by Ethan Jones
The hardest part came when it was time to say goodbye to Azade. They both knew the inevitable moment was coming, and they tried to ignore it for as long as they could. Vale had clued in to the vibe between Justin and Azade and excused himself, to buy a case of water for the return trip to Turkey.
Justin waited until Vale was out of sight, then leaned against the Nissan. He looked at Azade, who was giving him a melancholic smile. “I guess this is the end of the road. At least for now.”
“Yes, it seems so.”
“Have you . . . have you ever thought of leaving this place?”
“What, like move somewhere else?”
“Yes, leave the war, the sorrow, the pain behind. Start fresh, new, perhaps in Europe or Canada.”
Azade grinned. “You’re not inviting me, are you?”
Justin sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Azade.”
“I’m not—no worries. I know about you and Karolin, and I wish you all the best.” A hint of sadness was clear in her low voice.
“And I wish only the best for you too.”
She stepped closer to Justin. “To be completely honest, the thought of leaving has crossed my mind. I’ve had it with people killing, dying, or suffering all around me. But . . . I don’t want to leave my homeland behind. If we all left, who’s going to defend, to build Kurdistan?”
Justin nodded. “You’ve done your part, Azade. You’ve fought and bled for Kurdistan for years. And so have your family, your father, brothers. You’ve done more than your fair share for your homeland. It’s time you find some peace and quiet and love for yourself. Nothing wrong with that.”
Azade nodded back. “But what would I do, Justin? Fighting is all I know, and I really don’t want to be a mall cop in Germany.”
“Of course, not. You’re a young woman of many talents. You can go to school and learn to become whatever you want. I know you like to write. With everything you’ve heard, seen, and experienced, you can put all that on paper.”
“And write a best-seller?”
“Why not?”
“Or I can become a teacher.”
“You’ll be a great teacher.”
Azade smiled, then leaned onto his chest. “Oh, Justin, will I ever see you again?”
“I’m sure we’ll see each other very soon.” He brushed her long black hair out of her face.
When they broke their sweet embrace, Azade’s face had taken on a serious look. “All right, Justin. Let’s find Vale, and then you, and I, can both head home.”
Justin nodded. He did not want to correct Azade with the truth. Carrie had informed him that al-Gailani was confirmed to be in Moscow, seemingly hiding in one of its luxurious hotels. The news had given Justin an idea: if they could not find Egorov, perhaps they could draw her out. If she learned about al-Gailani’s location, she might go after him, especially if she did not suspect a trap. It was a long shot, but Justin and Carrie had decided to try it.
“Do you want to drive?” Azade asked.
“Sure.” He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the car around. Then they drove around the block and found Vale waiting for them outside a street-corner convenience store. “Vale, where’s the case of water?” Justin asked.
Vale grinned. “Oh, yeah, the water. Give me a second, and I’ll get us some.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
January 16
Moscow, Russia
Justin glanced around the Krasnaya Zvezda restaurant at the patrons wearing hundred-thousand-dollar suits or dresses and felt out of place. He could pay for his meal—at least he hoped he could, since prices were not advertised on the gold-plated menus—and he was in the company of Markov, the GRU agent who knew at least some of the powerful businessmen filling the ritzy establishment. She was dressed in a sleeveless V-neck black-and-white dress that was tight in all the right places, accentuating her neatly shaped curves. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had applied very little make-up: a light blush and a soft pink lip gloss. Not exactly low profile, but pale in comparison to the glitzy women around them.
But Justin still experienced an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. A sort of premonition, that the sky was going to fall pretty soon. Perhaps it was memories of the past, since every time he came to Moscow, something went seriously sideways. Or it could be expectations about the future, as both Markov and he were waiting for Egorov to make her move.
Carrie and Dolina had put the word out about al-Gailani residing in Moscow. They had stopped short of divulging his exact address. It would take Egorov and her team a few minutes to discover al-Gailani’s location. But if they had already done so, there had been no indication they were planning to target the bagman.
“What are you thinking, Justin?” Markov asked as she sliced off a small piece of her gold-flake triple chocolate cake.
“Egorov. Where is she?”
“Relax. She’ll make an appearance.”
“It’s the second day, and we’re still waiting.”
“Egorov is patient and extremely careful. She knows this is a trap.”
“But you still think she’ll come?”
“Of course she will. But only when she’s confident she can outsmart us.”
“Can she?”
Markov looked deep into Justin’s thoughtful eyes. “Yes, she can, but she won’t. We’re not going to let her. But we also can’t underestimate her skills. Egorov didn’t get to where she is by being sloppy and making mistakes.”
Justin nodded, then reached for his cup of coffee. It had a rich smoky taste with hints of burned chocolate. He loved it, and made a mental note to ask the waitress again about the long fancy-sounding name.
Markov continued, “She could be watching us as we speak. And I’m sure she has eyes on her target and our surveillance.”
“Yes, have they reported any sightings?”
“Negative.” Markov tapped her phone next to the dessert plate. “I’ll be the first one to know.”
“We’ve made sure we have a few operatives in the open?”
“Well, not exactly in the open, but somewhat easy to spot. We don’t want to make it obvious to Egorov that we know she’s coming, although we do.”
Justin sighed. He did not have the patience for this cat-and-mouse game. A man of action, he hated sitting on his hands. But we’re not just having expensive coffee and dessert here. We’re laying the trap, slowly and carefully. It’s a crucial part of our op. He nodded to himself and sipped his coffee.
“How did you fare in Iraq?” Markov asked.
“Things went okay, but I’ve told you that already.”
Markov forked another small piece of cake to her mouth and swallowed it slowly. “Oh, this is so good. You’re sure you don’t want some?”
Justin cocked his head. “Since you insist.” He reached with his spoon and took a small piece.
“Oh, come on, Justin. That’s minuscule. You can do better than that.”
Justin dug in and filled his spoon. Then he brought it to his mouth. The decadent chocolate was so rich and sweet. The small pieces of edible gold were just an extravagance. They were crunchy, but absent of any metallic taste. He thought about the last time he had tasted gold. Yeah, that bagel with truffle cream cheese and small gold flakes. It had been during his meeting with Romanov, the ruthless Russian oil baron, once Justin’s supporter. “Hmmmm, it’s so tasty.”
“Glad you like it. Now, Iraq—anything specific you can tell me?”
“You’re a curious gal.”
“Yes, and you’re quite observant.” Markov laughed. “Look, Justin, I’m not just a GRU officer. I’m more than that—well, I hope I’m your friend.”
Justin nodded. He was not sure “friend” was the right word to describe his relationship with Markov. “Partner” was a better description, but if Markov preferred the first, that would work for him as well. “You are my friend, but we work for different agencies that sometimes are at odds with one another.”
Justin tried to stifle the frown stretching across his face. Markov was telling him in no uncertain terms that she knew about the reason he had been dispatched to Iraq. But how much does she know? “Eh, I did what I could. But, where did you hear about that?”
Markov shrugged. “I like to know what my friends are up to. Glad everything is resolved.”
Justin held Markov’s eyes for a moment, but did not notice anything but genuine concern. He decided to let things slide for now, but it was something he wanted to revisit at another time.
The waitress appeared tableside. “Can I get you anything else?”
Markov glanced at the cake crumbs on her plate. “Justin, you want to split another slice?”
“Sure, why not? And can I get another cup of coffee?”
“Of course, I’ll bring them right away.”
Justin finished the last of his coffee, then glanced at Markov. She was checking her phone and tapping the screen. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, got a message about something strange near the Evo Tower.”
“Al-Gailani’s office?”
“Yes. Let me check.” Markov dialed a number.
Justin sat at the edge of his seat. The Evolution Tower was a spiralling 246-meter-high skyscraper in the Moscow’s business district. The Bank of Belgium offices occupied space on the fifty-first floor, near the top of the tower.
Markov’s face twisted in a dark frown. “No, no, no,” she said, then swore.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ll be there right away.” She ended the call and stood up. “Egorov’s at the tower along with a large team.”
Justin jumped to his feet and reached for his wallet. “How much?” he pulled out a wad of cash.
“Five hundred should do it, six with the tip.”
Justin’s jaw almost dropped, but he shrugged. He placed the bills on the table, then hurried behind Markov. “Have they breached security?” he whispered as they made their way through the restaurant.
“They have.”
“How? How did that happen?”
“A Bank of Belgium helo landed on the helipad. It was full of Egorov’s people.”
Justin cursed the bank and the lax security at the top of the tower. The GRU and FSB had placed only two operatives up there, focusing most of the manpower around the tower on the ground.
Markov had parked her boxed-shaped black Mercedes AMG G63 SUV behind the restaurant. She got behind the wheel and hit the gas before Justin had even closed the front passenger door. “Gonna be a rough ride.”
He strapped on the seatbelt. “Ready now.”
The SUV’s wheels spun as Markov flattened the gas pedal. They barreled through the street, then fishtailed through the intersection. Thankfully, no vehicles were in close vicinity, and Markov’s excellent maneuvering avoided a crash with a truck zooming from the other direction.
They rocketed down Vozdvizhenka Street. Markov hammered the horn with her fist to clear traffic ahead of them, or swerved onto the sidewalks. They were making good time, but were still at least five minutes out. Justin clenched his teeth, hoping they would not be too late. If Egorov’s team seized al-Gailani, they would all disappear without a trace, never to be found. We can’t let that happen. “Faster, faster,” he said.
“Justin, relax. We need to get there in one piece.”
“Yes, but not when it’s all over.”
Markov cursed Egorov and stepped on the gas. The Mercedes drifted through the next intersection and came dangerously close to a city bus. Markov jerked the wheel and sideswiped a yellow taxi. Then she forced her way in between a black Range Rover SUV and a silver Mazda sedan, scraping both vehicles. She turned to the right, and the Mercedes’ crash guard slammed into the rear of a Porsche roadster, tossing it to the side as if it were a toy car.
With the road more or less clear, the Mercedes raced forward. Markov said, “Better?”
Justin smiled. “An improvement.”
“Do you want to drive?”
“No, I’m better with the gun.” He unholstered his Sig Sauer P229 pistol and cocked it.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Justin nodded. He had seen Markov in action, and she was as good, if not a better shot than he.
When they reached Krasnopresnenskaya Naberezhnaya, Markov yanked hard on the wheel. The Evolution Tower appeared to the left, jutting up at the sky, its unique spiral shape sculpturally symbolizing the DNA molecule double helix. A cloud of smoke was billowing from the top.
Markov frowned. “We might be too late.”
“Hit it, girl.”
Markov nodded and slammed her foot on the gas. The Mercedes shot up through the street. Markov maneuvered around the vehicles like a street racer. She dared to cross to the oncoming lane, barely missing head-on collisions a few times. They brushed against a few cars, mostly sedans, that the three-ton heavy armored Mercedes had no problem shoving to the sides.
Justin held on to the door, flinching every time they came close to crashing into another vehicle. His eyes were glued to the tower, growing taller and bigger by the second. He noticed a reddish dot hovering over the top. “There’s a helo.”
“Egorov may still be there.”
“Yeah, let’s hope so.”
It was not long before Markov brought the battered Mercedes to a screeching halt in front of the tower’s main entrance. Two men in black uniforms—FSB operatives—approached their vehicle. Markov said, “We’re GRU. Where’s Egorov?”
“Still in the building. Top floor,” replied one of them.
Markov jumped out of the SUV and flipped open the Mercedes’ trunk. She replaced her stilettos with a pair of runners, then reached for an AK-105 assault rifle. “Justin, take the other one.”
He holstered his pistol and picked up the rifle. Then he reached into the trunk and pulled four magazines from the ammunition box.
“Ready?” Markov asked.
“Let’s roll,” Justin replied.
They bolted toward the entrance and found the elevators. One of them was non-functional, the door opening and closing and the lights inside the car flashing. Justin and Markov stepped into the other one. He pushed the button to the fiftieth floor, and the car zoomed upwards.
Justin glanced at Markov. “If this goes sideways, you’re one of the best op—”
“Hey, nobody is dying today but Egorov.”
“And her men.”
“Yes, all of them.”
“Al-Gailani?”
“Maybe. But for sure not you or I.”
Justin nodded. He cocked the assault rifle and glanced at the elevator’s doors.
When they opened with a low ping, he stepped to the side and pointed the rifle at the gap. No one fired at them, and the hall was empty. “I’ll take the top,” Justin said.
“You want all the fun?”
“Once you’ve cleared the next floor, come join the party.”
Markov nodded.
Justin pointed toward the staircase and dashed toward it. He opened it carefully, then climbed the stairs by twos and threes. He did not need to glance over his shoulder for Markov. He could hear and feel her right behind him.
When they got to the next floor, Justin stopped by the metal door. He listened for a moment. All quiet. He nodded at Markov, then whispered, “All the best.”
“Same.”
Justin continued upwards, while Markov opened the door. It made a faint click, then Markov disappeared through the narrow gap. Before the door closed, a quick burst came from the other side. Justin shrugged. He hoped it was Markov who had pulled the trigger.
He reached the next floor. When he was about three steps away from the door, it swung open. A gunman burst forth. Justin fired once. His bullet struck the man in the neck, and he toppled down the
stairs.
Someone fired from inside the hall. Justin dropped against the wall as bullets flew through the door.
Justin squeezed off a few rounds, then hurried up the stairs, careful to keep the door in his peripheral vision. He needed to reach the top, before Egorov got into the helicopter with or without al-Gailani.
Moments later, Justin came to the door that opened onto the tower’s roof. It too was slightly open. The helicopter’s rumble came through the door, along with loud voices.
He peered carefully and stepped onto the roof. The sharp cold wind assaulted his face. He blinked and turned his head to the side while looking for gunmen.
This side of the square roof was clear.
He glanced upwards at the tower’s crown. It was a solid steel structure formed of two twisted arches. The helipad was three stories high. Then Justin looked for a service staircase—as the top floors housed the utility units—and found one to his right. He began to climb as fast as he could.
Justin was halfway up when the helicopter appeared to his left. He quickened his steps, hoping to reach the helipad before the pilot noticed him.
It was not meant to be.
A volley of bullets struck all around him. Rounds pinged against the metal staircase. A couple whizzed past his head, missing him by inches. One cut through his left calf. Justin screamed in agony.
He struggled to climb, ignoring the pain shooting through his body. He stopped for a moment and pointed his rifle at the helicopter. Before he could let off a volley, the helicopter veered off and out of sight.
Justin finished his climb as gunfire echoed from the helipad. He stayed low as he came to the top of the staircase. A thin glass parapet enclosed the circular helipad landing, but other than that, there was not much cover.
His eyes found a couple of bodies strewed about. He was not sure if they were FSB, GRU, or part of Egorov’s team. It was not important, as they were not moving.
But Egorov was standing on the other side.