“What did he say?” Carrie asked Justin as she gave back the phone to him.
“Enough to convince them to do their job.”
Derzhavin’s left eye was twitching and his lips had formed a thin line. “Enough for me to be considered a traitor.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Justin replied. “Your bosses will understand you were wounded and under the gun. You had no way out.”
They drove without exchanging words for a few minutes. Carrie threw a gray blanket she had found in the car over Derzhavin. The cold night wind was blasting through the missing windshield. Justin was keeping a steady speed of thirty miles per hour and the Lada was handling the dips and the bumps of the road quite well.
“Where did you find the RPGs?” Justin asked Carrie.
“The safe house was stacked with heavy guns. I figured the machine gun and the doorknocker would come in handy.”
Justin could not see the grin on her face because the cabin was dark, but Carrie’s voice told him she had enjoyed the action in the battlefield.
“You updated the boss?” he asked.
“I did.”
Justin wanted to ask about McClain’s reaction to the turn of events, but not with Derzhavin in the back seat listening to their every word.
Justin’s disposable phone chirped. He glanced at the screen. “Text message,” he said and passed the phone to Carrie, while he negotiated an abrupt curve of the road.
He heard tapping and beeping of the cellphone keys and Carrie said, “We’ve got seven names and e-mail addresses.”
“Is that all?” Justin’s eyes fixed on Derzhavin.
“Of course it is. You said you wanted the entire list, right? I’m a man of my word.” Derzhavin seemed offended by the question and its implication.
Justin nodded. “You are, and I appreciate that,” he said in a flat voice.
“So what is the problem?” Derzhavin asked.
“The FSB is the problem.” Justin hitched his thumb back toward the BMW. “They’re not happy with you making waves and upsetting the status quo of some very rich people with powerful friends. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Yes, I do, but I wonder if you do. These people have been pillaging Russia, my country, for decades, Mr. Hall. They feast on champagne and caviar while millions of workers have nothing to eat. Do you know that ten Russian businessmen hold in their bloody hands over one hundred and fifty billion dollars? Think how many hospitals and schools that money can build. Think how many poor people that money can help.”
Justin shook his head. “I’m not an economist, Derzhavin, and I’m not good at math. But I know those two FSB agents want your head.”
Derzhavin did not blink and seemed unfazed by the news Justin had just given him. Maybe he didn’t hear me or he doesn’t think I’ll hand him over. No one can remain that calm in the face of certain death.
“Of course they do. They’re in the pockets of those oil barons who believe they can buy everything. Do you know how they got rich in the first place? Because our politicians sold Russia’s national resources, factories, plants, mining rights, for ridiculous prices in exchange for support during elections, voting fraud, and media manipulation. One evening these people could not afford toilet paper to wipe their asses and the next morning they woke up as billionaires, with their private jets and yachts and palaces. These friends of yours, Mr. Hall, they’re gangsters. But I’m not scared of them. Their tactics don’t scare me.”
Justin wanted to say “words, meaningless words,” but felt it would sound like a cliché. And Derzhavin was telling the truth, but Justin could not do much to reverse bad politics of a failed state during the last three decades.
He thought about Derzhavin’s words, then looked at the rearview mirror. The reflection of the BMW’s headlights fell on his eyes, blinding him for a split second. He blinked to clear his vision then looked at Derzhavin. The man’s face looked like he had lost a pint of blood in a few seconds. He’s saying tough words, but he’s cracking on the inside.
“I’ll tell you what: you and I are cutting a new deal. You’ll have to give me something important so that I can keep you away from the two FSB agents.”
Derzhavin grinned and shook his head. “I just finished talking about gangsters and their terrorizing tactics and you’re trying extortion?”
“You’re smart enough to understand what I’m doing even if I may not,” Justin said softly, unsure of the words he was saying and the actions he was planning. “I need to have a reason to keep you alive. You need to come up with that reason, a reason to save your own life. And fast.”
Justin cast a glance at the Lada’s dashboard. It had already been ten minutes since they had started to drive toward the hospital. He needed to call Yuliya back with an answer. But he did not have an answer yet.
He looked at Derzhavin, who was scratching his head. A moment later he sighed, then said, “I’ll give you the CIA agent — well, her body — and bury this entire affair, the safe house shooting and the attack on the detention center. And your informant, Fyodor, we’ll release him as well.”
Justin had not forgotten about Fyodor, but had chosen not to mention his name or indicate any association with him. One of the first rules of the CIS was to never reveal any connections, names, locations, or information that could compromise other agents. Fyodor was detained, if he was truly detained, in an entirely separate place and Justin was going to deny any links between them.
“I’m starting to have the feeling you don’t value your life much, Derzhavin,” Justin said. “I’m giving you a way out so you can live, and all you’re offering me in return is a dead agent of no value to you.”
Derzhavin shrugged. “And the chance to leave Russia unharmed and never have to look behind your back.”
“You know I have ways and means to disappear within this great country or leave it altogether, and the FSB will never find me. And I’ve gotten accustomed to checking over my shoulder. You’d be amazed how many things one can see.”
“Enough with games. What else do you want from me? I gave you the list, so you can find and hunt these terrorists in the US. Now you can choose to fly away back to the States and leave us to handle our Chechen problems on our own.”
Justin turned his head to look at Derzhavin. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“What way?”
“The Chechen terrorism is not just your problem; it’s a global problem, since terrorists bring their wars to other nations, including the US. And we’re just fighting the consequences, not the cause.”
Carrie’s eyes lit up, while Derzhavin’s face was still blank.
Justin checked the road ahead, then found Derzhavin’s face in the rearview mirror. Here’s our new deaclass="underline" You will help me get to Sultan Kaziyev, the IDM’s leader exporting terror to the US, and in return you get your life back.”
“You’re crazy,” Derzhavin said.
“Old news,” Carrie said. “You’re willing to do it?”
“You’re serious?” Derzhavin arched his eyebrows.
“Yes, very. I’ll need a team of your best and most trusted agents to storm Kaziyev’s stronghold,” Justin said.
“Along with everything else you offered us before,” Carrie said.
Derzhavin thought about the deal for a few long moments. Justin could tell he was struggling as he weighed the options.
Derzhavin asked, “Will your gangster friends accept that?”
Justin nodded. “I’ll make them accept it. Of course, you’ll also have to lay off their affairs, at least for the time being. If I know my friend well, he’ll even help you go after other businessmen who have broken the laws.”