“From the first moment I saw you, I felt I couldn’t let anyone harm you. So now you know why I did… what I had to do.”
“Yes, now I know,” Asiyah said softly. “It’s everything I needed to know.”
They were both drained emotionally by their mutual confession, but it had served to expel the burden each of them carried. Sokolov felt as if he had also emptied himself of tears. In the silence, they sensed their inexplicable bond.
“Where do we go now?” Asiyah asked. “We need to get rid of this car.”
“I have a plan. There’s the one place no one would bother to look.”
Sokolov pressed a button on the steering wheel to activate the hands-free function of the car’s cell phone. Using it was not much of a risk — had the Lexus been bugged, their whereabouts would already be known anyway. Sokolov dialed Klimov’s personal number. Only Klimov’s wife, members of the Government and Sokolov knew of its existence.
Sokolov began without preamble. “It’s me. I need an ambulance at…” He peered through the window to read the street name. He did not need to tell Klimov it was urgent.
If anything, Klimov was prepared.
“You should have it in a few minutes,” said the Minister and broke the connection.
As they began to wait, a familiar restlessness took over Sokolov, the kind always associated with a mission. The oddity was that this time he was the one waiting for the arrival of EMERCOM.
21
When the ambulance appeared, it came to a halt a few meters away from the Lexus, right in front of the school building as Sokolov had indicated. The Lexus was empty. Sokolov and Asiyah watched from the other side of the street, hidden from view. If the ambulance was not what it seemed, they would run away. He didn’t take anything for granted anymore.
The vehicle itself was ordinary — a white van, red stripe painted across — but for one exception. Stenciled below the windshield in mirrored lettering was the word Centrospas, the name of EMERCOM’s special medical unit.
“Is that the car your friend Klimov sent for us?” Asiyah murmured.
“I hope so.”
A moment later, the ambulance inched forward, then stopped again. The passenger’s door swung open and a man got out to scan the area. He kept his hands tucked inside the pockets of his blue-and-orange coat as he turned his shaved head as he scanned every direction. He froze when he caught sight of Sokolov and Asiyah in the distance, and banged his fist against the side of the van, yelling something to the driver.
“Thank God,” Sokolov said. He took Asiyah’s hand. “Let’s go, this is our ride.”
She followed him towards the ambulance. “Are you sure?”
“It’s my pilot and best mate. He was the one who found you in Sochi. The Minister picked the right escort for us.” In fact, Zubov was the last man he expected to see.
The driver, Sokolov noticed as they neared the ambulance, was Mischenko.
Sokolov made quick formal introductions.
Beaming, Zubov pulled the van’s sliding door open. “Happy to see you both alive and well. Hop in.”
“Shouldn’t you two be on vacation?” Sokolov asked as he helped Asiyah inside.
“We were vacationing in Klimov’s office when you called his private number. Let’s say we volunteered for this.”
Sokolov knew them too well — they would have rushed to his help regardless of Klimov’s decision. Also, from a security standpoint, Klimov did not have to involve anyone outside Sokolov’s own team, so there were hardly any other suitable candidates.
With concern, Zubov scrutinized him from head to toe.
“My goodness, you look like you really need first aid, Gene.”
That made Sokolov suddenly feel self-conscious. He was abominable. The wet cotton of his gi clung to his skin. He had dirt and soot on him, cuts from the glass shards, and red burn marks.
“Don’t worry,” Sokolov smiled wearily. “I feel much worse than I look.”
In the back of the ambulance, Sokolov sat next to Asiyah. Zubov climbed in last and shut the door. Mischenko put the car into gear, his feet feathering the clutch and accelerator. The engine rumbled, setting the ambulance into motion, rocking gently on the uneven pavement. For a second, a chilling deja vu of the Beriev leaving Sochi flashed in Sokolov’s mind.
“Where to, Gene?” Mischenko asked.
“Back to the Zhukovsky airbase.”
Mischenko glanced at him in the mirror, grinning. Then the big man flicked on a switch that gave life to the shrieking siren and accelerated like a street racer.
Holding on to his seat as the ambulance steered around corners, pushing his feet against the floor for support, Sokolov realized just why Zubov always complained about Mischenko’s style of driving.
22
Even though the tone of his voice was measured, Victor could barely hide anger as he recounted the details of his failure. The skies outside the private office of Director Frolov were as dark as the Director’s face. Victor felt the waves of fury emanating from the source that was Frolov.
His fury was silent, brooding, a fierce emotion that triggered extra mental strength that Frolov needed to calculate the complications. Asiyah Kasymova and Eugene Sokolov had vanished. The officers attached to Sokolov were dead. The hired killers, maimed and senseless, knew too little and were of no use.
And the vital information Asiyah possessed was now lost.
When Victor had finished, Frolov allowed a few moments of silence before he spoke.
“Are you saying that you lost your best operatives?”
“It is so, Comrade Director…”
“But the killers who eliminated them were themselves helpless against a single man?”
“Yes.” Victor’s face was a stone mask.
“Eugene Sokolov, Major of the EMERCOM. No special forces training, no combat experience, no odds.”
“He has a reputation in martial arts, but still… I never believed in him as the right candidate. Neither him nor his brother. But as always, your judgment was perfect.”
“That was to be expected. It’s all in their blood, Victor. All in their blood. Cossacks are the deadliest enemy anyone could face.” Frolov’s mouth twisted in a sardonic half-smile. “I’m not claiming full credit for that judgement, however. Other great men before me have noted this. Napoleon said, ‘Give me Cossacks and I will rule the world.’ He had first-hand experience fighting them, of course. Napoleon’s army encountered sophisticated guerilla and special operations tactics that saw the French chased all the way back to Paris. Eugene and Constantine have this blood, never forget that. Every Cossack is a warrior. Even the name of the rule in the Don State was unique—Voisko. Not Duchy or County, but Army. A land of armed men who had never been slaves and had no slavery. Cossacks were the backbone of this country we call Russia. It sometimes scares me to think that they could have reclaimed their territories and left us with nothing.”
Frolov did not exaggerate. The Cossacks had expanded Russia’s borders from Fort Grozny in the Caucasus to Fort Verny in Central Asia and beyond, to the Asian continent’s eastern limits, exploring Siberia and venturing on the Alaskan coast almost a hundred years before Bering. All land from the Urals to the Pacific was their gift to Russia, one that they had presented freely as they sought no conquest beyond their homeland in Southern Europe, along the banks of the River Don. Every major city from Vladikavkaz to Vladivostok had Cossack founders. When the Bolsheviks came, the Cossacks had indeed almost succeeded in defying their rule — and toppling it as they fought back. But ultimately, the Cossacks, like all of Russia, lost.