Chapter Twenty-three

 

 

Moscow, Russia

December 4, 9:05 p.m.

 

At about the same time that Carrie was getting rid of her guards, Justin was still handcuffed to his bed. His body was incapacitated for all intents and purposes but his mind was working as if the circumstances around him were completely normal; in fact even better, given the urgency of his situation. Justin had long ago found out he worked much better under pressure, the adrenaline pumping through his body, energizing his mind and setting it in overdrive. The plan he was devising relied more on the reactions of the guards than on his actions.

“Guards, hey, guards,” Justin called in a loud voice.

No one replied.

The room was empty—he had seen both guards leave and close the door—but he assumed at least one of them was stationed outside.

“Guards, Oleg, I need the washroom,” Justin shouted even louder than the first time.

No answer.

He wondered if both guards were warming up inside a car or a truck. Justin was shivering and his teeth were chattering because of the cold. His arms were covered with goose bumps and he was still shirtless.

“Hey, guards, guards, guar—”

The door was thrown open and Oleg stepped inside. A half-smoked cigarette hung from the left corner of his mouth. “What is it, loser?” he asked in English.

“I . . . I need to take a leak,” Justin asked in a pleading voice, trying to appear as weak and as beaten as possible. If Oleg considered him a small threat he would be more likely to remove his handcuffs and escort him to the bathroom.

“Huh?”

“I need the washroom.”

“Why? You piss yourself here.”

Justin looked away from Oleg and feigned embarrassment. “Please, leave me some dignity.”

Oleg spat on the ground. “Phuu, dignity. Americans have no dignity,” he said with a groan.

“You’ve already won. All I’m asking is for an act of kindness.”

Oleg shook his head. “No, you’re looking for an opportunity to escape.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Escape? How? You’ve got the big gun.” He nodded toward the AK hanging across Oleg’s chest. “And I’m locked.” He rattled his handcuffs.

Oleg grinned, but did not say anything.

“You’re afraid I’m going to overpower you, that’s what it is.”

Oleg’s jaw tightened. He drew near Justin’s bed. “I’m a Russian and I’m afraid of nothing.”

“But you are—afraid like a little boy.”

Oleg’s left fist slammed against the side of Justin’s head.

“You even hit like a little boy,” Justin said.

The next blow hit him on the jaw. Justin felt blood in his throat.

“Not very chatty now, are you?” Oleg said, his arms ready for another onslaught.

Justin took in a deep breath and swallowed his blood. “Right, but you’re still scared shitless.”

Oleg raised his fist for the third blow. Justin swung his head to the other side, bracing for the impact. But halfway through, Oleg stopped. “I’ll show you who’s the one scared,” he sputtered the word in a fit of rage. “I’ll show you who the loser is.”

Justin said nothing but his eyes were carefully following Oleg’s every move.

“I’ll prove you that you nothing but a loser.” Oleg’s English was getting worse the angrier he became.

He walked to the end of the bed and took out a key from a pocket on his uniform’s vest. He uncuffed Justin’s left leg and proceeded to do the same with the right leg. Justin remained still, feeling he was getting closer and closer to his goal.

Oleg circled Justin’s bed. “You stupid, very stupid for thinking I afraid of a piece of shit like you,” Oleg scoffed as he placed the key in Justin’s left handcuffs and turned it while grumbling through his teeth.

Justin kept his arm in place. A few seconds and I’ll shut you up for good.

Oleg struggled with the other handcuffs but finally he snapped them open. He took a step back and began to pull his pistol out of his holster. “Now you get up and do what I tell you or I—”

Justin’s sharp left kick caught Oleg at the throat and cut off his words. The pistol flew out of his hands before he could squeeze off a round and it landed a few feet away. He threw a punch to Justin’s stomach. Justin gasped for air as he struggled to his feet. Oleg’s second blow caught Justin’s left shoulder and he fell to his right knee.

Oleg came from the side with a fast kick. Justin blocked it with his right arm and threw his body hard against Oleg, attempting to throw him to the ground. Justin locked his arms around Oleg’s legs and lifted him up in the air for a moment before slamming him backwards onto the hardwood floor of the cabin. Justin ignored the volley of blows against his shoulders and his head. He slid his hands upwards and wrapped them tight around Oleg’s throat.

Oleg stopped his attack and tried to wedge his fingers under Justin’s hands. Justin redoubled his efforts, encouraged by Oleg’s painful gurgling and low breathing. Oleg reeled violently to throw Justin off like a wild horse trying to get rid of his rider. The tactic almost worked, but Justin was able to hold on. Oleg’s reeling began to wind down as Justin tightened his grip around the dying man’s throat. A few moments later, Justin let go. Oleg’s head fell backwards and his empty eyes glanced upwards at the ceiling.

Justin lost no time stripping Oleg of his shirt, jacket, and pants. Then he retrieved the pistol and the AK rifle. He hoped to overpower the second guard and pry some intelligence from him about the whereabouts of Carrie, Becca, and Bashir.

He threw the AK across the chest in the same way as Oleg used to carry it and stepped outside. A quick glance told him the other guard was in the passenger seat of an off-road Lada painted in a camouflage pattern. It was parked about fifty feet away from the door, at the end of a small driveway leading up to the cabin. The area was dark but the snow reflected the dim glow of the moon. Justin turned his head away from the guard and began to walk along the side of the cabin, looking left and right and upwards as if inspecting it. He hoped his movements would draw the guard out of the Lada and make him an easier target. He could not afford to have the guard speed away and disappear.

Justin stopped and crouched on the ground as if observing something at one of the corners of the cabin.

“Oleg, what’s going on?” came the guard’s voice from behind him.

He’s still inside the car.

Justin began to dig in the snow, pushing it to the sides in a very noticeable way. Then he drew out his pistol from his waist and held it tight in his right hand.

The Lada’s door opened and closed behind him with a loud thud.

“Oleg, tell me, what’s wrong?”

Justin spun around and pointed his pistol at the guard. But the guard was not caught by surprise. His hands were holding an AK aimed at Justin and the guard fired off a couple of rounds. Justin pulled the trigger of his pistol as he rolled on the snow and slipped behind the corner of the cabin. He heard the AK explode at full automatic and bullets began to pierce the cabin’s wooden walls. A storm of slivers surrounded him and he raised his hands to his face to protect his eyes. Then he ran away from the cabin toward the edge of the forest about twenty feet away.

He had taken five or six steps when the AK thunder behind him ceased. He looked back and fired a shot even though the target was still around the corner and beyond his line of sight. Justin zigzagged as he reached the edge of the forest and fell behind a thick pine.

The guard walked carefully and began to trace Justin’s footsteps in the snow.

Justin took a deep breath, then sprang forward from his position. His pistol was pointed at the guard’s head around forty feet away. At that distance, it was a safe shot.

“Drop it,” Justin shouted. “Drop your rifle.”

The guard’s AK was aimlessly hanging in his hands. He slowly lifted it upwards and began to turn it toward Justin.

“Don’t do it,” Justin shouted. “Drop it to the ground.”

The guard stopped his movement.

“Put it down,” Justin called at him.

A loud car engine rumble and bright headlights swinging around the Lada caught Justin’s attention. A black sedan stopped at the end of the driveway and a man stepped outside.

Reinforcements.

The guard decided to make his move. He swung his AK in Justin’s direction and let out a series of short, calculated bursts.

Justin dove for cover among the trees. Bullets zipped past his head, striking branches and carving up large chunks of bark. He lay down flat on the ground, burying himself in the two-foot-deep snow. He slithered backwards and away from the kill zone.

Bullets continued to strike around him but they were less concentrated, stitching a large, irregular pattern. Justin waited for a pause in the volley so he could observe his target as he advanced with a low crawl toward the left, trying to come out around the Lada and surprise the guard and his reinforcements.

A few moments went by without anyone firing shots. Justin took a quick peek from behind the trunk of a spruce tree. The guard was walking toward a man, pointing and gesturing toward the forest.

Justin recognized the man talking to the guard.

That son of a bitch is Max.

Max was nodding and observing the edge of the forest. He patted the guard on the back, then gestured for him to move forward exactly toward where Justin was hiding.

He can see me? But how?

Justin raised his pistol and aimed it at the guard. Before he could pull the trigger, he heard a single shot. The guard plunged forward and fell face first into the snow. Behind him, Max lowered his AK rifle, walked a few steps toward the Lada, then shouted in English, “Justin, come out and let us talk.”

Justin fell back behind the spruce. Max killed the guard and now wants to talk to me. What’s going on? Is this a trap?

“Justin, I don’t have all night,” Max called at him. “I’m not going to shoot you.”

Justin struggled with his thoughts. Perhaps Max was luring him out of his hiding spot. But Max had shot the guard in the back. Well, guards were expendable, at least in Max’s mind. It was a cheap price to pay for recapturing Justin, and Max could easily blame Justin for that kill. What does he want? Why did he come back?

Justin crawled to the other tree and then to the next one. He readied his AK and stepped out slowly from the forest, keeping the AK pointed at Max, who was standing next to his Mercedes-Benz sedan. He had crossed his arms over his chest and there were no weapons in his hands.

“Max, you bastard.” Justin stormed toward him.

“Easy, take it easy.” Max lifted up his empty palms. “I’m unarmed. I got rid of the guard, so you know I’m not here to kill you.”

“I could have handled it,” Justin blurted as he stopped a few feet away from Max. Justin’s AK was still pointed at Max’s chest. “And I’m here to kill you.”

Max’s face formed a small grin. “You’re not going to shoot a defenseless man who came to your rescue. And you want the information I have about Carrie, Bashir, and his list.”

“Carrie? How is she? Where is she?”

“She’s well. She escaped a few minutes ago, leaving behind two dead guards. I . . . the FSB have no idea about her current location.”

If you’re telling the truth, she’s headed toward the safe house. I’ve got to check and confirm your story.

“You’re not lying to me?” Justin said.

“No, I’m not.”

Justin cocked his head to the left. “OK, but don’t talk to me about being defenseless. Was Becca defenseless when you shot her?”

“Hey, that was your fault.” Max stabbed the air with his index finger in Justin’s direction and took a couple of steps toward him. “I was just pretending to arrest you to hide my connection to the CIA.”

“Yeah, good one. I know you’re a double agent and you’re playing for the other team.” Justin lifted his rifle toward Max’s face.

“You’re wrong. I truly work for the CIA but I had no way of revealing it after you were caught. Derzhavin already suspects there is a mole in the FSB, and many agents are under constant surveillance.”

“But you’re not,” Justin said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, not yet. And you’re not listening to me. I know where Bashir is and I’m here to take you there.” He made a hand gesture toward the sedan.

“I don’t trust you.”

“You will have to trust me. Your other option is to try to find Bashir on your own. Eventually you’ll find him, I’ll give you that. But it will take you time and it’s not a safe bet. Not with the FSB and local police closing in. You’ll have to watch your back at every moment.”

“I’m used to that.”

Max sighed, then shrugged. “Listen, Justin. I’m trying to make things right. I can’t do anything about Becca, but I can do something about saving other innocent people. Bashir’s intelligence can help save them all.”

Justin hesitated for a moment. Max was saying the right words and conveying the right emotions. Does he truly mean to help me?

“Where’s Bashir?”

“Held in a detention center with other Chechen terrorists, about eight of them. I’ve got the address in my pocket.” Max lightly tapped the left front side of his black suit.

“Security?”

“About fifteen guards or so.”

“And you’ll get me in. How?”

“As a prisoner. You’ll be in the same cell as Bashir. You’ll collect the intel and the next morning you’ll be out.”

Justin shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m not getting locked up again. Not if I can help it. See, Max, the FSB now has even more reason to hold me, because I’ve killed the guards, two FSB agents.”

“Wrong again, Justin, the FSB will not—”

His words were cut off by a low thud and a spatter of blood bursting out of Max’s chest. Max reached out toward Justin as if to take hold of him, then Max’s knees betrayed him and he toppled down to his left side.

Justin noticed a large bullet wound on Max’s back and knew he was already dead. But Justin was still out in the open, with no idea about the location of the sniper who had taken the silent, deadly shot. Justin dove to his right, rolled on the snow, and scrambled for cover behind the sedan. Expecting another shot, he stayed put, pondering his options. He could make a run for the forest and risk being shot by the marksman. He could fire back but he was unsure about the sniper’s hiding place. A third option was to retrieve the keys of the sedan from Max’s body and attempt a getaway in the car. He would still be exposed, at least for a few moments, but the likelihood of the sniper hitting him inside the fast-moving car was smaller than if he darted away on foot.

Justin glanced at Max’s body and tried to calculate the location of the sniper from the trajectory of the slug. It was difficult since Max was down, Justin had moved further away, and by now the sniper would have secured another firing position to frustrate any counter-sniper efforts. Justin tried to remember the landscape around him from the point of view of when he was standing face-to-face with Max. The sedan was parked at an almost ninety-degree angle to the narrow pathway snaking around the cabin. The pathway connected to the road to the left. The small, tree-covered hill further ahead was in a direct line of sight and at a vantage point, a perfect location for a sniper’s hiding place. So the sniper is probably to my left at ten or eleven o’clock. The Merc’s covering me, otherwise the sniper would have already taken another shot. Unless he’s not here to kill me.

The last thought gave him a spark of hope, but the hope was short-lived. Justin dismissed it as wishful thinking, certain that Carrie would not have had enough time to prepare the hit, set up position, then execute the perfect shot at that particular moment in the dimly-lit backyard. But if it’s not Carrie, then who’s the shooter?