“Yulia Markov. You’re the last person I expected to see tonight,” Justin replied. He breathed easier, but did not drop his guard, staying well behind the hood of the sedan.
“You should have looked me up. We could have gotten together for a drink and met somewhere nice instead of this mudhole.” She gestured toward the cabin and the forest.
“I thought about it. What are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it in the car.” Yuliya nodded toward the BMW.
Justin hesitated for a split second.
“Justin, you know you can trust me.” Yuliya’s voice rang with a hint of impatience and disappointment.
“Yes, I trust you, but I’ve had way too many Russians stab me in the back tonight.” Justin kept his AK in his hands but with the barrel slightly dropped to the left.
“I’m not one of them and will never be, Justin.”
He nodded and walked slowly toward her. She fell into his arms for a tight embrace, warming his cold body with affection and care. He felt good leaning on a friend. Yuliya was a member of the FSB Spetsnaz forces, the Alpha Group, which specialized in counter-terrorism. But she had proven herself to be a trusted partner and an excellent fighter during their recent joint raid on a terrorist camp in northern Yemen.
Yuliya held on a few more seconds and Justin winced and sighed as her strong hands rubbed against his wounds.
“You look terrible,” Yuliya said, breaking their embrace. She ran her hands over his chest and arms. “You should see a medic.”
Justin shook his head. “Not now. No time for that. I’ve got somewhere else to be. Give me a second.”
He ran to Max’s body and searched his jacket. Justin came up with a folded piece of paper.
“What’s that?” Yuliya asked when he returned.
Justin held her hazel eyes for a moment. “An address. I’ve got to meet someone there.”
“You care to show me?”
“Will you take me there?”
Yuliya grinned slyly. “It depends on where it is and what business you have there.” She put the emphasis on the word “business” as if she knew exactly the address and Justin’s reason for visiting that place.
Justin nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll level with you if you tell me why you killed Max.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Yuliya smiled, then smoothed her short, light-brown hair, cut in a messy bob. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell you in the car.”
She walked with Justin following two steps behind.
“That’s a nice rifle,” Justin said.
“You like it?”
“I do.”
“VSK-94. Subsonic cartridges, 9x39mm. Great silencer and suppressor. Can’t hear a sound or see the muzzle flash even if you know what to expect. Effective range is over 400 yards.” She handed the sniper rifle to Justin.
He turned it over and inspected the sight and the trigger. He nodded with satisfaction. “Piece of work. Love the grip and the light weight. Makes your life easier.” He handed the rifle back to Yuliya.
“Yes, it’s wonderful. Anything useful in the dacha?”
“No, just a dead guard.”
“What about the Lada?”
“I haven’t searched it yet.”
Justin went through the Lada’s glove compartment and trunk but found nothing helpful to his mission.
“It’s clear,” he said to Yuliya, who was putting away her rifle in the BMW’s trunk.
She nodded, then slid into the front passenger seat.
Justin took the back seat right behind the driver, a man in his early thirties, with a strong jaw and a cold stare frozen on his rectangular face.
“Justin, this is Bronislav. Bronislav, this is Justin.”
Bronislav gave Justin a barely perceptible nod. “Where to?” he asked Yuliya.
“Back to the city for now. Then I might have other directions.”
The BMW glided smoothly and almost silently away.
Justin ran his hand over the beige leather seats while looking for the seat belt. “The FSB is treating you pretty well,” he said, admiring the interior of the new car. It had plenty of legroom, and for the first time during this entire evening Justin sat on a comfortable, warm seat.
“We use these when following rich pricks so we can blend in,” Yuliya said. “Our day-to-day rides are older and cheaper.”
“So, Max? Why was he your target?” Justin asked, then looked up at Yuliya. She had turned in her seat in order to face him.
Before she could answer, Justin nodded slightly toward the driver.
Yuliya said, “Oh, Bronislav is good. He knows when not to speak and when not to listen.”
“That’s good.”
“Max was not my target. He was Romanov’s target.”
“Romanov’s?” Justin blinked in surprise.
Romanov was one of the richest men in Russia, an oil tycoon who had made a fortune after the fall of Communism and the dubious privatization of the state companies for a fraction of their true value. Justin had saved the tycoon’s life during an assassination attempt in France a little while ago and the Russian had owed him a favor, which Justin cashed in afterwards. This past summer, Romanov had asked for Justin’s assistance in a sensitive matter and more favors had been exchanged. Justin now owed one to Romanov and he had the feeling that Yuliya was here to collect.
“What’s Romanov’s reason for wanting an FSB agent dead?” Justin asked quietly.
“It’s pretty important, as you may guess. Max is very close to Derzhavin, who uses Max as his fixer, to clean up messes and fix other people’s mistakes. Derzhavin has been eying the Director’s position of the FSB’s Special Purpose Center for quite some time, but has been passed over twice for men with less experience but better connections.”
Justin nodded. “Derzhavin has had enough of this situation?”
“Exactly. He despises the new aristocracy of Moscow, claiming they pillaged the country and its riches. So he began to show initiative, to attract the attention of the President, who at times has shared the same feeling, especially when businessmen have failed to fall in line according to his orders.”
The BMW rounded a couple of curves. They were still in a forested area, with tall walls of pines and cedars on both sides of the road. Up ahead the city lights began to glisten behind a thin veil of fog.
Yuliya continued, “Derzhavin began to scrutinize the activities of some of the most prominent businessmen of Moscow. At the same time, he dispatched agents to infiltrate the ranks of Chechen terrorist organizations and foreign intelligence agencies. He was showing he had both the will and the ways to move up the ladder, no matter who fell at the bottom of his feet. He was proving to the President he could achieve good results.”
Justin shook his head. “Max was trying to convince me he worked for the CIA until the bitter end.”
Yuliya cocked her head and gave him a sideways glance. “I hope you didn’t believe it. Max wasn’t a traitor, just someone who was doing his job well. Perhaps too well.”
Justin fell back in his seat. “I see how Romanov would be furious. Has Derzhavin started to mingle in Romanov’s affairs?”
“No, he hasn’t. But you know Romanov; he likes to react proactively, and with good reasons. He wasn’t going to wait until Derzhavin came knocking. I’m sure you’ve heard about Trofim Golubov.”
“Probably, but I can’t remember it at the moment.”
“Golubov, the mining mogul, was found dead in Beijing a few weeks ago. The authorities ruled his death was a traffic accident.” Yuliya spread out her hands in a clear gesture of despair and her voice clearly expressed her doubts.
“Derzhavin killed him.”
“We can’t prove that, but Golubov never drove. Never. The man owned twenty cars and his fortune was worth three billion dollars. He always travelled with a heavy escort of bodyguards and aides. But he was found alone, at midnight, his Aston Martin run over by a cement truck.”