by Ethan Jones
Maxim thought about the possibilities for a long moment. What were the chances that the people who wanted the banker dead were capable of following him minutes after he had received his assignment? His line of work had made Maxim extremely suspicious, “paranoid,” if one asked Sasha or Maxim’s other friends. He didn’t believe in coincidences. As the saying went, Three people can keep a secret, if two of them are dead. If Yezhov was correct in his assessment that powerful people wanted to silence the banker, then, in his own words, Maxim was to expect “violent opposition.”
But will it start right away? He shrugged. I’ve got to keep my eyes open, as always.
Then he nodded to himself, because in this case, there might be a third option. The FSB operatives were occasionally known to play tricks on transporting agents or other employees they despised, ones who, in the operatives’ eyes, were below them. The operatives—the ones who liked to call themselves “true spies”—would follow an unsuspecting employee and give them a good fright, or cause them to start an avalanche of paperwork reporting false sighting of foreign agents. In turn, this wild goose chase would validate the FSB operatives’ claims that the rest of the agency was “good for nothing.” Of course, none of these allegations were ever proven, but Maxim knew he lived in a world of half-truths, gossip, and rumors.
Maxim didn’t know what to make of the situation. One of the men was still there, about twenty yards behind, staring at his phone and lingering in front of a clothing store. Then he raised his phone and seemed to be taking a picture of the store’s window. He was a young man in his twenties with an anchor beard, and he was wearing a dark blue sports coat and black jeans.
Maxim smiled. This totally smells of FSB jerks. He shrugged and crossed as the traffic lights switched. He didn’t mind anyone from the FSB knowing he was meeting with Sasha. If the operatives or suspicious individuals entered the café, then all bets were off.
Sasha had already arrived, but he must have parked behind the café, since his silver BMW sedan was nowhere in sight. The SVR agent was sitting next to the window, dressed in a black jacket and matching pants. His style was to overdress. People always complained about someone dressed too casually for the occasion, not the other way around, Sasha used to say, and he always carried a tie and a gray jacket in his car, just in case.
Maxim waved at Sasha, then studied the almost empty café. Most of the business had been taken by a Hooters across the street, and a few other eateries around the area. But the eighty-six-year-old man who owned and ran the café couldn’t care less. Operating the business kept him alive.
“Morning, Maxim.” Sasha stood up, and they exchanged a hug, even though they had seen each other just three days ago. The poker game at the house of one of their friends Sunday night had left Maxim’s pockets about 1,000 rubles lighter. It was barely enough to buy him a decent lunch, so he hadn’t minded paying the price to have a great time with the guys. “You look worn-out.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night.” Maxim sat across from Sasha. “Too much gel, my friend.” He gestured at Sasha’s medium-length strawberry blond hair, which he kept in a slicked-back style. At the base of his neck, a few strands had flipped up in rebellious wisps.
“I take after my father. In a few years, I’ll be completely bald. So I do what I can, while I can.”
Maxim’s brown eyes studied Sasha’s clean-shaven face, then glanced at his dark blue eyes, but didn’t find any sign of mischief. Sasha’s voice had rung with true regret. “What do the French say? C’est la vie…”
“What does that mean?”
“That’s life. Things are the way they are…”
Sasha shrugged. “That’s true. On the topic of this … selavi stuff … did you notice the FSB jokers following you?”
“I did, but what if they’re not FSB?”
“Then who?”
“The people who want our target.”
“And they moved on us so fast?”
“Do you find that impossible?”
“No, just very unlikely. Unless they’re well-connected.”
“The banker is extremely well-connected, and has friends in high places.”
“And enemies in even higher ones. Coffee?” Sasha pointed at his empty cup.
“Yes.”
Sasha picked up his cup and gestured with it to the young woman behind the counter. She nodded her understanding, and Sasha said, “How’s your mom?”
“She’s very well, but misses you. When was the last time we went over to her place for supper?”
“I don’t know. A month or so.”
“Yes, so plan for tomorrow night. She’s making borscht and rye bread, then we’re going to the opera, but you can come for just the supper, or just the opera.”
“Oh, opera, enticing.” Sasha dragged out his words, and his voice indicated he was anything but excited. “Tell me more about it.”
Maxim decided to play along. “It’s a comedy by Rossini. Lots of laughs.”
Sasha shook his head and frowned. “I’m more of a tragedy kind of guy. Rossini is not my man.”
Maxim grinned. “Do you even know who he is?”
“Some dead Italian dude who didn’t have to work, had nothing but time, and made music to entertain rich people who didn’t have to work and had nothing but time.”
“Exactly. That sums it up very well. But why can’t you come for supper?”
“I might be out of town for an assignment. Can’t tell you more about it.”
“Oh, I thought you were going out with a girl…”
“No, not yet. After Natalya, I’m taking some time off.”
“Too bad it happened that way.”
“Eh, it’s all right. She wasn’t the right one. And you, have you talked to Helena…”
“She wasn’t in today…”
“What about yesterday? The day before?”
“It’s not the right time, Sasha. One of these days—”
“One of these days, you’ll find out she has a boyfriend, or is engaged to some dimwit, when it could have been you.”
“I don’t know.” Maxim shrugged. “Maybe she’s not the right one…”
“How do you know?” Sasha leaned closer to the table. “Have you asked her out?”
“What if she says ‘no’?”
“Then you’ll know, and you can move on.”
“I’m not sure I want to move on.” Maxim sighed.
The red-headed waitress with tattooed hands and a silver nose-ring walked toward their table, and they ordered black coffee. When she was gone, Sasha said, “What does our assignment file say?”
“Thin on details.” Maxim brought it out of his brown leather briefcase. “Take a look.”
Sasha opened the manila folder. “Where’s the photo?”
“Like I said, thin on details. But we have a name, Rabinovich. He worked as executive manager for UBS Financial Services, a multinational company that operates in over fifty countries.”
Sasha nodded and read from the file in a voice barely above a whisper, “UBS is a multinational company that offers a host of financial transactions for individual and corporate investors, such as securities and commodities brokerage services, and portfolio management products and services. Rabinovich is suspected of defrauding MoscOil…” His voice trailed off. “This guy has signed his death warrant. And the FSB is sending just the two of us?” He shook his head.
Maxim didn’t answer right away. Sasha’s incredulous voice made it clear that he wasn’t expecting an answer. He cursed under his breath, then looked at the waitress bringing their coffees. After a minute’s silence, Sasha sipped from his cup, then said, “My director told me I was to help you and the FSB with a routine pick-up … I had no idea who this guy was, or what he had done.”
Maxim grinned. “Is my little Sasha scared?”
“Stop it. I’m not scared, but I’m also not stupid. We can’t do this on our own. We’ll need reinforcements.”
“We’re not g
etting them. It’s just the two of us. This is supposed to be discreet.”
“Discreet? The file said he embezzled twenty million dollars from MoscOil, one of the largest oil and gas companies in all of Russia. Do you know who owns MoscOil?”
“Not really. I know that it’s a private company…”
“Right, but these guys, these oligarchs, they didn’t build their companies by playing nice and stressing forgiveness. They’ll come after the banker and everyone who tries to stop them…”
“What are you saying, Sasha?” Maxim gave him a look full of concern.
Sasha sipped his coffee again and shook his head. “I’m not saying I’m deserting you or this mission. I can’t. But we need to be smart here.”
Maxim nodded. “We are, and we will be. We can’t have more people, but we can have more weapons, so that we’re prepared. And we’ll keep our eyes peeled, triple-check everything.”
“Like that slimeball that’s still out there.” Sasha pointed at the man who had been following Maxim.
“I’d pay no attention to him. He’s FSB, trying to play a trick on us.”
Sasha gave Maxim a sideways glance. “Didn’t you just say that we need to triple-check everything?”
“Yes, but you’ve already done that, and so did I…”
Sasha gave Maxim an exaggerated look as if he had said something outlandish. Then Sasha raised both his hands and turned them toward Maxim. “Let me teach you some math, Maxim. One plus one equals two—”
“Don’t be a smart-aleck. It’s a figure of speech. But since you like math, let’s go check again.”
“How?”
“We’ll get in your car and see what happens.”
“I like that.”
Maxim had a sip of his coffee, then looked at the folder. He thought about Rabinovich and what was going through the man’s mind when he thought he could defraud MoscOil and live to enjoy the misappropriated money. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking. Or he was in debt to someone else, or something. Maxim had seen people do even more outlandish things to feed their addictions or hide their vices.
He finished his coffee and said, “Where did you park?”
“At the back.”
“Let’s go through the kitchen.”
“Good plan.”
They walked to the counter and paid for their drinks. Maxim noticed the man moving toward the front entrance of the café. Now, he could no longer see Sasha or Maxim.
The FSB agent began to wonder whether the surveillant was a prankster or a member of the opposition, someone dead set on stopping, or at least following them. Maxim nodded to himself. It makes sense. A reconnaissance mission, to determine our numbers.
He looked at Sasha, who had already entered the kitchen. Loud voices came for a moment, then the sound of a pan—or a pot—slamming against another metal object. When Maxim stepped through the door, he was met by the angry stare of the old man. “This is not right.” He waved his finger in Maxim’s face. “What are you doing here?”
“Running for our lives,” Maxim said. “Sorry, we have to go through here.”
The old man’s fury subsided, but concern lingered in his gray, beady eyes. “Who’s after you?”
“Don’t know.”
“I’ll stop them. No one harms my guests.”
“No, don’t do anything. They will not—”
“I fought the Germans when I was twelve. I’ll take care of them.”
Maxim felt bad for exaggerating and sincerely wished the man outside the café was an FSB operative. “Look,” he said to the old man. “There’s a slight chance he might be one of us, a good guy. So go easy on him. Don’t kill him, okay?”
Maxim’s words startled the old man. “You’re running away from a friend?”
“It’s … I can’t explain it. Just stand there and cook some beans or something.” He ran through the kitchen and toward the back door.
“We don’t serve beans here,” the old man shouted as Maxim bolted through the open entrance.
Sasha had already started the car. “What happened?”
“Nothing, it’s all good now. Go, go, go.”
Sasha shifted into gear and stepped on the gas. The tires squealed, and the BMW shot out of the small parking lot. It almost collided with a van coming from the other direction, but Sasha turned the wheel. The BMW fishtailed and entered the next road, disappearing past a row of vehicles along a small park.
Maxim looked over his shoulder. No vehicles were following them. A few moments passed, and he still kept his head turned around. Then, a blue Audi SUV swung into the road. The driver took the turn a bit too fast. The Audi drifted and almost hit a bench on the sidewalk. The driver regained control of the vehicle, straightened the wheel, and began to gain on Maxim and Sasha.
Maxim looked at Sasha and said, “Bad news. They’re following us.”
Chapter Three
Northeast of Zlatoustinskiy Bol’shoy Street
Moscow, Russia
“Who are they?” Sasha said.
“Too far to tell. Let’s lose them.”
“What if they’re FSB?”
“What if they’re not?”
“All right. But no shooting, unless we’re fired upon.”
“Got it.”
Maxim pulled out his MP-443 Grach 9mm pistol from the waistband holster on his left side. He cocked the weapon and held it next to his thigh. He hoped the people in the Audi were FSB tricksters, and he wouldn’t have to fire his pistol. He detested writing after-action reports, answering inquiries, and explaining all his actions, instead of being in the field and running operations. However, if the opposition was here to draw blood, they had no idea what was coming their way.
Sasha made a right turn, followed by a left, which brought him onto a wide street. He swung around a city bus, then slowed down and stayed in front of the bus. As expected, the annoyed driver honked the horn. Sasha changed lanes, but kept the same speed as the bus. The maneuver put a few vehicles in between their BMW and the Audi.
Maxim looked at the side mirror, then over his shoulder.
No Audi.
“I think we lost them.” He peered and sat up straighter in his seat. “No, they’re still there.”
“If I can get in front of that truck, they might miss us.” Sasha gestured at a ton-and-a-half flatbed truck up ahead. “Then, we can see who they are.”
Maxim nodded. He liked Sasha’s strategy of not trying to evade surveillance by leading them on a high-speed chase through the city. If these were FSB agents, they’d give up easily. Plus, the license plates would give Maxim and Sasha the information they needed to discover the identity of the surveillance team.
Sasha shifted gears, stepped on the gas, and yanked at the wheel. He drove in front of the bus again, then, before the driver had even reacted to the dangerous maneuver, Sasha sped up and moved into the next lane, in front of the truck. Its driver was a middle-aged woman, and she showed no signs of irritation. She stepped on the brakes, and Sasha slowed down to fit in the flow of traffic.
They came to an intersection just as the traffic lights changed from green to amber. The bus driver stopped alongside the BMW, blocking their view of the next lane. Sasha had to stop as well.
A loud honk came from the back, followed by the sound of screeching tires. The blue Audi SUV rocketed up the third lane and shot through the intersection, then made a sharp left turn. Its driver must have thought the BMW had gone in that direction.
Sasha stepped on the gas, and the BMW went after the SUV.
Maxim was caught by surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Going after them. I saw two men inside.”
“Yes, same here.”
“But I didn’t catch the license plate. Did you?”
“Partially. B21 and something.”
“Yes, insufficient. I’m tired of this game. Let’s catch them red-handed.”
Maxim didn’t like Sasha’s approach, but he wasn’t about to argue with his best
friend and partner.
The Audi driver realized the tables had turned, and now they had become the target. The SUV picked up speed and turned right. Its driver miscalculated the distance, and the vehicle’s side hit a traffic sign post. The SUV seemed to be stuck for a moment, but then it zoomed forward and onto a side street.
Sasha hit the brakes before they came to the turn, and followed the Audi. It was now maybe thirty yards away. A large truck was coming from the other direction. The truck was taking up more than its lane, since a motorcycle was parked on the opposite side of the road.
The Audi driver honked, and the truck driver replied with a honk of his own.
“They’re stuck,” Sasha said.
“I hope so.”
He kept the pistol to his side, again hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.
The Audi driver began to accelerate. He moved as far as he could to the left, trusting he could squeeze in between the oncoming truck and the streetlight post on the side of the road.
He was wrong.
The front of the Audi hit the post. The hood flew up and over the Audi, going straight for the BMW.
Sasha swerved, almost on instinct, and the hood missed their car. Then Sasha swerved again, returning into his lane, as the large truck whirled inches away from them.
“Now they’re stuck,” Maxim said.
The Audi was stalled and hadn’t started to move as Sasha parked the BMW behind the Audi SUV. Maxim jumped outside, his pistol aimed at the front passenger. “Get out of the car. Now! Out, out!”
The door opened slowly, and the man who had been following Maxim stepped outside. He held his hands up in the air. His facial expression showed no fear, but rather a sense of embarrassment. “Put that gun away. I’m FSB, just like you.”
“Shut up,” Maxim said. “Get down, down on the ground.”
“Didn’t you hear—”