18 Minutes

by Ethan Jones

  The collision sent the SUV skidding forward and to the right. Maxim had expected it, so he turned the steering wheel to correct their course.

  The tractor’s driver, however, jerked the steering wheel to the left, to avoid crashing again into the back of the SUV. There was a bone-chilling screech of brakes as the tractor trailer’s wheels locked up. The abrupt braking and the high speed caused the tractor trailer to jack-knife. The tractor hit the concrete median, while the trailer swerved like a snake across all the lanes, then rolled onto the side. The trailer was uncoupled from the tractor and blocked all five of the highway lanes.

  Maxim had slowed down and was looking toward the flipped-over trailer. He didn’t expect the Mercedes-Benz to appear. Its driver wouldn’t be able to go through the shoulder lane, as the remaining gap was too small for a car to squeeze through. It was barely enough for a couple of men to walk comfortably next to one another. The driver and passengers would have to leave and find another vehicle, and there were no vehicles around.

  “They must have crashed into the trailer,” Sasha said.

  “It seems so. Let’s go before they start shooting.”

  “Do you think they will?”

  “I would. The chase is over. What do they have to lose?”

  Maxim stepped on the gas and glanced at the rear-view mirror as the trailer grew smaller and smaller.

  “We should call this in,” Sasha said.

  “I’ll do it. Yezhov won’t like it, but he’ll have to deal with it.”

  Sasha shrugged. “We chose the less risky option for our operation and for their lives, whoever they are. Yezhov has no reason to get mad.”

  “Does he need a reason to get mad?”

  Maxim sighed and dialed Yezhov’s number. When the director picked up, Maxim explained the situation, starting with what had just happened. Yezhov listened patiently for about twenty seconds, before cutting Maxim off. “How did they find you?”

  “I’m not certain. They must have followed us, but we didn’t see them until a few minutes ago.”

  “Where are you now?”

  Maxim looked at a highway sign coming up to the right. “Four and a half ks from the airport.”

  “All right, all right. Keep going with the assignment and try not to kill anyone else…”

  Maxim wanted to say that not only hadn’t they killed anyone, but they also hadn’t opened fire. The team had simply responded to the escalating situation. A well-calculated response. But Maxim felt Yezhov wasn’t in the mood to argue, and Maxim didn’t want to argue either.

  Yezhov said, “I’ll send someone to clear this matter out with the local police. Hopefully, we’ll find out who these people are.”

  I doubt they’re still there. “Good idea, sir.”

  “Call me once you have the banker in custody. And again, keep a low profile, and don’t kill anyone…”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  When Maxim had returned the phone to his pocket, Sasha said, “Well, he sounded reasonable enough…”

  “Unusually so. Maybe he knows something he’s not telling us, or he understands our position.”

  “I think it’s the former.”

  “So do I.” Maxim shrugged and looked through the windshield. He steadied his shaking hands and took a series of deep breaths. He leaned on the gas pedal as the SUV sped along the highway.

  “Maxim, you’re still so tense…”

  “Considering what just happened, it’s normal.”

  “Yes, yes, but it’s over now. There won’t be any more interference…”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “I doubt they’ll try something again.”

  Maxim said nothing. Sasha could be right, but Maxim knew that some people were determined to death. He felt there was going to be a new attempt to stop them or to release the banker. He glanced through the windshield, then checked the rear-view mirror. Because of the rolled-over truck, all five lanes were empty.

  In a few moments, Maxim slowed down as they neared the yard entrance of Jet Solutions, a private air cargo company that operated out of the airport. Sometimes, as in this case, the company served to transfer detainees wanted by Russian state authorities from Europe back to the motherland and to their looming fate. He looked at Sasha and said, “Do you think there’s more to this story?”

  “What, besides the banker’s treason?”

  “Yes, what if there are other players?”

  Sasha shrugged. “I doubt this is open and shut. There’s an international angle here, and who knows in what else Rabinovich has been involved. He’s Russian, but he operated in Switzerland and the UK. There could be another connection…”

  “So we don’t know what to expect at the airport…”

  “We never know what to expect. But look, if you’re thinking of foreign agencies, there would have been issues while he was in London. But he was bagged and loaded, and now he’s here. The worst is over.”

  Maxim nodded back, but the look of concern remained on his face. He scratched his chin and ran his hand over the left side of his face. His skin was darker than that of most Russians. Despite the long, cold, sunless days of winter, he always had a tanned look.

  He stopped when they came to the guards’ shack at the yard’s entrance. Sasha lowered the window and nodded at the big burly man who stared at him from behind the glass. The guard raised his landline phone to indicate he was busy, then made a shrugging gesture, indicating they’d have to wait.

  Maxim asked, “Did the banker ever operate in America?”

  “If he did, it’s not in the file. He worked in London and Switzerland; that we know for sure.”

  Maxim nodded and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  Sasha grinned and shifted in his seat. “You know something interesting about America?”

  “Yes, you know I can read minds…”

  “Not with that attitude. If you worked in America, Maximillian Thornichinovich, and you were a CIA agent, or worked for the FBI, you know what they’d call you?”

  “The Russian?”

  “No, that’s too easy, and there are dozens of Russians working for those agencies. I mean your name. It’s too long and too complicated for the average American to pronounce.”

  Maxim nodded. “You’re right.”

  Sasha said, “First name is pretty easy, they’d call you Max. The last name … they’d probably shorten that to Thorne.”

  Maxim smiled. “Max Thorne, yeah, it has a good ring to it.”

  “Anyway, how would things be if you were actually an American spy?”

  Maxim shrugged. “We wouldn’t be riding in the same car, working on the same op. I mean, we might be assigned to the same op, but we’d be on opposite sides.”

  Sasha grinned. “Then I’d have to kill you…”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. Those CIA agents, they’re quite good. Some of them are hard to kill.”

  “Nothing’s impossible for the SVR.”

  “I didn’t say impossible, but close to it.”

  “I still say I’d kill you. I’m a better shot than you are.”

  “First, you’d have to get close to me.”

  Sasha nodded. “I’ll grant you that. Behind the wheel, you’re extremely fast.”

  The guard ended his call and gave Sasha a curious glance.

  Sasha said, “We’re here to pick up a package.” He didn’t want to say “someone,” so that he wouldn’t tip off the guard. The fewer people who knew about the purpose of their operation, the better it was for everyone.

  The guard opened his window a couple of inches. “What are your names?”

  Sasha gave them to the guard, then he flashed him the agency’s ID card.

  The guard scrutinized it, then waved at Sasha, and he put the card away. “What about you?”

  “What, that’s not enough?” Maxim said.

  “Not if you want to go through that.” The guard gestured at the white wrought-iron gate.

&n
bsp; Maxim peered at the man, then pulled out his ID card slowly. The guard studied it, then said, “FSB and SVR. Must be a special package, the one you’re picking up…”

  Maxim nodded. “You’re very observant.”

  “Let me check my list,” the guard said in a throaty voice as if his mouth was full of nails. He took a few long moments, then said, “You’re not on my list.”

  “Check again,” Sasha said.

  Maxim said, “This all happened this morning. It’s a rush. Maybe they didn’t have time to—”

  “If you’re not on my visitors list, I can’t let you through.”

  Sasha opened his mouth, but Maxim held him by the arm. “Look,” he said to the guard, “I understand that. Can you call someone? Maybe your supervisor is aware of our arrival, and of the package.”

  The frown on the guard’s face looked like he didn’t want to lift a finger to help them. He closed the window without a word, and his facial expression didn’t change. However, he did pick up a phone from the desk.

  Sasha leaned closer to Maxim. “You said this was going to take eighteen minutes, right?”

  “That was from the pickup time. But don’t get me started about this guy...”

  The guard talked to someone at the other end of the line, then held the phone close to his ear. He nodded a few times, then spoke and looked at Maxim and Sasha. The guard shook his head and turned around.

  Another long minute passed while they waited.

  Sasha said, “I should go out there—”

  “No, we’ll wait. He’ll figure it out.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “We’re early anyway. If he doesn’t figure it out in a couple of minutes, then I’ll talk to him.”

  Sasha sighed, but showed no other sign of displeasure.

  Maxim sat in silence, observing the guard. He was still on the phone with his back turned toward the glass window. Maxim thought about that kind of job and how long he’d last working day in and day out in such a small box. He didn’t like enclosed spaces. He wasn’t claustrophobic or anything like that, but he liked to be out and about, to drive, go places, do things.

  Another long minute dragged on, then the guard finally turned around. The earlier frown was still on his sweaty face. He said nothing, but he must have pushed a button or turned a lever, because the gate began to roll to the side.

  “Have a great day,” Maxim said.

  The guard did not respond.

  Sasha cursed the guard under his breath, then glanced at Maxim. “What a jerk…”

  “He’s just doing his job—”

  “Yes, and so are we. Who would drive here and say they’re agents if they’re not?”

  Maxim shrugged and looked around. He drove to the left through the sparsely filled parking lot. The sun was now in their eyes and glowed brightly, although it gave very little warmth. It was still early October, but the temperature had dropped to below zero during the night.

  The UAZ Patriot SUV rounded the corner and made another turn, as they came to the back of the building. They drove past a greenbelt, where the grass had turned yellow, and onto a heavily-packed gravel strip leading to a ramp.

  A Gulfstream G200, painted all blue with a peacock plume near the back, sat at the edge of the ramp. Further away was a Bombardier Challenger 300 with a red cross on its tail.

  Maxim drove alongside them and stopped when he came to the other end of the ramp. A white Lada SUV was parked about fifty yards away. Three men armed with submachine guns were smoking and chatting near the back of the SUV. They had noticed the UAZ’s arrival and were following it with their attentive eyes.

  “Who are they?” Sasha asked.

  Maxim didn’t reply right away. He studied the men dressed in black suits. The Lada had no markings.

  Sasha had already pulled out his pistol.

  “Careful, let’s not provoke them—”

  “They could be here for Rabinovich…”

  “They could. We’ll have to check.”

  “Can’t be airport security, or customs.”

  “Dressed too nice for that.”

  “I’ll find out who they are and what they want.”

  “I’ve got you covered.”

  Chapter Six

  Sheremetyevo International Airport

  Moscow Oblast, Russia

  Maxim pulled out his wallet with the ID card and flipped it open. Then he stepped outside and walked to the Lada at a brisk pace. When he was about ten feet away, he held it up for the men to see it and said, “My name is Maximillian Thornichinovich. I work for the FSB. My colleague is back there.” He gestured toward the UAZ with his hand. “And you are?”

  The tallest of the group, a curly-haired redhead sporting a full, bushy beard, smiled at Maxim and walked toward him. “My name is Darko Olenev, but call me Darko.”

  Maxim glanced at the man’s face through the mist forming in the cold air. Darko’s handshake was firm. He was about a couple of inches taller than the five-foot-ten FSB agent and was better built than Maxim. Darko’s muscles were bulging under the tight, shiny suit, and he was wearing a bulletproof vest underneath.

  Mercs, Maxim thought. Former army troops turned mercenaries.

  Maxim said, “Who do you work for, and what are you doing here?”

  “We’re with AP, Absolute Protection, a security company for high-end clients. You’ve probably heard of us.” Darko spoke in a warm, friendly tone and gave Maxim a sincere look.

  Maxim nodded. AP was famous for taking some of the most difficult security assignments inside and outside Russia, especially in the former Soviet republics. They accompanied money trucks, or provided protection services for celebrities and oligarchs. AP was also notorious for hiring the most brutal thugs, people who had washed out of the armed forces or had been dishonorably discharged. The worst people to mess with.

  Darko’s hand went slowly to his inside jacket pocket. He pulled out an ID card and handed it to Maxim. The FSB agent studied the card, especially the AP logo, stamp, and holographic sticker. Everything looked genuine. It was either the real thing, or an extremely good forgery.

  Maxim returned the ID to Darko and drew in a deep breath, stifling the frown that had begun to wrinkle his face. “I’ve heard of AP. Drop-off or pick-up?”

  “Pick-up. And you?”

  “Can’t talk about it.”

  Darko smiled. “It’s pick-up. Too little security for a drop-off.”

  Maxim frowned, but Darko was right. He was familiar with FSB protocol. “What did you do before AP?”

  Darko shrugged. “Can’t talk about it. Want to meet my crew?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got stuff to do.”

  Darko pursed his lips, seemingly disappointed by the refusal. “I hope your op goes well.”

  Maxim thought he sensed a veiled threat in Darko’s voice. The way he said the words, it reminded Maxim of the hissing of a snake. “Same for yours.”

  He kept his eyes on Darko as the man waved with his left hand, the one holding the PP-19 Bizon 9mm submachine gun. It was a compact weapon, just sixteen inches when the metal stock was folded. It fired from a cylindered magazine drum with a sixty-four-round capacity. Maxim hoped Darko wouldn’t need to unleash the wrath of that beast of a weapon.

  When he returned to the UAZ, Maxim said to Sasha, “We might have a problem.”

  “Security contractors?”

  “Yes. AP.”

  Sasha spat out of the vehicle. “What are those rats doing here?”

  “Waiting for a client.”

  “Whose name starts with ‘R’ and who works in banking?”

  “I didn’t ask, and they didn’t say.”

  “Did they say when?”

  “No.” Maxim glanced at his wristwatch. “I hope it’s not at the same time as our friend.”

  “Which is ten minutes.”

  “Unless they’re late.”

  Sasha grinned. “They’re SVR agents operating in Europe. They’re never l
ate.”

  “There’s always a first time—”

  “Not for these guys. The first time they make a mistake is their last time…”

  Maxim spent a couple of minutes skimming through Rabinovich’s file, but nothing caught his attention. The file was prepared in a hurry and so was the entire operation, but Maxim had participated in assignments that were thrown together at a moment’s notice. He shrugged and glanced at Rabinovich’s face in the file’s picture. What happened that your life took this turn? Maxim sighed and glanced at his wristwatch, then at Sasha.

  The SVR agent said, “They’ll be here on time. Relax.”

  “I am relaxed.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  Sasha groaned. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Maxim’s phone beeped.

  He looked at the screen. It was a brief text message from Yezhov: They’re landing in 5. He showed the phone to Sasha, who said, “What did I tell you?”

  “You want me to tell you that you’re right?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  Maxim groaned. “Let’s get ready.”

  A few minutes later the airplane, a mid-sized Cessna, appeared like a dot over the horizon at the far end of the airport. It seemed to hover there for a few seconds, then the dot grew larger and larger as it began its approach. It descended quickly over the southern runway and landed without any issues. It taxied toward the ramp, having already been cleared.

  Maxim and Sasha were standing next to their UAZ when a sleek black Jaguar slid close to them, and stopped about twenty yards away. Maxim turned his head just as a woman stepped out of the driver’s seat. She was wearing a long blue coat and matching leather gloves. Her long blond hair flowed down her neck. She was slender and tall and not just because of the four-inch heels of her black boots.

  Sasha elbowed Maxim. “Who’s the woman?”

  “Don’t know. A girlfriend of one of the agents onboard?”

  “Yeah. I wish I had a girlfriend like that.”

  Maxim shrugged and nodded at the woman. She looked a bit like Helena, the analyst working on his floor at the FSB headquarters. My Lena is prettier and younger. He shook his head slightly. Stop referring to Lena as yours, and focus.