If he had turned his head, Justin would have seen the woman following him through the snow banks and the traffic, but with more carefully calculated moves. He would have also seen the Mercedes-Benz forcing its way through the traffic. But Justin kept his eyes on the road straight ahead, to avoid icy patches, the uneven stones of the sidewalk, and people around him.
He slowed down as he rounded the corner of Myasnitskaya Street to avoid attracting the attention of a few uniformed officers standing to the right side of the FSB building. He passed by a couple of street vendors sitting on foldable stools and braving the freezing cold as they sold cigarettes and snacks on makeshift tables. Moments later, Justin hastened his pace, aware that the Mercedes-Benz had fallen back since he was going up a one-way street. Cars were parked on both sides of the narrow street, leaving just a single lane for traffic.
Justin ran along a series of shops until he reached an intersection. Three lanes of traffic opened up to the left. It was still a one-way street, but there was sufficient room for the driver of the Mercedes-Benz to maneuver his way around. A single lane was to his right. Justin dashed in that direction.
He passed a couple of restaurants and a disco bar, then came to a six-foot-high wrought-iron gate of a restaurant. Heavy, hurried footsteps came from behind him. Straight ahead he saw two men in black coats running toward him. Another FSB team. They were about fifty yards away and closing in fast. Justin reached for the gate, placed his boot on the latch, and pulled his body up and over the gate.
An angry shout in Russian met him as soon as he dropped to the other side. A large man with a burly beard and a black apron burst out of a side door. One of the cooks. He threatened Justin with a large butcher’s knife and some choice words, but Justin ignored him. He outran the cook as he sped through the narrow driveway and found himself in the tree-filled backyard. He glanced around for an escape route. Loud voices came from behind. Justin recognized the large man’s voice, then heard a woman’s voice. He darted to the end of the yard, then climbed over the walled fence just as the sound of footsteps behind him grew louder and felt quite near.
“Stop, stop. Hey, stop!” someone shouted.
Justin did not look back but jumped to the other side. He landed on the asphalt of a parking lot containing a cube truck with the name of the restaurant stenciled on the side, a silver Land Rover, a white Audi sedan, and a couple of old Lada models. The cars of the owners and the employees of the restaurant. Justin quickly checked the vehicles’ doors, but they were all locked.
He ran through the parking lot, then reached a narrow alleyway that led him to an apartment complex with a gray colonnaded façade in much need of a renovation. He zigzagged through pathways in front of the complex, using parked cars along the sidewalk as his cover. He stopped when he reached an intersection and hid behind one of the enclosed kiosks next to a bus stop. A young man was inside the bus stop stand, seeking shelter from the cold, light snow drizzle that had just begun.
Justin looked back, trying to spot the people who were after him. He saw a man coming out of the left side of the apartment complex. He took the back alley. Another man appeared about forty yards away to the right, followed by the blonde woman. They went the roundabout way.
They converged at the edge of the complex and exchanged a few words, gesturing left and right. The woman seemed to point in the direction of the intersection, toward the south, but the men were shaking their heads, instead waving their hands in the other two directions, east and west. After a few moments of debating, they split three ways to continue their chase. The woman began jogging toward the intersection, her head swinging left and right, as she covered the entire area.
A black and yellow city bus appeared from the south and slowly turned around the corner. The young man stepped out from the bus stop stand and waved at the bus driver. Justin calculated the moment when the bus would hide him from the woman’s view and hurried to cross the street.
A blue BMW SUV was coming from the other direction. The driver was going fast, and because of snow windrows along the edge of the sidewalk across the street, he was dangerously close to the bus. Justin was caught between the stopped bus and the rocketing mass of steel barreling toward him. He flattened himself against the bus. The BMW sprayed a dirty shower of slushy snow and ice slivers all over his back and his head. The torrent spared his face, as Justin had tilted his head to the left and away from the downpour.
The bus began to move and Justin crossed the street and disappeared into an alley between two run-down three-story buildings. His coat felt twice as heavy now that it was soaked with snow and caked with mud. He came to the back of a restaurant with a half-empty parking lot. Two men were smoking by the entrance and they noticed him. One called out to Justin, but he ignored the man and ran in the opposite direction. They’ll tell Blondie they saw me.
He reached the backyard of a small church and slowed down, contemplating his next steps. He took a few deep breaths while walking underneath a tall yellow archway of another apartment complex, his eyes darting left and right. He saw cars zipping past in the distance and knew he was getting closer to a major street. That’s Maroseyka, Justin remembered the layout of this part of Moscow. I can find a clothing store for a new coat and a cellphone shop on that street. He heaved a deep breath and resumed his fast pace down the alley wide enough for just one car.
Justin had barely reached the sidewalk of Maroseyka Street when he noticed a black Mercedes-Benz driving up the street. He fell back behind the corner of the nearest store, then turned around and began racing back. The Mercedes-Benz driver must have seen him because the car turned into the alley and roared behind him.
Justin felt his heart drumming in his chest. Up ahead the blonde woman appeared in the middle of the alley underneath the archway, blocking his path. Justin was boxed in.
He spun on his heels and ran back. The Mercedes-Benz was now a few steps away. He sidestepped around a small trash can someone had left alongside of the wall and tried to squeeze past the sedan on the driver’s side.
The driver’s hand speared out of the window and grabbed Justin’s left arm. Justin slammed his right fist into the driver’s hand and the driver released his grip. Justin passed through the narrow gap between the sedan and the wall. The driver threw the Mercedes-Benz into reverse. The rear end scraped against the wall, missing Justin’s feet by mere inches.
Justin turned left, entering another back alley. He heard the Mercedes-Benz growling behind him, the spinning tires and the squealing brakes. A white Volkswagen was parked in front of the gate to a house, narrowing down the already small alleyway. Justin was not sure if the Mercedes-Benz could pass through the gap but he was not going to hang around and find out. He zipped past the gate, his arms swinging to his sides as he picked up speed. He slipped on a patch of ice, then the tip of his boot caught on a pothole.
He leaned against the wall and steadied himself. A loud scraping sound came from behind. Justin turned his head to see the Mercedes-Benz’s side mirrors shattering on both sides, one against the wall and the other against the Volkswagen. The car kept coming at him at a high speed. It was just a few steps away, the smell of burning diesel piercing Justin’s nose. He leaped forward and resumed his running.