by Jack Arbor
Max chuckled. “Stand back.”
Spencer crouched in the cell’s corner while Max attached another charge to the cell’s locking mechanism. A second later, a crack sounded and the door swung free. Max handed his old friend the silenced Beretta. “You okay?”
“I’ll survive. Lucky for me, they had other fish to fry.”
“Where’s Kate?”
Spencer’s brow narrowed. “Haven’t seen her.” Gesturing with the gun, Spencer said, “The CIA director is over there.”
“Okay. Watch the door.”
The smoke swirled as Max walked across the room to the opposite cell. Sitting on a soiled and limp mattress was a thin woman, her blond curls matted with blood, and her face crusted with dirt. Her clothing was ripped and soiled, but her blue eyes were bright.
As Max approached, she stood, wavered, and held on to the bars for support. “Well, well. If it isn’t the world-famous Max Austin. Or should I call you Mikhail Asimov?”
Max spit on the ground.
The director put her face close to the bars. “If by some miracle you have a way out of this godforsaken prison, I assume you know the kind of honors that would come your way.”
He put his finger on the rifle’s trigger. “Where’s Kate Shaw?”
Montgomery chortled. “Honey, I have no idea. I haven’t seen that woman in weeks.”
Max glanced at the door where Spencer stood with the pistol gripped in two hands. “There’s not a lot of time. We get discovered down here, we’re toast. I need answers, and quick.”
Montgomery shrugged. “Ask away.”
“Why did you submarine Kate’s career?”
Looking surprised, Montgomery backed away from the bars. “Why—”
“Answer the question.”
“She was too old-fashioned in her approach. The CIA needed new blood, new thinking. Drones are more effective than on-the-ground—”
“Bullshit. What’s the real reason?”
The director hesitated.
Max turned his back to her. “Let’s go, Spence.”
“Wait. Don’t leave me here.” The director’s voice cracked as she gripped the bars with tiny fists.
Halfway to the door, he turned. “So?”
She sighed, and her eyes searched the ground. “I’m dead if I stay here. I’m dead if I talk too much.”
Again, Max turned. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. She was too close to you.”
Max spun. “How do you mean?”
“We didn’t want to be seen working with you, hiding you, giving you a home. The CIA. I had a deal with Ivanov—”
“Nikita Ivanov? The head of the consortium?”
The director nodded.
Max took a step. “What kind of deal?”
Silence overcame the room as she looked away. Something crashed to the floor over their heads.
“What kind of deal, damn it?”
Another big sigh. “My career is over anyway,” she mumbled. “We had to force you out of protective custody so the consortium could get to you. And in return…”
The truth hit Max hard in the chest. Was Kate’s pain and suffering his fault? “In return for what?”
Another big breath. “The consortium was supposed to pass us intel on the Russian’s spying on US soil. Ivanov was to provide intelligence about how the Russian president influenced elections, spread false information over social channels, and details about their cyber warfare capabilities…”
Her voice faded as he stopped listening. Kate’s life is at stake because of me. She was snatched because she took me in and gave me protection. This is all my fault.
Montgomery gripped the bars tighter. “Even after we cut you and Kate loose, we got no valuable intel from the consortium. Ivanov is a fucker. I don’t trust him any farther than I can throw him.”
Another crash from above startled Max. “But we were cut loose. You didn’t have to take her into custody.”
The director of the CIA nodded. “We nabbed her once we uncovered the fact that she knew information about the consortium. If we got to that information first, it would give us leverage over Ivanov and the consortium. Leverage we need to make him pay up on his debt to us.” She leaned her forehead on the bars.
“So what did you learn? You interrogated her for weeks.”
Montgomery slowly lifted her head, her eyes placid.
An overwhelming urge to grab her by the throat and wring her neck consumed him. He moved so he was close enough to grab her through the bars. “Tell me, damn it. Tell me, or I swear I’ll kill you myself.”
She stumbled back, out of his reach. “Nothing.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Zilch! Nada.” She curled her hands into fists and shook them. “We got nothing out of her. It’s bullshit. No one could withstand what we put her through. She knows nothing.”
I don’t believe it. Something isn’t right. There has to be more. “So who snatched Kate from your custody?”
She released her fists and shrugged. “No clue. Could be any of a number of interested parties. It’s not Ivanov, though, I’ll tell you that. He’s steaming mad and scared as hell that she’ll end up in the wrong hands.”
“Who are the wrong hands? What’s he scared of?”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t know much, do you?”
Spencer cleared his throat. “We need to go.”
Max raised an index finger at him. “So why is everyone looking for Kate?”
The director’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know?”
Max looked at his watch while he turned away from the cell. “Let’s go.”
The bars rattled behind him as Montgomery shook them with both hands. “Wait. Fine. I’ll tell you. She’s—”
Pounding feet came from behind him, followed by Spencer’s shout. “Look out!”
A split second later a muffled boom and bright flash filled the room.
By instinct, he dove to his left, waiting for the slugs to pound into his torso. He landed hard, forced himself to a knee, and brought the rifle around. Muffled sounds came and went like he was underwater. “Spencer?” Can barely hear.
A muted voice came from the corner of the room. “Here.”
“You hit?”
“Negative.”
What just happened? Max stood on shaky legs, his rifle aimed at the doorway, taking in the cellblock, searching for a target. As he turned, he did a double take.
Piper Montgomery was sprawled on the cell floor, her dirty white shirt covered in blood.
Forty-Nine
Kokkina, Cyprus
Spencer reacted first by pinning his back to the wall next to the door, pistol held in an outstretched hand. Using hand signals, he indicated Max should cover him as he peeked out the door.
Max sprinted to the door and took a knee, rifle to his shoulder, with a field of view into the hallway and to the right of the doorway. He saw no one. Is that someone running or are my ears playing tricks on me?
Spencer counted down from three with his fingers and peeled into the hallway to take a position at a doorway to cover Max. Max followed and ran ten meters and took a knee. They moved down the hall, covering each other, without seeing any sign of the intruder.
Why are we alive? Who wanted her dead, and why? To conceal information. But what information? She was about to reveal why everyone was looking for Kate. That must be it. Was the killer hovering outside the room, waiting and listening?
They came to a branch in the corridor with a set of stairs. A hallway to the left led to more doorways, and wooden pallets along the wall held familiar-looking crates.
Rockets exploded, and small arms fire came from above. Someone cried out in pain. A man yelled. A massive explosion shook the building. The assault on the compound had resumed.
The two men fell back to the cellblock and talked in hushed voices. Max told Spencer about the escape tunnel. “Stay or go?”
The lanky operative crouched with h
is back against a wall. “If you got in that way, is it possible someone else came in that way too?
Shifting to scan the hallway, Max nodded. “Possible. Maybe they escaped that way.”
Spencer ducked involuntarily as a rocket exploded somewhere overhead, causing concrete and mortar to rain down on their heads. “Your information is that Kate is here?”
“Yup.”
“We stay. I’m not leaving without her.”
Max crouched, his back to the wall nearest the door. “The battle gives us cover. Chaos hides our movements.”
Another bomb exploded. Plaster fell from the ceiling and filled the room with dust. Cries of men mingled with small arms and antiaircraft fire. Spencer waved the dust away from his face. “Unless we get killed by a rocket.”
Max studied his old friend. Deep bags hung under his eyes, blood crusted over scratches on his face, and he had lost weight. His hand shook as he held the pistol. Max took an MRE from his pack and threw it to the former CIA commando. “Eat it. That’s an order.”
Running footsteps and yelling men came from down the hall. Another series of explosions rocked the building. Is that the same attack force, but with reinforcements, or another group?
Spencer ate the food with a quivering hand.
“You go out.” Max motioned with his rifle. “I’ll stay. Once you exit—”
Spencer finished the ration and brushed crumbs from his stubble. “The fuck I am.”
Max grinned. “Thought so. Let’s go.”
Leading Spencer to the door, they took up covering positions. Max was about to move to the hallway when he heard the thunderous pounding of dozens of booted footsteps, followed by a voice.
“Mikhail Asimov! I know you’re in there. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands on your heads. Don’t make us come in there. I don’t want it to get bloody.”
I recognize that voice. I hate it when I’m right.
It was the voice of Victor Dedov, his father’s former boss at the Belarusian KGB and his sister’s current lover.
Fifty
Kokkina, Cyprus
Weaponless, arms secured behind them with plastic cuffs, and surrounded by men in black uniforms, Max and Spencer marched through the compound’s lower halls. They were pushed up three flights of stairs until they emerged into a wide-open courtyard surrounded by high walls and battlements. The fresh air tasted good after the smoke and dust in the lower levels of the compound. The fighting had entered a lull.
They were forced to their knees in the center of the courtyard under a cloudless sky while a hot morning sun beat down. The compound’s defenses resembled those of a castle. A set of steel reinforced double doors were inset into the high wall in front of them, which Max knew led to the beach. The high wall ringed the massive courtyard and was interspersed by a half dozen battlements and fortifications, all bristling with armament. Except now the fortifications were in varying states of destruction from multiple rocket attacks. Only three still supported soldiers, and only two had operational antiaircraft guns.
As a haze of smoke hung over the compound’s sandy field, and the pungent odors of gunpowder, blood, and salt dominated the air. Dozens of men in black uniforms lay mangled and bloody among concrete and wood debris. The remaining soldiers wore grim looks as they raced to shore up defenses during a lull in the fighting.
Victor Dedov, his face haggard, stood in front of the two captives while six of his men stood guard. A holster hung on Dedov’s belt. The former KGB director toyed with the undone flap. His uniform was dusty and ripped in several places. His men were equally war-torn.
“You’re losing, Victor,” Max said. “You’re not going to hold the compound much longer.”
Dedov sneered. “You’re a fool, Asimov. Just like your old man. He never knew when to walk away. Well, now it’s over. This whole mess will come to an end.”
Despite the pain in his knees from kneeling and the ache in his shoulders from having his hands secured behind him, Max’s mind was clear. I get it now. A slow burning anger tightened at the bottom of his neck and crept across his chest until his throat constricted. His voice came out choked. “It was you. You killed my father.”
Dedov chuckled and shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
With a glance at Spencer, who looked at him curiously, Max lowered his voice. “You were the one that planned and executed my father’s murder. It was you who held back the security detail so the truck with the bomb could get close to the house. It was you who covered up everything, using your power at the KGB. You’ve pulled the strings all along. Now you’re just using my sister to stay close to me.” He flexed his arms in an attempt to break the plastic straps, but only succeeded in forcing the zip ties to cut into his skin.
Pushing his face close, Dedov sneered. “Don’t try to think, you dumbfuck. You’ll never figure it out. You see things in black and white, just like Andrei.”
Wait a minute. The leader of the consortium was named Nikita Ivanov. No record of the man had yet been uncovered, and the name was common in Russia. It has to be a fake. “You’re Nikita Ivanov! You’re the leader of the consortium. You’re using an assumed name to hide your identity.”
After laughing and turning away, Victor gave a command, and three men scurried to obey. Turning back, he refocused on Max with a resigned look on his face. “This whole affair pains me, Mikhail. Your father and I went way back to the early days of the KGB. I trusted him as my lieutenant for years. We had many successful operations together. He was a strategic and tactical genius, but he went outside the boundaries. If he had played along, he could have become a very wealthy man. Instead he picked the wrong side, and so here we are.”
What role does Dedov play in all this? The list of the consortium members flipped through Max’s head. Number one—Nikita Ivanov, true identity unknown. Number two is Ruslan Stepanov, head of Russia’s military intelligence. Number three is Andrey Pavlova, the CEO of Russia’s largest oil and gas conglomerate. Number four—Lik Wang, Chairman of China’s largest oil company. Spartak Polzin, former Russian army major and arms trader, is number five and now deceased. Number six is Leonid Petrov, another Russian oil executive. Seven is Sergei Fedorov, a Russian army general and the director of the FSB, Russia’s post-Soviet replacement for the KGB. Eight is the head of Ukraine’s largest oil and gas company. Victor Volkov, head of Russia’s largest crime syndicate, was number nine, also deceased. Ten is another Chinese name, a man who Max understood to be the Chinese Republic’s head of State Security. Eleven is Aleksei Grishin, a Russian four-star general. Twelve is Erich Stasko, the Latvian Banker who I forced to help uncover the name of the Brompton Street bomber.
The courtyard grew quiet. Dedov looked around, distracted, like he expected something to happen.
Damn it, I should have figured it out sooner. “You’re not Ivanov. You’re number eleven. Aleksei Grishin. I thought it was the Russian general, but it’s an alias. Aleksei Grishin was also the name of the Belarusian freestyle skier who took the first winter Olympic gold in 1992. It’s your alias!”
Dedov smiled with a glint in his eyes. “Very good, Mikhail. Too bad you’ll never see your sister again to warn her. All this time, she’s been living safely under my roof where I can watch her, available to me when I need her.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “But why keep her alive? And me—I’ve been to your castle now twice. Why haven’t you already killed us?”
Dedov shrugged. “If you don’t know, all the better. Let’s just say that keeping you alive served my purposes. Until now. It’s all coming together, and soon you’ll all be expendable.”
A commotion came from the far end of the courtyard, and Dedov whirled with a look of anticipation. A team of tall men in the black uniforms of Dedov’s security force appeared in the doorway of an outbuilding a hundred meters on the far side of the courtyard.
As the men marched at them, Max couldn’t help but smile. In the lead was a beefy soldier wearing a ba
ll cap similar to those worn by special forces soldiers. Behind him, walking between two soldiers, her curly hair tucked under a floppy hat and wearing a pair of clean cotton pants and a matching top, was Kate Shaw.
Fifty-One
Kokkina, Cyprus
When he saw Kate, Spencer fought against his bonds, flexing his muscles and grunting. One of Dedov’s men struck Spencer’s neck with the butt of a rifle, sending him tumbling face-first into the ground where he lay motionless.
The little group of Kate Shaw and the team of elite soldiers was on the far side of the courtyard but approaching fast. Kate’s face was partially blocked by her guards.
Victor Dedov grinned smugly and gripped the handle of his pistol as he watched the tiny procession. “Well, well, all of us are finally together.”
As the group approached, Max caught Kate’s gaze. There was no recognition in her eyes. Her gait was smooth, but lacking bounce or life as if she were asleep. Her face was deeply lined and pale, her glasses were missing, and her frail arms were puckered with goosebumps. She’s gotta be sedated.
The four soldiers marched in tight formation, two of them with a grip on Kate’s arms propelling her ahead. Dedov glanced at the sky before listening as a solider whispered something in his ear. The solider ran off in the direction of an antiaircraft embattlement.
Victor turned back to the group with a scowl and gestured urgently to the soldiers escorting Kate. “Hurry up, now.” He waved his hand at Max. “Get her on her knees here, next to this one.”
It didn’t take Max long to figure out what Dedov was up to. His soldiers manned their stations with grim faces. Their uniforms were ragged, the compound was strewn with dead men in black uniforms, the injured left to writhe in the burgeoning heat. They wouldn’t last the next onslaught, so Dedov was gathering his chips.
“It’s not going to work, Victor. You can’t bargain from a position of weakness.”
Kate was pushed to her knees next to Max. On Victor’s order, one of the soldiers drew his pistol and put it against Kate’s head. Victor took out his own gun and pointed it at Max. “Who said anything about bargaining?”
