A large metal garbage bin was set against the left wall where the back alley widened. The Mercedes-Benz would go past it without any trouble. Justin stopped near the garbage bin and tried to shove it in the vehicle’s way. It was heavier than he expected. He put his shoulder against it and pushed hard. It moved a couple of inches. Justin tried again, this time a bit harder. The garbage bin rolled off and smashed into the left side of the Mercedes-Benz’s hood, halting it in place.
Justin sighed but had no time to relax. The Mercedes-Benz’s doors opened and two sets of boots hit the ground. The chase was going to continue on foot.
Justin dashed to the left. A bakery had an Open sign hanging on the window, and Justin burst in. He shoved a couple of customers out of the way, then climbed over the glass counter. All sorts of breads and pastries flew around along with some bottles and other foods. A terrified clerk shouted curses and threats at him while Justin made his way to the kitchen in the back. A couple of cooks tried to stop him, but Justin slipped through their hands, around the woodstove, and rushed outside through the small back door.
A couple of stores were half a block away. The first one was a women’s clothing store with an elegantly dressed silhouette painted on its front glass. The second one was a coffeehouse. Justin hurried to the first one and stepped inside. The store door made a clanging sound, which attracted the attention of a middle-aged woman sitting behind the counter.
She stood up and gave him a glance of suspicion mixed with fear. Then she took a couple of steps back, inching her way toward a small door leading to another section of the store.
I must look like crap, and I’m scaring the crap out of her.
“Relax and don’t be afraid,” Justin said in Russian as he tried to catch his breath. “I need some clothes and I have money.”
He dug his wallet out of his front pocket, then showed the woman a few American dollar bills.
The woman nodded, but the look of panic remained on her face. She looked over his shoulders. Justin resisted the temptation to turn his head and follow her gaze.
“Who are those two men?” the woman asked.
“FSB,” Justin replied without hesitation. The woman was either going to help him or give his pursuers his location. Sooner or later they would come to check out this place. All he had to lose was his small advantage. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“This way.” The woman gestured toward the small door to her left.
She took a mop from a corner of the store and began to wipe clean the gray tiled floor and Justin’s muddy footsteps. The door led Justin to a small storage room with boxes of clothes, shoes, bags, and other women’s clothing accessories. A narrow hall connected the storage room to another section of the building, and Justin saw a large metal door at the end of the hall.
Justin closed the small door behind him and placed his ear against it. Hushed voices came from the store. A woman’s voice, then a man’s voice shouting curses, then the thud of rushed footsteps and the clanging of the closing door. Silence reigned for a few moments, then a low shuffle, growing louder as it came nearer him.
“They’re gone,” the woman said. “It’s safe to come out now.”
Justin hesitated and did not move. Her voice sounded genuine, but he had no way of being absolutely sure she was the only one behind that door. He took a step back without making a sound, then another one, and was out in the narrow hall.
The small door opened and the woman appeared. “You couldn’t hear me,” she said. “They left.”
Justin studied her face but did not step forward.
The woman must have realized Justin did not trust her. She shook her head, then said slowly, in a slightly disappointed voice, “It’s okay. I would be paranoid too if the FSB was chasing me. Take this.” She reached for a brown leather jacket hanging on a rack on the wall next to the boxes. “It’s my husband’s, but he wouldn’t mind it. It should fit you.”
She tossed it and Justin caught it. The jacket was well-used, with shiny patches on the elbows. He reached for his wallet, but the woman said, “I don’t need your money. It’s a gift. Be safe and remember that not all Russians are FSB.”
Justin nodded. “Thank you,” he said. A moment later, he added, “I’m sorry.”
The woman’s voice took a motherly tone. “Be safe,” she said again.
Chapter Eighteen
The brown leather jacket fit tight around his shoulders. It was definitely not a winter jacket, as Justin could feel the bitter wind blowing around his chest, and it did not match his black wool pants or white shirt. But it allowed him to toss his muddy coat into the nearest trash can along with his black tie, and take on a somewhat different look
He moved through the maze of back alleys, circling around apartment buildings, cutting through parking lots and church courtyards, avoiding the major thoroughfares and intersections of this part of Moscow. He suspected the men of the FSB were not very far away and could surprise him at any moment. Were they really from the FSB? Who else could it be, and why would they follow me relentlessly but not violently?
Fifteen minutes later, he reached the corner of Pokrovka Street and Pokrovsky Boulevard. He observed the traffic rushing through the intersection for a couple of minutes. No black Mercedes-Benz with broken mirrors or dents in the front and scratches in the back. No men in black coats or a blonde woman running through the streets.
Justin walked toward the Clean Ponds, a block north of the intersection. This area was an upscale neighborhood of Moscow; the buildings were well-maintained, the streets were cleared of almost all snow, and the cars parked along the sidewalk were mainly expensive imports. He waited for a tram coming from the north to pass him by, then crossed Chistoprudny Boulevard adjacent to the ponds.
He cut through the park and looked at a group of teens skating over the frozen surface of the pond. One of them tried a loop jump. He started well, but then lost his footing during the revolution, landing hard on his butt on the ice. His friends burst out laughing. Two of the boys helped him up, while one of the girls stroked away in a large semi-circle, then turned around and showed him the move. She carried it out to perfection, leaving Justin wondering whether she was a figure skater.
He watched the teens for a few more moments, his eyes taking in the entire space of the park. An elderly couple was stumbling slowly to the left and a woman with two toddlers was strolling to the right. Justin was convinced none of them were from any secret service, and that he had successfully evaded the FSB surveillance.
He returned to Pokrovsky Boulevard and found an electronics store. He bought two disposable phones along with their SIM cards, activated them, and topped up his accounts with enough money for a few long-distance calls. Then he made his way toward the meeting point with Carrie and Becca.
He kept a brisk pace, crossing the streets and looking over his shoulders at times to make sure no other FSB team was shadowing him. He called Fyodor, one of the Canadian Intelligence Service operatives in Moscow, and asked him to pick them up at Gorki Park.
Justin entered the park from the north. He walked along the banks of the Moskva River and stopped for a few moments to take in his surroundings. Three men were walking ahead of him, smoking and talking in loud voices about the high prices of oil. A young man on a bicycle came from the other direction and moved on without so much as a glance toward Justin.