Chapter Twenty-six

 

 

Moscow, Russia

December 4, 10:10 p.m.

 

Yuliya was in lying in the back seat of the BMW and Bronislav was working on her leg wound. He had placed a tourniquet about three inches from the edge of the wound and was tying it in a tight knot. The wound had already been patched up with clean gauze.

“How is she doing?” Justin asked.

Bronislav grunted. “Good. She’ll live.”

Yuliya smiled but her face looked ashen in the weak interior roof light of the BMW.

“I’ll be okay. You got Derzhavin?”

“He’s in the Lada and, yes, he’s willing to talk.”

Yuliya blinked in surprise. “How did you manage that?”

“A couple of bullets are good persuasion tools.”

Bronislav nodded. “We’ll take him.”

Justin shook his head. “I have a deal with him. He’ll give me intel and I’ll take him to a hospital.”

“A bad deal.” Bronislav finished with the tourniquet and stood up. “We’ll amend it.”

“No. I gave him my word.”

“He shot Yuliya,” Bronislav said.

“And me.” Justin showed Bronislav his wounded left arm. “But I’m not taking it personally.”

A burst of gunshots came from the main gate of the detention center.

Carrie returned fire from her AK. She was behind the Lada, parked three feet away from the BMW.

Justin and Bronislav crouched down behind the BMW.

“Things cannot go on as if this never happened,” Yuliya said in a slow, frail voice. “We attacked an FSB facility. Derzhavin’s going to come after us.”

Justin processed Yuliya’s words for a moment while gunshots rang in the distance. They were at the edge of the battlefield, still within the effective range of AKs. A bullet hit a few feet away from the BMW’s front bumper, boring a small hole in a snow bank.

“Even if I hand him over, you’ll need Romanov’s authorization before you can kill him,” Justin said in a hesitant voice.

“That can be arranged,” Yuliya said. “Romanov doesn’t need much of a reason, and the prick almost killed me.”

“Give me some time to think about it,” Justin said. “How far to the nearest hospital?”

Bronislav looked around, then reached for his iPhone in one of his jacket pockets. He tapped the keys, produced a map, made a few quick calculations in his mind, then showed the phone to Justin. “Fifteen minutes in that direction.” He pointed to their left, beyond the detention center.

Justin took the iPhone. “Follow us to the hospital. Carrie will patch up Derzhavin as we drive. I’ll make a decision before we get there.”

“I’ll get on the phone with Romanov and seek instructions,” Yuliya said.

“Great.” Justin picked up the first aid kit lying next to Yuliya. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He walked to the Lada bent at the waist and gave Carrie the first aid kit. Then he returned to the BMW.

“I’ll call you on this phone.” Justin handed Bronislav one of the disposable phones he had bought at the store about half an hour ago. “In ten minutes at the most.”

Bronislav nodded.

“I hope you make the right decision, Justin. I’d hate to have to hunt him again,” said Yuliya. She moved her leg, then winced at the pain.

“I’ll let you know,” Justin said.

Inside the Lada, Carrie had cut open Derzhavin’s jacket and shirt and was soaking up the blood. She had placed her hands on the wound and was applying pressure to control the bleeding. Justin’s eyes met Carrie’s and she nodded at him. Justin belted himself into the driver’s seat.

“Will he die?” Justin asked as he turned the Lada around and drove next to the BMW and away from the center. He thought he heard a bullet thump against the side of the car but could not be sure because of the engine roar and the tires crackling on the gravel road.

“No, not any time soon, anyway,” Carrie replied. “How far is the hospital?”

“Fifteen.”

“I can’t stop the blood flow but he hasn’t gone into shock. I checked and there’s no exit wound. The bullet is lodged somewhere in the shoulder, but I can’t be sure. Let’s hope it didn’t break and no fragments are floating elsewhere in his blood.”

Derzhavin’s face was pale and his breathing was shallow. He looked up at Justin then asked, “Who are those people?”

“FSB agents. And they’re pissed off at their own boss shooting and wounding them.”

Derzhavin studied Justin’s face for a moment. “They were shooting at me, which means they’re working with you. They’re traitors.”

Justin shook his head. “No, they’re patriots. They love their country too much to let its security be threatened by men like you, blinded by pride.”

“Words, meaningless words.” Derzhavin waved a dismissive hand.

“Make the call and ask them to text me the intel you received from Bashir. The list.” Justin handed over his disposable phone to Carrie.

He looked at his left side mirror. The BMW was following closely behind.

“What’s the number?” Carrie asked Derzhavin.

He told her the number and she dialed it. A moment later, she placed the phone next to Derzhavin’s ear. He spoke for a few moments, gave the man the order, followed by a curse, then nodded to Carrie that the call was over.

“What did he say?” Carrie asked Justin as she gave back the phone to him.

“Enough to convince them to do their job.”

Derzhavin’s left eye was twitching and his lips had formed a thin line. “Enough for me to be considered a traitor.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Justin replied. “Your bosses will understand you were wounded and under the gun. You had no way out.”

They drove without exchanging words for a few minutes. Carrie threw a gray blanket she had found in the car over Derzhavin. The cold night wind was blasting through the missing windshield. Justin was keeping a steady speed of thirty miles per hour and the Lada was handling the dips and the bumps of the road quite well.

“Where did you find the RPGs?” Justin asked Carrie.

“The safe house was stacked with heavy guns. I figured the machine gun and the doorknocker would come in handy.”

Justin could not see the grin on her face because the cabin was dark, but Carrie’s voice told him she had enjoyed the action in the battlefield.

“You updated the boss?” he asked.

“I did.”

Justin wanted to ask about McClain’s reaction to the turn of events, but not with Derzhavin in the back seat listening to their every word.

Justin’s disposable phone chirped. He glanced at the screen. “Text message,” he said and passed the phone to Carrie, while he negotiated an abrupt curve of the road.

He heard tapping and beeping of the cellphone keys and Carrie said, “We’ve got seven names and e-mail addresses.”

“Is that all?” Justin’s eyes fixed on Derzhavin.

“Of course it is. You said you wanted the entire list, right? I’m a man of my word.” Derzhavin seemed offended by the question and its implication.

Justin nodded. “You are, and I appreciate that,” he said in a flat voice.

“So what is the problem?” Derzhavin asked.

“The FSB is the problem.” Justin hitched his thumb back toward the BMW. “They’re not happy with you making waves and upsetting the status quo of some very rich people with powerful friends. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, I do, but I wonder if you do. These people have been pillaging Russia, my country, for decades, Mr. Hall. They feast on champagne and caviar while millions of workers have nothing to eat. Do you know that ten Russian businessmen hold in their bloody hands over one hundred and fifty billion dollars? Think how many hospitals and schools that money can build. Think how many poor people that money can help.”

Justin shook his head. “I’m not an economist, Derzhavin, and I’m not good at math. But I know those two FSB agents want your head.”

Derzhavin did not blink and seemed unfazed by the news Justin had just given him. Maybe he didn’t hear me or he doesn’t think I’ll hand him over. No one can remain that calm in the face of certain death.

“Of course they do. They’re in the pockets of those oil barons who believe they can buy everything. Do you know how they got rich in the first place? Because our politicians sold Russia’s national resources, factories, plants, mining rights, for ridiculous prices in exchange for support during elections, voting fraud, and media manipulation. One evening these people could not afford toilet paper to wipe their asses and the next morning they woke up as billionaires, with their private jets and yachts and palaces. These friends of yours, Mr. Hall, they’re gangsters. But I’m not scared of them. Their tactics don’t scare me.”

Justin wanted to say “words, meaningless words,” but felt it would sound like a cliché. And Derzhavin was telling the truth, but Justin could not do much to reverse bad politics of a failed state during the last three decades.

He thought about Derzhavin’s words, then looked at the rearview mirror. The reflection of the BMW’s headlights fell on his eyes, blinding him for a split second. He blinked to clear his vision then looked at Derzhavin. The man’s face looked like he had lost a pint of blood in a few seconds. He’s saying tough words, but he’s cracking on the inside.

“I’ll tell you what: you and I are cutting a new deal. You’ll have to give me something important so that I can keep you away from the two FSB agents.”

Derzhavin grinned and shook his head. “I just finished talking about gangsters and their terrorizing tactics and you’re trying extortion?”

“You’re smart enough to understand what I’m doing even if I may not,” Justin said softly, unsure of the words he was saying and the actions he was planning. “I need to have a reason to keep you alive. You need to come up with that reason, a reason to save your own life. And fast.”

Justin cast a glance at the Lada’s dashboard. It had already been ten minutes since they had started to drive toward the hospital. He needed to call Yuliya back with an answer. But he did not have an answer yet.

He looked at Derzhavin, who was scratching his head. A moment later he sighed, then said, “I’ll give you the CIA agent—well, her body—and bury this entire affair, the safe house shooting and the attack on the detention center. And your informant, Fyodor, we’ll release him as well.”

Justin had not forgotten about Fyodor, but had chosen not to mention his name or indicate any association with him. One of the first rules of the CIS was to never reveal any connections, names, locations, or information that could compromise other agents. Fyodor was detained, if he was truly detained, in an entirely separate place and Justin was going to deny any links between them.

“I’m starting to have the feeling you don’t value your life much, Derzhavin,” Justin said. “I’m giving you a way out so you can live, and all you’re offering me in return is a dead agent of no value to you.”

Derzhavin shrugged. “And the chance to leave Russia unharmed and never have to look behind your back.”

“You know I have ways and means to disappear within this great country or leave it altogether, and the FSB will never find me. And I’ve gotten accustomed to checking over my shoulder. You’d be amazed how many things one can see.”

“Enough with games. What else do you want from me? I gave you the list, so you can find and hunt these terrorists in the US. Now you can choose to fly away back to the States and leave us to handle our Chechen problems on our own.”

Justin turned his head to look at Derzhavin. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“What way?”

“The Chechen terrorism is not just your problem; it’s a global problem, since terrorists bring their wars to other nations, including the US. And we’re just fighting the consequences, not the cause.”

Carrie’s eyes lit up, while Derzhavin’s face was still blank.

Justin checked the road ahead, then found Derzhavin’s face in the rearview mirror. Here’s our new deal: You will help me get to Sultan Kaziyev, the IDM’s leader exporting terror to the US, and in return you get your life back.”

“You’re crazy,” Derzhavin said.

“Old news,” Carrie said. “You’re willing to do it?”

“You’re serious?” Derzhavin arched his eyebrows.

“Yes, very. I’ll need a team of your best and most trusted agents to storm Kaziyev’s stronghold,” Justin said.

“Along with everything else you offered us before,” Carrie said.

Derzhavin thought about the deal for a few long moments. Justin could tell he was struggling as he weighed the options.

Derzhavin asked, “Will your gangster friends accept that?”

Justin nodded. “I’ll make them accept it. Of course, you’ll also have to lay off their affairs, at least for the time being. If I know my friend well, he’ll even help you go after other businessmen who have broken the laws.”

Derzhavin snorted. “Oh, great. Become their pawn so they can maneuver me as they wish and destroy their competition.”

“You wouldn’t have to take part in their fight. But you said earlier you wanted to get to the people who’ve been pillaging Russia, your country, for decades. You can do that for at least some of them.”

Derzhavin went silent.

Justin glanced at the dashboard, then straight ahead. The bright lights of a large complex were shining in the distance, perhaps three miles away. The hospital.

“So?” Justin asked.

“All right, all right, we have an arrangement,” Derzhavin said.

His cold voice left no doubt in Justin’s mind that he was utterly unhappy about the terms of the arrangement. It remained to be seen if Derzhavin was going to follow through with his promise. Justin hated it, but at this point, he would have to trust that the Russian was going to keep his word.