Chapter Seventeen

 

 

Moscow, Russia

December 4, 10:40 a.m.

 

Carrie peeled off to the right while Becca took a casual stroll to the left. The repairman noticed Carrie’s movements, produced a cellphone, and turned around. The woman was a little more discreet. She called the little boy and shared a banana with him as they sat on the bench. Her eyes did not follow Becca, and that told Justin there was another man or woman or even a team waiting somewhere else to pick up the surveillance of that target. I may be her target. So I have to ditch this woman and the Mercedes-Benz crew. And whoever else may be lurking in the shadows.

Justin finished his coffee and walked to the nearest garbage can. He tossed in the cup and cast a last glance at the woman toying with the toddler’s hair. She’ll have to leave him behind if she’s coming after me. But the other team will pick him up, I hope.

At first, he walked slowly toward the Mercedes-Benz, then suddenly broke into a sprint and cut to the left through the snow. He sank knee-deep into the snow banks covering the park, then reached the low, decorative wrought-iron fence and jumped over it. He was now on the wide sidewalk, and he slowed down just for a split second as he considered the distance between him and the closest cars rushing through traffic. Justin jumped over another low steel barrier separating the sidewalk from the road, then zipped right through the cars zooming down the three-lane street. The last vehicle, a city bus, almost hit him, but he was able to make it to the other side.

If he had turned his head, Justin would have seen the woman following him through the snow banks and the traffic, but with more carefully calculated moves. He would have also seen the Mercedes-Benz forcing its way through the traffic. But Justin kept his eyes on the road straight ahead, to avoid icy patches, the uneven stones of the sidewalk, and people around him.

He slowed down as he rounded the corner of Myasnitskaya Street to avoid attracting the attention of a few uniformed officers standing to the right side of the FSB building. He passed by a couple of street vendors sitting on foldable stools and braving the freezing cold as they sold cigarettes and snacks on makeshift tables. Moments later, Justin hastened his pace, aware that the Mercedes-Benz had fallen back since he was going up a one-way street. Cars were parked on both sides of the narrow street, leaving just a single lane for traffic.

Justin ran along a series of shops until he reached an intersection. Three lanes of traffic opened up to the left. It was still a one-way street, but there was sufficient room for the driver of the Mercedes-Benz to maneuver his way around. A single lane was to his right. Justin dashed in that direction.

He passed a couple of restaurants and a disco bar, then came to a six-foot-high wrought-iron gate of a restaurant. Heavy, hurried footsteps came from behind him. Straight ahead he saw two men in black coats running toward him. Another FSB team. They were about fifty yards away and closing in fast. Justin reached for the gate, placed his boot on the latch, and pulled his body up and over the gate.

An angry shout in Russian met him as soon as he dropped to the other side. A large man with a burly beard and a black apron burst out of a side door. One of the cooks. He threatened Justin with a large butcher’s knife and some choice words, but Justin ignored him. He outran the cook as he sped through the narrow driveway and found himself in the tree-filled backyard. He glanced around for an escape route. Loud voices came from behind. Justin recognized the large man’s voice, then heard a woman’s voice. He darted to the end of the yard, then climbed over the walled fence just as the sound of footsteps behind him grew louder and felt quite near.

“Stop, stop. Hey, stop!” someone shouted.

Justin did not look back but jumped to the other side. He landed on the asphalt of a parking lot containing a cube truck with the name of the restaurant stenciled on the side, a silver Land Rover, a white Audi sedan, and a couple of old Lada models. The cars of the owners and the employees of the restaurant. Justin quickly checked the vehicles’ doors, but they were all locked.

He ran through the parking lot, then reached a narrow alleyway that led him to an apartment complex with a gray colonnaded façade in much need of a renovation. He zigzagged through pathways in front of the complex, using parked cars along the sidewalk as his cover. He stopped when he reached an intersection and hid behind one of the enclosed kiosks next to a bus stop. A young man was inside the bus stop stand, seeking shelter from the cold, light snow drizzle that had just begun.

Justin looked back, trying to spot the people who were after him. He saw a man coming out of the left side of the apartment complex. He took the back alley. Another man appeared about forty yards away to the right, followed by the blonde woman. They went the roundabout way.

They converged at the edge of the complex and exchanged a few words, gesturing left and right. The woman seemed to point in the direction of the intersection, toward the south, but the men were shaking their heads, instead waving their hands in the other two directions, east and west. After a few moments of debating, they split three ways to continue their chase. The woman began jogging toward the intersection, her head swinging left and right, as she covered the entire area.

A black and yellow city bus appeared from the south and slowly turned around the corner. The young man stepped out from the bus stop stand and waved at the bus driver. Justin calculated the moment when the bus would hide him from the woman’s view and hurried to cross the street.

A blue BMW SUV was coming from the other direction. The driver was going fast, and because of snow windrows along the edge of the sidewalk across the street, he was dangerously close to the bus. Justin was caught between the stopped bus and the rocketing mass of steel barreling toward him. He flattened himself against the bus. The BMW sprayed a dirty shower of slushy snow and ice slivers all over his back and his head. The torrent spared his face, as Justin had tilted his head to the left and away from the downpour.

The bus began to move and Justin crossed the street and disappeared into an alley between two run-down three-story buildings. His coat felt twice as heavy now that it was soaked with snow and caked with mud. He came to the back of a restaurant with a half-empty parking lot. Two men were smoking by the entrance and they noticed him. One called out to Justin, but he ignored the man and ran in the opposite direction. They’ll tell Blondie they saw me.

He reached the backyard of a small church and slowed down, contemplating his next steps. He took a few deep breaths while walking underneath a tall yellow archway of another apartment complex, his eyes darting left and right. He saw cars zipping past in the distance and knew he was getting closer to a major street. That’s Maroseyka, Justin remembered the layout of this part of Moscow. I can find a clothing store for a new coat and a cellphone shop on that street. He heaved a deep breath and resumed his fast pace down the alley wide enough for just one car.

Justin had barely reached the sidewalk of Maroseyka Street when he noticed a black Mercedes-Benz driving up the street. He fell back behind the corner of the nearest store, then turned around and began racing back. The Mercedes-Benz driver must have seen him because the car turned into the alley and roared behind him.

Justin felt his heart drumming in his chest. Up ahead the blonde woman appeared in the middle of the alley underneath the archway, blocking his path. Justin was boxed in.

He spun on his heels and ran back. The Mercedes-Benz was now a few steps away. He sidestepped around a small trash can someone had left alongside of the wall and tried to squeeze past the sedan on the driver’s side.

The driver’s hand speared out of the window and grabbed Justin’s left arm. Justin slammed his right fist into the driver’s hand and the driver released his grip. Justin passed through the narrow gap between the sedan and the wall. The driver threw the Mercedes-Benz into reverse. The rear end scraped against the wall, missing Justin’s feet by mere inches.

Justin turned left, entering another back alley. He heard the Mercedes-Benz growling behind him, the spinning tires and the squealing brakes. A white Volkswagen was parked in front of the gate to a house, narrowing down the already small alleyway. Justin was not sure if the Mercedes-Benz could pass through the gap but he was not going to hang around and find out. He zipped past the gate, his arms swinging to his sides as he picked up speed. He slipped on a patch of ice, then the tip of his boot caught on a pothole.

He leaned against the wall and steadied himself. A loud scraping sound came from behind. Justin turned his head to see the Mercedes-Benz’s side mirrors shattering on both sides, one against the wall and the other against the Volkswagen. The car kept coming at him at a high speed. It was just a few steps away, the smell of burning diesel piercing Justin’s nose. He leaped forward and resumed his running.

A large metal garbage bin was set against the left wall where the back alley widened. The Mercedes-Benz would go past it without any trouble. Justin stopped near the garbage bin and tried to shove it in the vehicle’s way. It was heavier than he expected. He put his shoulder against it and pushed hard. It moved a couple of inches. Justin tried again, this time a bit harder. The garbage bin rolled off and smashed into the left side of the Mercedes-Benz’s hood, halting it in place.

Justin sighed but had no time to relax. The Mercedes-Benz’s doors opened and two sets of boots hit the ground. The chase was going to continue on foot.

Justin dashed to the left. A bakery had an Open sign hanging on the window, and Justin burst in. He shoved a couple of customers out of the way, then climbed over the glass counter. All sorts of breads and pastries flew around along with some bottles and other foods. A terrified clerk shouted curses and threats at him while Justin made his way to the kitchen in the back. A couple of cooks tried to stop him, but Justin slipped through their hands, around the woodstove, and rushed outside through the small back door.

A couple of stores were half a block away. The first one was a women’s clothing store with an elegantly dressed silhouette painted on its front glass. The second one was a coffeehouse. Justin hurried to the first one and stepped inside. The store door made a clanging sound, which attracted the attention of a middle-aged woman sitting behind the counter.

She stood up and gave him a glance of suspicion mixed with fear. Then she took a couple of steps back, inching her way toward a small door leading to another section of the store.

I must look like crap, and I’m scaring the crap out of her.

“Relax and don’t be afraid,” Justin said in Russian as he tried to catch his breath. “I need some clothes and I have money.”

He dug his wallet out of his front pocket, then showed the woman a few American dollar bills.

The woman nodded, but the look of panic remained on her face. She looked over his shoulders. Justin resisted the temptation to turn his head and follow her gaze.

“Who are those two men?” the woman asked.

“FSB,” Justin replied without hesitation. The woman was either going to help him or give his pursuers his location. Sooner or later they would come to check out this place. All he had to lose was his small advantage. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“This way.” The woman gestured toward the small door to her left.

She took a mop from a corner of the store and began to wipe clean the gray tiled floor and Justin’s muddy footsteps. The door led Justin to a small storage room with boxes of clothes, shoes, bags, and other women’s clothing accessories. A narrow hall connected the storage room to another section of the building, and Justin saw a large metal door at the end of the hall.

Justin closed the small door behind him and placed his ear against it. Hushed voices came from the store. A woman’s voice, then a man’s voice shouting curses, then the thud of rushed footsteps and the clanging of the closing door. Silence reigned for a few moments, then a low shuffle, growing louder as it came nearer him.

“They’re gone,” the woman said. “It’s safe to come out now.”

Justin hesitated and did not move. Her voice sounded genuine, but he had no way of being absolutely sure she was the only one behind that door. He took a step back without making a sound, then another one, and was out in the narrow hall.

The small door opened and the woman appeared. “You couldn’t hear me,” she said. “They left.”

Justin studied her face but did not step forward.

The woman must have realized Justin did not trust her. She shook her head, then said slowly, in a slightly disappointed voice, “It’s okay. I would be paranoid too if the FSB was chasing me. Take this.” She reached for a brown leather jacket hanging on a rack on the wall next to the boxes. “It’s my husband’s, but he wouldn’t mind it. It should fit you.”

She tossed it and Justin caught it. The jacket was well-used, with shiny patches on the elbows. He reached for his wallet, but the woman said, “I don’t need your money. It’s a gift. Be safe and remember that not all Russians are FSB.”

Justin nodded. “Thank you,” he said. A moment later, he added, “I’m sorry.”

The woman’s voice took a motherly tone. “Be safe,” she said again.