After making a sudden, brake initiated one-eighty, Jake slammed the accelerator to the floor and made a straight line for the east entrance. Just when he thought they would make it, a black BMW sedan, charging to block their escape, struck the taxi with a hard glancing blow to the right side. The force of the collision threw Dawkins over the seat and into the front passenger floorboard. Through the windshield, Jake saw the menacing face of their attacker.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
With the crippled taxi shifted into reverse, he stomped the accelerator once more and spun the car in the opposite direction again. Like a desperate animal trapped in a cage, he anxiously peered in every direction for a means of escape. Traveling back down the length of the lot toward the west gate once more, he saw the headlights of the BMW as it turned and headed in their direction. The large volume of steam pouring from the taxi’s radiator clearly confirmed that the old sedan could not keep up the cat and mouse game much longer. Jake also noticed the sluggish steering, which likely meant that the front suspension had been damaged in the collision.
“He’s gaining on us!” Dawkins shouted.
“In hindsight, we should’ve taken the Mercedes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m thinking. I’m thinking.”
“He’s almost on us!”
“There!” Jake motioned toward a narrow pedestrian path that opened into the lot.
“We can’t fit through that.”
“Ye of little faith.”
After another erratic turn, Jake angled the taxi toward the opening and drew a bead on the wooden gate. With as much power as the old car would deliver, they burst through the opening, splintering boards in all directions. The sound of grinding metal against the posts on either side of the gate was followed by the screeching of tires as the car struck the pavement on the waterfront side of the metro. Jake turned the wheel hard to the right onto the vacated street that followed the Neva River toward the western end of the island. Dawkins instinctively looked back to see that the driver of the BMW had somehow followed them through the narrow passage and was turning onto the street fifty meters behind them.
Jake’s limited knowledge of the city told him that their best opportunity to lose their attacker would be in the winding streets surrounding the port authority. During his previous visit to St. Petersburg, he had helped unload pallets of medical supplies at the port for victims of a Ukrainian earthquake. He especially remembered being confused by the maze of streets.
“Where are you going?” Dawkins elevated voice revealed his panic.
“There’s a port up ahead. See the ships?”
Dawkins jerked his attention from the headlights behind them to the fast approaching waterfront.
“We’re not going to make it!” he exclaimed.
When Jake noticed that there was no more steam flowing from beneath the hood, he was inclined to agree. The temperature gauge was fully into the red and a steady clicking noise coming from the engine told him they were only seconds away from it seizing.
“A cop!” Dawkins shouted as they blew past a blue and white Lada sedan parked in front of the Academy of Arts building. Immediately, blue and red lights began to flash behind them.
“Are you going to slow down?” Dawkins asked.
Jake didn’t answer as he allowed the options to play out in his mind.
“Well?” Dawkins demanded.
“We have to weigh out the possible scenarios,” Jake answered.
“Scenarios?”
“Number one. I let up on the gas and we get rammed by our friend in the BMW. At this speed, that’s going to hurt.”
“OK.”
“Number two. We keep driving and hope this car stays together long enough for the police to catch the guy behind us.”
“I like that one better.”
“However,” Jake raised a cautioning finger, “the squad car has already radioed ahead and the police are certainly waiting for us somewhere else down this road. Stolen vehicle, breaking and entering, reckless driving, resisting arrest…all of which are minor compared to Baranov’s dead body.”
“I see your point.” Dawkins sighed. “Are there any win-win options?”
“There is one. We could…”
Bam! Dawkins jerked his head back to see that the BMW had rammed them.
“Scenario one it is,” Jake spoke unceremoniously.
An abrupt slamming noise emerged from beneath the hood and Jake knew immediately that the old Moskvich had slung a rod. Billows of dark smoke poured through the exhaust as oil from the crankcase reached the remaining cylinders. With a second, more forceful impact from the BMW, the taxi spun wildly out of control as Jake fought in vain to prevent a collision with the guardrail. Like a precision cutting tool, the Moskvich sheered the thin steel rail, sending the taxi into the frigid river below.
“We’re going to die!” Dawkins screamed in the seemingly suspended time before the car struck the water.
Before the impact, Jake braced his feet against the floorboard and bent his knees slightly to absorb the blow. When the car struck, he gripped the door handle firmly and yanked it just as the force propelled him forward against his seatbelt. Although the restraint had kept him from being thrown from the car, the shoulder harness had not held and his face struck the steering wheel. He instantly recognized the taste of the coppery liquid that flowed across his lips.
As the frigid water rushed into the car, he unsnapped his companion’s seatbelt and grabbed his forearm, pulling him out of the vehicle. He couldn’t tell but guessed from his motionless posture that he had been knocked out in the collision. With his forearm hooked under Dawkins’ neck, he kicked hard with his aching legs until he reached the muddy bank. Dawkins began to cough up water as Jake rolled him over.
Lying on the darkened bank, Jake listened for signs of activity above them but was surprised by complete silence.
“Can you move?” he asked his companion.
“No-o-o,” Dawkins said with a shivering voice.
“Are you hurt anywhere besides your shoulder?”
There was no reply, which made him worry that the man was going into shock. One thing was certain. The combination of wet clothes and subfreezing temperatures was a death sentence for both of them if they didn’t soon find shelter.
“I won’t leave you,” Jake said.
“I’m afraid to die,” the younger man faintly spoke.
“We can’t stay here,” Jake urged. “We need to get dry. In these conditions, we have only minutes before hypothermia sets in. If I help you, will you try? Maybe we can flag down a car or find an open building across the street.”
“I’ll try.”
With his forearm under Dawkins’ shoulder, Jake lifted the man and helped him up the slippery bank until they reached the edge of the pavement. A brisk wind that struck their soaked clothes made them both shake almost uncontrollably.
“I see car lights,” Dawkins chattered as he looked over Jake’s shoulder.
“Let’s hope it’s not our friendly neighborhood gunman.”
When the car pulled to a stop in front of them, Jake was relieved to find that it was neither the police nor their assailant. The driver of the small two-seater car got out and hastily came around to help them. Jake noted the genuine look of concern on his strong, bearded face. His brow rose as he looked at them through soft blue eyes.
“What is wrong?” he asked in Russian.
“A car accident,” Jake responded. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes, yes! Please, we must get you to my car. Your friend does not look well.”
“I think he’s going into shock,” Jake said. “He needs to go to a hospital.”
“I will drive him. Help me get him into my car.”
Jake continued to support the younger man’s weight as he helped him over to the vehicle.
“But what about you?” the driver said. “I don’t have room for both of you.”
“I’m OK,” Jake replied. “I just need some dry clothes.”
“I have my work coveralls in the back. Let me get them for you.”
As Jake helped Dawkins into the passenger seat, the injured man looked up at him with a confused expression. As he hung near the edge of consciousness, he could not imagine why someone would care enough to help him, especially when it jeopardized his own safety.
“Why?” he managed to say. “Why would you do this for me?”
Jake bent down beside the seat and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Because I know something that you don’t. There is a God. He is real. He’s your Creator and he loves you. We may never see each other again but know that he put us together tonight for a reason. He has a plan for you. Talk to him before it’s too late.”
“Here they are,” the driver announced, handing Jake a pair of heavy denim coveralls.
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate this,” Jake said as he struggled out of his freezing clothes.
“You are much blessed that my shift has just ended.”
Jake looked behind him toward the factory buildings that surrounded the port. For a shift change, there were surprisingly no other cars on the road.
“What sort of business are you in?” Jake asked as he stepped into the wonderfully dry coveralls.
“Salvage.”
“Good business,” Jake nodded as he reached into the pocket of his soaked pants. Retrieving his wallet, he pulled out a handful of wet bills and offered them to the driver.
“No, no,” the man waved his hand emphatically.
“For the emergency room,” Jake replied. “I doubt it will be enough. Please take it.”
The driver finally shrugged and accepted the money. “I will take good care of him and send a car back for you.”
“Thank you,” Jake said earnestly, hoping he would be long gone when the next car arrived. “You are a gift from God.”
His statement made the man smile. “I’d better go.”
As he watched them drive away, Jake realized that his body temperature was returning to normal. The dry clothes, rush of adrenaline, and quivering muscles were beginning to replace the onset of hypothermia.
After thoroughly checking the pockets of his wet clothes for anything that could identify him with the wrecked taxi, he tossed them over the guardrail and followed the sloping path back down to the submerged car. When he reached the riverbank, he felt inside a galvanized metal culvert and retrieved a nylon bag. Unknown to his young companion, Jake had slipped the straps of the bag around his ankles as they swam to the bank. Finding the culvert, he had slipped the bag inside.
“Well, Jacob,” he thought aloud. “This is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”
In the distance, he heard the sound of sirens but realized that they were not coming toward him. What he could not have known was that they were responding to the scene of another murder. Across the street from the port authority ten blocks away, the body of a police officer lay crumbled beside the tire tracks of a BMW that he had pulled over only minutes before.
29
“Baba,” Katie whispered. “Baba, wake up.”
The older lady responded slowly, blinking her eyes as she adjusted to the dim light.
“What is it, Katrina?”
“Baba, we have to go,” Katie urged.
“Go?”
“My supervisor at the museum has been murdered. Sergei Baranov.”
“What?” Her grandmother was now fully awake. She rolled over and sat up on the side of the bed.
“I don’t have time to explain all of this to you, but we must go. The police could show up here at any time.”
Without asking further questions, Galina walked over to the wardrobe, opened it, and removed a leather satchel from the top shelf. She also took out a pair of wool pants and slipped them over her pajamas.
“My coat is in the hall closet,” she said. “After I get it, we can go.”
Her sudden matter-of-factness surprised Katie. “Is that all you’re taking?” she asked, looking down at the bag.
“It contains everything we will need; passports, money, and your grandfather’s things. I transferred them from the box.”
“You knew we were leaving.”
“A man came to the apartment today and asked about you. He was a hard man with the eyes of a criminal.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I had not seen you in several weeks, that you had gone out of the country on holiday, and that you weren’t expected back until the weekend.”
“Did he believe you?”
Baba shook her head. “I don’t think so. He would like to have barged in, but there is a tenant here who is a police officer. He was in the playground outside, swinging his daughter.”
Katie was almost afraid to ask the next question. “What did he look like?”
“Short, muscular build, wiry black hair.”
“Did he have a scar on his face?
Her grandmother nodded and put her finger to her right temple. “A long one that ran from here to his eyebrow.”
“Oh no!” Katie blurted.
“Who is he?”
“He’s one of the men who tried to kill me in Mongolia. I saw him talking to Dr. Baranov at the museum. That’s how I knew that Baranov was involved in the attack. I’m sorry about this, Baba. I am truly sorry.”
The older lady combed Katie’s hair with her fingers as she had done when her granddaughter was a little girl. “Perhaps I should be the one to apologize,” she said. “Your troubles have come from being a Petrovich.”
“When this is all over Baba…” Katie started to say.
“I know, Katrina. I can no longer protect you from the truth. I will tell you everything.”
30
As Jake walked briskly toward the urban center of the island, he vaguely recalled that the green line of the metro subway terminated not far from the port authority. After slogging across four blocks in his soaked boots, he finally came to a major intersection and saw it was Bolshoi Prospekt, the main thoroughfare that traversed the length of the island. Below the sign was an illuminated map with an enormous blue M printed in one corner.
“Metro,” he read as he walked over. If the scale was correct, the Primorskaya stop would only be another five blocks or so. It was also nearly 1:00 a.m., the time when the metro shut down for the night.
Picking up his pace, Jake quickly covered the distance but in doing so also developed a healthy blister on his right heel. As he hobbled into the station, he purchased a pass just as the rattle of the arriving train caught his attention. Ignoring the pain from the blister, he rushed down the stairs in a full sprint and darted across the platform just as the doors were closing. Using what little strength he had remaining, he pried the doors open, and after a scolding from the platform attendant, he took a seat on the nearly vacant train.
“Thank you, Lord,” he breathed.
Enjoying the warmth of the train’s heating system as it permeated his chilled body, Jake removed his soggy boots and poured the water out onto the floor. For fear that taking his socks off would further aggravate his blisters, he found a hooded sweatshirt that someone had left in the adjacent seat and used it to press as much water out of them as he could.
Two groups—the thought kept coming into mind as he looked down at the nylon bag. Apparently operating independently, two separate groups were after the film and were willing to kill for it. And what about the crazed woman who’d tried to kill him outside of Baranov’s office? Was she working for one of them or did she have a separate agenda? Could she be the one who killed Baranov? Any way he looked at it, one thing was certain. It was time to leave Russia. After he collected Katie and her grandmother, he would place a call to Bill Hendricks, his supervisor at TERA. Bill’s undisclosed past in U.S. intelligence had helped Jake out of predicaments before. He hoped this would be no different, especially with the trail of destruction that followed him.
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br /> At the café where they’d agreed to meet, Katie was almost beside herself with worry. Jake should have returned long before now she thought. They had been waiting for the better part of two hours. Had he been caught or worse? And what about her grandmother? At her age and health, she really shouldn’t be out in the cold this late at night. Katie had tried to get her on a train out of the city, but there were none to be had.
“Let’s go, Baba,” she said to her grandmother. “I’m going to check us into a hotel.”
“What about your friend?” Baba asked with concern.
“I don’t know what’s keeping him. Once I get you in a room, I’ll go look for him.”
“Do you think that is wise?”
“No, Baba,” she sighed, “but what other options do I have? I’m really concerned about him.”
Her grandmother smiled. “This is a different role for you.”
“Now Baba,” Katie admonished, “I know where you’re going with this, but it’s not like that. I just feel responsible for dragging him into this mess.”
“I see. That he’s a Christian, intelligent, and handsome hasn’t really crossed your mind.”
Katie feigned a disappointed look. “Matchmaker? Now that’s a different role for you.”
“He’s the first one of your male friends who’s impressed me. I’m just watching out for all aspects of my granddaughter’s life. You can’t blame me for that,” she shrugged.
“We’ll see,” Katie said as she walked off to pay their bill. There was truth to what her grandmother was saying, but with all the turmoil around them, it was impossible to even consider.
After a short descent down a flight of stairs that ended at the riverwalk, Katie and her grandmother headed up the street toward the hotel district. As they passed the Nevsky Prospekt metro stop, from the corner of her eye, Katie spied a lone figure hobbling toward her. His broad shouldered silhouette against the lights of the station was unmistakable.
The Genesis Conspiracy Page 15