He passed a series of doors and made a right turn. A man was sitting on a chair in front of a large wooden door. Justin recognized him as the passenger of Romanov’s limousine, who had approached him in New York, outside the Ambassador Theater. Uh-uh, bad news.
The guard recognized him as well. He stood up and stepped forward. “What are you doing here?”
Justin walked toward the guard. “I’d like to talk to Romanov.”
“He’s busy. How did you get in?”
“Romanov invited me, but you wouldn’t know about it.”
The guard’s neck muscles were bulging. “My orders are to let no one in.”
“Something has come up. This will only take five minutes.”
The guard grinned. “You need to check your ears. I said I’m not letting you in.” He took another step forward, standing face to face with Justin.
“I heard you, no need to lose your cool over it. I’m leaving. Sorry for your trouble.”
Justin began to turn around, then swung his arm fast, his right fist going for the guard’s head. But the guard had anticipated Justin’s move. His large hand stopped Justin’s fist, deflecting the blow. Justin too had predicted the guard’s reaction. He threw a quick left hook to the guard’s throat, followed by another one, which connected with his right temple.
The guard wavered but responded by flinging his right arm. Justin ducked and sidestepped the guard. He grabbed the guard’s wrist and twisted his arm. He pushed the guard down, then he knocked him unconscious with an elbow to the back of the head.
Justin reached inside the guard’s jacket and took his pistol. Then he stood up and knocked twice on the door.
“What is it, Sergei?” Romanov asked.
Justin pushed the heavy door, holding his pistol at eye level.
Romanov was alone in his office, sitting behind a large, antique desk. “Justin? You like to make an entrance.”
His voice showed no surprise. Romanov was probably expecting him and was not one to be easily intimidated. He had stared down one too many gun barrels.
“Are you here to kill me?” Romanov asked.
“No, I’m here to talk,” Justin replied. “This is Sergei’s.”
He flicked the magazine release switch on the pistol and caught the falling magazine before it hit the floor. He placed both the pistol and the magazine on Romanov’s desk before sitting in one of the large armchairs across from him.
The door was thrown open, and two guards rushed in, pistols drawn.
“What the hell are you doing?” Romanov barked at them.
“Sorry, sir, Sergei is down, so we tho—”
“I don’t pay you to think. Get out and don’t interrupt us. I’m having a talk with a friend.”
The guards nodded and closed the door behind them.
“They never learn manners, no matter how long they’ve been around you,” Romanov said.
“You’ve got a nice place here.” Justin looked around the room.
“Oh, you like it? It’s a good little place in a great area. Even the President has a dacha, a cottage, a little further away.”
Justin’s eyes scanned the large bookcase behind Romanov’s desk. “War and Peace, Dead Souls, Crime and Punishment. Great classics. You’ve read them?”
“Of course, I have.” Romanov sounded a bit offended by the question. “I love Crime and Punishment. I find myself always cheering for the villains.”
Justin grinned. “It’s a good story. With some good morals.”
“Yes, good morals. Justin, what brings you to Moscow?” Romanov pushed back his chair.
“Debriefing after the Yemeni operation. Still need to sort out a few issues. Like why didn’t you tell me the whole truth about your missile shipment?”
Romanov shrugged. “It wasn’t relevant to your task. Whoever had stolen from me, they had to pay and return my property.”
Justin shook his head. “It would have been a great help to know the man stealing from you was Hamidi, an arms dealer whose name was on Mossad’s blacklist.”
“I had no knowledge about that.”
“Huh. OK, maybe not about Mossad, but you knew Hamidi was there.”
Romanov reached for a glass on his desk and took a sip. The liquid had the golden-yellow color of scotch.
“I would have gone to Yemen regardless of who those people were. Knowing that information would have helped me with my preparations and may have avoided the firefight with Mossad.”
“Yes, it would have helped,” Romanov said.
His eyes locked with Justin’s and glinted dark. Romanov’s admission was a poor substitute for an apology, but it would do in this situation.
Justin smiled and leaned forward. “Very well. Carrie and I came out mostly unharmed, but we need some intelligence. About something we found in Somalia.”
Romanov gestured with his hand for Justin to continue talking.
“We fought with al-Shabaab, and after the shootout I discovered militants had two boxes full of M16s. Brand new. We checked their serial numbers. They originated from a warehouse in Qatar, belonging to a famous arms dealer. Care to guess the name?”
Romanov frowned. “You know I don’t like riddles.”
“The name is Hamidi, your business associate. And here’s where the story gets interesting. One of the dead al-Shabaab terrorists was a US citizen. Not only that, but he was recently in the US, entering the country under his real name. Hassan Khalif Yusuf. Two days later, a large shipment of American weapons, including these M16s, made their way to Qatar.”
“Fascinating. Now get to the point.”
“How did this happen? Who is this man? What connections does he have?”
Romanov stopped Justin with a raised hand. “You ask a lot of questions. Do you really want the answers?”
Justin blinked. “Of course. Yusuf almost killed me. Innocent people died because of him. And this illegal weapons trade has to stop.”
Romanov shook his head. “As long as people continue to fight in Somalia and other wastelands of the world, there will always be people selling guns and making money. Not you or anyone else can stop this trade.”
Justin felt defeated. He fell back in his chair. He sighed. “Why don’t you let me decide that?”
Romanov thought about it for a few moments. He leaned forward. “All right, so I give you this man’s connections. What are you planning to do?”
“Whatever it takes to bring them down.”
“Sure, like no one has tried it before. These people, they are like hydras. You chop off one head, two more will grow. You’re going to take down one man, maybe a few. A hundred more will step up to take their places.”
“Let’s start rolling one head at a time.”
“Yes, you want it that way? Fine.”
Romanov reached for a drawer to his right. He pulled out a couple of folders. “The UN has put an arms embargo in place for Somalia since 1992. But embargos don’t stop the arms flow. They just increase prices. That country is awash with all types and brands of weapons. Russian, Chinese, American. The US sells to the Somali government, but their officials are so corrupt they turn around and sell the same weapons to al-Shabaab. Then al-Shabaab’s militants attack police stations and military bases and get even more guns, missiles, mortars.
“Yemen also sells a big portion of weapons to Somalia. And all sorts of gun smugglers make their living shipping weapons to Somalia from its neighbors, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Kenya. Then you’ve got Iran involved, albeit on a smaller scale.”