Justin nodded. “Max.”
“Max arrived in Shanghai three days before the accident and left two days after the local police closed their investigation. And we found out that Derzhavin and Golubov had met a few times. The last of their meetings did not end very well, and Golubov refused to have any further contact with Derzhavin.”
“OK, but I don’t get it: why eliminate Max today?”
Yuliya held Justin’s eyes for a moment. “I know what you’re thinking and you’re partly right. It has to do with you. But Max’s fate had been sealed a long time ago. Your arrival and your capture just sped up the plan already in motion.”
“How’s that?”
“Derzhavin’s strategy focused on embarrassing publicly the foreign secret services operating in Moscow, to prove his and the FSB’s supremacy. First it was the MI6, when the FSB uncovered two of their operations and turned them into a big media show, splashed across newspapers and TV channels. Then it was the CIA’s turn. And he was planning on doing the same to you and Carrie and Becca. He used Max to lure Becca to the safe house and he had you all.”
Justin began to shake his head, intending to set the record straight, but Yuliya did not let him even start. “I saw you had everything under control and did not need my help. But I had orders and I followed them. We intercepted some phone calls among FSB agents and learned they had detained you and Carrie. Romanov heard the news and dispatched me right away. My understanding is you still owe him a debt, and Romanov hates losing his investment.” She grinned.
Justin frowned. Yes, to him I’m little more than an investment that must yield a return.
Yuliya said, “Now back to my story. After the Defense Minister’s assassination, the Chechen terrorism threat came to the forefront and so did Derzhavin. That’s why he’s keeping his cards close to his chest and not sharing intelligence even with other FSB departments, let alone foreign services like the CIA.”
“And that’s why he lied to us about Bashir.”
Yuliya shifted in her seat to find a more comfortable position. “Who’s Bashir? Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”
Justin told her about his meeting with Derzhavin, the FSB chase, and the safe house raid. He left out the details about the black site in Lithuania, but gave Yuliya the address where the FSB was holding Bashir.
She frowned as she read Max’s handwriting.
“Problems?” Justin asked.
Yuliya did not answer, and he glanced out the window. They had entered Moscow a couple of minutes ago. The traffic had become thicker, and Justin noticed several expensive imported cars. Loud shouts came from a group of people lined up outside a sleazy-looking bar as the BMW rounded a tight corner.
Yuliya reached over and whispered into Bronislav’s ear a few words in rapid Russian that Justin was not able to catch. He stared at her, puzzled, while Yuliya nodded with a frown. Bronislav returned a frown of his own and sighed, then took a left turn, driving into a back alley.
“This address you gave me, it’s a detention center. A real fortress. How are you getting in?”
“You will help me.”
“Really?” Yuliya gave him a look of concern. “Help you get yourself killed?”
“Max said there’s light security. Fifteen guards.”
“Max also said he was a CIA agent and we both know it’s not true.”
Justin nodded. “Even if he lied to me about the number of guards, we’ve stormed a terrorist camp by ourselves, just you and me.”
Yuliya smiled. “Nice try. You’re forgetting the Mossad choppers providing air support. And those were different circumstances. It was Yemen, not Moscow, and those were terrorists, not fellow FSB members.”
Justin was tempted to point out that Yuliya had no qualms about shooting an FSB agent and not caring about the other two dead guards at the cabin. But he kept his mouth shut. Yuliya had been following orders on that mission. This one called for her to go rogue and fight against all odds.
Bronislav took another turn and then stopped at a traffic light. They were still in a shady area of Moscow, with boarded-up stores and garbage littering the sidewalk. A couple of clubs were on the left side in a decrepit-looking two-story building and some young males were loitering in front of them. Loud music boomed from the clubs.
“What are you thinking about?” Yuliya asked.
“Is there a cellphone shop around here?”
“There’s one a few blocks away,” Yuliya replied. “A disposable phone to call Carrie?”
Justin nodded.
“I still think it’s a bad idea. With or without Carrie, your chances are close to nil.” Yuliya’s voice came out with a low, somber tone. “You’re determined to go through with it?”
Justin did not miss a beat. “Bashir has the list. I need that intel.”
“Suit yourself.” Yuliya sat back in her seat. “Electronics store,” she ordered Bronislav, then looked straight ahead.
Justin shrugged and let out a deep sigh. Yuliya was telling the truth. Instead of going into hiding and preparing to exit Russia, he was playing a dangerous game by not only stepping near the bear’s den, but planning to storm it with just his partner. But the stakes were very high. Bashir’s list would allow Justin and Carrie to discover the Chechen connections in the United States and thwart the terrorists’ plot. Justin would have no other chance to get his hands on that list unless Derzhavin handed it over. After their last conversation, Justin had no illusions the man would change his mind on his own. And if Yuliya received the order to eliminate her next target, Derzhavin’s days on this earth were going to be over.
Chapter Twenty-five
The BMW took a few turns and stopped in front of a store selling electronic supplies. The neighborhood seemed safe and young people in expensive-looking coats were walking on the sidewalks, which were clear of snow and well-lit by streetlights. Justin noticed a sportswear store across the street and decided to head there for a change of clothes. He was still in the dead guard’s camouflage outfit coated with blood, mud, and snow.
“Here, you may want to use this.” Yuliya handed him a rag she found in the glove compartment. “So the clerk doesn’t call the police.”
“Do I look that bad?” asked Justin.
“Yeah, your face is banged up pretty good. And you look like a rogue soldier.”
Justin shifted in his seat so he could catch a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror. Bronislav adjusted the mirror, then gave Justin a grin.
“Thanks,” Justin said.
He checked his face. It was bruised and swollen in places and blood had coagulated at the right corner of his lips and just underneath his left ear. He spat on the rag and cleaned off some of the mud and blood, feeling the bumps on his head and tapping gently around the bruises.
“I’ll be out in five,” he said. “Then I’ll hit the cell store.”
Yuliya nodded.
“Thanks,” Justin said again and jumped outside.
The store clerk — a young man barely in his twenties — looked up from his laptop as Justin entered the store and flinched when he noticed the wounds. Justin had already pulled out a few one-hundred-euro banknotes and he placed them on the counter before the clerk had a chance to back away.
“I need some clothes,” Justin said in Russian. “Here’s a good tip if you’re helpful.” He showed the clerk another fifty-euro banknote before slapping it down next to the others.
The young man looked at the cash. Justin could tell he was making some quick calculations in his mind. “What do you need, sir?” he asked.