“This is a very unbalanced cooperation, Ms. Lewis. You’re bringing me some unverified confessions of a tortured man and in turn you’re asking for a wide operation to capture a suspected terrorist. I’m not going to put my men in harm’s way, and the risks overcome the benefits in this case. And we have nothing valuable to share with you at this moment.”
Becca’s face showed clearly her disappointment. Her lips were drawn back and her eyes had lost their hopeful glare. She tapped her tablet’s screen harder than necessary, then flipped its plastic cover shut with a loud, protesting thud.
Justin looked over at Carrie, who gave him a slight headshake. Then his eyes met Derzhavin’s. Their meeting was over.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Deputy Director,” Justin said and stood up. “We hope to hear from you very soon.” The words almost choked on the way out but Justin managed to say them, albeit without any conviction.
“My pleasure, Mr. Hall.” Derzhavin stood up and shook Justin’s hand. “We will contact the CIA as soon as it is possible. And one final word of caution: please do not interfere with our investigations. I know the CIA has this bad habit of meddling in the domestic affairs of other nations, and I hope they have not infected their Canadian partners.”
“Rest assured, sir, that they haven’t,” Justin said. He nodded, but the frown stayed on his face. They would not hear from Derzhavin or anyone else at the FSB until it was too late, until after the terrorists had launched their strike in the United States.
Justin was determined not to let that happen on his watch.
Chapter Sixteen
Max escorted them to the exit of the FSB headquarters. He did not offer an apology for his Deputy Director’s positions even though it had been clear during the meeting that he did not completely agree with Derzhavin. They shook hands with Max and walked off into the misty Moscow morning.
Justin looked around Lubyanka Square. It was way past the rush hour but still a constant stream of vehicles rushed through the streets and the intersections. The snow had stopped, but it had left behind slippery sidewalks covered in a thin layer of white powder. The air was cold and carried the smell of car exhaust.
“I need a cup of coffee to warm up,” Justin said and turned left, heading south down the Lubyanskiy Proyezd. “That meeting and this weather have given me the chills.”
“It’s probably five degrees,” Carrie said, walking to Justin’s right. “Judging by our breath freezing right away.” She blew a frosty breath.
Becca shoved her hands deeper into her heavy coat pockets. “Where are we getting our coffees?” she said as she stepped to the other side of Justin.
“Just across the street. And I want to see the Solovetsky Stone.”
A black Mercedes-Benz sedan slid out from across the street and made a left turn. Justin saw it out of the corner of his eye. “We’ve got company,” he said.
“We sure do,” Becca answered.
They did not look back. One of the Moscow rules of spies said that they were never completely alone, regardless of whether or not they noticed the people following them.
They crossed the street, then stopped at one of the little kiosks at the corner of the small park near the FSB building, and Justin ordered three coffees. The old man behind the counter — his face wrinkled and withered like an overripe prune — offered to spike their coffees with vodka for free, to warm them up. Justin smiled and declined the offer. He tipped the old man and handed the coffees to Carrie and Becca.
They walked through the narrow pathways of the park and stopped in front of the Solovetsky Stone. A few bouquets of fresh flowers had been placed over the clean slabs where the large stone rested. It had been cut and brought from the remote Solovetsky Islands on the edge of the White Sea and the Arctic Circle, one of the first gulags, the notorious labor camps for political prisoners in the Soviet Union. It stood here as a memorial of those dark days so people would not forget the horrors they had inflicted on their own compatriots.
Justin stood in silence. He knew Russian and he read the inscription. It said the memorial had been installed to remember the millions of victims of the authoritarian regime of the past. Justin thought about the current regime in Russia and its treatment of political opposition. The country was a democracy, but there was very little political freedom. The parliament was dominated by the ruling party and the strong-handed president was identified with the state. The media and the opposition were kept on a short, tight leash. Riots and protests were squashed and nosy journalists or defiant businessmen were thrown in jail or ended up dead in suspicious circumstances.
The black Mercedes-Benz stopped at the end of the park across from them. The front passenger rolled down the window but Justin could not see the face of the man or the woman in the seat. The sedan had parked in such a way as to be seen yet keep the people inside unrecognized.
Justin felt Becca’s inquisitive eyes fall on him. He looked at her, took a sip of his coffee, then said, “Our friends are letting us know they’re here.”
“The park was a good choice,” Becca said. “They can’t hear us or even read our lips.”
“They may not, but I don’t know about them,” said Carrie with a slight head gesture.
A man was working on repairing or cleaning a small snow blower about a dozen or so steps behind them. On the other side, a blonde woman was sitting on a bench and looking over a toddler playing with snow and trying to build a snowman.
“You think they’re FSB?” Becca asked.
“We’ll find out very soon.” Justin raised his cup to his lips. His eyes caught the gaze of the blonde woman and he smiled at her. She hesitated for a moment, then returned a shy smile. “We’ll split up. Lose the surveillance, and we’ll meet one of our local ops at Gorki Park.”
Becca nodded.
“What do we need to get?” asked Carrie. She took a few steps around the memorial to appear as if she was interested in it.
“Disposable phones and SIM cards. Two each. I need to make a call. We’ll go from there.”
Becca nodded but her eyes did not leave his face.
Justin said, “He’s a trusted operative. All I can say at this point.”
“All right,” Becca said.
Justin said, “See you at Gorki Park in an hour.”
Chapter Seventeen
Carrie peeled off to the right while Becca took a casual stroll to the left. The repairman noticed Carrie’s movements, produced a cellphone, and turned around. The woman was a little more discreet. She called the little boy and shared a banana with him as they sat on the bench. Her eyes did not follow Becca, and that told Justin there was another man or woman or even a team waiting somewhere else to pick up the surveillance of that target. I may be her target. So I have to ditch this woman and the Mercedes-Benz crew. And whoever else may be lurking in the shadows.
Justin finished his coffee and walked to the nearest garbage can. He tossed in the cup and cast a last glance at the woman toying with the toddler’s hair. She’ll have to leave him behind if she’s coming after me. But the other team will pick him up, I hope.
At first, he walked slowly toward the Mercedes-Benz, then suddenly broke into a sprint and cut to the left through the snow. He sank knee-deep into the snow banks covering the park, then reached the low, decorative wrought-iron fence and jumped over it. He was now on the wide sidewalk, and he slowed down just for a split second as he considered the distance between him and the closest cars rushing through traffic. Justin jumped over another low steel barrier separating the sidewalk from the road, then zipped right through the cars zooming down the three-lane street. The last vehicle, a city bus, almost hit him, but he was able to make it to the other side.