by Ethan Jones
The operative was about four steps away from her when the man looked up. His eyes met Justin’s. Instead of surprise, the man’s face registered a look of excitement and eagerness, as if he had been expecting Justin. “Mr. Hall,” he said, “glad you can join us.”
Justin’s hand almost automatically went to unzip his jacket.
The man shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.” He leaned back on his seat. Under the table, he had a pistol pointed at Drugova.
“You wouldn’t dare shoot her,” Justin said. “Not in this crowd.” He tipped his head toward the nearest table with four loud patrons.
“Neither will you. So take a seat.”
Drugova’s startled eyes flitted from the man to Justin. “What’s going on?”
Justin rested a reassuring hand on her arm. “You’ll be okay. He’s not going to hurt you.”
“Who are you?” Drugova blurted out. “You’re not a whistleblower…”
“And you’re not a smart journalist,” the man said. “I don’t understand all the fuss about what you do … or used to do… Now, keep your voice down, or this will get ugly…”
Justin looked toward the window to his left, then his eyes went to the phone of a woman at the closest table. From the time the operative had entered the café, it had been almost two minutes.
“What are you looking for, Hall? Backup? My friend outside will take care of your teammate…”
“That’s not my concern…”
“What is it, then?”
“Your life. I don’t want you to get hurt, or worse: die so young…”
The young man groaned. “You’re pathetic, Hall—”
“No, realist. This is your last chance. Hand over the gun, and you’ll live.”
The man laughed out loud and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Justin glanced at Drugova, who seemed to be frozen with panic. He leaned back in his seat. He shrugged and looked to the right. Erik had popped around the corner of the hall leading to the bathrooms. His pistol was aimed at the young man’s head. At the distance of fifteen yards and with no obstacles, it was a sure shot.
Justin said, “I warned you,” and nodded at Erik.
The young man clued in to what was taking place and turned his pistol toward Erik.
The Russian assassin was a fraction of a second late.
Erik fired a single shot and planted a bullet in the man’s head. He fell off his chair and tumbled against the wall.
Drugova was horror-struck by the gruesome display inches away from her. A splatter of blood had sprayed her face. She hollered at the top of her lungs; Justin thought his eardrums would burst.
Pandemonium broke loose in the café. Patrons began stampeding toward the door, bumping into one another and tossing tables and chairs left and right.
“This way. We’ll leave from the back.” Justin lifted Drugova off her chair and handed her off to Erik, who was standing near the table. His pistol was trained at the Russian man’s head, although it was clear he was dead. “I’ll join you in a moment.”
“Good.” Erik held Drugova by the arm.
Justin knelt over the dead Russian and quickly rummaged through his pockets. A cellphone, a wallet, and the pistol, a Russian-made MP-443 Grach 9mm pistol. Justin shook his head. Russians to the end.
He hadn’t had time to get to his feet when he noticed a slender silhouette trying to elbow its way into the café.
Justin didn’t need to see its face to know it was the red-headed woman who’d been sitting in the Nissan SUV. He pulled the Sig pistol, cocked it, and flipped over the table. Once he secured a position behind it, he aimed the Sig at the silhouette. As soon as she appeared, while patrons were still fleeing the café, Justin said in Russian, “Drop your gun.”
The woman’s bourbon eyes turned into slits. Her fingers tightened around the grip of her pistol. It wasn’t exactly pointed at Justin, but his voice gave away his position. The woman turned her pistol toward him. “And end up like him?” she replied in a firm, ice-cold voice. “Don’t think so.”
Justin peered at the woman, trying to determine if she’d pull the trigger. She had already taken a step back and another to the side, partially hiding next to a wall by the entrance. He could still hit her, but he’d rather disarm and interrogate her, if possible.
“I won’t kill you.”
The woman’s eyes remained on Justin’s face. He thought she was trying to understand his intentions. She took a step back, and now only her gun-holding hand was visible, along with a small portion of her midsection and her face.
Justin pulled the trigger.
Chapter Nine
Inside Monaco Café
Southern Helsinki
Finland
The bullet struck the woman’s forearm. She dropped the pistol and made no attempt to retrieve it, but disappeared around the corner.
Justin climbed to his feet, but as he did so, his left leg failed him. He almost twisted his ankle and had to lean on the table, so he wouldn’t lose his balance. He cursed out loud. It was the first time he’d lost control of his leg. He had been able to walk and run without any problems. Why? And why now?
He bit his lip and took a couple of unsteady steps. The pain had subsided, but it was still there, like a hot poker stabbing at his leg. He ignored it and hurried his pace. He cleared the corner, and, as expected, the woman had disappeared.
Justin looked through the glass door at the escaping Nissan SUV. He fired in short bursts in rapid succession. His bullets shattered the café’s windows and pierced the SUV’s side and rear windows. But his gunfire wasn’t sufficient to stop the would-be Russian assassin. The woman barreled through the intersection, dodging an incoming truck, rounded the next corner, and disappeared from Justin’s view.
He cursed again as he burst onto the sidewalk. His ears caught the faint wailing of police sirens. They were growing louder and louder by the second, and Justin had perhaps ten seconds to make his exit. He looked at some of the patrons scattered along the sidewalk across the street, then headed toward the back of the café. He sprinted through the hall as fast as his cramped leg would allow him.
When he opened the back door, Erik was standing next to the Fiat. Drugova was sitting in the backseat, visibly shaken. She was rocking back and forth and kept playing with strands of her long hair.
“What happened?” Erik asked as he slipped into the driver’s seat.
“The second assassin… I tried to stop her, but she escaped…” Justin took the front seat and buckled the seatbelt.
Erik drove through the small parking lot and merged with the slow-moving traffic. He changed lanes and made the first left turn, followed by a right one, driving away from the police sirens.
Justin said to Drugova, “How are you?”
She didn’t reply for a brief moment, then shook her head and leaned forward. “How am I? You’re asking … asking me … how am I?” Her voice, like her entire body, trembled almost convulsively. “I … I was almost killed. A man’s head exploded in front of my face, splattering blood and brain matter all over my face. How do you think I am ?”
Justin said, “I’m sorry you had to see that. But I gave the man options… He made the wrong choice.”
Drugova opened her mouth to say something, then she decided against it and slid back in her seat. “I … I never thought it would come to this point.”
“The Russians are determined and relentless,” Erik said.
“And our intel is accurate… Mr. X is telling us the truth.”
“In this case, yes,” Erik said.
“You don’t sound very convinced…”
“That’s because I’m not, but we’ll discuss that later.” He craned his head toward Drugova.
Justin turned toward her. “Do you have a safe place you can stay, preferably not in Helsinki, even better not in Finland?”
Drugova was looking out of the window, into the distance, seemingly absorbed in her thoughts.
> “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you. I’m just thinking on whether I want to bother anyone else with my troubles…”
“This is the time to find out who your true friends are…”
“Really? What if these … these killers track me down again?”
Justin sighed. “You won’t like this, but I suggest you take a break for a while, lie low, put your life together… The Russian corruption isn’t going anywhere.”
“If I shut up, they’ve won.”
“If you aren’t quiet for a while, until all this blows over, they’ll shut you up … for good.” He said his words in a low, ominous tone, and let them hang there for a long moment.
Drugova shrugged, but said nothing.
Justin also said nothing and allowed her to think.
Erik slowed as they came to an intersection, then stopped as the light turned red. “The airport is in that direction.” He pointed to the left.
“She’ll be safer if she takes a train, or private transport, if possible.” Justin looked at Drugova.
She gave him a resigned look. “I … I have someone I can stay with for a few days. A friend from my time in Moscow… She lives in Norway now.”
“No trains to Norway.” Erik pointed out the obvious.
“If we can get you safely to Stockholm, can she pick you up there?” Justin asked, referring to the capital of Sweden. Drugova would have to take a ferry, not the safest of options, but still a good one.
“I’ll ask her.” She pulled up her phone.
“Sure, let’s give her a call when we get to the safehouse.”
“Okay.”
Erik gave Justin a look of concern and stepped on the gas as the lights changed.
Justin returned a nod of reassurance, then gestured to Drugova to hand him the phone. He held the button at the top to turn off the phone, then flipped it over and removed the battery.
“What’s going on? Drugova asked.
Erik smiled. “SVR has probably bugged it.”
“Really?” Drugova said.
“Yes. And they could have placed a GPS tracker inside, so they can follow your every move.”
“That’s how they knew you were at the café.” Erik turned right, and they drove along Ruoholahdenkatu Street. Construction was going on along the metro line, and one of the lanes had been cordoned off by red-and-yellow pylons and large dump trucks. Eight-story-high brown-and-gray apartment buildings lined the right side of the street.
Justin said, “They could have been using your phone to record your conversations, turn on your camera, or turn your phone on if you had turned it off.”
“Is that even possible, remotely?”
“It is, especially if they’re using Medusa hacking software.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a state-of-the-art piece of software, developed by an Israeli company. If the Russians have it, which I’m sure they do, as anyone with enough money can purchase it, legally or illegally, they sent you an innocent-looking email or text message. Something like a note that your package is delayed, and you need to click a link to reschedule delivery. Or a text from a friend that sent you a picture from their party and invites you to click the link below to see it…”
“And people fall for that?”
“All the time,” Justin said. “We’ll get your phone analyzed, to make sure it’s clean before you can start using it. No point in hiding you if you have a beacon signaling the Russians your location.”
Drugova nodded. “So, I’m not going to the safehouse?”
“No. We’ll find you a hotel for a night or two. And you’re not going to Stockholm or Norway. Too much risk for you, as well as your friend. Instead, we’ll get you to Estonia, in the other direction, and perhaps move you to Latvia, if necessary.”
Drugova frowned. “I … I don’t know anyone in those countries…”
“That’s even better,” Erik said. “No one the Russians can spy on, follow, or coerce to get to you…”
Drugova’s lips pursed, but she remained silent.
Justin said, “It’s for your own good. The SVR isn’t done with you.”
He was going to add something else, but his phone rang. The ringtone revealed to Justin the caller’s identity: It was Markus Nyberg, Justin’s counterpart at SUPO. Their relationship wasn’t the best, but also it wasn’t the worst. Nyberg had a blunt and bullying way about him, attempting to reach his objective at any cost to friend or foe.
Justin frowned and gestured to Erik to pull over.
“What’s going on? Why are we stopping?” Drugova said.
“I’ve got to take this call, in private.” Justin’s voice turned firm and cold.
He stepped out of the car and up on the sidewalk as the phone rang a second, then a third time. “Yes, Nyberg. What’s going on?”
“Oh, it’s been one of those days … Look, were you involved in the shootout at the Monaco Café?”
Justin hadn’t expected the question. SUPO was good, but not this good. It would have been impossible for them to connect Justin to that event at such short notice. The café had no security cameras and neither did the store across from the café. Perhaps they tracked down the Fiat? How could they? The vehicle belonged to an Italian asset, who allowed the Canadian operatives to use his vehicles as well as his restaurant in east Helsinki for meetings off the grid. Justin shook his head. No, the Russians told them. But why? “Where did you hear that?”
“Come on. You know I can’t tell you how I run my operations…”
“Is that so? Well, I’m afraid neither can I...”
“Not so fast, Hall. My operation is trying to find who killed a citizen in my city, in broad daylight. What’s yours?”
Justin didn’t answer right away. Nyberg was laying a trap. He hadn’t said the citizen was Finnish, in a way nudging Justin to note the dead man was Russian and expose that he knew more than he was willing to share. Justin doubted the SVR assassin was of Finnish nationality, or Nyberg would have said so. “My operation is to keep my country safe, just as you’re doing.”
“So, if we have common interest, why are you refusing to cooperate?”
“I’m not refusing to cooperate, Nyberg, but you’re trying to implicate me in a shooting, where someone killed a citizen of your country. You are refusing to tell me the source of that information. Do I not have the right to confront my accuser?”
A brief, tense silence, then Nyberg said, “No one is accusing you, Hall. I’m just trying to find out what took place; that’s all.”
Justin thought about his answer and drew in a deep breath, the fresh, cool air filling his nostrils. He detected a hint of the aroma of French fries wafting through the air and felt hungry. Justin looked around, and his eyes found a small fast food restaurant at the intersection, about fifty yards to his left. He sighed and said on the phone, “Look, Nyberg, I’m quite busy here, but I also don’t want to derail your operation. That’s all I can tell you at the moment, and if you’d like more intel, you’ll have to run it through proper communication channels.”
“Really, Hall? Are you going to hide behind bureaucratic and diplomatic covers?”
“I’m not hiding, Nyberg. I’m using standard op procedures, so that I can continue to do my job, like you’re doing yours.”
Silence reigned for a long moment, then Nyberg said, “Hall, I’ll have to warn you this might not end well…”
Justin clenched the phone tighter in his hand. “Sounds less like a warning and more like a threat…”
“Take it as you want, but rest assured that you haven’t seen the end of this.” Nyberg ended the call in what sounded like a curse under his breath.
Justin shrugged and returned the phone to his pocket. He looked at Erik and Drugova in the blue Fiat. Let’s take her somewhere safe, then I’ve got to tell Moretti what happened at the café…
Chapter Ten
Inside Another Café
Southern Helsinki
; Finland
Justin instructed Erik to drive Drugova to a budget hotel that had lax security rules when it came to registration and especially security cameras. Erik was to sign in using one of the agency-issued fake IDs and credit cards. The next day, or the day after, an operative would safely escort the dissident to her new location.
Justin pulled up the collar of his windbreaker and put on his gray woolen gloves. A curtain of thin, gray clouds had veiled the sun, and he felt like the temperature had dropped by ten degrees. It was close to the freezing point now, and the skin of his neck rose in goosebumps. I should have worn a scarf. He thought of the black-and-gray scarf Karolin, his girlfriend, had knitted him. Tough guys wear scarves, she had said in her sweet German accent that changed the “w” into “v” and made the “s” sound like a “z”. Well, maybe I’m not tough enough…
He stopped at the nearest café, which was almost empty. That suited him well, so as to not have anyone eavesdrop on his conversation with his boss. After ordering a large coffee, Justin sat at a table by the window, across from the door. He dialed his boss’s secured cellphone line, and, when he answered, Justin said, “Hello, sir. Sokolov gave us more than a shred of intel…”
“Yes, I heard about the café…”
Justin bit his lip and wished he could have called his boss sooner, but he was making sure his team and the dissident remained alive. “People scattered in panic… Some might have suffered cuts and bruises, nothing serious. The only dead man is the Russian assassin. Can’t say I’m sorry about that…”
“Well, Mr. Nyberg believes otherwise. He’s screaming bloody murder and demanding an explanation.”
Justin nodded. “I talked to him.”
He gave his boss a brief rundown of the conversation with the SUPO chief. Near the end, Justin said, “I told him we can handle this through regular channels…”
“Nyberg isn’t going to buy that, and he knows we’re involved. We’ve got to give him something, so he can keep this quiet.”