Justin held Romanov’s eyes. “Russia’s not involved?”
“Oh, we are, but we try to keep it legit. Well, that word has different meanings to different people.
“So, Somalia is a very lucrative market. There are a million illegal weapons in a country of ten million people. And another nine million would love to buy or steal an AK or RPG. Enter Yusuf.”
Romanov opened his folder. He picked up a photo, held it up so only he could see it, then looked up at Justin. “Yusuf was not only a member of al-Shabaab. He was also a CIA agent.”
“What?” Justin voice came out in a loud shout.
Romanov handed over the photo. “I assume you know both men in the picture.”
Justin could not believe his eyes. The photo was taken in a fancy restaurant. The background was blurry, so he could not determine the location. But the face of the man dining with Yusuf was very clear. He was Deputy Director of NCS Travis Adams.
“This photo is doctored. This can’t be true,” Justin said.
“I knew you were going to say that. But deep down you know it’s real.” Romanov pulled out a document from his folder. “Yusuf’s records. Authentic files from CIA records. Don’t expect me to tell you how I got this copy. Just know the files are real.”
Justin shook his head and bit his lip. “This explains so many things. How he got in and out of the US. His passport. Was he in deep cover inside al-Shabaab?”
“Yes. At least initially. But it seems things didn’t go as CIA planned. Instead of Yusuf turning militants to his cause, it seemed he began to trust in their cause. That’s when he began to channel weapons from US shipments to terrorists.”
Justin ran his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t Adams stop this? Why didn’t you do something?”
“Yusuf had Adams by the balls. He deceived him for an entire year, giving him bogus intelligence. Adams had too much to lose if he admitted his mistake. He gave in to Yusuf’s blackmail, believing a few shipments of weapons and a few million dollars would keep things quiet.”
“How… how did you learn this?”
Romanov grinned. “I like to know the market and my competitors. Money buys a lot of things. Information. Classified files. Secrets.”
Justin nodded.
“And I did something with this information. I gave it to my contacts in FSB, and they talked to their counterparts in CIA. Needless to say, Adams survived CIA’s internal investigation without a scratch. But Yusuf had become a liability. Adams needed to make sure he went away. For good.”
Justin’s eyes flashed with rage. “He sent me there to execute Yusuf. He knew about Yusuf being in that village at that time, or he drew him out there to put him within my reach. I was carrying out Adams’s revenge.”
“Yes, he used you.”
Romanov’s words cut very sharp. He did not have to say them, and Justin knew what he was doing: fanning the flames.
“I need the entire folder,” he said coldly.
Romanov pushed it across the table. “It’s all yours. I just need to warn you that—”
“No warning necessary. I know what to do with it.”
“Have it your way.”
Romanov crossed his hands over his chest.
“We’re not done,” said Justin. “This was for me. Now I need something for Carrie.”
Romanov replied with a deep frown. “Do I look like a fairy godmother?”
“No, but you owe her one. This will even out the score.”
“Hmmm, it doesn’t work that way. You can’t come here and make such requests.”
Justin simply looked at Romanov. “We have a business relationship. We deal in secrets, in information. A time will come when you’ll need my help, our help. A favor. Like when you lose something, say a shipment of missiles.”
“Oh, yes, and since you mentioned those missiles, they went up in a big explosion. I did not get them back.”
Justin nodded. “Once again, if I had all the information about that mission, things may have ended better for everyone.”
Romanov nodded, but said nothing. He stared straight at Justin.
Justin did not want to play Romanov’s stare down game. “Carrie’s still looking for her father’s grave. The intel you provided her has helped a lot. She identified the gravesite, but the remains were moved. She needs to know where.”
Romanov kept his eyes fixed on Justin’s face.
Justin continued, “And she can never find out the information came from you or that I asked for it. In return, I’ll owe you one.”
His last words broke Romanov’s stare. He smiled, but it was just a small twitch of his lips. “I’ll see what I can do. It will be difficult. Chechnya is a mess.”
Justin nodded. He knew Romanov would come through with the information. “We’re done here. I’m going to let you get back to your par—”
An explosion blast lit up the dark night. Justin hurried to the windows. Romanov followed him. A truck was on fire a hundred or so yards away, by the back wall surrounding the palace. Four or five human silhouettes moved at a rapid pace away from the leaping flames.
Two of Romanov’s guards burst into the room. One of them aimed his pistol at Justin.
“Out there you morons,” Romanov growled at them. “The explosion. Find out whoever they are and kill them.”
“They’re here for me,” Justin said.
Romanov did a double take. “Who? Al-Shabaab? Here?”
“Most likely their proxies.”
Justin headed for the door.
“Give him a gun,” Romanov said to one of the guards. “And follow his orders. All of you.”
Sergei and three other guards joined them in the hall. They were carrying newer model AKs.
“There’s a side door this way,” Sergei said.
They ran down the stairs, cut to the right, and were soon out in the backyard. Gunshots shattered a window above their heads. Justin hit the ground, rolling and seeking cover behind a stone pillar. Sergei was right behind him. The other guards spread out along the side of a fountain and behind a couple of thick pines.
“I saw four, maybe five people,” Justin said, “but there could be more.”
One of the guards fired his AK. A heavy machine gun returned fire, blowing away marble chunks from the statues in the fountain.
“We’ll flank them from the left,” Justin said. “Sergei, come with me.”
Sergei radioed their plan to the other guards.
They began a barrage of cover fire as Justin and Sergei ran bent at the waist. They drew some erratic fire before they fell behind a couple of BMWs about fifty yards closer to the gunmen.
A grenade exploded in front of them. One of the BMWs began to sound its sharp alarm. A few bullets thumped against the car doors.
The gunmen had secured their positions behind a stone gazebo and a few benches. Justin judged the distance to be about one hundred yards away from the BMW.
Sergei’s AK burst out in a long barrage. He stood on his feet, to the left of the first car. “Cover me,” he shouted while replacing his empty magazine and slipped into the BMW.
“Wait. Where are you goi—”
The car raced toward the gazebo. Justin got to his knees, closed his left eye, and tried to make out his targets. Gunshots came from the speeding BMW as Sergei was shooting his way to the gunmen. Justin saw two silhouettes pop up behind one of the benches. He shot them, then he began to shoot and run behind the BMW.
Gunshots hammered the car, but strangely it kept going. It jumped the curb and crossed through the lawns, ran over a flower patch and shrubs and came to a stop a few feet away from the gazebo’s stairs.
Justin dropped behind a thick pine tree. Two guards were running toward his position. A gunman stood from behind the gazebo and fired at them. One of the guards fell backwards. The other kept running, but slowly, limping on his left leg.