by Ethan Jones
The Russian president’s state-of-the-art Kortezh limousine might resist a rocket-propelled grenade or anti-materiel rifle bullets, but it would be useless if doused in tons of burning fuel.
“Faster, faster,” Justin shouted.
“I can’t go any faster.” The driver pointed at the stalled vehicles in front of him.
“Ram them,” Carrie said.
The driver hit the gas. The front of the Audi clipped the corner of a small hatchback, pushing it to the right. The driver maneuvered around a truck, then an SUV, and returned onto the shoulder lane.
The tractor-trailer had caught up to the president’s limousine.
Sparks came from the side of the truck as the president’s guards opened fire.
Justin shook his head. The volley was not going to stop Ying.
The truck veered into the lane in front of the president’s limousine. The car’s driver slammed on the brakes, then turned the steering wheel. The Kortezh limousine avoided being sideswiped by the truck.
That was not the assassin’s objective.
To Justin’s shock, but not surprise, the second tanker became detached from the first one. As if in a slow-motion movie scene, the tanker rolled onto the highway. It crashed into a van and another truck in front of the president’s limousine and tossed them away like toys. The president’s driver turned the steering wheel and barely missed the front end of the tanker, which had now started to spin.
Sergei said, “Go around.”
“No, shoulder lane,” Justin said.
“This is faster.”
“But you’ll be at the—”
A giant explosion rocked the area. The tanker erupted in a huge orange fireball. High flames leapt in all directions, swallowing up the stalled vehicles, and sending metal fragments raining all over the area.
“The president,” Sergei shouted.
“How did that happen?” the driver asked. “Tankers don’t just explode—”
“They do, when grenades are attached to them,” Justin said.
The wall of dancing flames was too thick to see anything beyond it. The driver swung the wheel to the left, as far away as he could. The Audi zipped through the flames. When it came to the other side, the right corner of the hood had caught on fire. The tires slipped on the slick oil covering almost the entire span of the lanes. The driver fought to control the car. It veered into the next lane and right into the side of a taxi. The crash sent the Audi back into the shoulder lane.
“Where is he?” Sergei asked.
The president’s limousine came into view to their right, on the furthermost lane, and seemed to be intact.
The tractor-trailer was still up ahead, perhaps fifty yards away.
“She’s not going to miss the second time,” Carrie said.
“Radio for them to get the president out,” Justin said to Sergei.
“What? No. He’s safer there.”
“Not when the second tanker comes down and burns him alive,” Justin said.
Sergei nodded and reached for the dashboard-mounted radio.
Justin rolled down the window and stuck half his body out. He did not have a clear shot of Ying or the truck’s cab. He dropped inside the Audi, just as the second tanker slid back, then rolled away from the tractor-trailer.
Sergei was still on the radio, arguing with someone.
Justin snatched the radio out of Sergei’s hands. “Get the president out of the car. Now, or he’s dead!”
He dropped the radio to the floor, while his eyes were glued to the windshield. The tanker seemed to slow down, then the tires on one side blew up. That’s how she does it. Remote-controlled explosion. The tanker tipped to the right, then rolled over. It burst open, oil gushing over the lanes.
Justin’s eyes went to the president’s limousine. It had stopped and the guards were ushering the president away. They were maybe twenty yards from the tanker sliding toward a minibus. Markov was also running toward them.
Justin nodded. Yeah, they got him. There you go, Markov.
The crash and the explosion happened almost at once. The eruption was smaller than the first one, but flames still engulfed the minibus and a couple of nearby vehicles. People came out screaming and wailing as they caught on fire. Metal fragments pounded the area.
Justin’s eyes found the president’s guards stretched out on one of the lanes. One of the guards got to his knees, followed by another. They lifted the Russian president to his feet. Markov ran behind them, her head swiveling around, as she covered all angles with her raised pistol. The president was bleeding from a cut to his forehead, but otherwise seemed to be all right. The guards half-lifted and half-carried him away from the spreading flames.
“Stop, stop,” Justin said.
The driver brought the Audi to a screeching halt.
Justin said, “Go take care of him. Both of you.”
“What about you and Carrie?”
“We’ll go after the assassin.”
Sergei hesitated for a moment.
“We’re wasting time, go, go, go.”
He nodded and opened the door.
“The gun.” Carrie stretched out her hand as she changed places with Sergei.
He gave Carrie the MP-443 pistol.
“You good?” Justin asked as he slid in the driver’s seat.
“All strapped in.”
“Let’s go get Ying.” Justin stepped on the gas.
The Audi’s tires spun, and the car rocketed forward. Justin drove for a few yards in the shoulder lane, which soon came to an end, then he switched to the inside lane.
The tractor was about a hundred yards away.
Justin kept his foot on the gas, and the Audi began to close the distance. He glanced at Carrie, who was leaning against the door. She had rolled down the window and was waiting for the right moment to open fire.
Before she had a chance, bullets hammered the front of the Audi. A couple struck the windshield, which withstood the impact. Spiderweb cracks stretched along the middle.
Justin shifted in his seat, so he could see up ahead. The highway was largely clear of traffic, because the explosions behind them had stalled most of the vehicles. He swerved left and right, to make the Audi a harder target. Ying or someone else—if there was a second person in the cab—would have difficulty hitting the Audi.
Justin’s maneuvering made Carrie’s job harder as well. She was holding the roof handle, and half of her body was out the window as she struggled to get a clear shot. She had already fired a few rounds, but her bullets had missed the target.
A string of bullets stitched up the windshield.
“Watch out,” Justin shouted.
He turned the steering wheel, going around a van in front of them. He came onto the next lane and straightened the wheel. When he kept going straight for a few seconds, Carrie fired a quick burst.
One of the bullets must have struck the tractor’s rear tires. The vehicle dropped to the left and began to head toward the median’s metal barrier. A moment later, Ying regained control and brought the tractor back to its lane. Then it switched lanes, but quite erratically.
Justin thought Ying was trying to overtake the small coupe in front of it, but the tractor kept moving onto the right-side lane.
“What is she doing?” Justin asked.
The answer came as the front of the tractor climbed over the low metal median barrier. The truck became airborne for a moment, then fell hard on the other side and into oncoming traffic. Ying was able to avoid crashing into a red van that screamed very close to the truck. She must have yanked the wheel hard and at the right time, as the truck missed an SUV by a few inches.
Then Ying ran out of luck.
The tractor swerved again and slammed into the side of a garbage truck rocketing in the other direction. The crash caused the tractor to roll to the side, then spin around. The garbage truck driver also lost control of his vehicle, which flipped onto its side and slid forward.
Justin sw
itched lanes and stopped next to the median. He looked at the tractor’s cab. The windshield was shattered. Ying was hanging halfway out of the window. She was not moving, and her body was twisted unnaturally. Her face was bruised, and she was bleeding from one of her arms.
Justin doubted she was alive, but he raised his pistol as he crossed over the median. He gestured at a couple of drivers who had stopped a few yards away from the tractor. “Stay back, stay back,” he shouted at them.
One of them opened the door. “Get in, back in,” Justin said and raised his pistol to stress his words.
The driver closed the door and remained in his seat.
Justin glanced at Carrie, who had also jumped over the median. “I’ve got them, Justin.”
He nodded and neared the tractor’s cab.
Ying gazed at him with lifeless eyes.
Justin noticed a man sprawled next to Ying. He was Asian as well and was trying to crawl out of the overturned tractor. He was bleeding from the left side of his face and chest.
Justin looked at the man’s hands. He was carrying no weapons, but Justin could not be sure about the rest of the man’s body. So Justin stepped next to the man while keeping the pistol aimed at him. “Stop, stop, let me help you,” he said and crouched beside the man.
He gave Justin a look of exhaustion. “My leg ... is broken. And my chest...” He coughed up blood.
“You’ll be all right, if we take you to a hospital.” Justin studied the man’s chest and legs. He had no weapons, and the chest wound did not look very deep. “But you’ve got to tell me about the girl.”
“What girl?”
“Mary, the one you helped kidnap.”
The man tried to shake his head and bumped it against the cab’s roof. “No, I don’t know anything about—”
“Don’t lie to me. The Russians will be here at any moment, and they’re not going to be kind.”
“I really don’t know.”
“She was kidnapped near the Caledonian station. Where’s your safehouse near there?”
The man’s eyes met Justin’s, and he noticed a flicker of doubt and suspicion in the man’s eyes. “I ... I was never at the safe—”
“You want me to believe that? You’re sitting next to Ying, helping her as she attempted the assassination, and you don’t know?”
“I swear, swear to you, I don’t—”
“Well, you’ve got to convince the Russians. They’ll not take ‘I don’t know’ for an answer. You tried to kill their president. They’ll pry the answers out of you, even if they use pliers.”
The man’s face twisted in pain, but he said nothing.
Justin shrugged, then looked up toward the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. “Oh, here comes Sergei. He’ll give you the Russian treatment—”
“No, no—wait, wait,” the man said. “Get me out, and I’ll tell you—”
“You tell me now. Right now.”
The man hesitated one moment longer, then said, “All right, there’s ... there’s an apartment complex near the station. Just behind the recycling center.”
“The name and number?”
“Prichard Court, 306.”
“Thank you. How hard was that?” Justin reached for the man’s arms and began to slowly pull him through the broken side window.
Sergei stopped next to Justin. “I’ll take him.”
“Sure, he’s all yours, but take him to the hospital.”
“Hospital, he needs to talk—”
“Yes, but I promised him medical attention.”
Sergei shook his head. “I promised him nothing.”
Justin stood up and peered into Sergei’s face. “How about you take care of her?” He pointed at Ying.
Sergei glanced at her. “She’s dead.”
“Right. So that would be easy. Now, call an ambulance.”
Sergei opened his mouth, then shook his head and said nothing. He reached for his phone.
Justin asked, “Did you get the shooters?”
“Yes, we killed the one in the trees.”
“What about the sniper at the overpass?”
Sergei cursed out loud. “Still looking for him, and we’ll find him.”
Justin nodded. “I hope so.”
He glanced at Carrie, who was collecting the cellphones of a few curious onlookers trying to take pictures and videos. Yes, the last thing we need is for this to be on YouTube. Justin sighed and looked at the man. “You’ll live,” he said, “and you’ll help us make sense of this mess.”
The man drew in a series of shallow breaths. “I ... I’ll try, just help me.”
“Medics will be here right away. Now, stay with me.”
Justin knelt next to the man, pulled out his phone, and called Mandy with the assassins’ safehouse location.
Epilogue
A week later
ECS Headquarters
Vienna, Austria
Justin was pacing in the hall outside his boss’s office. He tried to hide his nervousness, especially since Karolin was with him. She was sitting in one of the cream-colored armchairs in the oval waiting area, reviewing one of the London operation files. It was the first time Karolin was going with Justin and Carrie to Flavio’s office for an operational aftermath debrief. Justin did not know the reason for Karolin’s presence in the joint meeting, but he had a premonition it was not going to be good news.
He glanced at his watch. Three minutes to seven. Where are you, Carrie? He sighed and thought about calling her. Then he shrugged, but still reached into his jacket for his cellphone. No messages from Carrie, which was common when she was running late. Did something happen to her? He paced back to Karolin, who glanced up. “Justin, all this pacing is making me nervous.”
“I’m sorry. Carrie’s late, and I’m getting worried.”
“She’ll be here on time, or she’ll call. Why don’t you sit down for a moment?”
“Sure.” Justin sat next to her.
Karolin held his hand and gave him a small smile. “What happens in these meetings?”
“We go over the operation, and Flavio fills us in on what we need to know. You’ll do fine.”
“Of course I will. I’ve got you with me.”
“That’s sweet.”
“No, this is sweet.” Karolin leaned in for a kiss.
Justin kissed her, then looked up at Carrie, who had just walked into the hall. She gave them a teasing gaze. “Can’t leave you two alone for a moment...”
Karolin blushed. “Eh ... I—”
“Carrie’s kidding.” Justin stood up. “What happened?”
“Traffic. But I made it with time to spare.” She flicked her wrist. “Yes, thirty seconds.”
“Let’s go.” Justin gestured at Flavio’s office door.
“Sure.”
She knocked on the dark wood door.
“Come in, come in, it’s open,” Flavio’s strong voice rang out with his pronounced Italian accent.
Carrie walked in first, followed by Karolin.
Justin closed the door as he entered Flavio’s small corner office. It was about ten by ten and no bigger than the other offices in the headquarters, a nineteenth-century gray-brick building on Landstrasse, a short walk from Vienna’s diplomatic quarter. The building had been renovated and upgraded to the necessary safety and security standards required by the CIS. But the original blueprint had been kept, along with most of the building’s baroque façade, gabled roof, and arched windows.
“Take a seat.” Flavio gestured at three chairs set across from his small and meticulously clean dark mahogany desk. A stack of manila folders was set next to his laptop and phone. “How are you doing today?”
“Pretty good, sir,” Justin said.
“Fantastic,” said Carrie.
Karolin nodded, but did not say anything.
“Well, let’s start this, so you folks can get back to your real jobs,” Flavio said with a slight grin. He reached for the top folder, opened it, and skimmed th
rough the first couple of pages.
Justin recognized the after-action report he had submitted four days ago. He had included Carrie’s and Karolin’s feedback, as well as most of the narrative from Mandy, Markov, and other MI6 and FSO agents. He was still in the dark about some aspects of the operation, but he hoped Flavio would be able to give the team answers.
“I really have no questions about the report.” Flavio turned the pages. “There were a few parts where I couldn’t follow your reasoning, Justin, that’s why I highlighted those spots and made notes. When I reread it this morning, it all made sense.”
Justin nodded. “That’s good, sir.”
“Yes, and so is the news from the Russians.” Flavio pulled the second folder from the stack. “I talked to their ambassador in London. The Russians haven’t found out if Lim had a connection to someone inside Kremlin. The ambassador expressed his gratitude for saving the life of their president. However, the Russians are still pretty livid about not being warned as soon as we learned about the attempt.”
“Are they upset at us? This was in British territory, and the Brits are responsible for all notifications.”
“That’s what I told the ambassador. I added that we raised this with MI6, but it was their decision. Of course, they couldn’t tell the Russians anything until they were certain not only that the assassination was taking place, but that they had the situation under control.”
Justin nodded. “Yes, after the escalations following the spy’s poisoning, this attempt could have easily been interpreted at best as negligence and, at worst, as turning a blind eye.”
“Exactly, and MI6 is left quite embarrassed. A few heads will roll, starting with Elliott.”
Carrie leaned forward and said, “He had that coming.”
“What about Mandy?” Justin asked.
“She’s still there, might even get a promotion.”
“Elliott’s job?”
“Not sure. Most likely. She was gunning for that position, and that’s why she helped you, to make a good impression on the higher-ups, who were keen on cooperation. MI6’s directors appreciate our help, but they are outraged that the assassins came so close to eliminating the Russian president.”
