated, the unmistakable staccato of the AK in the trained hands of Bronislav.

A small car appeared on the road coming from the direction of the rocket-propelled grenades. It was travelling in stealth mode, without any headlights, guided by the faint moonlight glow. That has to be Carrie.

Justin climbed to his feet and began to run bent at the waist toward the entrance.

Derzhavin appeared by the front of the sedan and fired two short bursts.

Justin felt a stabbing pain in his left arm. A bullet grazed his forearm, tearing through his skin. He rolled on the ground as more bullets danced around him, hitting dangerously close.

A shout and a curse came from behind. He turned his head to see Yuliya on her back on the ground. She was holding her right leg.

Justin crawled to her and looked at her wound. The bullet had hit the outer part of her right thigh. Blood was already seeping through her ripped-up pants.

“How bad is it?” she asked between gasps.

“You’re lucky. The slug went in and out. But you’re not going anywhere.”

Bronislav dropped next to them and began to inspect the wound.

“You know what to do,” Justin said to him.

Bronislav nodded.

“Wait,” Yuliya said. “What about you?”

The loud, rhythmical rattle of a light machine gun exploded to their left. Muzzle flashes appeared next to the small car stopped in a direct line of sight to the broken-down entrance.

“I’m in good company,” Justin said, gesturing toward the car. “That’s like music to my ears.”

Yuliya let out a weak cough.

“You’ll be fine,” Justin said. “I’ll come back and get you to a hospital.”

Yuliya nodded and gave him a small smile.

“Take good care of her,” Justin told Bronislav, then turned around.

He reloaded his AK with difficulty, as his left hand wound was starting to affect his fingers. Then he aimed at the last place he had seen Derzhavin and fired three shots. Justin began to low crawl forward, then changed direction to his right. A few bullets kicked up snow around him. That was a few feet away to the left, so Justin kept crawling forward and to the right, keeping his body flat against the ground and dragging the AK next to him, making sure the muzzle was off the ground.

More gunfire outbursts came from the entrance. Justin stopped and raised his head about an inch over the snow. Three shooters were taking aim at Carrie’s position. Justin heard a single gunshot from behind him and one of the muzzle flashes died down. He assumed Bronislav had taken the kill shot.

More bullets hit the snow all around him. Justin stayed put for a few moments until the enemy fire subsided. He spotted a solitary spruce tree about twenty feet up ahead, and he decided to go for it.

He got up quickly and sprinted toward his new position. His rush did not draw any fire and he fell next to the tree a few seconds later. The tree was young and barely five feet tall, but it still provided Justin with some much-needed cover in an otherwise barren field.

Justin aimed his AK at the Mercedes-Benz and waited. A shooter’s body came up and Justin let out a couple of rounds. The shooter fell down and did not come up again. Another man began to run toward the Mercedes-Benz from the detention center and Justin stopped him with three slugs to his chest.

Carrie’s small car began to move toward the gate. It was going slowly and a long barrage was coming from a machine gun firing through the space that had once held a windshield.

Derzhavin emerged a couple of steps away from the Mercedes-Benz. He was shooting at the small car with his AK from a kneeling position. Justin aimed his AK and squeezed the trigger. His bullets hit the rear of the sedan but missed the target. Derzhavin was still blasting away at Carrie’s car, protected by the car which partially covered him.

Justin heard the dry click of the empty rifle. That was his last AK magazine. He tossed the rifle aside and pulled the pistol from his waist. The Russian-made MP-443 packed seventeen rounds and he had an extra magazine in one of his pockets.

He slid to his left and got into a high crawl, moving fast on his elbows and knees. He gained about eight or so feet and raised his pistol.

Derzhavin had noticed his movements and turned his AK at Justin. Two bullets ricocheted inches away from his head and a third singed his hair. Justin fired once. The slug slammed into Derzhavin’s left arm, causing him to drop his rifle. Justin’s second bullet found Derzhavin’s right shoulder. The man collapsed backwards, his head hitting the back of the sedan, and did not make any more moves.

Carrie was still laying down a striking amount of suppressive firepower. Justin jumped to his feet and reached the gate without firing a single shot. He checked on a few bodies strewn about the area. Three guards and Derzhavin’s driver were dead. Another guard was barely alive and in need of some serious medical attention.

Justin walked alongside the sedan with his pistol clutched in his right hand as he scanned the rest of the scene. He found Derzhavin lying against one of the back wheels of the Mercedes-Benz. Blood had trickled from his mouth down his chin and the side of his neck, staining the collar of his crisp white shirt.

Justin crouched down for a closer look at Derzhavin’s wounds. The man writhed in pain and tried to wriggle away.

“I’m not going to kill you, so stop moving,” Justin said.

Derzhavin took in a shallow breath and let out a wheeze mixed with drops of blood. He lay still but his eyes went to the AK a couple of feet away.

“Don’t try it,” Justin said and kicked the rifle away.

He leaned over Derzhavin and studied the wound. Shoulders were tricky places to get shot at because of the hub of the network of arteries and nerves feeding and controlling the powerful arm muscles. Judging by the amount of blood staining Derzhavin’s coat, Justin concluded that the pistol’s slug had not severed the subclavian artery that fed the main arm artery. But most likely it had hit the nerves and the bones forming the top of the rib cage. Derzhavin was going to survive, and a skillful surgeon could repair the damaged blood vessels and reconstruct the shattered bones. But until then, Derzhavin would be in pain, which would only grow if he did not cooperate with Justin.

“You’ll make it, and doctors can save your arm,” Justin said. He shifted his weight to his other knee and looked at Derzhavin’s wary face.

“But there’s a price to pay,” Derzhavin said, then let out a pain-filled groan. He tried to lift his left arm to his chest and unbutton his coat.

“Yes, but you can afford it. After all, your life is at stake.” Justin helped him, and Derzhavin seemed to be able to breathe easier.

The small car—a white Lada—came to a jarring stop next to Justin. Carrie gave him a worried look as Justin stood up.

“I’m doing well, how about you?” Justin asked.

“Low on ammo but enjoying my freedom,” Carrie replied with a big smile.

“Glad to see you.”

“Same here.”

Gunshots erupted from the windows of the detention center. Justin ducked behind the sedan and next to Derzhavin. He reached for the AK and fired back a couple of blind shots.

“Their stray bullets will kill you,” Justin said to Derzhavin during a break in the gunfire exchange.

Derzhavin gave him a small nod.

“Ready to talk?” Justin asked. “It will save your life and their lives. If you give me Bashir’s intel, we won’t have to continue this attack.”

Carrie’s machine gun thundered as she let go a short burst, as if to emphasize Justin’s words.

Derzhavin’s face froze in a stoic grin. “I’d rather die than betray my country.”

“What betrayal?” Justin almost shouted. “You’re saving innocent lives and putting terrorists behind bars. Terrorists who killed here, in your country, and who could come back and slaughter even more Russians.”

Derzhavin shook his head. “But I’m giving in, surrendering to the great United States of America and their puppets like—”

“You know that’s bullshit even as you say it. I know you don’t care about the US but you’re using them as ammo in your private war with Russia’s billionaires, a war you’ll lose.”

Derzhavin opened his mouth just as a couple of rounds banged against the Mercedes-Benz. Another one shattered one of the mirrors, sending sharp slivers over their heads.

“I’m out,” Carrie shouted.

Justin handed her his AK. Carrie fired a few quick rounds.

“Consider it an extreme intel exchange,” Justin said to Derzhavin. “We give you the location of the closest hospital and transport you there, while you give us the intel from the Chechen detainee.”

Derzhavin tried to smile but all he could muster was a distorted grin. “You have a terrible sense of humor,” he said in a weak voice.

“That means you accept?”

The dull thud of a slug rang against the battered sedan. Another bullet hit one of the tires and a blast of air came out with a distinct whoosh.

“You’re leaving me no choice, you son of a bitch,” Derzhavin said and gave Justin a menacing glare.

“Happy doing business with you, sir,” Justin replied in mock politeness. “Carrie, come out and help me get Derzhavin inside the Lada,” he shouted at her.

Carrie nodded. She backed up the car, driving as close as she could to the sedan. The metal back bumper scraped the sedan’s back door and then she stopped.

Justin and Carrie placed Derzhavin in the back seat. As they were propping him up against the seat and one of the doors, Justin went through his pockets and gave him a thorough pat-down. He found no weapons but retrieved two cellphones and a wallet.

“Isn’t it a bit too late for that?” Derzhavin asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“I had you under guard at all times out there, but in the car I’ll have to turn my back to you. I’m taking no chances. And these cellphones of yours will give away our location. We don’t need more complications.” Justin tossed a BlackBerry and an iPhone outside.

Derzhavin bit his lip and looked away.

“I’m not handcuffing you but if you attempt to escape, you’re as good as dead,” Justin said.

Derzhavin shrugged and looked at his bleeding shoulder. “I think you’re overestimating my capacities.”

Justin shook his head as he sat in the front passenger seat. “I never underestimate a man’s basic instinct of survival, especially if the man is Russian.”

Derzhavin produced a genuine smile and a small nod.

Carrie gunned the engine and the Lada roared into life. It jerked forward as Carrie turned the wheel. Faint gunshots came from a distance but no bullets hammered their car.

“Turn left,” Justin said as they neared the main road. “We’ve got to meet someone.”